Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation is © Anthony E Zuiker/CBS. Guest characters from other shows are spontaneous and are © their respective owners. None of these characters belong to me. This story is a sequel to "I Am the Better Man."

Author's Note: All right, the continuation of Greg's adventure lives! Just a little note, if you haven't read "I Am the Better Man," you might want to, because it'll help clue you in on what's going on with Greggo. Also, this first chapter is a bit "eeh," only because it's the first chapter. But I have some interesting twists to follow! And, after this posting, the rest of my notes will be posted on my main page, since I hate disrupting your flow of reading. Do hope you enjoy.

A Man's Ambition

Chapter One

"I'm sorry, Sir. It's too heavy."

"What do you mean it's too heavy?"

It was to my dismay that I hadn't remembered what a hassle being in an airport could be until I waited in line at the baggage check. During the weigh-in, they insisted that my messenger bag was too heavy, and couldn't be taken with me on the plane. How could it be too heavy if I was wearing it with ease?

"If I… empty it a little, will it be okay?"

"Of course."

A little agitated, I schlepped it, and my suitcase, to the nearest seat and started moving item by item from my bag into the case. Two minutes later only my laptop remained in my personal bag, and I was set to board. A restful flight… that's what I was looking forward to.

But apparently on the plane, there was this one man in First Class who was driving the flight attendants crazy. I didn't hear what was going on – I was busy sleeping. But what happened about an hour and a half ago doesn't mean much to me now, because –

"San Francisco…" after I had meandered away from my plane and through the corridors of the airport, I gazed through the immensely windowed-walls into the darkness of the morning, spotting nothing more than the dark ocean with fog looming above it. With a wide smile on my face, I closed my eyes and took in a great whiff of the new territory, "… so this is the City by the Bay."

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I turned around to face a man with gentle features and a moustache. Wonder what I'd look like with a moustache…

"Oh… yeah. Well, what I can see of it looks… nice." I couldn't see much.

"No matter where I go, I always find myself coming back… something alluring about this city – intoxicating, almost." The man sighed, and, with a lift of his briefcase, left my side. There's something alluring about this city all right – Sara's in it.

When I arrived at the baggage claim, I scanned the screens for my plane number. Looks like I arrived just in time, because the bags from my flight started to appear. I groaned when I remembered my suitcase was black – and so was everybody else's.

"… Oooh no." I pushed my way through the small crowd to the edge of the conveyor belt, my eyes jumping from bag to bag, "Geez… they all look the same."

"Natalie, my bag isn't here yet." I heard a familiar voice mutter behind me. Only, the last time I heard that voice was in Vegas, "It won't be here for another two minutes."

"Mr. Monk, how can you tell?" his friend was with him – I'd say they were a couple, but… something told me I was Wrong with a capital "W."

"Because. That black bag got on much earlier than my bags did."

"Which black bag?"

"That one… oh, you missed it. It just disappeared. There… it was there."

"How can you be so sure? They all look the same!"

"No they don't. That bag had a side zipper, as well as four pockets on the front – small on medium, then small on large."

"I… don't understand."

"That's fine."

The conversation was quite distracting; I returned my attention to the bags passing by: black, black, black, red – that was smart, black, black with a yellow tag – how helpful, black with a black tag – not as helpful, dark green, dark brown, black, black with a doll sticking out, pink polka dots – interesting, bl—doll sticking out!

I looked around anxiously for the bag with the doll. I saw it a few yards away, and pushed my way through the small crowd again to snatch it before it repeated its cycle.

"'Scuse me, Sir! Ma'am, pardon me… need to get my bag – it's right there, with the Hello Kitty – please…!" It's interesting how differently people seem to act already, in comparison with people in Vegas. These people are a whole lot more polite – or maybe it's just because I'm in an airport. Everything tends to look more civilized in an airport. I think it's because everything is so shiny.

In any case, I managed to get my suitcase and rolled it out of the airport, taking one last glance back towards the man, who apparently goes by "Mr. Monk," and his friend: she rushed forward and picked up one bag, then two, three, four… wow. That's a lot of bags.

Aside from getting many stares from inside the airport – I'm guessing it was Hello Kitty eyeing everyone that made them uncomfortable –, the journey to get outside was quick and not a hassle at all. My mission in San Francisco is clear: find Sara. Although, getting a room in a hotel wouldn't hurt. I whistled at an approaching taxi… but it passed me up. I watched it with a frown as it drove past. Looking back up the road I decided to try again.

I saw a taxi.

I whistled.

I got scolded by an elderly woman who smelled too strongly of perfume.

"What're you doing, thinking you can get a taxi before anyone else? Wait your turn!"

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't think –"

"Then maybe you should think next time!" And with that she waddled away. Looks like I was wrong about how kind the people generally were – and how "original" their retorts were – but I shouldn't judge a population by a few bad apples.

As another taxi came by, I ignored the lady's bickering and whistled again. Fortunately, the taxi stopped this time. Unfortunately, the lady returned.

"Do I have to tell you again?" Do I have to smell you again? Seriously, why do older women wear so much perfume? It's as if they're telling people not to purchase that particular scent, thinking if they ruin it for everyone else, it'll be "their" scent, and they'll have it all to themselves.

I opened the back door of the taxi and stuck my head inside. Aaah… cheap coffee and cigarettes never smelled so good.

"Hey, can you drive 'Granmama' to her lovely house on the hill? It's a bit too early for her, and she'd like to get some sleep."

"Sure thing," the taxi driver nodded and looked back at the old lady, who was staring at me – with anger or confusion I could not tell… not like either of those are good.

"Have a good day, 'Granmama.'" Waving, I turned on my heel and walked up the path a bit, finding a better spot along the boarding station. Not too long after did a taxi stop at my side. Thank you, Karma!

After paying the taxi driver and for my room in a Holiday Inn downtown, I realized how tight living in San Francisco was going to be. Fifty-some dollars paid just for the ride, and about one hundred bucks a night… I'm thinking the most I could stay here would be till the end of the year: about two weeks. Not that that isn't a long time. It's just… what if I can't find her?

I was able to get a hold of one of the local white pages and started searching for her – or her last name, anyway.

"Sidle… Sidle… Sidle…" I whispered to myself, running my finger down the pages of the "S"s, "… nothing." I pursed my lips and set the book on the desk of my room. It was now that I actually took in what my suite looked like: not that bad at all… it is clean, nice full size bed, good sized tv, those snacks in the mini fridge are pretty tempting…

And then it hit me: exhaustion. I rubbed my face with my hands, focusing on my eyes, and let out a groan.

"Boy, I'm tired…" I took off the messenger bag and fell forward onto my bed. As much as I wanted to find Sara, I didn't want to collapse at her feet when I'd find her. I fell asleep with the lovely image of not having to make my bed in the morning.