I wrote this in one sitting. I don't normally write pieces like this,
pieces that delve into the past of the characters, but for some reason I
found it very therapeutic today. Generally, I like writing about already
established characters without changing them, in the format that they were
intended for. But someone suggested that perhaps Gris and Sara met online,
so I changed the idea a bit and came up with this. Enjoy!
It was good to have a roommate that was a major in computer science, Sara thought. She sat on her bed with her notes in her lap, staring out the window at the students running through the library. She imagined that some of them were going to do what she was about to do—type up her term paper.
Finished organizing her notes, Sara set them on the desk and booted up the computer her roommate let her use. It had recently been outfitted with a modem. During what free time Sara had, she had begun discovering the wonders of Bulletin Board Systems and websites. It was like a treasure hunt for her, finding the places to connect to. She had learned that all of the people who frequented the places she did were interesting—anyone who had the dedication and intelligence level to work with the still-developing technology had a wealth of knowledge to pass on and stories to share. And Sara, a senior at Harvard, fit right in.
She opened up a new word processing document and typed her name and the date the paper was due in one corner. Under that, she typed the title: "The Role of Biological Studies in the Developing Field of Genetic Engineering." She smiled to herself. Several weeks before it was due, and she could honestly say that she had already started writing it.
Several hours later, she had made considerable progress, but she found herself stuck. I should have known not to leave holes in my research, Sara mused. Looking out the window, she realized it was still raining, and she did not relish a trip to the library. Frustrated, she decided to take a break, and got up to get a drink of water while she let the computer log onto a favorite BBS of hers—one dedicated to biology, her chosen major. She browsed through some of the more recent posts, responding when she had something to contribute. After reading one that concerned a topic similar to what she had been writing about, she got an idea. She started a new thread and began to type:
Hey, everyone. I'm working on my term paper, but I'm somewhat stuck. I can't find that much on the use of insects in laboratory research that involve genetic material. I know that they're used commonly, as they reproduce quickly and numerously and have short lifespans, but I need to expand on this. Any help would be greatly appreciated!
Thanks, S. Sidle
She posted the message and shrugged. It was worth a shot, anyway.
The next day, she returned from her economics class mentally exhausted. She threw herself onto her bed and covered her head with her pillow, unsuccessfully trying to drown out the sounds of the stereo blasting in the next room. Glancing up, she noticed the soft glow from the computer screen and realized that she had left it on the day before. She got up to turn it off, but as she reached for the switch she remembered the post she had made to the BBS and changed her mind. Logging on instead, she wondered what the chances were that someone had already responded. Surprisingly, one new post awaited her.
I've been lurking here for a while and was glad to see something I actually knew a bit about…
It began, going on to cover the use of insects in surprising depth. Not having a printer accessible, Sara grabbed a notebook and began to take notes. Remembering that she had been requested her phone number and address when she joined the BBS, she looked to see if this poster had information available. She scribbled down his name—Gil Grissom—and his phone number in the margin of her notes.
Several weeks later, Sara found herself still awake fairly late at night, typing ferociously. She still had three days before her paper was due, but she knew she needed to let the thing rest before she could go back and edit it, and she felt pressured to finish it soon. Returning to the paragraph on insects, Sara realized that her facts were still sparse. She reached for her notebook and flipped through the pages until she found the notes she had taken from the bulletin board post. The information was complete, but it was also completely unsubstantiated. Discouraged, she scanned the notes, wondering how she could use the information in her paper, when she noticed that she recognized the area code in the phone number she had written down. It was definitely a San Francisco phone number. Sara grinned. There was a three-hour time difference; it wasn't too late to call this guy.
She reached for her phone and dialed the number, her hands shaking slightly. She had always hated talking on the phone. The line on the other end ringed three times before being answered by a rather rough-sounding voice.
"Grissom."
"Um, Mr. Grissom?" Sara's voice wavered slightly.
"Yes? Who's speaking?"
"I'm sorry—this is Sara Sidle, you responded to a post at a BBS a few weeks ago on insects.."
"Oh!"
Sara could tell that he wasn't sure what she had meant by the first part of her sentence, but the word 'insects' got his attention. She took a deep breath, and continued slightly more confidently, knowing a little more about the person with whom she was speaking.
"I'm in the middle of writing my paper right now, and the information you gave me is really helpful. I was wondering if you could cite some of your sources for me… so I could substantiate the information."
He helped her for a good quarter of an hour, spelling out author's names and rattling off even the publishers, Sara could tell, from memory. She did that too, sometimes, and the thought that she wasn't the only one who did made her smile.
"Thanks so much," she said, when he had finished with the litany of names and titles.
"So, where do you go to school?" the voice on the other end of the phone questioned. Sara was slightly startled—she hadn't expected the conversation to continue.
"Oh, I go to Harvard." She was self-consciously aware the implications that had. "I'm a biology major."
"I'm not surprised. You come across as very bright."
Even though she was on the other side of the continent from this Gil Grissom, Sara still had to blush at the comment. "I'm sorry I called you so late," she said, not sure what the right response was. "It's got to be... 11 your time, by now."
"That's ok, I'm used to late nights. I'm surprised you knew the time difference though. How'd you know I'm out west?"
"Oh, I recognized the area code—I'm from the bay area, myself. I'll be hopefully moving back there when I graduate this spring."
"Really? What are you planning to do?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"Well, you've still got plenty of time. I know I wasn't sure when I was your age."
"What is it that you do?"
"Oh, I'm—I'm a criminalist. A crime scene investigator."
Something about those three words had an aura of intrigue, excitement, and mystery when Sara heard them. She was automatically drawn in, and when she finally hung up the phone two hours later, she had been told stories of serial killers, fratricide, and freak accidents, and had learned to refer to her insect expert as simply Gil.
Her paper wasn't finished that night, but she turned it in with plenty of time to spare nonetheless. Her paragraphs covering the use of insects were by far the strongest, thanks to Gil's help. Her greatest interest was no longer simple biology, however. Her long-distance calls became common, and whenever she needed something to keep her going she'd call Gil up and let him tell her about his newest case. He'd listen patiently as she told him her opinions of each victim and suspect, and when one day Gil told her that her instincts had been right, she felt a sudden rush unlike anything she'd felt before.
Graduation passed in a blur, and before she knew it Sara had left Logan airport in a 747, humming "California, Here I Come." She secretly loved flying west because of the way that she felt she was given three hours like a present. She left at 11:00 am and arrived at 1:00 in the afternoon. Her parents were standing at the terminal waiting for her, showering her with gifts and congratulations. They hadn't been able to attend her graduation, but were eager to take her out for a nice dinner in celebration.
She had fun, but she was anxious for the night two days later when she'd scheduled to meet Gil in person for the first time. She hadn't told her parents—she knew that Gil was fifteen years her senior, and she didn't care. To her, he was just an older role model that had done something with his life she was quickly realizing seemed to be her own vocation, but her parents might not see things she did. The day finally came, and she set off to the Cheesecake Factory in downtown San Fran—her favorite restaurant. After climbing the escalator as quickly as she could, she glanced around nervously before seeing a man slightly removed from the rest of the crowd she was sure was for who she was looking. She walked over confidently, but her voice was more timid than she had anticipated. "Gill Grissom?"
The man smiled, and once again, she realized that her instincts had been correct. "Sara Sidle?" he responded.
They had a long, leisurely lunch, catching up on everything that had happened in the past few days, since their last phone call had been over a week ago. Several new cases had presented themselves, and Gil carefully laid out the details of each for Sara, who quickly picked up on the same clues Gil had used to formulate his hunches. Over cheesecake, which occupied most of their attention, he got Sara to put her fork down long enough to listen to a proposal he had—would she like to join him at the San Francisco forensics department? He knew there was an opening, and his supervisor was more than happy to meet Sara, from what Gil had passed on about her. Sara was ecstatic.
The interview was arranged for a week later, and Sara was immediately hired and put to work. The job was everything she had expected and more. It was truly part of her blood—organizing the pieces of the puzzle, putting it all together, and having the satisfaction of knowing that she had helped the survivors of the crime.
Gil had quickly taken her under his wing, teaching her all the skills she needed. She proved, as he knew she would, to be a quick and eager learner. He told her to call him 'Mr. Grissom,' like the rest of their team did; the group was lose and not very close, though they worked twelve hour shifts together three times a week. Even so, the others on their shift started calling Sara "Gil's little protégé," alluding to something more than friendship between the two, and teasing her for being too smart for her own good—something that Sara was already used to, and almost expected, having come fresh from Harvard.
She shrugged off the rumors, knowing that she did share a special friendship with Gil. She was the kind of person that didn't make friends easily, though when she did, they were closer than most friends and remained so for a long time. If she had a bond with a man fifteen years her senior—well, it was fate, she thought.
Meanwhile, Sara's relationship with her parents deteriorated from a closeness they shared right after her return to the friction that they had experienced throughout the first 18 years of Sara's life. She found herself running from her home, using the cases she was working on as an excuse for working overtime. She was not surprised to find Gil there on several occasions, and they would spend hours going over evidence together, cataloging prints and swabs, and doing paperwork. They developed a sort of double relationship, addressing each other formally by day but familiarly by night.
They were carefully studying clothing collected from a crime scene one night searching for fibers, fooling around with the ALS—Sara's 'new toy,' as she called it—when their supervisor came in to finalize the paperwork of a recently closed case. Excitedly probing an incriminating strand of thread with her tweezers, Sara called Gil over to see, almost forgetting that they weren't alone. "G—Grissom!" she amended, before she could be accused of knowing her co-worker too well. The name stuck.
It became Sara and Grissom's inside joke, though soon Gil was being addressed the same way by the whole team. It made Sara feel special, knowing that she had left a sort of mark on Grissom—she had given him a nickname.
It was insane almost, she thought, but since that night she felt a change between them. There was no longer just a camaraderie or unspoken bond; there was a real... connection, something almost tangible. She privately began to rethink the rumors that had been spreading around the office before. Were they really just friends? Did she see him as just a friend? What did he think?
She had been debating whether to approach him or not for several days when he asked if they could talk. At first, her knees felt slightly week, like they had that time in high school right before the senior prom, when she had actually been asked to go… but it was soon clear that this conversation was nothing akin to the one before the prom.
"Sara," Grissom began, "I thought you should be the first to know that I've been asked to join a night shift out in Las Vegas."
"Really? So, you're leaving here, then?"
"It's an incredible opportunity. They've been planning to increase the budget out there, make some really big changes, and lower the crime rate. A friend of mine out there, Jim Brass, asked me to come help. He thinks I'll be a big asset. This is a big step up for me."
"Well, congratulations, Grissom." Sara tried to sound sincere. "But you know, the lab needs you here, too."
"I know," he responded. "I promise we'll keep in touch. We can swap details on our cases. Two heads are better than one, even across state lines."
"Of course," Sara replied, a numbness setting in. "Um… since your moving, does your tarantula need a new home?" She knew that she was just trying to keep him talking, that she sensed the finality that this conversation represented.
"I was planning on taking him with me, but if you'd like, you can tarantula- sit, I suppose."
Sara smiled slightly at this. A tarantula wasn't a great replacement for Grissom, and she knew he'd never understand exactly how she felt about the news, but this told her exactly how much he trusted her, and that alone was worth it. Who knows, she thought. If he's leaving me the tarantula, maybe he'll be back.
"I'd like that."
It was good to have a roommate that was a major in computer science, Sara thought. She sat on her bed with her notes in her lap, staring out the window at the students running through the library. She imagined that some of them were going to do what she was about to do—type up her term paper.
Finished organizing her notes, Sara set them on the desk and booted up the computer her roommate let her use. It had recently been outfitted with a modem. During what free time Sara had, she had begun discovering the wonders of Bulletin Board Systems and websites. It was like a treasure hunt for her, finding the places to connect to. She had learned that all of the people who frequented the places she did were interesting—anyone who had the dedication and intelligence level to work with the still-developing technology had a wealth of knowledge to pass on and stories to share. And Sara, a senior at Harvard, fit right in.
She opened up a new word processing document and typed her name and the date the paper was due in one corner. Under that, she typed the title: "The Role of Biological Studies in the Developing Field of Genetic Engineering." She smiled to herself. Several weeks before it was due, and she could honestly say that she had already started writing it.
Several hours later, she had made considerable progress, but she found herself stuck. I should have known not to leave holes in my research, Sara mused. Looking out the window, she realized it was still raining, and she did not relish a trip to the library. Frustrated, she decided to take a break, and got up to get a drink of water while she let the computer log onto a favorite BBS of hers—one dedicated to biology, her chosen major. She browsed through some of the more recent posts, responding when she had something to contribute. After reading one that concerned a topic similar to what she had been writing about, she got an idea. She started a new thread and began to type:
Hey, everyone. I'm working on my term paper, but I'm somewhat stuck. I can't find that much on the use of insects in laboratory research that involve genetic material. I know that they're used commonly, as they reproduce quickly and numerously and have short lifespans, but I need to expand on this. Any help would be greatly appreciated!
Thanks, S. Sidle
She posted the message and shrugged. It was worth a shot, anyway.
The next day, she returned from her economics class mentally exhausted. She threw herself onto her bed and covered her head with her pillow, unsuccessfully trying to drown out the sounds of the stereo blasting in the next room. Glancing up, she noticed the soft glow from the computer screen and realized that she had left it on the day before. She got up to turn it off, but as she reached for the switch she remembered the post she had made to the BBS and changed her mind. Logging on instead, she wondered what the chances were that someone had already responded. Surprisingly, one new post awaited her.
I've been lurking here for a while and was glad to see something I actually knew a bit about…
It began, going on to cover the use of insects in surprising depth. Not having a printer accessible, Sara grabbed a notebook and began to take notes. Remembering that she had been requested her phone number and address when she joined the BBS, she looked to see if this poster had information available. She scribbled down his name—Gil Grissom—and his phone number in the margin of her notes.
Several weeks later, Sara found herself still awake fairly late at night, typing ferociously. She still had three days before her paper was due, but she knew she needed to let the thing rest before she could go back and edit it, and she felt pressured to finish it soon. Returning to the paragraph on insects, Sara realized that her facts were still sparse. She reached for her notebook and flipped through the pages until she found the notes she had taken from the bulletin board post. The information was complete, but it was also completely unsubstantiated. Discouraged, she scanned the notes, wondering how she could use the information in her paper, when she noticed that she recognized the area code in the phone number she had written down. It was definitely a San Francisco phone number. Sara grinned. There was a three-hour time difference; it wasn't too late to call this guy.
She reached for her phone and dialed the number, her hands shaking slightly. She had always hated talking on the phone. The line on the other end ringed three times before being answered by a rather rough-sounding voice.
"Grissom."
"Um, Mr. Grissom?" Sara's voice wavered slightly.
"Yes? Who's speaking?"
"I'm sorry—this is Sara Sidle, you responded to a post at a BBS a few weeks ago on insects.."
"Oh!"
Sara could tell that he wasn't sure what she had meant by the first part of her sentence, but the word 'insects' got his attention. She took a deep breath, and continued slightly more confidently, knowing a little more about the person with whom she was speaking.
"I'm in the middle of writing my paper right now, and the information you gave me is really helpful. I was wondering if you could cite some of your sources for me… so I could substantiate the information."
He helped her for a good quarter of an hour, spelling out author's names and rattling off even the publishers, Sara could tell, from memory. She did that too, sometimes, and the thought that she wasn't the only one who did made her smile.
"Thanks so much," she said, when he had finished with the litany of names and titles.
"So, where do you go to school?" the voice on the other end of the phone questioned. Sara was slightly startled—she hadn't expected the conversation to continue.
"Oh, I go to Harvard." She was self-consciously aware the implications that had. "I'm a biology major."
"I'm not surprised. You come across as very bright."
Even though she was on the other side of the continent from this Gil Grissom, Sara still had to blush at the comment. "I'm sorry I called you so late," she said, not sure what the right response was. "It's got to be... 11 your time, by now."
"That's ok, I'm used to late nights. I'm surprised you knew the time difference though. How'd you know I'm out west?"
"Oh, I recognized the area code—I'm from the bay area, myself. I'll be hopefully moving back there when I graduate this spring."
"Really? What are you planning to do?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"Well, you've still got plenty of time. I know I wasn't sure when I was your age."
"What is it that you do?"
"Oh, I'm—I'm a criminalist. A crime scene investigator."
Something about those three words had an aura of intrigue, excitement, and mystery when Sara heard them. She was automatically drawn in, and when she finally hung up the phone two hours later, she had been told stories of serial killers, fratricide, and freak accidents, and had learned to refer to her insect expert as simply Gil.
Her paper wasn't finished that night, but she turned it in with plenty of time to spare nonetheless. Her paragraphs covering the use of insects were by far the strongest, thanks to Gil's help. Her greatest interest was no longer simple biology, however. Her long-distance calls became common, and whenever she needed something to keep her going she'd call Gil up and let him tell her about his newest case. He'd listen patiently as she told him her opinions of each victim and suspect, and when one day Gil told her that her instincts had been right, she felt a sudden rush unlike anything she'd felt before.
Graduation passed in a blur, and before she knew it Sara had left Logan airport in a 747, humming "California, Here I Come." She secretly loved flying west because of the way that she felt she was given three hours like a present. She left at 11:00 am and arrived at 1:00 in the afternoon. Her parents were standing at the terminal waiting for her, showering her with gifts and congratulations. They hadn't been able to attend her graduation, but were eager to take her out for a nice dinner in celebration.
She had fun, but she was anxious for the night two days later when she'd scheduled to meet Gil in person for the first time. She hadn't told her parents—she knew that Gil was fifteen years her senior, and she didn't care. To her, he was just an older role model that had done something with his life she was quickly realizing seemed to be her own vocation, but her parents might not see things she did. The day finally came, and she set off to the Cheesecake Factory in downtown San Fran—her favorite restaurant. After climbing the escalator as quickly as she could, she glanced around nervously before seeing a man slightly removed from the rest of the crowd she was sure was for who she was looking. She walked over confidently, but her voice was more timid than she had anticipated. "Gill Grissom?"
The man smiled, and once again, she realized that her instincts had been correct. "Sara Sidle?" he responded.
They had a long, leisurely lunch, catching up on everything that had happened in the past few days, since their last phone call had been over a week ago. Several new cases had presented themselves, and Gil carefully laid out the details of each for Sara, who quickly picked up on the same clues Gil had used to formulate his hunches. Over cheesecake, which occupied most of their attention, he got Sara to put her fork down long enough to listen to a proposal he had—would she like to join him at the San Francisco forensics department? He knew there was an opening, and his supervisor was more than happy to meet Sara, from what Gil had passed on about her. Sara was ecstatic.
The interview was arranged for a week later, and Sara was immediately hired and put to work. The job was everything she had expected and more. It was truly part of her blood—organizing the pieces of the puzzle, putting it all together, and having the satisfaction of knowing that she had helped the survivors of the crime.
Gil had quickly taken her under his wing, teaching her all the skills she needed. She proved, as he knew she would, to be a quick and eager learner. He told her to call him 'Mr. Grissom,' like the rest of their team did; the group was lose and not very close, though they worked twelve hour shifts together three times a week. Even so, the others on their shift started calling Sara "Gil's little protégé," alluding to something more than friendship between the two, and teasing her for being too smart for her own good—something that Sara was already used to, and almost expected, having come fresh from Harvard.
She shrugged off the rumors, knowing that she did share a special friendship with Gil. She was the kind of person that didn't make friends easily, though when she did, they were closer than most friends and remained so for a long time. If she had a bond with a man fifteen years her senior—well, it was fate, she thought.
Meanwhile, Sara's relationship with her parents deteriorated from a closeness they shared right after her return to the friction that they had experienced throughout the first 18 years of Sara's life. She found herself running from her home, using the cases she was working on as an excuse for working overtime. She was not surprised to find Gil there on several occasions, and they would spend hours going over evidence together, cataloging prints and swabs, and doing paperwork. They developed a sort of double relationship, addressing each other formally by day but familiarly by night.
They were carefully studying clothing collected from a crime scene one night searching for fibers, fooling around with the ALS—Sara's 'new toy,' as she called it—when their supervisor came in to finalize the paperwork of a recently closed case. Excitedly probing an incriminating strand of thread with her tweezers, Sara called Gil over to see, almost forgetting that they weren't alone. "G—Grissom!" she amended, before she could be accused of knowing her co-worker too well. The name stuck.
It became Sara and Grissom's inside joke, though soon Gil was being addressed the same way by the whole team. It made Sara feel special, knowing that she had left a sort of mark on Grissom—she had given him a nickname.
It was insane almost, she thought, but since that night she felt a change between them. There was no longer just a camaraderie or unspoken bond; there was a real... connection, something almost tangible. She privately began to rethink the rumors that had been spreading around the office before. Were they really just friends? Did she see him as just a friend? What did he think?
She had been debating whether to approach him or not for several days when he asked if they could talk. At first, her knees felt slightly week, like they had that time in high school right before the senior prom, when she had actually been asked to go… but it was soon clear that this conversation was nothing akin to the one before the prom.
"Sara," Grissom began, "I thought you should be the first to know that I've been asked to join a night shift out in Las Vegas."
"Really? So, you're leaving here, then?"
"It's an incredible opportunity. They've been planning to increase the budget out there, make some really big changes, and lower the crime rate. A friend of mine out there, Jim Brass, asked me to come help. He thinks I'll be a big asset. This is a big step up for me."
"Well, congratulations, Grissom." Sara tried to sound sincere. "But you know, the lab needs you here, too."
"I know," he responded. "I promise we'll keep in touch. We can swap details on our cases. Two heads are better than one, even across state lines."
"Of course," Sara replied, a numbness setting in. "Um… since your moving, does your tarantula need a new home?" She knew that she was just trying to keep him talking, that she sensed the finality that this conversation represented.
"I was planning on taking him with me, but if you'd like, you can tarantula- sit, I suppose."
Sara smiled slightly at this. A tarantula wasn't a great replacement for Grissom, and she knew he'd never understand exactly how she felt about the news, but this told her exactly how much he trusted her, and that alone was worth it. Who knows, she thought. If he's leaving me the tarantula, maybe he'll be back.
"I'd like that."