A/N: A big 'thank you' to shy-n-great, my wonderful beta. You were VERY helpful!

A/N 2: Anyone who takes a look at my profile can notice English is not my first language, so I guess it's fair to say that I dedicate this one to myself, because it's a reminder that I'm learning. Yeah, I'm still learning - but who isn't? So, guys, forgive my mistakes and tell me about them - POLITELY.

A/N 3: My Greg was the most perfect geek. And grew up in Vegas. And was born in 1980. And things don't really happen when they did in the series (even though I respect the order they happened). That's why it's an AU fanfic. And, if you have any problem with that, Alt+F4, please.


Prologue

There are few memories from my childhood that I remember better than the ones involving the guy who used to take care of me when my parents were out. And that's because, besides being my babysitter, he was also my neighbour and we had similar schedules - he had his advanced classes and debate groups, and I had ballet and ice-skating lessons.

His name was Gregory Hojem-Sanders, but everybody called him Greg. And the main reason why he was so unforgettable - at least until I was like 13 - is how his Organic Chemistry homeworks used to fascinate the poor innocent seven-year-old girl he took care of - me, obviously. And, of course, the fact that he used to do my Math homework for me - which, everyone knows, is pretty important to a child.

He was also the person who made me discover, before I was eight, words that, nowadays, make my life a hell, such as Ivy League, SATs, colleges, and careers. And it happened because, when I was eight, he was 18.

After managing to get in all the colleges he'd tried, Greg decided to go to Providence, Rhode Island, because he needed to study at Brown, even though it was across the country. I had four complicated years after Greg left. I had to learn Math, had no one I could talk to while I waited for the elevator and, the worst of all things, mommy and daddy hired a new babysitter for me - of course she didn't last too long, because I grew up and she became basically useless, but it was still a bit traumatic.

Then Greg finally came back, in summer, 2002. Now I'd say he was damn hot, but all I could say back then is that he was different from the geek I once knew. Of course he was still a little geek-ish; he had finished college and Police Academy at the same time, and he only came back to Vegas because he was offered a job in the crime lab, to work as a DNA analyst. I can't even think of anyone else who'd want to do such thing.

The only problem with that was the fact that his shift ended at the same hour I got up and he arrived home when I was leaving for school. But I envied him, because I've always been forced to go to bed early, and he got paid for staying up the whole night.

My parents decided we shouldn't get together anymore, because we lived in two different worlds. That probably was because Greg's job involved the worst kinds of human beings, or the reason was simply the fact that, every time he could, he was took new girl to his house. But I never cared about what my parents said and, every time Greg had a break and called me to go have some coffee - the only "grown-up drink" he used to drink when he was with me - at his place, I wouldn't hesitate before saying yes. I don't know how he managed to bear it, because a 23-year-old guy certainly had cooler things to do. But he seemed to like spending time with me. Being in touch with the innocence I still had and he, because of the people he met every single day, had completely lost.

Greg used those occasions to, once again, fascinate me with his life, telling me about what he did and the people he worked with. It took very little time until I knew everything about them. Catherine, a former exotic dancer who used to "wear nothing but skin" and started wearing fancy suits at her work in the lab. Warrick, the former gambling addicted who had light eyes almost genetically impossible for a black person. Nick, the nice guy who was always unlucky enough to get involved with the wrong girls. Grissom, the supervisor who, despite the fact that Greg really admired him, treated him like the most perfect lab-rat. And he spoke too much about Sara, the stupid woman who had the chance to go out with him and dumped him because of work. She did have some kind of problem; I'm pretty sure about it.

When I got into High School, he was finally authorized to work in the field. I can still remember him leaning against my doorframe, a huge smile on his face, while he told me the 'great news'. At half past six on a Monday morning. I'd certainly have killed him, if I weren't already up.

The most incredible part of it was that, even though he was working his ass off, he still had time to help me with school. He said he hadn't graduated as a Chemist to take pictures of crime scenes, but I knew it was a lie. But I simply couldn't learn Chemistry on my own, so I never tried to disagree with him.

My parents decided I was mature enough to deal with him - and were certain that this arrangement would be less expensive than paying a tutor -, so they allowed us to meet whenever we could, if it wasn't in school time. It was in one of these visits to his place that I had the opportunity to understand how he saw women - and to notice it wasn't very different from the way guys who were my age did.

We were studying in his living room when Greg's cell phone rang. He grabbed it, told me he'd be right back and left me alone, while he went to his bedroom. I went to the kitchen, looking for something to eat. And, when I opened his cereals cupboard, I found a (small) portion of his Playboy collection. Of course I'd already seen the magazines at newsstands, but I'd never seen it somewhere I could simply pick one and read it, if I wanted. So, I chose the first of the pile and opened it on the kitchen table.

"Jenny, what are…" Greg stopped talking when he saw the picture. Blushing for the first time in his whole life, he looked away, seeming unable to stop staring at me. And I knew it was because he felt as if the image I had of him was completely destroyed. "Gimme that!" he ordered, using his 'police' tone. "I don't want people to sue me because I'm letting a minor read those things!"

I closed the magazine and, in a childish manner, pushed it away from me. Greg sat down on a chair across the table. "I always thought you had a brain," I said.

"I do," he answered, looking a little worried about what I was thinking of him. "But it doesn't mean I'm not a guy."

"Yeah. You do not have a brain," I laughed sarcastically. "When the fact that I'm reading a magazine, that I decided I should read, becomes a reason to sue you, I'll do that myself. I promise!"

Greg gave me a beautiful shy smile. That was the first time I saw him as a man. And, from this moment on, I started wishing he'd see me as the gorgeous woman I was becoming. Maybe I decided to become a cheerleader in an attempt to make it happen. All I know for sure is that I was so anxious to let him know that I had passed the tests that I couldn't help knocking on his door right after I got home. And it was a very good experience.

He opened the door wearing only a white bath towel. Small water drops fell on his shoulders from his hair, running down his muscles and falling on the floor. I'd call 'a dream' a lot of images that are actually less sexy than that. But Greg didn't see me in a sexy way. And it was a perfect anti-aphrodisiac.

"I..." I couldn't stop looking at his arms and abs, and speaking was beyond what I was capable of. "Can I come in?" I wondered when he'd started working out. He'd never said anything about it. He stepped back, looking a little embarrassed. I sat on the couch, trying my best to look like the perfect innocent girl who studies in a very expensive private school - and, except for the whole 'perfect-and-innocent' thing, I was quite close to that.

"I'll just get dressed and... can you wait for me here?"

He went to his bedroom. I moved a little on the couch, looking for a more comfortable position, and then I fixed my skirt's folds. I threw the backpack on the floor and checked the time on my cell phone. Half past six. It was too soon for him to get ready for work.

"Have you come straight from school?" he asked, before appearing in the corridor, still closing (from the bottom to the top) the buttons of the navy-blue shirt he'd chosen to wear that night.

"I was practicing."

"Practicing?" He opened the refrigerator, took a bottle of water and sat down next to me.

"Practicing. I joined the cheerleaders' team."

"I always thought you had a brain," he answered, in the most sarcastic tone he could manage to use.

"I do. But I don't wanna be known as the geek of the year."

"If you wanna be known as the girl who slept with the entire Lacrosse team, then congratulations, you'll get there."

"You know, Greg, this is the exact way to make a poor little innocent girl think about sex. Come on, you should be happy for me! I got really excited when you began working at the field and, since then, I've been worried every single time you go to work, because I know you could be killed out there!"

"I'm happy for you. I swear. I just think that cheerleaders are too stereotyped to be anything other than a funny thing to do."

"Yeah, sure. And there are no stereotypes concerning cops?"

"I'm not the one who wears mini-skirts and tight sweaters. But, if you really wanna do that, and I know you do... I can't forbid you." He shook his shoulders, pretending he didn't care. "I guess I'll simply need to admit you're a grown up girl…"

'Admit you're a grown up girl.' Greg wasn't able to do it as quickly as he should've done. But, when I finally got my driver's license and was authorized by both the law and my parents to drive around, he was forced to change his mind.

We started meeting more often in the garage, when our schedules allowed. As time passed, Greg started waiting for me, no matter how tired he was, leaning against my car, wishing he had enough time to tell me how hard his night was. "You're my way to run away from that," he used to say. And I understood him, because the things he told me were almost scary. Despite that, I truly wanted to know everything about them.

My curiosity was the reason why I started waiting for Greg as well, until it was so late that, if I didn't leave, I'd miss the first class. When he arrived before I left, he used to blame the traffic, say I was late for school and ask me to visit him when I came home. Sometimes, he also looked at me differently, and I wouldn't visit him on those afternoons, because I wasn't sure I could handle being desired by him. Even though I was almost 17, I was still too young.

It was in one of those meetings that I truly discovered his ability to observe things that made him a good CSI. I had taken a little extra time getting ready and, by the time I finally got downstairs, he was already almost giving up waiting for me. I smiled at him, said a happy 'good morning' and, for the first time in my life, heard an answer that started with a 'mornin', Jen' and ended with 'you look pretty today'.

"Are you dating someone?" he asked, giving me a cup of coffee. I nodded, sipping the coffee and giving him the money to pay for it.

"Thanks. How did you know?"

"Only a boyfriend could make a woman take so much time paying attention to details. He asked you yesterday, didn't he?"

"Come on! Don't be such a spoilsport! Can you let me tell you my good news?"

"Sure I can. It's just that it's kinda obvious. Yesterday you didn't look so perfect. I just guessed…"

"Elementary, my dear Watson. You always guess everything. At least can you tell me if I'm looking good?"

"And late. And confused. Sherlock is the one who guesses. Watson only takes the pieces Sherlock gives him and tries to play with the puzzle," he stopped talking for a second, maybe thinking that he was really a little like Dr. Watson, "But you asked me if you looked good. I've already said so. Want me to repeat it, for your ego's sake?"

I thought his total inability to be serious was amazing. A small part of me believes that this is the reason why he couldn't do anything important at work, like interrogations, or go out with that Sara girl (but a bigger part of me would bet Sara's issue involved Grissom).

Unfortunately, even the nicest people have bad karma days. And Greg was certainly in one of those days when, just because he was trying to save a man's life, some crazy teenagers beat him almost to death. At least, that's what Grissom told me when, for my complete shock, he called me at 6am that day. Because Greg himself asked him to.

"Visitor hours are from three to five," Grissom informed me.

"Is this the only option?"

"Yeah, he told me something about you refusing to skip the cheerleader practicing. If you want to know the opinion of an old man who knows nothing about feelings-" it sounded almost ironic, in a way that didn't fit in with the 'Grissom' Greg had told me about "-it will be worthwhile to waste time taking care of someone you like."

"Grissom, can I ask you something?"

"Will I need a lawyer?" I could almost see his eyebrows raising the way Greg said they did every time he made jokes about his own job.

"No, you won't. I just wanted to know... it's just curiosity... uh... you and Sara... what's going on between you guys?"

"We have nothing going on," he answered in a defensive tone. There was no better way to admit he was lying.

"I won't tell your boss, you know? The most I can do is to tell Greg, but he's a smart guy who will end up finding out anyway."

"We have nothing going on," he repeated more firmly. "That's all you will hear from us. You're quite smart yourself, I know that. Put the evidence together. Any other questions?"

"Nope," I answered, smiling, "None." I hung up and got dressed, more carefully than the usual. I looked to the spot where Greg's silver Toyota wasn't parked. Feeling a little weird, I got in my car and drove to school. During the classes, all I could do was stare at the clock, watching as the seconds passed, wishing time would run faster so I could get to the hospital sooner. Grissom was right; we must take care of the people we like. And Greg had never hesitated in taking care of me, even when he didn't get paid for that. And I... well, I wouldn't get paid either. But it doesn't mean I had nothing to win.

When I got to the room where the nurse had told me Greg was, he was asleep. I took a chair, sat at the side of the bed and, carefully, caressed his hair. He opened his hazel eyes slowly.

"You came," he whispered.

"Why wouldn't I? You need a babysitter!" He looked at me, his expression revealing a deep wish of touching me, but he didn't dare to move. There was nothing in his body, not even a tiny part, that wasn't hurt. "How are you?"

"Desperate," he moaned, "I need morphine."

"Grissom called me."

"I know. I asked him to tell you. Didn't want you to miss school. He's a nice guy, isn't he?"

"I didn't speak to him that much. It seems you did a really good job expressing your concern about my class, because he hung up quickly. I only had time to ask him a question I've wanted to do for ages."

"And what question is that?"

"He and Sara are together, Greg," I said, solemnly. His eyes lost a little of their glow. "That's what I asked. And I will change my name to Ginevra if I misunderstood his answer." He forced himself to smile. "But it's very likely that I'll be able to keep my current name. I can tell you, she doesn't care about your feelings for her. If I was Sara, I'd have told you when things started." If I was Sara, things wih Grissom would never have started. But I couldn't say it to him.

"Jenny... how can you be so sure?"

"I put the evidence together, as Grissom told me to do," I smirked. "What's so special about her?"

"She's sort of my mentor. I guess you know what it means. Mentors tend to fascinate their pupils in a weird way, don't they?" He looked at me, moaning in pain, as he moved on the bed. "She's nine years older than me. Graduated in Harvard. Besides everything, she's a fucking genius!"

"And her boyfriend is a 50-year-old guy! You're 27. Can you see the difference here? He collects bugs, you collect Playboys. Want me to keep listing reasons why a workaholic geek like her wouldn't give a chance to the cool guy who loves a dominatrix?"

"I do not 'love a dominatrix'," he replied, angrily. I smirked again. If it was the only thing he disagreed with, he simply didn't wanna admit I was right. "I like her, Jenny."

"Maybe you should move on, Greg. Focus on someone who'd be able to cope with your lifestyle."

"Someone like you, maybe? You know, I'm pretty sure you're as good as a choice as she is." I didn't say a word. I hated being underestimated. Especially by him. "I'd like to ask you a favour-" another pause. He took a deep breath and proceeded, "On the table... take my keys and my wallet. Drive my Toyota home, please. It's at the PD's garage. Take a cab with the money and keep the change." I did what he asked me to do, before returning the chair to the place it was when I arrived.

"I'll let you rest. Get better soon, ok?" I walked to the exit. I had already left the room and was closing the door when he called my name.

"You look beautiful today."