A/N: What's this? A third WIP? Am I totally insane?

Maybe. But, I'm also on break for another couple weeks, and this idea won't leave me alone, so I've decided to indulge it while I have the time. Don't worry, the other stories will still be updated as regularly as they ever are.

This story is a series of vignettes based on Grissom and Sara's relationship and its uncanny similarity to Theory of a Deadman's "All or Nothing." Each chapter will be a different scene from their relationship, some from Sara's perspective (like this first one) and some from Grissom's. Each will also include the lyric that inspired it, which will be in italics.

I hope you'll enjoy this story! Thanks for reading and reviewing.

I don't own CSI. Inspiration and some dialogue are borrowed from episode 102, "Cool Change."

When I first saw you standing there, you know, was a little hard not to stare

Three days, two hours, twenty-ish minutes.

That's how long it had been since I'd talked to Gil Grissom before I got a panicked phone call.

"Sara, Holly's been shot. Warrick was supposed to be with her, but he wasn't, and … he's in trouble, Sara. I need you. Please, you've got to come to Vegas. You've got to help me figure out this mess."

Well, so much for my theory that he just wanted to talk about last night's ER.

Four months, two weeks, three days.

That's how long it has been since I've seen Gil Grissom. The last time was at a forensics conference in Phoenix. I was presenting for the first time, and he was attending. I like to think it was for moral support, but he could have just gone for the lectures. Either way, regardless of the circumstances, it was so nice to see him again. I had missed him.

And, now…

He was working when I arrived. I had expected nothing less. In fact, I didn't even call him when I landed in Vegas. I just took a cab to the crime lab, where a helpful receptionist told me where to find him.

He is standing in front of a hotel, watching dummies fly through the air and land at his feet. A crowd has gathered around him; they cheer as each dummy hits the ground. I'm a bit surprised; I've never gotten this sort of reaction in San Francisco. Of course, I don't actually toss dummies off hotels, either. There are computer programs that can simulate it perfectly.

I don't interrupt him. Part of it is professional courtesy; he's obviously busy and in a rhythm. The other part, I'm only slightly ashamed to admit, is that I want to watch him. I've attended his seminars and listened to his lectures, but to actually see him work … It's almost erotic. I've never seen anything like it, and I can't bring myself to speak to him and stop the display before me.

He begins photographing the last dummy, and I know that I need to make my presence known. I finally lift the crime scene tape and step closer to him.

"Norman fell," he says as he snaps the last photo.

"Wouldn't you, if you were married to Mrs. Roper?" I ask, loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

I'm behind him, so I can't see his face. His stance changes immediately, though. He stands up straighter, and seems as though a weight has lifted off his shoulders.

"I don't even have to turn around," he says. "Sara Sidle."

He does turn, and the smile on his face matches the one I can feel on mine.

It is so nice to see him again. I know the circumstances are terrible, but … I've missed him.