I am SUCH a bitch. Thanks Michelle.

"I uh, has anyone seen my hat?" Grissom asked, coming into the break room in what could only be described as a frazzled-entomologist flurry. "It's not in my office..."

Catherine glanced up briefly from the paper she was skimming, low-fat, no-whip, double mocha soy latte in her hand. "Which? Your LVPD one? That's in my Tahoe." When he shook his head, she went on. "Your Cubs cap?" He shook his head again. "OH! You mean that god-awful, ugly as hell straw concoction?"

Grissom's face went stony as Catherine's lips lifted. "I just call em like I see em," she shrugged, smug grin still toying with her lips. She looked back down at her paper and ignored him.

Greg entered the room, doing some sort of two-step dance that Grissom contributed solely to too much MTV. He sidestepped his boss, spun and slid over to the coffee pot, humming something to himself. "Greg!"

"Yes... sir," he said carefully as he lifted the pot, began pouring near the rim of his cup and then pulled the pot up towards his face, watching as the stream of java flowed into the mug. He finished, spun around again and put the glass pot back into the machine. "What can I do for you?"

"For one, you can stop fooling around with scalding beverages in your hand," Grissom began, motioning to the mug with a tip of his head. "Secondly, have you seen my hat?"

Sipping from his beverage, Greg spun by Grissom again. "That floppy farmer get up?" But before Grissom could break in, "Haven't seen it man, sorry."

Next, he ran into Nick and Sophia pouring over a bloody glove in the layout room. "Hey Griss, what's up?" Nick asked, pausing in his examination. Sophia too looked up, shot him a bland smile and went back to writing down whatever the hell she had been penning into her log when Grissom had interrupted them.

Scratching the back of his head, the night shift supervisor's mouth twisted into a semi-frown. "Have either of you seen the hat that I wear out into the field?"

Sophia laughed, not bothering to look up and said, "Let's hope someone burned it." Nick laughed and attempted to hide his grin with the back of his hand. Sophia then looked up, winked at Nick and flipped the page of her mini notebook." That thing was tragically hideous."

Grissom said nothing, but his mouth fell slightly agape as he registered what she was saying.

Nick sat down on a stool next to his working companion. "That thing did make you look like you were sixty, boss."

Like Grissom needed reminding of his age, but he wasn't that old. "Or like you were gonna go out and harvest some wheat."

Without giving a backward glance, Grissom left the layout room, soft laughter filtering out behind him.

Warrick stopped him in the hallway outside of Trace to get a signature on a file. "Warrick, you know my hat?"

"The farmer Bob one?" Grissom glared. "I uh, I mean that uh, nice straw one that I'm sure keeps the sun out of your eyes?"

Crossing his arms, in an agitated voice, he said, "That would be the one, yes. Know of its whereabouts?"

Warrick bit his lip and, much like Nick, attempted to hide his smile. "Can't say I have. Sorry." Warrick began to walk away and just as he was about to turn the corner, "Maybe Farmer Bob came and took it back!" If Grissom had had something in his hand then... he might have thrown it.

Grissom paced the halls of CSI, asking lab techs, receptionists and even Brass if they'd seen the accessory.

Defeated, and finding no sign of Sara, he retired to his office.

Open entering, he saw that someone was seated in the visitor's chair. Peeking in, he saw that it was Sara and with something akin to relief, he waltzed in to greet her. "Hey."

"Hey," she said, smiling brightly, clutching a plastic bag in her hand. "Mind if we talk for a minute?"

The decidedly serious tone of her voice, told him to drop the matter of his missing headwear. "Sure, about what?"

Sara just waned her smile and stood to shut his door. Grissom, still standing, faced her, blinking away confusion.

"I," she began breathily, a little too breathily. "I have something you've been looking for."

From the bag, she extracted the object of his searches. But when he went to reach for it, she pulled it back, dangling it between her index and middle fingers. The smile on her lips was no longer bright but seductive and

Grissom choked down the sudden lump that had taken up residence in his throat. "Can I, may I have it back please?" he asked, failing miserably at attempting to sound authoritative.

Sara shook her head and moved a bit closer to him, still taunting him, but no longer with the hat. Her hips swayed just a bit and when she licked her lips he thought he was going to pass out.

"I can't have it back?" His voice sounded distinctly like a bullfrog with a cold.

Sara licked her lips again. "Well, you can, but it's going to cost you."

"Cost me what?"

She looked from the object in her hands up to him and back down to the hat. Slowly, deliberately, she brought it up and placed it atop his head, tilting it back just a bit.

Once secure, she pulled back to look at her work. Then, just as slowly as she had placed his hat on his head, she brought her arms up to twine around his neck. That sexy smile still on her lips, she leaned in and kissed him, finding herself stunned when, after a moment, he acquiesced to the pressure of her tongue.

They stayed like that for awhile, just kissing in his office.

When they broke apart, both flushed and in need of oxygen, he smiled at her. "That's all I had to do to get it back? You don't drive very hard bargains."

Sara stepped back and sighed. "Nope, I guess I don't."

He smiled again and just as he was about to reach for her again, she extracted something from her pocket and moved forward to snatch the offending object off of his head. "Hey!"

Opening her palm, she maneuvered the lighter under her thumb and lit it up. Watching as his face turned the color that horror would be colored if horror had a color, she brought the mini flame against the straw and dropped the fireball into his metal waste can.

"You're sexy," she said forcefully as he stared down at the fire in his trash barrel. "Not geriatric!"

And with that she sauntered out of his office.