A/N: This is a short meaningless angst GSR drabble Post Leaving Las Vegas with a small reference to Butterflied and Way To Go. I'm just craving a little GSR/angst right now :)

Her bathrobe was thrown on the bed. Her kit was lying alone on the floor in the bedroom. Her side of the closet was fully stocked. Her toiletries and scented bubble baths were still in their places in the master bathroom. But her side of the bed was cold… so very, very cold.

It was something that iced him to the core, and he didn't realize how it had come to happen. He thought they had been doing so well, he had just needed some time to himself to think everything over. He didn't want to leave her, that wasn't the reason… it was just a matter of Gil Grissom being Gil Grissom in all his socially-awkward glory. That was why he had taken the sabbatical.

But he had come back to an empty townhouse. She was nowhere in sight. Her wallet was still there, her key was still there. He thought maybe she was just out somewhere, perhaps still at the lab… but he had called her before he got on his plane to Nevada to tell her he was on his way home, and she had sounded alright on the phone.

But now she was gone, he realized. And she wasn't coming back. He knew this was his fault for leaving her. He shouldn't have taken the leave of absence so abruptly, but the truth was he didn't know how to act around her. She was this… beautiful, perfect woman he realized he could love and live a life with, and he was so worried he would do something to screw it all up.

And now he had.

He walked through the townhouse into the bedroom, letting out a long sigh when he once again found it empty. He didn't know what he was expecting to happen, but he desperately wanted her here with him. So many times he had called her while he was gone only to hear her crying on the other line. She had sounded so defeated. He couldn't bear to imagine how many nights she had spent crying herself to sleep.

Then, there came a knock at the door. A little glimmer of hope arose as he quickly walked down the hallway to the door. Was she here?

He opened the door only to open his mouth wide with a gasp. She was lying in a huddle there on the doorstep, immobile and deathly pale. He dropped to his knees and gathered her up in his arms, cradling her head against his chest.

"Sara," he whispered. He reached up and brushed his thumb against her cheek only to move it away when he did so. She was so cold…

"Sara, wake up," he whispered again. Her eyes were shut firmly and her lips were starting to turn a ghostly shade. Panic started prickling at his brain. "Sara," he whispered more frantically. "Sara, you have to wake up, honey," he whispered.

She didn't say anything in response. Looking down he spotted a small piece of paper clipped onto her blouse with a butterfly-shaped pin. He picked it off and read it:

"Gil Grissom."

He turned it over, his hands shaking as he did so,

"Now you have nothing."

His face paled at reading the words on the note and it dropped from his hand as he bent over her body. "Sara honey, you have to wake up," he repeated, gently shaking her shoulder. She didn't budge. "Sara!"

After pleading with her motionless body for a few moments her eyes slowly started to open. His breathing was ragged as he watched her eyes peek up at him, glazed over. Those weren't her eyes anymore. "Grissom," she whispered.

"Sara," he choked, "Sara, what happened?"

"Grissom," she whispered again. She reached for his hand and he took it, squeezing it gently. "I'll… miss you," she whispered. Her eyes then closed.

"No," Grissom whispered, "No, Sara, you can't do this," he whispered, shaking her shoulders again, trying to open her eyes. "Sara, you can't do this now, honey," he whispered, tears stinging at his eyes. "I don't want you to do this! I promise I won't leave you again," he whispered, the tears finally spilling down his cheeks, "But you can't go now!"

She remained silent and motionless, her eyes clamped shut.

"Sara!" he angrily cried, "Sara, wake up!" he pleaded in sobs, his fingertips gently brushing against her once lively-colored lips. They were ice-cold. "Why?" he cried, "Why?"

A crack of thunder overhead sounded and rain began to pour mercilessly pelting their bodies. He cradled her against his chest, not wanting her to get wet. "I'm not ready to say goodbye!"

He woke up sweating, the tears running down his face as he sat up in bed. They blurred his vision and he swatted them away, turning around to look down at her in bed. She was still sleeping soundly. He choked back a guttural sob as he leaned over and drew her into his arms, wrapping them as tightly around her as he possibly could. "I'm never going to leave you again," he whispered. "I'm not ready to say goodbye."

The End