Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: I have to once again thank you all sooo much for your wonderful reviews and for being patient with me while life kicks my butt. Buuut, I'm back to being on a school schedule now and, apparently, that is more conducive to writing than the summer schedule. Which doesn't make any sense. Still, I'm hoping. :)

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Chapter Five:

I was torn, in Anderson's class, in how to behave. Did I act like my usual self, assured and confident and irritating to everyone else by virtue of my endless questions and ability to answer most of his questions before he asked them… or did I stay retreated, aloof, trying to play hot and cold?

I realized with a bit of surprise that I was apparently not the seductress I'd thought myself—I'd always fallen into my bedfellows pretty easily, and I was starting to realize that it was not my seduction but simply my willingness that had facilitated those affairs. Because the man could not be so much more complicated than most, could he? So much more that I was constantly second-guessing and he was only just beginning to show that he might find me more noticeable than any other student half-assing it in the back row of his classes?

I still wanted him, badly, but there was now a twinge of something else in there. I mean, it was a pride thing—I didn't want to admit that my affairs were the product of me being easy as opposed to the product of me being irresistible, the risk to their careers be damned—but it still wasn't worth sacrificing Anderson's opinion of me.

Dr. Anderson didn't explain to anyone why Dr. Grissom was here, beyond saying that he'd be observing the class today, and then he launched immediately into a quick summation of the lecture we'd heard last time, for those who were gone or simply couldn't remember, and began his new material. And when the first question came—the large, abstract one that he always asked in the beginning with the expectation that no one would be able to answer it until he'd finished his lecture (except me, of course), I bit my lip, uncertain… I watched Dr. Anderson turn a surprised gaze to me, having expected an answer already. I clenched my teeth and curled my toes, trying to hold back, but when he opened his mouth to begin his lecture, I broke.

My hand shot into the air as the words pushed themselves through my lips.

Anderson trumped Grissom.

I spent the rest of the class period desperately trying to redeem myself in Dr. Anderson's eyes for the hesitation I had shown at first—I had never worked harder for his approval, and the crease between his brows told me that he was simultaneously concerned and impressed. I didn't look at Dr. Grissom. I didn't want to know what I was doing to what had looked so promising in Anderson's office by being consistent—the hot and cold had been the only thing that had raised his attention, thus far.

I stayed to ask questions, though I understood the topic, because you could always, always go deeper than what was covered in an undergrad class, even if it was upper level. Generally speaking, you could always go deeper than what could be covered in an hour. Dr. Grissom hovered, but I refused to meet his gaze, and eventually he interrupted us to take his leave of Anderson, saying he needed to prepare for his own class.

It was at this point that I realized the three of us had remained in the empty classroom for a full hour—I had only a half an hour to get to Dr. Grissom's class, but I was always twenty minutes early. But my silence provoked Anderson to gently squeeze my forearm and ask me again if I was okay, after Ken… and I realized that he thought my erratic behavior was a result of the T.A.'s unwanted attention. I thought of correcting him, but didn't—I would have no reason to give him for the way I was acting, and… well, I liked how he was protective of me. I liked feeling like he worried about me. I wasn't just any other student. I was special.

He had me accompany him back to his office where he wrote out an official report of the "attack," as he was calling it, just in case Ken decided to press charges for assault… by the time I'd given him a quick hug and hurried over to Dr. Grissom's class, it was clear I would only be five minutes early, which was not really early at all.

Several students glanced at me in surprise when I entered, but Dr. Grissom seemed the most surprised. His eyes scanned my face and he offered me a small smile, which I nodded to, but didn't return. Mostly because I felt like he was judging me for not being early, as usual. It was ten minutes into class that I realized that he would assume, like Anderson, that my erratic behavior was a result of the encounter with Ken. …That he, in fact, had volunteered to talk to Ken on my behalf. He was protecting me too. …Why?

Despite finding blood spatter analysis interesting, I hadn't been lying when I told Anderson that you couldn't go in-depth in an intro level course. I knew everything he was teaching, and so I allowed myself to zone out and address the more important issue of how I was going to get Dr. Grissom into my bed. He was surprisingly receptive today, and I needed to understand why if I was going to replicate it. I thought a big part of it was that I was doing things he didn't expect—maybe he liked a challenge, or maybe he had had an idea of me in his head and I no longer fit it. Maybe it was more that than hot and cold… Maybe—"Sara?"

My head snapped up, and I realized that everyone was looking at me. I blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry… what?"

Dr. Grissom sighed, and I could see him warring with himself. He wanted to make an example of me, but he also wanted to be sympathetic. After a moment, he raised his chin just slightly, and I knew he'd decided against sympathy. "We were just discussing how to interpret a few spatter patterns that aren't as easily recognizable as the few we'd looked at…" He pointed to one side of his overhead, indicating the obvious ones—different velocities, arterial sprays, blood drops indication directionality—and then to the other side, which held a picture he'd obviously been asking me to interpret. After a moment, I turned my gaze to him.

"It's a trick question—the victim's fall would only be enough to produce low velocity, but would likely to cause her to expectorate blood… The fall on the stairs could easily have caused to head to bounce back up after the initial blow, lifting the spray above the level of the low velocity spatter from her head wound. …Which would lead one to believe it was medium-to-high velocity, and therefore not caused by the stairs. It would imply murder where there was every possibility of a simply household accident."

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes unreadable, and then changed out his transparencies and called on someone else to interpret the next situation. I frowned, wondering what he must think of me now, but I was too proud to spend the rest of class trying to regain his approval like I'd done with Dr. Anderson. Especially after he'd made the clear choice to make an example of me—ME! How on earth was that fair? Besides, I was obviously still throwing him off… this was the perfect opportunity to test my hypothesis.

When he dismissed class, I was one of the first with my bag packed and on my way to the door, but he softly called my name—trying his best not to draw attention to the fact that he'd done so—and when I turned he indicated, in a subtle, subdued kind of way, that he'd like to me to stay. I inhaled slowly, weighing my next response… but finally determined after a moment that I could hardly tell him no. That would seem impetuous and childish and, to seduce a teacher who'd never slept with a student, emphasizing the negative things that were typically associated with youth would not work in my favor.

I moved back to my seat, front and center, and let my backpack move to the floor.

When the door had swung closed behind the last student, he fixed his gaze solidly on mine. We held that pose for several long moments, and then he sighed and moved from where he'd been standing, leaning against the desk at the front of the room, to sit in the desk beside me. I turned to face him and realized with some surprise that our faces were rather closer than they'd ever been, including today in Anderson's office. His cheeks seemed quite soft, his eyes more blissfully blue than I could imagine, and his curls had golden highlights, like he'd spent his summer in the sun. I had the urge to ask him where on earth he'd gotten sun in Minnesota, but I refrained. He had asked me to stay, so the burden of speaking first fell squarely in his lap.

He sighed again. "I was this close to filling out a missing person's report…" he told me with a slight quirk of his lips, holding up his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. I managed to quirk a smile too.

"I, uh… got caught up with Dr. Anderson."

He nodded. "I figured. That's, uh… what I wanted to talk to you about."

I raised an eyebrow, already feeling myself getting defensive. He could say or think anything he liked about me, but if he said anything about Anderson…

"You, uh… You're not like that, in this class."

I blinked in surprise, and the emotion must have shown on my face because he smirked a little more brightly and his guard seemed to slip a little. He pulled the large glasses from his face and set them on the desk to his right side, because he was sitting sideways in the chair in order to face me. Without them obscuring half his face, he looked much younger, and I realized with some surprise that he was really much younger than the average teacher I found myself alone with.

"I… It's occurred to me that… I'm probably not challenging you enough. You said as much yourself, earlier today, to Tony, and…" He seemed to hesitate, but his eyes flickered to mine, and he forged ahead. "I, uh… haven't done a lot of teaching. And a student as brilliant as you really… I don't know exactly how to… facilitate… your advanced level of understanding. But I'd like to. I…"

He stopped again, and I came to another important realization about the man—while he might be a brilliant speaker when it came to his classes, on a personal level, he wasn't really used to discussing… anything. I wondered why that was, but I let him sort his thoughts. He ran a frustrated hand through curls, making them deliciously unruly, and I inhaled—no glasses, rumpled curls, the brown professor's jacket nowhere in sight… Good God.

"In Anderson's class, you were… engaged and excited and you… you didn't hesitate to take the discussion beyond what he'd intended to cover. And you stayed after, to get more from the lesson. And, I… I think you maybe have been that way in this class, at first, as well, but… In my attempt to treat each student equally, I fear I might not have nurtured your curiosity the way I ought to have."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I nodded. He let out yet another sigh, as if he was frustrated at my silence. I wasn't making this easy for him, and he was struggling.

"I, uh… I just wanted to let you know that… that I'm going to work on it. And if, in class, I don't address you or your questions enough, this is my last class of the day and I'd be more than happy to stay after to answer questions or go more in depth with you… I… I feel bad that you were so engaged in another class and that… you don't feel like you can be that way in mine. I hope you'll let me try to fix this… get better at it. I, uh… I'm still learning."

And there was my in.

He looked uncertain and a little vulnerable, and all I wanted to do was reach a hand out to touch his cheek—maybe lay my thumb to his lips—because all of him just looked so soft. Instead, I nodded and smiled as hesitantly as I was able with the glee bubbling up inside me. "I… I would really like that, Dr. Grissom."

He smiled too, a real smile, not just a side-of-the-mouth smirk, and I spotted his dimples. I wanted to kiss them. "Just Grissom, remember? …So, do you have any questions, today? You seemed to have a pretty good grasp but…"

I was late for work that night, but it was worth it.