Badfic for Kay!

Because she rocks my world and I owe her something—even if it's only crappy fic—after all the cooler than cool-ass things she's done for me.

plz plz R&R omg! rite lots k? (Just kidding)

Sara sat on Greg's inflatable mattress, moodily staring at his hairy toes as he slumbered beside her. It was kind of like sleeping with an orangutan she decided. Limber fun and games for a while but not something she'd ever want long term, diapers not being really her thing. Besides she was getting a little suspicious about all the Men's Health magazines neatly stacked beside the Jumbo Size bottle of Jergens, that and the fact that Nick was number one on Greg's speed-dial while she was only number three.

She squared her shoulders with a firm sense of mental resolve, even though it made her look even more rectangular than usual and determined then and there she was going to abandon all her plans to win over Grissom's affections by sleeping with everyone in the lab—although that one night with Sofia was pretty magical—and move far far away and live a tragic life of quiet yet somehow wistfully noble suffering. People would see her as she went about her work, and say to themselves. "For sure, that there is one woman who is living a life of heartbreaking anguish and yet, look at how she soldiers on like a brave little toaster" and they'd spit contemptuously at some homeless person and hiss, "you think you know suffering? Look at her, poor brave broken thing…" And they'd wipe away a single perfect tear.

Yeah, that's the ticket. Maybe perhaps she'd adopt a child and take up ballroom dancing too. Because everyone knew that was the best way to drown your pain after you'd already tried alcoholism. Only one thing left to do, confront Grissom.

Sara thought she might as well go and do that now, seeing as there was nothing really good on TV anyway because The West Wing sucked so much moose dick this season.

So she walked into his office, being all "Yo. I'ma gonna kick your ass to the curb once and for all aa'ight? Seriously she was mad hardcore, Brass almost arrested her before he realized who she was. But of course, Grissom took off his glasses and she started crying like a weepy little bitch, because he saw right into her soul when he did that.

"I'm leaving!" She snotted through her tears. She thrust yet another leave of absence form towards him, and thanked the retail gods she'd thought to pick those things up in bulk at Costco.

"Sara…" He started, and tilted his head, and she felt her resolve crumbling; if he said the lab needed her that was so it, she'd be undone. She hoped there were no plants hidden in his desk.

"No don't try to argue with me, Griss. We just go around and around on this and you just offer another Final Jeopardy-hard quotation then I get another DUI and I can't do this anymore. I need to be loved, and I'm going to try my luck with the older, emotionally unavailable crowd in Palm Springs."

Grissom looked down at his desk, then at a corner of his office, then he regarded his pet spider Horace for a few beats, his gaze rested on Catherine's tushie for a while, then he just kind of stared off into space, so Sara stepped forward and gently snapped her fingers.

"Griss…hey Griss…it's your line…" she whispered urgently, "Sorry—that—you—feel—that—way—Sara—but—I—can't—love—you—like—you—need…remember?" She nodded encouragingly at him.

"No Sara, you're right. You should go. My time here is almost done anyway…"

And here is where Sara was all Whaaa? and her heart leapt right out of her chest—until she bent down and put it back in again—because she just knew Grissom had cancer and was dying! Her love for him grew tenfold, which when you factor in the previous balance, plus interest and annuities, coupled with the exchange rate, came out to something like 10X 3004700697500020032. Which is a lot in this market.

"No. It is time I went back home…" Grissom said sadly.

"To California?" Sara went to him, but there was no chalk on his cheek so she had no pretext to touch him so she just kind of stood there awkwardly. "I could go with you! No one should have to die alone!"

Grissom gave her his patented WTF! look and Horace hid because he knew what kind of shitstorm was coming, boy howdy.

"I'm not dying. But my work here among your kind is done."

"My kind?" And Sara did the cutest little nose-wrinkling frown of bafflement.

"Yes." Grissom hefted a cooler onto his desk, Sara could tell it was the kind of thing people took with them on long journeys to hold snacks but she had no idea why his seemed to be full of babies.

"Grissom. What's going on?"

"Walk with me." He led her by the elbow out of his office into the parking lot. "You see my race has long been baffled by your human emotions, and seeing as those bastard Vulcans have already hogged all the best spots at Starfleet Academy, my superiors sent me here to Las Vegas to learn the secrets behind human sentiment. Also how you can serve an expensive food item like shrimp cocktail at a buffet for only 99 cents, but alas some mysteries prove impenetrable even to one as wise as I…"

"Me."

What?"

The grammatically correct thing to say is 'me', 'as wise as me'."

Grissom frowned and briefly considered taking along another "snack" for his flight but decided that, after all this time, and all the sexual tension they'd weathered, actually "eating" Sara would be committing a pun that was too much, even for him. So instead he merely clicked his remote and with a Beep-BOOP! his multidimensional, time folding, interstellar space Winnebago decloaked itself, kind of crushing Ecklie's car in the process. Then, with a final kiss on her forehead, which he hoped was the epitome of all "what should have been" loving kisses, but was in reality sort of spitty, boarded his ship and blasted off into the starry Vegas night.

Sara stood, tragically slouched, while her tears fell softly to the hard macadam of the parking lot, leaving behind salty trace residue of her infinite sorrow, a sorrow so pure that a bajillion years later a rare species of tree would grow on that exact spot and its beauty and dignified air of profound sadness would draw hundreds from miles around to marvel at the tree and to pick its fruit which tasted rather remarkably like bubblegum but made a pretty good jam for all that.

She stood and slouched as only she could, her adorably kissable belly pooched out slightly over the waistband of her fashionable black lowrider jeans (14.99$ on sale at TJ Max!) and watched the dwindling trail of Grissom's spaceship until at last it was a mere speck among the millions of stars and thought to herself, "I better motor if I'm going to make that flight to Palm Springs."

Just then she heard the oddest noise, kind of like a washing machine trying to copulate with a photocopier, and right before her disbelieving eyes a large blue police box materialized out of thin air. And she had a second to think, "Oh SNAP! Dawg! This materializing shit is messed up, yo!" when a strangely cute man with largish ears poked his head out of the door,

"Hello, I'm the Doctor, how d'you feel about traveling through space and time with me?" he said in the most crotch-dampeningly adorable English accent.

Sara pondered for a minute, then thought, "Fuck it. No more contract negotiations for me, Zuiker can fire my ass, what will I care when I'm a million years in the future?"

So, she smiled, and nodded, and climbed on board, ready and willing for a life of action, adventure, cheesy special effects, and reasonable UST that eventually gets acted on facrissakes! Or at the very least a comfortable career afterwards making appearances at sci-fi conventions.

Da End!

I know...the men in the white coats are coming to take me away! Ha-Ha!

--Badgirl