Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Let me know what you think! :) You readers apparently have trust issues... I don't think there was one of you that doesn't think Jace is cheating. Hehe.

I like Grissom and Sara in this chapter... Just sayin'.

Chapter Six:

Let me be honest here—I hoped she would come. I wanted her to come. I even went so far as to detain one of her friends after my next lecture, a girl who I knew had been in the bar the night before with her, and ask about Sara. I didn't learn much—I learned that she and this girl were work friends more than anything. They had shared a few meals and she'd met the fiancé a few times when he came in to the lab to see her or drop off keys or something, but other than that, was not a source of real authority. She seemed reluctant to talk to me as it was, though, so perhaps she knew more than she was letting on.

What I did learn was that her fiancé was likely far more attractive than me. She didn't say as much, but he was younger, and though he was getting his Masters—in what, she didn't know—he worked as a mechanic. Smart, young, and probably had a body that would put mine to shame.

I mean… I wouldn't say that I'm overweight, but I'm not exactly well-muscled either.

And I learned that Sara had known of me, before we met—that she'd scheduled her wedding around this conference in order to see me speak. …This information should have been heartening. She admired me professionally and the serendipitous nature of our meeting had to be toying with her as much as my words—and those were toying with her… I had seen as much in her eyes. But I wasn't all that hopeful—she hadn't attended any of my lectures, despite how excited I her friend claimed she had been. So maybe the reality didn't live up to the fantasy.

I almost didn't show, because I was so certain that she wouldn't come and I'd be left, alone in a bar, with my thoughts and her rejection to keep me company. But on the off chance I was wrong… that she might change her mind… that little sliver of hope had me changing into jeans and a fresh button down in my hotel, eating downstairs in the restaurant with nothing less than absolute haste, and making my way to the bar. I had to keep reminding myself that I was early—she might have gone to work after the conference, or very well might still be eating supper… I would need to wait all night to be certain.

The agony of waiting and not knowing—the very effort it took to remain in my seat, slowly sipping a drink over the course of several hours so as to remain sober—was excruciating. I wanted to jump up and run away and live with the uncertainty of did she or didn't she rather than have to endure the certainty of No, she didn't. But I sat it out as the hours passed.

At six, when I arrived, the bar was mostly empty, and I was the only person on the upper floor, watching the bar tended wipe and re-wipe his bar top down when his manager came by, so that he would look busy, but turn to talk to the unoccupied waitresses when the manager slipped into the back again.

At seven there was a smattering of more people present—a group of guys down by the pool tables, two women sitting at the bar and flirting with the same bar tender, a new bartender arriving at the bar up here and going through it, making sure he was well stocked in ice and other various necessities.

At eight it was starting to look like the same bar I'd seen the night before—the music was louder, the lights even lower, and a few people were dancing on the dance floor. The area around the downstairs bar was crowded, as were the pool tables and three quarters of the tables below. A trickle of people had begun to sit up where I was, and the bartender up here was occupied, if not busy.

At nine I got my second drink of the night, starting to feel more anxious. If she was coming, surely she'd be here soon. I wouldn't really have to wait all night with the crowds and the music and the undulating bodies a flight down on the dance floor…?

At ten, I started to despair—I downed the drink I had been sipping for an hour and ordered another, figuring that as long as I was making myself stay here all night I might as well be feeling good… because without the alcohol, feeling like shit was pretty much inevitable.

At ten thirty, I saw her. I didn't see her the minute she walked in, but I had been staring down at the dance floor, and I saw her struggling through the mass of bodies towards the stairs. Her hair had been up in a ponytail earlier today, and it had been down and curly the night before… now it was falling straight around her face, turned up at the ends. I turned towards the top of the stairs in disbelief, thinking that I must have been mistaken and that the woman who came from the stairwell would not be my Sara, but someone else entirely… a poor imitation.

But it was her. She stepped up into view, hair bouncing with her step over the top of the smooth, black leather jacket she had over her shoulders. It was open to a red tank top underneath, exposing the long line of her neck into her collar bone and the top of her chest. She was wearing tight blue jeans and heeled boots, and her eyes found mine only seconds away they swept over her body. Despite how nervous I felt, she didn't seem to look half as agitated—she fixed her gaze on me and moved forward with confidence, the slight sway in her hips doing inexplicable things to me.

She slid into the seat across from me and raised her finely-shaped eyebrows. "Vegas."

I couldn't help but grin. "I don't have a nickname for you…"

She pursed her lips in a fashion that had me hardening immediately and she glanced down at the rock on her left hand almost tauntingly, her eyes dancing, his voice amused. "…Taken."

I hesitated only a moment. "…Did you pick out your own ring?"

She looked surprised, and it pleased me to see her blinking uncertainly, that confidence shaken. "No. …No, I… Ja—My fiancé picked it out. Why?" A better question was…Why didn't she want me to know his name? Was it some sort of guilt thing… if she didn't say his name while here with me then she wasn't really betraying him? …Hey, whatever got her here and made her stay was fine with me.

"Nothing." I said, enjoying the slight flash of anger in her eyes. The waitress appeared then, taking her drink order—a Cosmopolitan. The woman asked me silently with her eyes if I wanted another and I shook my head. When she had gone, Sara leaned forward.

"No—not nothing. Why'd you ask about my ring?"

I shrugged, trying very hard to seem unconcerned. "It's just… big."

She blushed, telling me that I'd guessed correctly—she wasn't the type of girl to wear large, gaudy jewelry. "…Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"

I shrugged again. "Is it?" She frowned and I leaned forward too. "It just seems like… nobody spends that much on a ring for no reason… especially not for a woman who doesn't wear large, expensive jewelry. Which leaves a few explanations. One—He doesn't think he deserves you… or he doubts your commitment. He feels like he has to buy your love and provide something otherworldly to keep your attention. Two—He's compensating for something." I gave her a grin and a wink and her eyes opened wide in surprise. "Three—He honestly thought you'd like it… which means that he doesn't know you at all." She frowned, but it seemed more contemplative than angry. "Or Four—he's hiding something. He doubts his own commitment… he knows he wants to marry you, but probably doesn't know if he only wants to sleep with one woman for the rest of his life. He's hiding his uncertainty in large gestures, hoping you won't notice the little signs that something's off. …Although, I hope it isn't the last one…for your sake."

She looked a little pale as her drink was set before her—She reached for her pocket but I was quicker, paying the waitress and waving her away. I wanted to know what her reaction would be to my words. She took a drink, avoiding my eyes, and finally cleared her throat, watching my hands on the table before me. "…Which one… are you hoping for, exactly?"

It seemed like she was saying this simply to respond… what I'd said had upset her, and she was on autopilot. I didn't want that—she'd go home and fight with him but not really remember the time she'd spent with me. I put on a grin. "Oh, a combination of the first three…"

She looked up at me, obviously not having remembered them clearly enough to get my attempt at teasing. I cleared my throat, holding up fingers to explain. "He doubts your commitment, doesn't know you at all, and disappoints you in bed."

She blushed, and I wondered if it was because some or all of what I'd said was true, or if she just wasn't used to talking about sex. She tried to recover, taking another drink and pulling that confidence back out of nowhere. "He has no reason to doubt my commitment."

I could have argued—she was here, wasn't she?—but I didn't want to make her feel guilty enough to leave. Instead… "Does he know you?"

Adamantly, she defended him. "Yes. He does. He knows me better than anyone."

I grinned wickedly then. "So there's our answer… Is he just not well-endowed, or is it a bigger problem? Not good at what he does, or into something freaky?" At her alarmed look I laughed out loud, wanting to get that rise out of her again and again. "Oh, I suppose you're the one unsatisfied… maybe you're into something freaky."

"I am not!" She said, taking another, rather deeper drink. I smirked.

"You notice you deny that you're kinky… but not that you're disappointed."

When she blushed this time, I knew how to interpret it. She hadn't told me that there were problems per se… mostly I'd embellished a joke in an effort to make her laugh and engage conversation… but in the process, she'd all but admitted that something was off… and it wasn't her, it was him.

I smiled softly, backing off a little… I liked teasing her, but I also wanted her to feel comfortable around me. "…I'm sorry. I think maybe I've had a little more than I should have. …Can we start over?"

She laughed softly, and I knew that I'd been instantly forgiven. Did this guy never apologize or what? "Sure… I think it's better that way." She held out a hand. "Gil Grissom—it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Sara Sidle. …I found your paper in the last Journal of Forensic Science positively riveting."

I took her hand, gently brushing my thumb over the back of her hand as we shook. "You're the only one who thought so… most criminalists don't particularly enjoy the role of entomology in forensics."

She grinned. "I'm okay with being a minority…"

"A solitary entity." I corrected. She shook her head.

"No—you find it interesting too. I can tell… the way you speak. The way you write."

I felt the smirk curling my lips. "I guess that makes us a couple then."

She blushed again, and I felt warm all the way to my core. Even if she had no intention of this going anyway… she was here… and she was flirting… blushing at my provocations. I couldn't believe it, but I actually had a chance of winning this woman's heart over. It was a slim one, at best… but that slender sliver of hope was all I needed. She took a drink, not knowing how to respond, and I threw another confidence smile at her.

"...Do you play pool?"