February 12, 1998. San Francisco, California.

Sara and Grissom had decided to meet in the morning on the final day of the conference, as they were planning to attend the same events. Sara liked the asides Grissom gave her expanding on the various subjects, and she particularly enjoyed his occasional pun. The conference was ending earlier that day than on the previous days, and they had already decided to skip the final offerings. So it was still early when they left the conference, having managed to make connections with really no one other than each other.

It was early enough in the afternoon that they had a couple hours of daylight left, and Sara had decided the first stop of Grissom's San Francisco sightseeing tour should be a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. They walked around for a bit, with Grissom taking pictures of the bridge then taking pictures of Sara in front of the bridge and Sara then taking pictures of Grissom in front of the bridge. Then a nice young man who was out for the day with his wife and toddlers asked Grissom if he wanted a picture taken with his girlfriend. Grissom didn't correct the man, and, as he looked like really the safest person with whom Grissom could entrust his camera, he accepted. The man took several pictures, while Sara smiled for the camera and Grissom tried not to smile at the feeling of Sara pressed up beside him.

They stood for a few more minutes looking at the bridge. Sara was looking at the ocean and trying not to think about how it reminded her of the color of Grissom's eyes. Grissom was looking at the ocean and trying not to think about how beautiful Sara was and how she smelled delightfully like a creamsicle, when one was standing close enough to her to smell it.

Apparently Grissom was doing a better job of maintaining his composure than Sara was, because the next thing she knew she'd turned around and kissed him. It was very unplanned.

Now, since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses…. No, wait, you'd have to consult William Goldman about that. But it was, all in all, a very good kiss, and it lasted quite a bit longer than Sara would have anticipated (if Sara had been anticipating anything), until eventually Grissom pulled away.

"Sara…" he said, and it sounded like regret, and she hated it.

Now, Sara had always found her name rather boring. There was nothing really wrong with the name in itself, but anywhere she went there were always two others Sarahs and one other Sara, so she was almost always Sara S., which was at least better than Sara-cidal, meant to sound like suicidal, which she also sometimes got when she was younger. Sara liked the way Grissom said it, though, and in the three days she'd known him she'd begun to like to the sound of her own name. She didn't like it that time, though.

"Sara…" he started again, "this…" he gestured between them, "it's not a good idea."

"Oh, are you in a relationship?" she asked. She didn't think he was but had never asked.

"No."

"So why not?" she asked. She probably would have anticipated his reluctance, but she genuinely didn't know why it couldn't be a good idea.

Grissom knew. "I'm about fifteen years older than you."

"So?" she asked.

"I'm about fifteen years older than you, we live in different states, and I'm just not… I'm just not looking for a relationship." Coming from someone else, the relationship comment might have sounded like some sort of line or brushoff or maybe someone looking for an excuse for sex without a relationship. It didn't sound like that coming from Grissom, though. It sounded like he cared about Sara, which he did.

"Well, I don't care about the age difference, so neither should you. I don't care about the distance or the relationship thing either. And I'm not looking for a relationship either, Gil. I just think… I like you, and I think you like me. I think we could have a nice week together." She smiled at him, trying to look hopeful (but not too hopeful).

"I don't know, Sara. I just… don't think it's a good idea. I really want us to be friends," he said, and he meant it.

"Maybe just think about it?"

"Okay," he said, and they turned to watch the ocean again.

Eventually they started walking around some more until it got dark, then Sara drove them to the restaurant nearby where she'd made an early reservation. It was a vegetarian restaurant. Though neither of them was vegetarian, it was a nice restaurant and kind of a local institution, and it had a great location on the water, east of the Presidio and just west of Fisherman's Wharf. They were still a bit early for the reservation, so they chatted until their table was ready then spent a somewhat more reasonable amount of time at dinner than they had the previous three nights.

After dinner, Sara drove them back to Grissom's hotel. Since it was still early, she parked her car there, and they went for a walk. She knew he liked literary references, so she took him past the Sir Francis Drake hotel, a peyote-induced vision of which was supposed to have inspired at least part of Allen Ginsberg's "Howl." They then wandered the streets of Chinatown for a bit.

From Chinatown, they rode the cable car up just a few stops to the top of Nob Hill, so Sara could take Grissom to the Top of the Mark, the bar at the top of the Mark Hopkins hotel. They sat for hours slowly sipping on martinis (or various concoctions passing for martinis and served in martini glasses) and occasionally remembering to admire the nighttime view. Again, it might have seemed weird that these two awkward souls could still have had anything to discuss, but they had nearly endless case files, and nearly endless memories, so they could have swapped stories nearly endlessly.

Eventually, Sara walked Grissom back to the Hilton. He told her he'd get her a cab, since she was at most tipsy but also definitely not under the legal limit for driving her car back to her apartment; she could pick it up the next day. Grissom hadn't thought about the import of what he was saying, but he immediately recognized the disappointment on her face.

"No, it's fine," she told him. Grissom would eventually learn Sara's "fine" meant she was anything but. "I'll find my own way back. I'll get my car when we meet tomorrow." She tried to smile at him, but it was only half a smile.

Grissom didn't know what to do. No, Grissom knew exactly what to do. He had to send this beautiful young woman on her way. Aside from everything he'd already said to her, he knew how these things always went for him. He wanted to stay friends with her. He already knew she was a brilliant scientist, possibly more brilliant than he. He didn't want to make things awkward between them. He reminded himself, again, that he was fifteen years older than she was. "Sara…" he said. She turned to him, and for once he couldn't stand the sight of her big brown eyes. "Sara…" he said again.

She knew that, whatever he was going to say, she didn't want to hear it. She turned to leave again.

He had to let her leave, he thought. She didn't know it, but that was the kindest thing he could do for her; he had to let her go. "Sara… did you want to come up for a drink?"

Boy, was he in trouble.

UP NEXT: NEXT CHAPTER: FEBRUARY 13-16, 1998. SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA AND LAS VEGAS, NEVADA.

A/N:

Thank you again for reading, and thank you so much for the kind reviews/favs/follows!