Thanks so much for all the reviews everyone - seems that I should bribe you guys with veggie burgers more often, ha ha!!

And thanks to sweet-surrender5 for the beta job...hope the computer virus bites the dust soon!!

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Whatever It Takes

Once she was gone, he wearily made his way back inside, stomped to the bedroom, flung open the doors of the closet they shared and chucked on the first set of clothes that came to hand - an old pair of jeans and a black shirt. Getting dressed kept him busy for a few minutes, but afterwards he wandered aimlessly through the apartment, at a complete loss of what to do with himself.

Normally he would've gone to work, but today he didn't have that option. He flicked through the TV channels for a few minutes, flipped through a couple of magazines, had a drink of water, but none of it helped ease his splitting headache or the tightness in his chest.

He couldn't remember ever feeling quite this restless.

This helpless.

He wanted to go to his townhouse, but he didn't want to leave the solace of Sara's apartment. He wanted to call her, but he couldn't bring himself to speak to her. He wanted to stay till she returned so he could apologise, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to see her.

After a while, he found himself back in her kitchen and with a deep sigh of resignation he grabbed a glass, dumped a couple of ice cubes inside and seized the bottle of expensive whiskey he'd left in her cupboard.

He took her phone of the hook, switched off his cell, threw his aching body down on her couch and kept telling himself that he was just going to have one drink. That he just needed a couple of shots to calm down, to help him chase the desperately sought after sleep that had been eluding him all night.

That one drink would be enough to help him forget.

He was halfway through his third glass before he could admit to himself that one would never be enough. His hand had a mind of its own and kept picking up the bottle from the table next to him, kept filling his glass with an inch of scotch, kept lifting the tumbler to his lips, kept tipping the amber liquid down his throat.

Pour, lift, swallow - again and again and again.

A pleasant lethargy was settling over his body, his legs and arms feeling heavy in the chair and his head starting to spin ever so slightly. The tight coil in the pit of his stomach didn't ease up much, and the occasional flashback kept interrupting his solitude, but at least the alcohol had driven the chill from his bones and he had almost stop caring about the fact that virtually half the bottle had disappeared down his throat.

Had almost stopped caring about when and if Sara would come home, or what she would think when she found him like this.

Had almost stopped caring about anything except doing whatever it took to forget.

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She was surprised at how murky the apartment was when she swung the front door open. With the heavy curtains drawn and the deep burgundy walls, it could be very dark inside even during the day, and she only realised he was on the couch when he raised an arm as he brought something to his lips. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the shadows and she gasped softly when she saw the bottle on the table next to him and realised how little of its contents remained.

Shit.

"Gris?"

Her only answer was the sound of the glass scraping along the table as he picked it up and drained the contents in one long swallow. He immediately poured another and when she reached for the half empty bottle in his hand, he clung to it with surprising ferocity.

"Give me the bottle, Gris."

"Not done yet." Despite the amount of alcohol that he'd obviously consumed his words were surprisingly clear and his grip on the bottle tightened even more when Sara dropped to her knees in front of him.

"Grissom, you've got to--"

"How's Catherine?" he cut her off abruptly.

"She was still sleeping, so they wouldn't let me see her…" Sara tried desperately to make eye contact with him, but he twisted his head to the side and she was forced to reach up and pull his face towards her, forcing him to meet her eyes. "…But the doctor says she'll be fine, OK? So please stop beating yourself up about that."

"Interesting choice of words." And he turned his face away again.

With a frustrated sigh, Sara got to her feet. "So what's the plan? You're just going to pour that stuff down your throat till the bottle's empty? Or are you going to sit here until you—"

"Sara, I don't need you hassling me right now."

"Then what do you need Grissom?" Her voice may have been quiet, but her tone was filled with exasperation. "Because I've spent the last twelve hours trying to get you to talk to me about this and so far I don't seem to be getting anywhere."

He stared blankly at the opposite wall as he tried to shake off the haze of alcohol that was enveloping his mind and tried desperately to come up with a satisfying answer. She deserved that much at least.

I want you to keep talking to me. I want you to wrap your arms around me until I fall asleep. I want you to help me forget about this god awful mess, even if it's only for a few hours.

I just want you…

But his befuddled brain wouldn't allow him to marshal any of the things he was feeling into a coherent sentence and he found it so frustrating that he simply ended up choosing the easy road and snarling at her.

"I sure as shit don't want to spend any more time talking about this!"

"Then why are you still here?" She swiped the bottle off the table, walked to the kitchen and threw it in the trash. "If you didn't want to talk to me about it, why didn't you just go home?"

His eyes narrowed dangerously and he rose from the couch with a dexterity that belied his obvious intoxication. Under different circumstances he might have wondered at the fact that his body could still operate almost normally even as large chunks of his mind seemed to be shutting down, but he was too immersed in his own pain to give anything that existential a second thought.

"Is that what you want? You want me to leave? Things get a little uncomfortable and you can't wait to throw me out?"

"No Grissom. I just want you to stop pretending that you're alone in this and let me in."

"Damn it Sara! I don't want to fucking talk about it - I just want to forget about it, alright? I just want to have two fucking seconds where I'm not thinking about the fact that I'm responsible for Catherine lying in that hospital. Just two seconds without the image of that kid's lifeless body flashing through my brain--"

"And you think downing a bottle of whiskey is going to help you accomplish that objective?"

"It was working just fine until you came back."

"Bullshit Grissom. It never works – been there, done that, remember?" As he came closer the soft glow that was coming from the hallway briefly illuminated his face, and she saw something flashing in his eyes that she'd never seen before, some raw emotion that went beyond the rage and the dread that she was expecting.

Something that made her entire body cry out to hold him.

"Then tell me – what the hell does work huh? Talking?" His voice was mocking. "Because I'm sick to fucking death of talking, Sara."

He was mere inches from her now and hhe had her sandwiched between the kitchen counter and his trembling body. His hands moved to the flat surface on either side of her hips and he leaned into her until his mouth was right next to her ear. The faint smell of scotch wafted over her when he spoke again.

She could sense what was coming, but she felt powerless to stop it. Actually, that wasn't quite true. She didn't want to stop it. She needed what he wanted almost as much as he did – desperate for some connection before he completely slipped away.

"Will this make me forget?" His lips barely touched the silky skin where her ear and jaw met, but she shivered at the sensations his warm breath created as it caressed her skin and had to grab hold of his forearms to steady herself.

"Or this?" he whispered against her jaw, as he pulled her flush against his body, his hands firmly on her hips now, making it impossible to escape his embrace or to ignore his body's obvious response to hers.

"Grissom…"

"Help me forget Sara…" he was pleading now, his desperation evident when he pressed his lips roughly against hers. "Just for a while, help me make it go away…"

She raked her hands up his arms and tangled her fingers in his curls as she crushed her mouth to his, tasting the scotch on his breath and on his tongue, oblivious to everything but the way his hands were touching her, the way his body was moulded to hers.

This wasn't going to solve anything long term, she knew. And he realised it as well as he guided her to the bedroom and started pulling her clothes off. But right now all he wanted was to kiss her and touch her and have her do the same to him, until every other thought left his head and there was nothing left in the world but her.

He would apologise for this behaviour tomorrow, explain about the drinking and his guilt and maybe she'd forgive him for the selfish shit he was pulling now. If she was willing to listen he'd sit her down and talk all she wanted – he swore he would.

Neither could have predicted that it would be almost a month before he'd speak a full sentence to her again…

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A/N: Since the veggie burger bribe worked so well last time, everyone who leaves a review gets a free K'Fed CD this time!

If that doesn't entice you to leave a review, then I swear nothing will...