A/N: This is in response to GSRFO's new challenge of 2011. I'm using the beach vacation as my prompt. It's a bit out there, but hopefully you'll like it. I'll be waiting for your responses to see if you do!

Sara is sent on a secret Valentine vacation to a beachfront cottage. She's soon followed by an unsuspecting Grissom who takes up residence in the very next building. Their unplanned time away from Vegas is complicated when two slightly dead cupids take a difficult try at matchmaking.

The Haunting of Pale Moon

Chapter One

"Welcome to Pale Moon Cottages!" The man showing Sara into the small white house was so enthusiastic that Sara just wanted to punch him! "I hope you have a good time here! Vacations are always . . . exciting at the Pale Moon."

Vacation. Whoever had this brilliant idea ought to be burned at the stake—or at least burned out in the desert sun of Nevada. "You, Sara Sidle, have won an all-expense-paid vacation to . . . the beach!" She had to smile at that one. The beach. Right. What beach did that happen to be? The pristine sands of Hawaii? The surfing paradise of California? Maybe even a little wave-action down at the Gulf? No? What about basking in the sun at the Atlantic? No. The beach-vacation "she" won is. . .along Lake Mead. Lovely.

She sighed heavily as she put her single piece of luggage down on the bed and looked around the cottage. Single bedroom, small kitchen, smaller bathroom and a medium-sized living/sitting room. She liked the front porch—she had to admit that. It faced the water and . . . sand. She even liked the back porch. It faced . . . trees. Another sigh.

"Exciting," she said dully. "Along the edge of Lake Mead."

"Oh, don't let the area fool you! Surely, you've heard of our reputation! That's why most people come here—to see it for themselves."

"I—don't understand. I won this trip on a raffle at work. I've never even heard of the Pale Moon Cottages until I saw my gift certificate."

"I see. Well, then, I must warn you. The Pale Moon is famous for its . . . nighttime activities."

"Nighttime activities?" She raised a brow at him, noting that there was only one other building located within sight and that was a twin cottage only a stone's throw away.

"Yes, ma'am! We're renowned for our residential apparitions. Some people call them Romeo and Juliet; some call them Antony and Cleopatra; some even call them Bill and Monica! But me, I just call them the Cupids. If you see them—you don't leave unscathed!"

"You're serious—aren't you?" She looked at him skeptically.

"You don't believe me," he chuckled then went for the front door. "That's alright. Time will tell. Time will certainly tell."

Sara watched him walk down the porch steps and get into his pickup truck then drive away. "Great! Now I'm going to be haunted by two ghosts who ended up either killing themselves or becoming national celebrities for being idiots!"

She recalled how she managed to get into this mess and as usual felt a pang of heartbreak.

"You need to find a diversion," Grissom had told her. "Go! They pulled your name out of the hat. Get some rest and revitalize yourself."

"Some diversion," Sara thought as she pulled her white baseball cap from her curls then flopped down onto the bed, "I get to stare at the ceiling all week!"

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"Oooooo, lookie at this one, Jenny!" Richard Arthur Pendleton the third, of Pendleton's Fine Furniture, told his beautiful companion of the past eight-five years, a Miss Jeanette Martha Spencer of the R. J. Spencer Publishing Company family. "She's absolutely beautiful!"

Jeanette (or Jenny, as Richard called her) made her way to the window sill and looked inside. "Beautiful, Dickie? I think you better rephrase that!"

"Well, certainly not as beautiful as you, my love," he quickly corrected himself as he looked at the blonde woman he always thought resembled Jean Harlow. He looked back at his reflection in the window and straightened his bow tie, looking as debonair as always. He always did fancy himself as a William Powell-type. "But she is attractive."

"A lot of good it will do us. We've got one more couple to unite and she has to show up by herself! HE was supposed to be in the other cottage. How are we ever going to be allowed to move on if we can't even get her to fall in love?" She breathed on the glass and fogged it slightly then wiped at it. "DICKIE! Will you stop looking at yourself and answer me?"

"But she's already in love, Jenny," he said nonchalantly as he brushed his mustache back. "We saw that when we drove into town. She absolutely swoons every time he's near. You heard her thoughts. You know what she'd like to do to him and what she'd like him to do to her! Jeez Louise, Jenny! It was so strong we didn't have any choice but to pick them."

"And you very nearly dropped the ticket when you reached into that boy's hand and picked it!" She turned to look at him again, this time swatting his hand away from his whiskers and bringing a charming smile to his lips.

"I couldn't help it! He felt me! I didn't think he'd be able to feel me! He looked so. . .dense." Dickie looked back through the window at Sara as she lay staring up at the ceiling. "What was his name? Craig?"

"No—it was Greg. And you "know" those simple-minded ones are always more sensitive to us than the others."

"That woman didn't feel "you" when you pulled the other ticket out."

"She's a mother, Dickie. Mother's minds are always full of other things. They're too busy to look into strange little sensations like being controlled by a simple little ghost like me."

"I "like" their idea of a Valentine's Day raffle! And I think it was especially ingenious of us to have Kleinfeld send that extra ticket. I don't think it would've worked if they would've only been pulling one ticket—but the way they were pulling one every day for a week was ingenious! And keeping it a secret! No one knew what the other was getting! We can't lose, Jenny! I can tell! We're on our way!"

"I don't know. He seems so. . .isolated! Almost the exact opposite of her. She's so explosive we can see the heat radiating from her. He's . . . on the other hand . . . almost a cold fish."

"But he loves her, diddums," he crooned into her ear. "Just like Pappa Bear loves his little pookey."

She giggled and brushed him away as his mustache was tickling her. "Oh, stop it, Dickie. We've got some work to do if we plan on having a successful union by the end of the week."

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"What do you mean—I won a vacation?" Grissom eyed Catherine as she stood in front of his desk, holding a gift certificate for Pale Moon Cottages on Lake Mead. "I didn't even enter!"

"Didn't have to," Catherine told him. "It was put in automatically. Come on, take the vacation. You made Sara take five days off. Now, "I'm" making "you."

"I "am" still "your" supervisor—you do realize that."

"Not while you're on leave of absence."

"Now it's a leave of absence? A minute ago it was merely a five-day vacation."

"You choose. Either you go voluntarily or I'll get Conrad to write you up for a five-day suspension."

"On what grounds?" He asked with amusement as he leaned back in his chair to look at her.

"On the grounds that you're falling behind in everyone's evaluations—again! On the grounds that you neglected to send in the forms for Greg's and Nick's seminar on extensive blood spatter they've been counting on for the past six weeks. On the grounds that Warrick is still waiting for his time off to be approved so he can take a few days to spend with his grandmother. AND, on the grounds that you're becoming an absolute bear because you've been working nonstop for the past six months. You need this vacation, Gil! And we're not going to take no for an answer."

"And you think Conrad will just write me up because you guys think I'm being grumpy."

Catherine pulled her cell from her pocket and speed-dialed a number then held it out for Grissom to hear as Ecklie's voice came over the phone. "Catherine thought you'd give her trouble on this, Gil. So, I'll tell you straight out. Either you go on a short vacation so you can get your shit together, or I'll sign you off on a five-day suspension. Catherine and the guys can cover everything for the next week and what they can't, I'll get swing shift to step in and help with. You're falling behind and although that isn't completely out of character for you, it's time you take a break from it. I need you back here with a fresh head."

"And going on a paid-vacation will give me a fresh head?" Grissom said loud enough for Ecklie to hear.

"No arguing on this, Grissom. You're out of here—starting tonight. Finish your shift then go rejuvenate."

Catherine smiled at Grissom as she snapped her phone closed, clearly having gotten her way. Grissom looked back at her.

"So, how is it that "I" win the vacation—and Ecklie decides this is the perfect time for me to leave for a week?"

"Coincidence?" She shrugged her shoulders then placed the envelope on his desk and turned and walked back out the door. "Ecklie and I were having a minor discussion yesterday, before we pulled Sara's name. This seemed to fit into our plans perfectly."

"So where am I going, Catherine?" He called after her, barely glancing at the envelope as he picked it up.

"Don't know. Don't care. All the prizes are secret except their generalization. Envelope says ABC Travel Agency so it must be another trip—just like Sara's." She stopped and looked back at him. "Wouldn't that be crazy if they . . .no. . .that would be too bizarre."

Grissom watched as she walked down the hall, laughing to herself. He looked down at the white envelope with red and blue letters spelling out ABC Travel Agency then black handwritten lettering across the bottom stating "donation to LVCSI Lab." He took a deep breath and slipped his finger under the flap, tore the paper then pulled the certificate from its confines. "Seven days at Pale Moon Cottages on Lake Mead."

Great—Sara gets sent to a beach somewhere and he gets sent to a local lake. He sighed heavily. Well, if he had to go anywhere—why not some quiet cottage along the shores of a quiet lake. At least, that's what the brochure said. It looked quiet enough. Who knows, maybe he could finally get caught up on all the journals he's received in the mail over the past few months that have been piling up in his office at home.

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"Oh, my," Jenny sighed as she sat on the limb of a tree just outside Sara's neighboring cottage. She dangled her legs back and forth as she held onto the limb with hands on either side of her. "That is gorgeous curly hair."

"It certainly is," Dickie said from his perch next to her although he's looking in the other direction.

"And those eyes! Those eyes are amazing!"

"They're beautiful."

Ohhh, the fingers. Look at the fingers."

"Well shaped, most attractive." He sighed. "And those breasts. . ."

Jenny turned and saw that Dickie wasn't looking into the same cottage window as she was and she gave him an irritated shove that knocked him off the limb but he only dropped a few feet before turning to look at her with irritation. "Wrong window! I was talking about HIM!"

Dickie looked at the other cottage and saw Grissom taking books out of his bag and placing them on his night stand then he grabbed Jenny by the ankle and yanked her down to the ground next to him.

"You're very lucky, Miss Jeanette Spencer, that I don't bruise! That could've been a disastrous fall!"

She scrambled to her feet, pushing down the dress that had risen from its normal length of mid-calf, up to her thighs, gaining her an appreciative look from her partner in crime.

"And "you're" lucky I'm not the jealous type, Mr. . .Mr. . ." She looked back into Grissom's window as he started to unbutton his shirt and pull it off.

"Come now, Jenny, don't tell me your mind is wavering. Pendleton—remember?" He casually looked at his fingernails as he gently floated back into the air until he was sitting on the limb again. "Although I guess at your age, senility is the least of your worries. What are you now? A hundred and fifteen?"

She looked back at him and rose until she's just hovered outside of Grissom's window, then turned and sat on an imaginary chair as she watched him undress. "One hundred and eight! You know perfectly well how old I am! You're the one who's almost a hundred and fifteen!"

"Only one hundred and fourteen, my dear."

"Ohhh, keep going—keep going. . .DAMN!" Jenny huffed when Grissom failed to remove his pants and instead walked out of the room still wearing his trousers although he was shirtless. She turned back to him and started cooing to her mate. "Dickie. . . what are we going to do when we get out of here? Will you marry me like you promised?"

"I think we should concentrate on getting out of here first." He coughed as he craned his neck to get a better look into Sara's window then almost fell off his roost. "She's getting undressed!"

"Yeah? So?"

"So—he's getting undressed! Now's the perfect time!" He looked over at Grissom's window and rolled his eyes. "Where IS he?"

"He went to the bathroom or something. Oh, here he comes again! Hmmm, nice." Jenny lifted a brow in appreciation as he moved to stand directly in front of her, still wearing nothing but his pants. "Very nice."

"Would you stop ogling him?" At that moment Grissom pulled down the window shade, bringing a disappointed moan from Jenny before she turned to look at Dickie. "Look! Look! She's really taking her clothes off! I really don't like the things these ladies are calling undergarments anymore. They look like something "I" should be wearing."

"Well, Dickie," Jenny floated up to him and draped her arm over his shoulder. "After all these years, and you're only now telling me that you're a man who likes the feel of silk against his underside."

"I do not!" He looked at her sharply. "Oh! Stop it." He looked back at Sara and watched as she bent down to pick up her shorts. "Now, pookey! Now! Get him to look over here now!"

Jenny rapidly turned back toward Grissom's cottage and snapped her fingers and in an instant, his window blind flipped up, revealing him in all his glory. Within a millisecond, Dickie repeated the procedure and a pile of clothes fell off the dresser near the window, drawing Sara's attention to the small catastrophe. She walked to her window and picked up the clothes just as Grissom returned to his window and looked at the blind.

"Why can't they see? Look! Look at each other! If that doesn't peak your interest—nothing will! Look!"

Dickie rushed to Jeanette's side and touched the glass of Grissom's window. "You steamed it up, Jenny! He can't see through your breath!"

"Quick—rub it off!" She lifts her dress and fiercely starts rubbing at the water particles then stopped when she came eye-to-eye with the bluest eyes she had ever seen—and they were looking at her, almost as if he could see her. "Ohhhhhh, Dickieeeee, I think he sees me!"

"Then put your dress down! You're showing him everything!" Dickie grabbed the cloth and yanked it down then looked up to where Grissom cocked his head to the side and seemed to look over to where he was standing next to the woman. Then with wonder, as if Dickie couldn't believe it, he added, "He's looking at us."

A smirk and a shrug of his shoulders and Grissom pulled down the blind again.

"Nope! It's gone," Jenny released the breath she had been holding then they turned and looked back at Sara's window to find that she was no longer in the room anymore. "This is going to be a lot harder than we thought."