AN: OK, so I always alternate between the two extreme opinions when it comes to Grissom's sabbatical – either Sara was aware of everything the whole time and they were in contact while he was gone, or she found out he was leaving last minute and they didn't talk at all. Another installment in this series, Loco Motives, explored the first option, but while watching Leaving Las Vegas, I suddenly swayed the other way and, well, this was the results!

Thanks to WalkerTRngr for the beta help!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI

Leaving Las Vegas

It's not until she closes the front door behind her that Sara realizes she forgot to pick up Hank. Grissom usually does, unless he has to work later than her, and despite the fact that she said goodbye to him hours ago, she just didn't think about it.

All she wants to do is take a hot shower and crawl into bed, but the house is too quiet, so she hurries back to her car and drives the short distance to the dog sitter. Five minutes later, they're back home, Hank's nails clicking against the floor distracting her from the sounds that aren't there.

She takes her time in the shower, letting the warm water beat down on her, even if it doesn't remove any of the pain – that only works on sore muscles, not a bruised heart, after all.

It does have the benefit of making her eyelids droop, at least, and as soon as her hair is reasonably dry, she pulls on a pair of yoga pants and one of Grissom's sweatshirts and slides between the sheets.

Her phone is on the bedside table, charging, and she flips it open. No missed calls, no messages. Not that she was expecting any. Glancing at the alarm clock, she calculates the time on the east coast – a few minutes after noon. His flight was supposed to get in over an hour ago, so he's probably in the car on his way to Williamstown now.

He would have had time for a quick call or brief message to let her know he got in OK.

Her fingers hover over the speed dial button for a moment, but then she flips the phone closed and tosses it onto the bedside table, resolutely turning her back on it and squeezing her eyes closed.

Somehow, she manages to fall asleep, and when she wakes up six hours later, vague flashes of her dream lingering behind and making her feel cold, there are still no missed calls or messages.

Not that she was expecting any.

-CSI-

Grissom turns his phone back on as soon as the fasten seatbelt sign is turned off, watching the display closely as the device works to connect to the network.

No missed calls or messages.

Not that he was expecting any. He knows he's the one who should reach out, knows that he hurt her, leaving the way he did… his fingers hover over the speed dial button for a moment, but then he flips the phone closed and shoves it into his pocket when the man next to him gets up and starts deplaning. She might still be at work, or on her way home, or already asleep.

He can call her later.

The drive from the airport takes longer than it should – it's been decades since he drove in snow, and he doesn't want to start his sabbatical with a car accident – so it's almost one thirty by the time he's gotten the key to his temporary lodgings and found the building where the apartment is located.

Dropping his carry-on bag on the bed and leaving his suitcase next to it, he takes in his surroundings – a decent sized kitchen/living area where the fridge and pantry have been stocked with some essentials, a bedroom that's on the small side but enough for him for a few weeks, and an adjoining bathroom.

Slumping down on the couch in the living room, he again pulls out his phone. No missed calls or messages.

Not that he was expecting any – he would have heard the phone.

Again, his fingers hover over the speed dial button, and again, he flips the phone closed. She's asleep, for sure, and he hates waking her.

He can call her tonight.