Disclaimer: CSI does not belong to me. If it did, 7x17 would have thirty less seconds.

AN: Yay. And update. Happy.

Nick suggested going to a bar after the party. It took a while for Greg to agree- he didn't want to leave Hobbes- but after the puppy fell asleep in his 'girlfriend's' arms, he was a little more eager to participate.

Now, of course, he's drunk. No- buzzed. He told me that he wasn't drunk, just a bit buzzed. Either way, I'm dragging him home soon. Nick's already left with some cute redhead. Which really sucks because he was probably the least drunk out of the three of us.

"You know… When I was a kid, my dad's friend screwed up this riddle."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. He asked me how long it would take a snail to climb up a drain if it moved four inches every two days, but slipped five inches every day. I remember being sad when I found out that the snail would never reach the top."

I think I know where this is going. "Greg…"

"I don't want you to keep slipping, Sara," he say seriously. Then he grins and takes a long swig of beer.

I sigh and turn back to my own drink. How is it that we seem to have our most important conversations while intoxicated? That can't be a healthy habit. Not caring much anymore, I approach the tabooed subject.

"How did you deal with it?"

Greg tilts his head to the side and blinks owlishly. " 'm not you. And we're good friends. I'm not an idiot. I like being friends with you. You and Cat are weird."

I shake my head at his statement. "Gee, how profound."

He nods vigorously and swivels around on his stool. "Yep. I got over it. I loved you, but I still, you know, gawked at and dated other woman. See? Not you. I can go out with another person when I love someone who doesn't love me. You can't do that 'cause you don't wanna use someone."

He stops for a second, trying not to fall off his stool.

"You can't go out with other people. You can't turn off or avoid your feelings. But you're the suttburn-stubbornest person I know. If you want to stop being miserable, just tell yourself to stop being miserable. That could work. I mean, how d'ya deal with the stuff with your family?"

That worked for six years. But it's like a dam's broken in my head, and depressing thoughts just keep on pouring out of me. With my family, things just randomly stopped bothering me. God knows how.

"Need more beavers," Greg suggests. "Or fire. Evaporation. Dam's broken and making new rivers. Kinda bad."

I guess I spoke my analogy out loud. Wonderful. I turn my wrist over and look at my watch. We should really get going.

"Greg, let's get you home."

Greg bobs his head up on down. "OK. Cool. Yeah. Awesome."

I roll my eyes and sling his arm over my shoulder before throwing the necessary cash on the bar.

"Right. C'mon, birthday boy."

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. This is stupid. Really, really stupid. But if it works, I can get back to being me again. I hate constantly feeling like Hell.

And if it doesn't work… well, things are pretty much as bad as they're going to get, I think. If they get worse…

I can't believe I'm taking the advice of an intoxicated Greg.

"Know what helped?"

Trying to drag Greg up the stairs without hurting him is more difficult than I would have thought.

Him talking randomly isn't helping much.

"No, Greg. What helped?"

"Ya wouldn't kiss me. No matter what I did, ya wouldn't kiss me. I knew there was no way. Cat isn't like you. And you're not like me. So it's all tough."

I stop for a moment.

"Yeah. It is all tough."

Okay, time to do this.

I ring the doorbell and pray that it's Catherine that answers the door. If I concentrate, I can hear voices and footsteps. Max is there too. If she answers the door, I think I'll just try and run away without her getting a good look at me.

"Sara? What are you doing here?"

Catherine. She's wearing a robe. Only a robe. I must have… damn.

I force a smile and stand up a bit straighter. "Sorry," I whisper. I'll let her decide what I'm sorry for.

"No, it's fine, really-"

She looks so cute trying to wrap her robe tighter around herself. She showed off more skin when she was in the locker room with Greg and I.

The memory temporarily kills stuns my brain cells, and without really thinking, I lean forward and tentatively brush my lips against hers.

Her lips are so soft and full… God, she tastes good.

I don't want this moment to ever stop. When it stops, my brain will remind me that she hasn't responded and that this is entirely one-sided. But her girlfriend will be coming to check up on Cath any moment now.

Pulling back reluctantly, I get a wonderful look at her shocked expression.

"I love you."

Her eyes widen even further.

I attempt a smile and shrug self-deprecatingly. "Sorry."

She's too shocked to say anything right now, but the fog is slowly disappearing from her eyes. I turn around and walk away quickly. I don't need to stick around and hear her rejection, no matter how tempting it is.

I'm not quite sure whether the waves of tears flowing down my cheeks are of relief or sadness.

Damn. I'm actually crying over a romantic issue.

Of course, Catherine is the cause of my suffering, so…

I'm going to be so hungover tomorrow.

"What did you do to her?"

I turn the page of my magazine and smile without looking up.

"Depends. Who are you talking about?"

I didn't know it was possible to hear someone roll their eyes.

"Catherine! She's avoiding you! Ducking around glass walls in attempts to hide from you! She's being civil to the FBI girl! What did you do to her?!"

I get to roll my eyes this time. Greg's exaggerating. She's avoiding me, yes, but she hasn't run away from me. The only hint of her fleeing was when she was standing in front of the coffee machine, and I asked her to move. She got the typical 'deer in headlights' look before smiling at me awkwardly and walking out of the room.

I wonder how long it will take her to talk to me about what happened. She won't just keep avoiding it- I know her. Right now she's really unsure of how to act around me, and she hates that. The only way to fix it is to talk to me.

I'm guessing that her opening statement will probably contain something about how much alcohol was consumed at Greg's party. There's no way she missed that I had been drinking.

"I kissed her, told her I loved her, and drove away."

After a few moments of silence, I look up to find Greg gaping at me in complete and utter shock.

"Was it any good?"

I grin at him rather than answering verbally. He continues to stare for a minute or so before grinning in return, shaking his head.

"So she's trying to figure out how to let you down easy?"

"Yep."

He taps his chin thoughtfully, then stops- grinning like a madman. "I could tell her that rejections are too difficult, and she should just slam you up against your locker."

It really is too bad that Catherine doesn't listen to Greg as often as I do.