A/N

This is fanfiction. Fiction written by a fan. The fan being me. The fiction being mine. The characters being those portrayed on CSI and owned by whoever makes all the nice money from them. This fic is completely AU and probably a bit OC so please stop now if that notions disturbs you.

Thanks to MichelleF for all the unconditional support and the many, many, many notes. Did I mention many? Smooches to Lostingintranlation, my newest beta. She also had many, many notes. See a pattern? As always thanks to Joan for listening to much bemoaning. Thanks to Fishy for reading the fist chapter even though it was most certainly not her cup of tea and thanks to Mel for giving a crap about this fic.

This has been on my hard drive in some form or another for at least a year. It's finally gotten to place where I like it enough.

I really do mean it. It's AU.

Did I mention it being AU?

AU I said!

Reality Alternate

Chapter One

Gil Grissom kept his head down as he walked down the dark corridor. When he came to the glass door, he waved at Tommy, the doorman. The young woman wore a black leather vest with matching pants slung low on her waist. One hip bone peeked out. She didn't have on any underwear. She rarely did.

A tiny tattoo that seemed to have an almost 3-D quality ran across her midsection. He could never make it out in the dark strip club, though he tried. She flitted here and there, making drinks from memory, and never consulting a book, even for the most obscure recipes. She remembered customers by name. She remembered how everyone liked their drinks. Martin liked Grey Goose. Troy wanted the cheap stuff, just enough to satisfy the two drink minimum. Doc, well Doc wanted whatever new recipe she wanted to try on him that night. Her real name was Sara, but most of the club patrons called her Sunshine, even though she rarely smiled or wore bright colors. There was still something inherently good about her: she was better than this place.

"She gonna know you are standing there, Doc."Gil smiled and handed George, the sinewy doorman, a new bill as he passed through the entryway. Good to have a bit of money. Good to be young and good looking. He felt as though he should be singing a show tune. Laughing at himself, he fairly bounced up to where the young woman served the drinks.

He took a seat at the corner where he could see the stage, but also see Sara. Mostly, it was so he could see Sara; the other women were just a bonus.

She grinned wide enough to show the gap between her two front teeth. "Hiya Doc. Got something special for you tonight." She made a gun with her fingers fired and blew fake smoke away.

"You always do, Gorgeous."

She pulled a cocktail shaker from somewhere down below. "Why do you call me that?"

"Why do you call me Doc?"

"'Cause you got one of those fancy schmancy degrees," she deadpanned. Her dark eyes caught the light and shone brightly.

"Well, if A plus B equals C on Monday it means the same thing on Tuesday."

"That's not true Doc. There may be varying conditions on Tuesday."

He smirked. She did that every now and then; let slip just how bright she was. But mostly she kept it light and only smiled for him, looking pretty and sweet. It was why he kept coming back.

"I call you Gorgeous because you are gorgeous."

"They must have fried your head up there in that school, Doc. I am a lot of things, but gorgeous, I am not. Otherwise they'd let me dance, instead of tend bar."

"You tried to dance here?" He took the martini glass she offered him.

"Yeah, they said I was too skinny. I told them I could gain some weight if I had a job. I got the job, but I'm still too skinny."

"Are you eating?" he asked, taking a sip that offered no taste.

"More than I was. I think I need more meat, though. I just haven't ever really cared for it. Every now and then, I want burger or a steak. But not too much."

He took another sip. God this was good. "What is this?"

"It's your special drink, Doc." She fired the imaginary gun again.

He wondered if he was being played, but quickly decided it didn't matter. Most women could play most men. "You should try some peanut butter, some eggs, some soy products. Prisoners eat a lot of peanut butter in jail to bulk up."

"How do you know about prison, Doc?" she asked, waving to another regular who slapped Gil on the back as he passed by.

"I am a criminalist."

"Oh, yeah," dhe said, pretending she had forgotten. He knew she never forgot anything He wished she didn't feel like she had to play him. She wouldn't know that, though, considering the time or the place.

"You gonna do it?" he asked.

"I got the damn GED, didn't I?" She rolled her eyes.

"I paid you to do that," he retorted. Over the past few months they had gotten to know one another. When he found out that she had dropped out of high school when she was fifteen, he paid her to just take the GED test without the classes. He was sure she could pass it with no prep, but he bought her a book just in case. She had laughed and said something about one more thing to do and not get paid. He produced one hundred dollars and told her there was another fifty when she passed.

She wiggled her eyebrows Groucho Marx style. "Can we make a deal about the protein?"

"We can make a deal that you will gain weight." She cocked her head. "The right way," he admonished. "By eating right and getting some exercise."

"How much weight?" she wanted to know.

"How much do you weigh right now?"

Sara cut her eyes left and right. She walked to wear Harvey, the muscle bound computer repairman, had settled and handed him a scotch and water that Gil had not seen her preparing.

"If I tell you, don't laugh, okay? You have to promise."

He started to laugh until he realized she was serious. He wondered about drug use, not for the first time. She leaned over and whispered a number into his ear. He leaned back and studied her. She was at least five foot eight.

"Gorgeous, you have to put on some weight. You don't even have any reserve if you get sick."

Sara called to Chubby, a slinky man of Persian decent that always looked slightly embarrassed. "Chubby you better get home to your wife. Didn't she tell you something about your balls in the freezer the last time?"

He hunched deeper in the leather booth.

She turned to Gil.

"I will pay you twenty for each pound you gain and I will pay your gym fees."

She snorted, not feeling like she had to bargain. Doc didn't hustle her. He was a straight shooter. She had often wondered just when he was going to follow her home and try to fuck her. She had already figured out how much she was going to charge: nothing. He had already been so good to her that she would let him have a piece for free, for a few months at least. Besides, she needed more experience with men. Marg, the lead act, had told her that the handsome doctor obviously wanted her. Marg had done some checking and found that he was financially solvent, earned a good living, wasn't addicted to anything (except maybe dark haired women), and he didn't have any kids or ex wives.

Gil

I could watch her for hours. I am making a fool out of myself and I know that. Hell, everyone knows it. She's just so... What? She's just a girl, but she's so... Chronologically, she's a woman but those toasted almond colored eyes and that smile. They all belong to the girl she was always afraid to be. I have turned it over and over in my mind, but there's just no way to approach her. No way to make myself not sound like a sleazy strip club patron. By virtue of the fact that I am here at least half the week there is bound to be a bit of sleaze that sticks to me. Melinda runs a classy joint but it's still a place where men pay to see naked women.

All the chandeliers and designer martinis in the world won't change that fact.

She is way too young for me. She has to be twenty one to work here. It's only a decade but 21 is a long way from 32. Women are supposed to be more mature than men. But it still feels like cradle robbing.

She's not like the other girls who work here. How many perps have I heard say that? I wish it was the Middle Ages and I could just pay off my sins ahead of time.

I am no angel. Never portrayed myself. as one. But I have always prided myself on the fact that I treat women properly. I have never been particularly interested in women more than a few years younger than myself. I don't taken advantage of my students like many of my colleagues do, even though the temptation has been there once or twiceI keep my hands to myself at work, though there is no rule that says a contractor can't date employees.

The one thing about me is that I am not so good at this whole monogamy thing. I've never lied about it. But it's cost me at least one wonderful woman over the years. I don't even want to contemplate that, and how much she looked like Sara.

I wave my hand for Sara to refill whatever she's trying out on me tonight.

Sara

He is very cute. Okay, so he's drop dead, slobbering, about to make a fool out of myself gorgeous. Luckily it's dark in here and he has yet to catch me staring at him when I should be cleaning up or memorizing new recipes. He sits there most nights where the lights catch his baby blues. He's got really dark hair like mine and curls like mine, too. I'm pretty sure he has a photographic memory as well, or at least close to it. I try not to make too much of the similarities. You know, fate and all that crap. That's for girls from the suburbs, who only have to worry about what to wear to the next frat party. I wish that's all I had to worry about.

He probably teaches girls like that. I'm a fucking idiot to think he would be the least bit interested in me, when Barbie and Jennifer are sitting in the front row with their perfect blond highlights, cut into the latest Jennifer Anniston style. I see girls like that when I'm at Walmart and I wonder what it must be like, to have a credit card that you don't have to worry about paying for? Or maybe they do pay the bill, but they don't have to worry about what will happen if they get sick or can't make the rent. There's someone there. They have a safety net.

There it is again. I don't want to consider my conversation with Marg, but I can't help it. She seems to think that Doc has a thing for me. Oh, he's got something for me all right. Mostly I figure it's only pity. Well, that's what I thought at first. Until I figured out that Doc doesn't really do pity. I think he just likes me. Not in a "hop in the bed" kind of way, but in a "remind him of his nerdy second cousin" kind of way.

At least, that's what I thought until last week. Now, I'm not so sure. I caught him staring last week. With his mouth hanging open. Not all goofy, like some of our patrons do when Marg hits the stage. No, this was ever so slight. Very subtle. Like he forgot himself for a second. After he realized that his mouth was open, he gave me a lopsided grin. I think I might've actually blushed. This fairytale business is too hard to figure out. I like mixing drinks better. At least there're directions.

"Sunshine. You need someone."

"Not a man. NO I don't. I don't NEED a man. I can take care of myself."

"You can't sling drinks forever."

"Why not?. I think I'm doing good," Sara murmured.

"You're doing okay and I admire you for it. But if you are going to get ahead, maybe go to school one day, you need someone to take up the slack. What's the use being pretty and smart if you have to work yourself to the bone just to get ahead?"

Sara didn't judge women that sold their bodies. You had to do what you had to do. Sara hadn't done it. She didn't want to do it, but life had taught her to never say never. "Marg I am not going to sell my ass. I won't say I never will, but it hasn't come to that yet."

"I never said anything about whoring. You are young and beautiful and any man would be happy to flaunt you around. You know? Pay the cost to be the boss. I'm talking about a stead y guy who takes care of things. That way you can sock away your own money for a rainy day. I'm not saying go with someone that you don't find attractive. Not like Cheryl, who's with that guy who's practically on oxygen. I see the heat between the two of you. Hell, you would've had to be blind not to see it. Okay, so if the idea of money makes you squeamish, maybe that Dr. Grissom can teach you a lot of things and give you access to places you wouldn't normally have access to. He's always in the paper at some party or another and people respect him. Just the other night I saw him on CNN talking about that husband that killed his family and got nabbed 'cause of the kind of bugs that were in his backyard. He can teach you things, Sunshine. He can teach you how to dress for a dinner party, how to order from the wine list. You're smart enough, and you pick up things easy."

Sara had looked at her skeptically. "That's what I got you for, Marg. You help me with that stuff."

Marg clucked for a bit. "Yeah, I know. But this guy - you would be on his arm. With your looks and smarts, it doesn't matter if you don't stay together forever. Once you're in the right circle, you are in. You're young enough that no one will ask where you came from."

"Why do I even care about that stuff?" Sara wanted to know.

"Sara, you don't want to tend bar the rest of your life do you?" Marg repeated

Sara shrugged. "I don't know."

"You're too smart for this. This way you can have other opportunities opened up to you."

"What kind of opportunities?"

"School. If not school, a husband who is well off and just wants a little baby doll to hang on his arm. Wouldn't it be nice to just stay home and read all the books you want or just go to playgroup or invite your book group over to talk about those Alice Walker books you love some much."

Sara looked down and then back at Marg. "People do that? I mean, they have groups to talk about books."

"Yeah. They have lists up all the time in the bookstores and community papers. My Mom is in one."

Marg could see she was finally making some headway. "And he's on the ballet board. That means he's got to go to all the performances."

Sara had only gone to the ballet once in her life, when she was a girl scout. They went to see the Nutcracker. "Doesn't mean he would take me."

"Sara, if you saw what everyone else can see, you'd know that he'd be thrilled to take you anywhere. You don't have to be a barracuda about it, just be open to it."

"I don't want to depend on a man. That's how my mom ended up in jail. I don't want to do that."

"Think about what you want. What you need. In order for women like us to get out of this life, we gotta have a plan, Sunshine. Get a plan and work it. 'K?"

Sara had agreed, but not entirely sure that she would be able to pull it off.

Sara snapped out of her musing and looked at the man in front of her.

"I don't want to go to a gym, Doc. I don't like being cooped up. They do have yoga in the park. I always wanted to do that. Maybe if I get limber they'll let me on stage. Yeah, that's a good deal, Doc. I gain some weight. Work on my bod. They have to let me on stage don't they, Doc?"

He took another sip. "I will consider it an investment then."

She smiled and moved away to check on Bill Freeman's watered down soda.

TBC