MONDAY

Gil Grissom sighed as he tried to maneuver his SUV down the sandy trail in the Las Vegas Springs Reserve Park. The GPS' mechanical voice was telling him where to go, but the sound of sirens was all he needed.

He was content, for he was working this case alone. Even though he loved working with his team, sometimes he enjoyed flying solo on cases.

Ah, his team. They were practically his family. He had no idea what he'd do without them.

He smiled as he remembered his last case he worked on. It was in an airplane, with none other than his spitfire colleague Sara Sidle.

Grissom crouched in front of the airplane lavatory's toilet, and carefully held a portable light microscope to a stain and peered through it.

"I take it that's not blood?" Sara's cynical voice came from behind him.

"No, but there's protein in it." He replied, smiling.

It took Sara a moment to understand. "Oh, the Mile High Club!" She chuckled.

"You know," Grissom said after a moment, "it's said that having sex in an airplane enhances the sexual experience... increases euphoria."

"Well, it's good... I don't know if it's that good..." she replied, pursing her lips.

Grissom stopped and turned to her, eyebrows knitted together, a surprised smile playing across his lips.

Sara quickly realized her error. "Cite your source." She said quickly.

Grissom rolled his eyes. "Would you just hand me a swab?"

Sara beamed mischievously. "You're avoiding the question!"

Grissom sighed. "A magazine." He said after a moment.

"What magazine." She shot back, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"Applied Phsycodynamics in Forensic Science."

"Never heard of it."

"I'll get you a subscription."

Sara was silent, staring at him skeptically. "Now cite your source." He said after a moment's hesitation.

Sara snorted, sending a fierce glare his direction. "Oh, now you want to go down that route?"

"Yeah." He met her gaze unwaveringly.

She glanced away. "Yeah... uh... never mind."

"Hey, you started it." Grissom reminded her.

When she met his eyes again, he gave her "The Look".

Sara sighed. It was no use. "Delta Airlines," she began, "flight 1109, Boston-Miami, March '93, Ken Fuller. Hazel eyes, Organic Chem Lab TA, BMOC... overrated, in... every aspect."

Grissom's jaw had dropped. "Could we, um, get back to work, please?" She said, blushing.

Grissom smiled. He loved it when she blushed. It was so... cute.

Upon arriving at his destination, he lumbered out of the car, grabbed his crime scene kit, and went over to park ranger standing guard. "What do we have here, Officer?"

The ranger turned to him. "Female, young adult, late thirties possibly. Some hikers noticed the body at about 3 this afternoon. Uh... I'm no expert, but in this heat wave, shouldn't the body have decomposed?"

"That depends on TOD," he murmured as he ducked under the caution tape and walked purposefully to the body, the ranger on his heels.

He stopped upon seeing it. "Morpho menelaus," he muttered.

"Uh, pardon?" The ranger asked, confused.

The pale woman lay on her back with her limbs splayed. Her russet hair lay in waves on the ground and across her face and neck. Dried blood was spattered generously on her shirt, and pooled onto the ground. What piqued Grissom's attention was the metallic blue butterfly carefully pinned above the woman's breasts.

"Morpho menelaus, or Morpho butterfly. That's the type of butterfly on her chest," Grissom clarified.

He crouched by the woman, and after taking a few pictures, moved her hair away from her face to try and better determine appearance. He instantly noticed the dried blood on her neck. He gently tilted her head to take a look.

Etched into the woman's neck were three letters- ARI. His eyebrow hitched, and he snapped a picture or two.

He then pulled out his phone and beeped the lab. "Hey, get SuperDave out here, pronto. Yeah... thanks."

Two hours later, he joined Doc in the autopsy room. "What do you have for me, Doc?"

Using his crutch, Doc hobbled around the table to join him in looking over the body. "We've ID'ed the victim as a Miss Sherri Whitney. Age 35, made her living as a prostitute on the Strip."

"And the letters on her neck?" Grissom prompted.

Doc sighed. "We drew a blank," he admitted.

Grissom echoed his sigh. "All right. Thanks, Doc."

CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI

"Someone's looking fine!" whistled Nick as he met Catherine in the hallway later that day.

Catherine smirked. "What makes you say so?"

The two began walking to the break room. "Since when do you wear shorts as hot as those to work?" He replied.

She shrugged. "Well, seeing how it's triple digits outside, I figured why not?"

Grissom joined them a few feet outside the break room, and the three entered together, only to see that Sara, Greg, and Warrick had beat them to it, casually sipping the water-and-silt combination the lab called coffee.

Warrick grinned. "Sexy, Cath!"

Catherine ducked her head as a small blush appeared on her cheeks. She always did have a soft spot for Warrick.

Sara raised her eyebrows. "Don't get me wrong, Catherine, the shorts look great, but if I were you, I would be concerned for, oh, I don't know, hydrochloric acid getting on my legs?"

"Sara," Catherine responded, amused, "it's not that big of a deal to show some leg every once in a while!"

"You know," Greg piped up suddenly,, "I don't think I've ever seen Sara in shorts."

Sara arched her eyebrow in confusion.

Nick and Warrick grinned. "Me either," they said in unison.

Grissom nodded to show his agreement.

Catherine beamed. "All right, then, it's settled. We need to get you into some shorts."

Sara froze mid-sip, almost spilling her coffee. "What?"

"You heard her," Greg said, chuckling at Sara's response.

"Well," Sara asserted, "I can tell you right now there is no way I will wear shorts to work. It's a safety hazard. And you guys almost never even see me outside of work. Therefore," she concluded, "seeing me in shorts shall be essentially impossible."

"I think you're forgetting that Wednesday night is Movie Night. At your house." Catherine pointed out smugly.

Sara deflated. Everyone else laughed.

"Do I have to?" Sara said finally, pouting.

"Sara, I wouldn't mess with Catherine if I were you," Warrick advised.

Ignoring him, Sara leveled an even stare at Catherine. "What happens if I don't?"

"Weeeeeeell," Catherine drawled, lazily stirring her drink, "the boys here just might be receiving some confidential information."

Sara pursed her lips. "What kind of confidential information?"

Catherine paused for a second, keeping everyone in suspense. "A disturbingly explicit list of every single guy you've slept with since high school."

Everyone, including Sara, abruptly choked on their coffees.

After Sara recovered, she managed to ask, "How do I know you're not bluffing?"

Cath smiled sweetly in response. "Come outside for a sec, will ya?"

Sara uncertainly followed Catherine just outside the break room. All the men watched anxiously as Catherine began whispering in Sara's ear. Slowly, Sara's face turned pale, then flushed red.

While they were outside, Grissom pondered what would happen if he saw Sara in shorts. He still was unsure of what he felt for Sara, whether it was romantic love, or if he just cared for her because he knew her story better than the rest of the team. All he knew was that his heart skipped a beat whenever she entered a room.

All eyes were on Sara as the two women returned. Catherine had a smirk on her face.

"I'll do it." Sara mumbled.

All the guys, minus Grissom, exchanged excited glances.

Grissom, however, stared at Sara skeptically.. "Hang on, Catherine... how you know Sara even owns a pair of shorts?"

Sara made a face. "I do have shorts, thank you very much. They come in handy at clubs. Guys love girls in shorts!"

Everyone stared in shock. Since when does Sara go to clubs?

Sara smiled. "Ah, I kid about the club part. But yes, Grissom-" she fixed him with an indignant look- "I do own shorts."

a/n: What do you guys think? It gets better from here, I promise! Please R&R. It really affects my writing. :D