AN: Ok people here we have some major GSR drama and romance to come. It's my first WIP. Don't worry- I don't get into a lot of angst, as I am an impatient person. First off- to my new GSR BFF Keegan Elizabeth, you truely are the greatest friend an alcoholic old man lover could have ;) People- if you read this and think it's good in the least- it's because of Keegan so go read her fabulous work if you haven't already.

OK I don't own CSI it owns me. I don't own any quotes that may arise in this little piece so don't sue me. I do own a lot of now-dirty children's clothes and clothes detergent (oh yeah it's laundry day in the Stogner household).

Finally- I can't come up with a title - so this is dubbed "after committed" and all things aired through 8x08 can be game for those not in the know already.

Chapter One

Sara pulled up to her apartment and parked her car. As she strolled wearily up the stairs leading to her door, she unconsciously rubbed her neck where not too long ago it was in the grasp of an insane person.

DAMN that Adam Trent.

Closing the door behind her, she opted to drop her stuff down to her side and shuffled towards the fridge. Hmmmmmm- beer, water, cranberry juice…sooo many choices she thought sarcastically to herself as she sighed aloud and opted for the juice. Through counseling she’d been able to draw that mental line and recognize when a beer was for fun and when it was a crutch. She understood what a slippery slope drinking could become, yet right now she felt that familiar twinge of desire to say fuck it and grab the beer, but she held back knowing this was one of those slippery slope moments.

Damn that Grissom.

Ever since her skirting her DUI, she couldn’t look at a drink without feeling as if Grissom was staring at her from afar with a look of disappointment and warning in his eyes. Even in my beverage choices that man haunts me.

She plopped down on her living room couch and considered her options for the morning. I could get my self-pitying ass up and go for a run. I could take a scalding hot shower and go to bed. I could sit here and pretend to be interested in what’s on TV. I could call Grissom. Grissom. There’s that ghost again. Always coming out when I feel less than human. Why would I call him anyway? Hey Gris- yeah I’m really NOT okay, and I really do need you. Yeah. Why do I keep letting myself go there? Sure he seemed genuinely concerned at the mental hospital, but he would feel that way if it were any member of his team. Let it go Sidle.

Deciding to forget about it (or to try to forget about it- who was she kidding- she could never really forget him), she opted for the shower. It felt good- the hot water rinsing off the dirt and disdain. She washed her hair three times- swearing she could still smell Adam Trent’s breath on her auburn strands.

When she was finished putting on some loungewear, she tried to stop thinking and tried to drift off to sleep. Sleep, however, refused to come. She got up and threw on some clean clothes and went back to the kitchen. She searched her cabinet for coffee. Why is it that I never have anything when I want it? Coffee shop it is. She slid on some shoes and grabbed her keys and handbag and headed out her apartment door.

Standing in line at the café, she contemplated whether or not she should force herself to get a muffin and to eat it. When it was her turn at the register, she ordered a coffee and three different types of pastries.

As the young college girl rang her up, she asked Sara, “How do you stay so thin and eat like this?!” “Well there’s nothing like having an insane person almost slitting my throat yesterday to make me want to taste life a little more while I’m still living.” The girl dropped Sara’s change all over the floor behind the counter as she freaked out from Sara’s blunt statement. Did I just say that out loud? “I’m sorry- I just- just keep the change,” Sara managed to say as she speedily backed up from the counter with her coffee and bag of food, not noticing where she was going. Before the flustered girl at the counter could warn Sara, coffee and pastries went flying as she slammed into someone behind her and fell to the ground. Letting out a scream from hot coffee scalding her, she barely heard her name and looked up to see Grissom standing over her.

“Sara, are you ok? Let me see your hand,” Grissom gently requested.

Sara winced in pain and naturally started to tear up. Thankfully no one else was in the vicinity of her coffee and pastry fireworks display, and she seemed to be the only causality to the hot beverage.

Looking to the barista, Grissom asked where the nearest sink was and quickly demanded the coldest water they could find with no ice in it to be brought to them. “Sara, we need to put cold water on this now and then I’m going to take you to the ER. This looks to be a second-degree burn,” he stated with a tone signaling don’t even try to talk yourself out of this one.

Normally Sara would have went off on her ‘don’t worry about me’ tangent with him- but the pain had started to take over her thoughts. However, she was in no place to argue- so nodding faintly, she obliged and followed him to the restroom sink.

The girl from the counter brought several bottles of cold water and asked if he needed anything else. Grissom replied no, and she stepped out to leave them alone.

He plugged the sink and hurriedly poured the first bottle of water over her hand and wrist causing her to gasp as she tried to choke back tears. “I’m sorry honey- I know it hurts, but we have to do this right now,” he said. God this hurts! Shit did he just say Honey? He poured the rest of the water in the sink and as delicately as possible helped her submerge her hand into the cool bath. Once her hand was under the water, he fumbled in his pant’s pocket and pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen. Good thing I keep this handy for the knee swelling. He tapped out three of the pills and told her almost in a whispered tone to “open up and take these.” She willingly obliged, and he held up a bottle of the remaining water for her to take the pills with. “That will help with the swelling and pain some,” he said as he felt of the water in the sink to make sure it was still cold.

He stroked her hair for the next fifteen minutes and kept repeating “I’m sorry” to her. She wanted to tell him to stop apologizing but was barely able to string any thoughts together with the pain in her hand. Finally, he pulled the drain in the sink and told her to “let it air dry while we go to the ER,” and he led her out of the café towards his car.