A/N: We own nothing but sand between our toes! Enjoy! This one is short, probably 6-8 chapters.
Wherever we are, whatever we do Chapter 1
"Pack for overnight. I'll pick you up in an hour."
Sara leaned against the doorway for a minute. "You and me?" She asked. As she did almost every day at the end of shift, Sara had stopped to say something to him; usually her words were "Good night" even though it was dawn. He had given her no prior indication of taking a road trip.
He looked up. "No, I'm taking Greg too."
"Where? Why?"
"Greg needs the experience. I need you."
The look on her face must have communicated something.
"For Greg—you know how he is. Special request—cold case."
Sara did as he asked—or told her to do; she packed a small backpack and waited. Almost to the minute, Grissom stopped in front of her apartment. She got into the front seat; no Greg.
"Are you going to tell us or is it a surprise when we arrive?"
Gil Grissom grinned. "Think of it as an adventure."
She frowned.
He relented. "I'll explain after we pick up Greg."
Greg was waiting at the curb carrying a bag smaller than hers. When the vehicle stopped, Grissom put it in park, got out and waved Greg to the driver's seat. Sara grunted; neither man seemed to notice as Grissom crawled into the back seat. He latched the seatbelt, punched a soft duffle bag—his own—behind his head and closed his eyes.
Greg and Sara looked at each other.
"Hey, Grissom, you think you could provide directions?" Sara asked.
"Head northwest—three hours, turn right at McDonalds. Wake me then and we'll talk about where we're going." He said, never opening his eyes.
Sara's mouth stayed open as she shifted her gaze back to Greg. By the second traffic light, Grissom was asleep.
"Do you know anything?" Greg asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing. 'Pack for overnight' is all I was told!" She was whispering. "Is there a map in here?" She opened the glove compartment and riffled papers, cd's, batteries. No map.
"He said I needed the experience—what does that mean? Why are we driving so far? But—hey—I'm the new CSI so I do as I'm told!" Greg was also whispering.
Sara laughed and put a cd in the player. As music played, Greg glanced in her direction. "Not my kind of music."
"Nor mine." They let it play; Sara manipulated sound to the rear speakers.
They traveled northwest out of Las Vegas for miles before the landscape changed from desert to a long valley with lush green grasses, cottonwood trees, a small lake, and alfalfa fields. They passed an occasional roadside store, sometimes isolated, others with several houses within short distances. Some of the houses were neat, well cared for homes; a few looked abandoned with old cars and trucks left to rust in yards. The only evidence of life was the thin, ill-looking dogs lying in shade provided by scrubby bushes.
Sara and Greg could talk about a dozen topics unrelated to work—music, movies, world peace, or war or famine, alternative energy sources, politics. Most of the people who worked with Greg saw him as a lab nerd, too young and goofy or too smart to have a conversation about anything unrelated to work. Sara knew better.
They made one stop—a small lonely store with several old trucks sitting in the dusty parking lot. Grissom continued to sleep while Sara and Greg shopped—bottled water and snack foods of chips, cookies, nuts.
"How much longer? Do you think Grissom will let us eat lunch?" Greg asked with a laugh.
"Who knows—we don't even know if we're going to a town or a crime scene." Sara put their purchases on the counter and lifted an object from a rack. "I think I'll buy this!" She placed a hat on her head; it fell almost to her eyes.
Greg laughed. "That looks more like Grissom than you." She paid for the straw hat.
Almost three hours after leaving, they slowed as they entered a small town. "Is this where we find the right turn at the McDonalds?" Greg asked, looking for familiar arches. "I see nothing that looks like fast food."
Sara also watched for the bright yellow trademark curves and found nothing. "Greg, look," she said as she swung around in her seat. "McDonalds!" A large sign across a street side building with paint peeling, announced to passers-by the name of the business, McDonalds Junk Yard--added below in newer paint 'recycling center'.
Greg executed a u-turn in the street. They heard a grunt from the back seat.
"Pull over and I'll drive the rest of the way." Grissom was awake.
"Ahh—Grissom, it's almost lunch time—do we get to eat?" The young man asked as he made the turn onto a secondary paved road. They would quickly leave this town.
"Find a place. We'll eat." He stretched and yawned. "You two talked all the way—I could barely sleep."
Sara and Greg snorted a short laugh.
"Mexican!" Greg slowed and turned into a small parking lot next to a blue and yellow building. "You can eat vegetarian at any Mexican restaurant." He grinned as if he had just discovered some essential truth of life.
The three piled out of the vehicle. Before closing the door, Grissom reached between the seats. "Great hat—did you buy it for me?" He did not wait for an answer as he jammed the hat on his head. "Perfect, thanks," he said as the two younger travelers looked on with open-mouths as he walked away. His left hand waved for them to catch up.