The Entomologist And The Loose Cannon
Risty Maskell

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of CBS's CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. For non-profit, entertainment purposes only. The persons, living or dead, and events described herein are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. The scene where Sara and Grissom meet at the Monaco is from Season One, Episode Two: Cool Change. I don't own it. CBS does.

Sara sighed, looking down at her coffee cup. The brown liquid had long since gone cold, and the air hostess had given up trying to coax her with a fresh cup.

The flight was starting to get on her nerves. Shouldn't they be in San Francisco already? What was taking so long? Not for the first time, the brunette shifted uncomfortably in her seat, causing the businessman beside her to glare at her slightly and mutter curses under his breath. Sara ignored him. Trying to concentrate on anything but the flight itself, she grabbed up a magazine and tried to read.

It had been seven long years since she'd been in San Francisco. Seven long years since she'd picked up the phone and heard Grissom's plea to sort out some internal work within his team. Seven years since she'd accepted his offer to become a permanent part of the CSI team in Vegas. She flung the magazine down in disgust, knowing she wasn't going to be able to concentrate on anything except her current thoughts for the time being. She ground her teeth in agitation. Why? Why did life have to be so Goddamned screwy? She loved Grissom, didn't she? She'd accepted his marriage proposal, hadn't she? Figuratively speaking, she should be the happiest she'd ever been. But no. Ghosts from her past had to haunt her. Follow her every step. Creep up behind her. Scare her senseless. She sighed as ghosts of memories floated up from the depths of her subconscious before her eyes.

Her father's wild gaze as he drunkenly slapped her around, distant voices screaming at him to stop… Her mother, finally snapping and stabbing the bastard with the biggest kitchen knife she could find… Cast off blood splashing over the walls… Her brother, James, screaming and crying while her older sister, Marie, called 911… People, so many people, police and ambulances and social workers… Sara holding the hand of a lovely lady, whom she couldn't remember the name of… Sara and James standing behind Marie as their older sister argued that they'd never be split up… A tearful farewell as James was sent to one home and Marie sent to another, leaving Sara alone… The trial of Laura Sidle versus the people… The dark, shadowy halls of the institution where her mother was incarcerated… The sharp smells of the institution-- the stink of disinfectant, urine, starch, soap… Her mother not recognising who Sara was after having been administered Valium… The cruel taunts of other foster children as they found out how she came into the foster care system… Throwing herself into her studies and avoiding people like the plague… More cruel taunts through high school about her not having a social life, earning names like Geekazoid, Plain Jane and Serious Sidle…

"Miss?" A voice cut through the fog of her thoughts. "Miss, are you alright?" It was the air hostess. She placed a well-meaning, reassuring hand on Sara's shoulder. Sara looked up at her, confused as to why the hostess was taking such a concerned interest in her all of a sudden. Then she realised she had been crying quietly and hurriedly wiped half-dry tears off her face.
"Uh… yeah." She muttered, her cheeks flaming red as she spoke. "Yeah, I'm all right."
The hostess smiled and straightened up. "Well, all right. We'll be landing in San Francisco in about half an hour." She gave a bright, plastered-on smile and discreetly handed Sara a travel pack of Kleenex, which she accepted gratefully, blowing her nose as quietly as she could, but still earning an annoyed glare and muttered obscenities from her neighbour.

Half an hour later, the plane touched down in San Francisco. Sara sat quietly, waiting for all the other passengers to leave before disembarking the plane. Walking slowly up the path, she hoisted her back pack onto her shoulder and sighed. Strange how seven years could change one's perspective. Entering the terminal, she glanced around. Not much had changed. It was still pretty much the same it had been when she'd been seen off by Marie.

Walking toward the luggage conveyor belt, she watched, hypnotised as the carousel went around and around, the spell of her thoughts broken when she finally saw her lone suitcase coming toward her. Picking it up, she dragged it off the belt and headed toward the taxi rank. Reeling slightly from the humidity in the air – something she hadn't been used to since living in the middle of a desert for almost a decade – she climbed into the next available cab. Giving the driver her destination, she sat back and watched the scenery go by, her thoughts and memories once again crowding into her mind, fighting tooth and nail to receive a little attention.

It had been late at night when the phone rang. Self-confessed as to being unable to sleep, Sara had answered, picking up the phone next to her laptop with her customary, "Sidle."
"Sara?" The voice on the other end of the line was familiar, and it took her a minute to realise who it was speaking to her.
"Grissom?" She'd asked in wonderment. Since parting ways at San Francisco airport, they'd never really conversed over the phone, only by email and letters.
"The very same." He'd answered, and Sara could detect a smile in his voice.
Sara grinned. "What can I do for you at 12.10am this fine morning?"
"I know it's late – or early, if you want to get technical." Grissom said. "Sorry if I woke you."
"You know I don't sleep." She laughed. "I was awake."
"Good. I wouldn't know how to handle the guilt if I had woken you up."
"You? Guilty? Doubtful, very doubtful." She teased. Grissom chuckled slightly. "Anyway, what's up?"
"Well, I was wondering if you wanted a few days of employment." He said, seemingly choosing his words carefully. "I need some internal work done within my team, and you were the first person I thought of."
"Charming." Sara said dryly. "Though, I don't think I feel so bad. If it were someone else asking me to snoop, I'd be offended."
"I'm just an exception?"
"Yeah, I guess you could say that." Sara said with a smile. "When do you want this internal investigation to be done?"
"Soon as possible?" Grissom asked. "I don't know how quick you can get here, but the sooner, the better."
"I can be on a plane first thing in the morning." Sara said with a smile. "How's that sound?"
"Sounds like the best offer I've ever had." Grissom said with humour obvious in his voice. "So, we'll see you around here sometime tomorrow?"
"You betcha. So, you wanna tell me the story behind this internal investigation?"
"One of our CSI's – a rookie – was shot last night." Grissom sighed, and Sara could hear him deflate.
"Oh, man… I'm sorry, Grissom." Sara said, closing her eyes and genuinely feeling sorry for her former professor. "And you need me to run questions by the rest of the team and figure out what happened?"
"Got it one. I knew you weren't just a pretty face." Grissom said. "I've got to go… clues to find, cases to solve. You know the deal."
"Sure do." Sara said with a grin. "I'll see you sometime tomorrow."
"See you then, Sara. And thanks."
"No problem." They exchanged farewells and Sara hung up the phone, getting up to go and going to her bedroom to pack a suitcase. Fifteen minutes later, she was back on the computer, purchasing an open return ticket to Las Vegas, Nevada.

Upon arriving in Las Vegas and renting a motel room, she'd caught a cab to Grissom's address. Getting no answer from her insistent knocking, she'd gone to LVPD, asking for Gil Grissom at the counter, showing the proper ID.
"Hi, I'm Sara Sidle from San Francisco. I'm looking for Gil Grissom?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Ms Sidle." The receptionist said with an apologetic smile. "He's pulling a double shift. He's on a case at the moment."
"Oh. Can you tell me where I could find him?" Sara said with a smile, thanking her lucky stars that she'd thought to drop her suitcase off at a motel first.
"I think I heard him mentioning that he was going to the Hotel Monaco." Judy said. "I can give you his cell number if you like."
"Thanks." Sara took the card from her and smiled. "I'll go see if he's there." She turned and walked out to the street, hailing a cab. "Hotel Monaco, please."

Arriving at the Monaco a few minutes later, she pushed through the crowd just in time to see three crash test dummies get thrown off the roof. Peering over the top of her sunglasses at the older man in front of her, she smiled. Perhaps a little greyer in the hair, but still the same old Grissom. Showing her ID to the cop keeping the crowd back, she ducked under the crime scene tape and walked up behind Grissom.

"Norman 'pushed'." Grissom muttered to himself as he snapped photos of the dummies positions. "Norman 'jumped'. Norman 'fell'."
"Wouldn't you if you were married to Mrs Roper?" She piped up, a huge grin on her face.
"I don't even need to turn around." Grissom said, putting his camera down and turning to face her. "Sara Sidle."
"That's me." Sara said with a grin. "Still tossing simulation dummies? There are other ways to tell, you know."
"How? Computer simulation? No thanks. I'm a scientist I like to see it. Newton dropped the apple, I drop dummies."
"You're old school." She said, shaking her head and grinning.
"Exactly. And this guy was pushed."

"Hey, lady… this the address you wanted?" The cabbie's voice cut through her thoughts. Sara shook her head clear to look out the window and see a quaint looking B&B.
"Yeah, this is it." Sara said, giving him some money and getting out of the cab, dragging her suitcase behind her. "Thanks."

The cab took off, leaving her in the U-shaped driveway of the B&B, looking up at it. Sara sighed and took the handle of the suitcase and made her way to the front door. Opening it and entering, she felt as though she'd been sucked into a time warp. It was like stepping through time, back to 1982. A bell above the door jingled merrily to signify her entrance.

"Just a minute!" A voice called from somewhere, though Sara couldn't find where from. A minute later, a tall, older woman walked out, wiping her hands on her jeans as she bustled toward the desk. Her brown hair, though flecked with a few grey strands, was cropped into an attractive, short pixie-cut, and her brown eyes were still bright as ever. She wore a long sleeved black shirt and a denim waistcoat, the sleeves of her shirt pushed up to the elbow. "Sorry about that… I was just fixing the filing cabinet… it's busted and--" She looked up and stopped, her eyes widening a little. Sara stood in front of her and took a deep breath.
"Hi, mom."