Catherine stumbled back slightly at the sound of the man's voice. She thought she recognized it, but couldn't quite place it. And before she had a chance to do so, he answered the question for her.

"Cath, it's me. Grissom."

"Gil?"

Catherine lowered her gun and approached the door. The entrance was lined on both sides by glass windows. She pulled the drapes away from one side and peered out.

Gil Grissom was standing on her front porch.

She was startled to actually see him there ­ in the dark, hands in his pockets, shivering slightly in the night air. Catherine disengaged the locks and opened the door. Gil stumbled past her into the foyer.

"Jesus Christ, Gil."

Catherine slammed the door closed, relocked it, and spun around to face her friend.

"You scared the shit out of me! I could've shot..." She stopped short when she realized that his eyes were puffy and bloodshot. His face was pale. Almost ghostly white. He smelled like a brewery ­ cigarettes and stale beer.

"Have you been drinking?"

"A little bit."

"God, Gil. Why? What's wrong? What happened?"

"Can we just sit. And maybe not say anything for a little while?"

"Of course." Catherine locked her gun and placed it on a small table next to the door. She reached out for Gil's arm and led him into the living room ­ depositing him onto the sofa. "Do you want some coffee, water, or anything?"

"How about something a little stronger." Gil's head tipped back and rested against the sofa. He ground his knuckles against his eyes.

"You sure?"

"Very."

"Is scotch ok? I think it's all I've got."

"Fine."

Catherine stared at him a moment before turning on her heels and walking to the kitchen. She pulled two glasses from the cabinet, along with an unopened bottle of scotch. She flipped it over in her hand. It was one of the few remnants of her marriage to Ed.

He had been the drinker ­ she had preferred powder.

Catherine shivered away the memories of her marriage and opened the bottle. She grabbed the glasses in one hand and turned to the freezer. Gil must have heard her begin to fill one with ice because he shouted as soon as the first cube of frozen water tinkled against the crystal.

"No ice. Straight."

She was very surprised at his request. Gil had never been a big drinker. She couldn't remember ever seeing him drink anything stronger than a beer. Or maybe a glass of wine or two. Catherine shrugged and emptied the ice into the sink. She pushed the freezer closed and returned to Gil. His head still rested on the back of the sofa, but when she entered the room, his eyes shifted to her.

He looked almost ­ haunted.

After placing both glasses on the table, she poured an inch of the golden liquid into each of them. She placed the bottle on the table and reached out to hand a drink to Gil. He held the drink up to the light, studying the way the fluid moved within the crystal. The way the dim light shimmered though it. Blue eyes categorizing each and every inch of its surface. He blinked once and raised the drink to his lips.

Catherine couldn't take her eyes off of him as he tipped the glass back and drained the scotch with two long pulls. She felt herself growing warm, pulse quickening at the sight of his Adam's Apple bobbing as the liquid slid down his throat. Somehow she managed to raise her own glass and downed it quickly ­ a lot quicker than she should have. As a result, she began to choke on the shot. A fit of coughing followed, but her actions had the desired effect.

Catherine was finally able to look away from Gil.

She continued to struggle as the scotch burned a firey path to her belly. Her eyes began to tear up and she rubbed the heels of her hands into them. She bent at her waist and gulped down air. It took a few minutes, but her breathing began to return to normal.

"You ok?" Gil's voice was soft, almost a whisper.

"I think so." Standing upright again, she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm ok. You?"

"Yeah." Gil paused and held his hand out to her. "Come sit with me."

Catherine allowed herself to be pulled down onto the sofa. She sat back as Gil refilled both glasses. He handed one to her and raised his in a toast. Following his lead, she raised her own glass and waited for him to speak. But he said nothing.

"What are we toasting?"

Gil thought for a moment before responding.

"To good friends."

They clinked their glasses together. Catherine watched as Gil tossed back his second shot in one swallow. Like it was water. She sipped at her own drink while Gil downed a third and fourth. He was about to fill his glass a fifth time when Catherine finally acted. Slipping her hand over his, she halted the bottle mid-lift.

"Gil."

"What?"

"That isn't Kool-Aid, you know. Maybe you should slow down a little."

"I know that, Catherine." Gil jerked his hand out from under hers and filled his glass. He swallowed his shot and turned to glare at her. "Besides, you're not my mother." Bottle and glass in hand, he stood and shuffled over to the window.

Catherine was startled at the sound of his voice. His words were slurred, but they were laced with a bitterness that she had never heard from him. She felt herself becoming angry. Rising to her feet, she walked over to where he was standing. Catherine grabbed Gil's arm and spun him around to face her.

"I know I'm not your mother, Gil." She paused and tried to rein in her emotions. "But you're acting like a child."

Gil pulled away from her and began to fill his glass again. Catherine grabbed the bottle from him, capped it and placed it on a table.

"Gil, stop."

"Don't tell me what to do." He made a move to reach for the bottle, but Catherine stepped in front of him.

"No. I'm not going to let you do this. You're obviously upset and I'm not going to allow you to drown yourself in scotch because of it." He moved forward, but she held her ground. "Gil, what is it? Would you please stop and tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now." He tried to reach around her, but she wouldn't budge. Gil backed away, but kept his eyes locked on hers. "Seriously, Catherine. Let it go. I really don't want to talk about it."

The warning tone of his voice was reflected in his expression.