Beware of Geeks Bearing Presents

Summary: A sequel to Poetic Injustice. A bit of fluff – Sara and Grissom want to repair their friendship. Greg wants Sara. Ecklie wants the Red Creeper. Catherine wants a night off. And a mystery man from Sara's past is back.

Rating: PG to be on the safe side.

A/N: Probably a good idea to read Poetic Injustice first, but I think you can follow this story if you don't. Spoilers for Unfriendly Skies. Thanks to Ann and Marlou for beta-ing this chapter along with Burked.

Disclaimer: If I had even a fraction of a percent of the rights to CSI would I be writing fan fiction? Well, yeah, probably, but that doesn't change the fact I own nothing to do with the show.


Chapter 2

Sara fought the urge to laugh as she stood in Grissom's doorway. He was leaning against his desk, scowling deeply as he rummaged through the battered backpack he was currently using in lieu of his briefcase.

It was the same bag she used in college to haul her books. Sara had brought it out of semi-retirement after watching Grissom trying to carry his briefcase and manage his crutches at the same time. He could only walk a few steps before the briefcase threatened to fall from under his arm.

Even though it was a generic navy bag that had nothing 'girly' about it, it had taken an effort to get him to switch. The man did not like change. That much had become clear in their talks over the past week.

Any involvement between them would require he make considerable changes to his well-structured life. He liked the sense of security that the familiarity gave him. She understood this, but as she told him, not all change was bad.

Grissom gave her a frustrated look when he realized he was under scrutiny. Collapsing into his chair, he pointed an accusing finger at the backpack.

"I can't find anything in there," he sighed.

"It's only until you get a walking cast."

"I knew where everything was in my briefcase."

"It's okay," she said softly, crossing the room.

"These weren't meant to handle files."

"I know."

"You're patronizing me," he said petulantly.

"I prefer 'humoring'," she said, smiling broadly as she placed his coffee on his desk.

"I'm sure you find this very humorous," he said, giving her a half-wink. It faded as she placed a pack of ibuprofen on his desk near the mug. "Close the door."

"What's up?" Sara asked, giving him a quizzical look. It wasn't often he wanted to talk behind closed doors. She doubted it was personal – they were having those conversations at his townhouse.

"I saw that exchange with Greg in the hallway," Grissom said, pausing to swallow the painkillers. He gave her a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied, "You think I crossed a line."

"No, Greg did. I'll talk to him."

"Why?"

Sara smiled as she watched Grissom shift uncomfortably in his chair. In all the years she'd worked in Vegas, he'd never said anything to the lab tech about his flirting efforts. She suspected she knew the reason for his sudden concern. Officially, they weren't together, but his jealousy was endearing – when it wasn't directed at her.

"You shouldn't have to put up with that at work. It's not professional."

"You never said anything before," she pointed out with a smile.

"Some behavior is inappropriate in the hallways," Grissom stated, declining to take her bait.

"What about behind closed doors?"

She bit her lip to stop from laughing when he sputtered on his coffee, looking at her in disbelief. It was the first openly suggestive thing she'd said to him since they'd cleared the air between them.

Sara knew Grissom was still leery about starting a relationship. They may have talked about all the potential problems they faced, but that didn't make them go away. Still, she wanted him to know what direction she hoped their relationship would go.

"Behind closed office doors – yes," he finally managed to respond.

"Relax. I'm joking," she said dismissively, still smiling at his shock.

"Oh. Good," he said, blinking at her in an odd way.

"I can refrain from jumping you in the lab."

"Good."

"I'm sure it's a personal flaw on my part," she said dryly.

"Do you want to work every decomp in an enclosed space that we get?" Grissom's threat was tempered by the grin he gave her.

"I think that's my clue to leave."

"Sara," Grissom said softly. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said, hesitating at his office door. "Do you want to have breakfast after shift?"

"I'll have to take a rain check. I have to go to the scientific supply convention," he sighed.

Sara gave him a curious look. Las Vegas was a mecca of trade shows, including the companies that supplied forensic labs. The show officially opened the next day, but a special invitation-only preview was being held beforehand. Normally, Grissom relished the chance to see the latest gizmos and gadgets.

He saw her look and shrugged. "Tomorrow's meeting is for lab directors, supervisors, purchasing agents."

"Your peers," she said, raising her eyebrows when he gave her a hurt look.

"I'm a scientist," he said indignantly. "They're, they're … paper pushers."

"No one would ever accuse you of that," Sara said, smirking as she took in the ghosts of dead trees piled on his desk.

"Go!"

"Rain check?"

"Definitely," he promised.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Hey," Sara called out later when she entered the DNA lab. Her smile faltered when Greg refused to acknowledge her presence. "Did you get a chance to work on my Carlyle samples?"

He silently handed her a printout, turning his back to her once he was done.

Sara tilted her head as she watched him. This was totally out-of-character for Greg. The lab tech was normally overactive, not sullenly quiet. Maybe she had crossed a line.

"Greg, you aren't mad, are you?"

Silence greeted her.

"I'm sorry."

Greg entered another set of data into his computer.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

The clicks and beeps of the equipment were her only response. Sara shifted her weight, resting her arms on Greg's desk. She had only wanted to discourage his flirtations. She hadn't meant to damage their friendship.

"Look, I'm going on break in a few minutes. I haven't tried that new coffee shop yet. Why don't you join me?"

Greg turned his head to stare at her cautiously.

"My treat. I promise – no pinches."

The lab tech appeared to mull over the suggestion, watching her hesitantly.

"Come on. It'll be the two of us."

"Fine," he said reluctantly.

"Okay. Thanks," she said, holding up her printout as she left the room.

Greg kept his cautious look until she rounded the corner. As he turned back to his monitor, a sly smile broke out. She fell for it! Oh, sometimes it was necessary to sacrifice a pawn or two, but he'd gotten her to ask him out.

There was a reason he was the captain of his college chess team.

Archie paused outside of the DNA lab when he heard the evil cackling coming from within. Deciding it was better not to ask, he continued to his own lab, wondering what type of trouble Greg was getting himself into this time.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Grissom sighed as he looked at the form in his hand. He'd swear in court that he'd already filled it out. Shuffling through the mounds of paper on his desk, he found its twin. His victorious smile faded when he realized that it was the report for the previous month.

He leaned back in his chair, watching wistfully as Sara and Greg walked down the hall. She gave him a wave as they went by. Grissom nodded in return, letting out a long sigh. They had to talk soon. She thought his behavior was due to his injury.

The truth was he was frustrated – very frustrated – but it had nothing to do with being stuck on crutches.

In the past, any thoughts about Sara had been in the abstract, a type of 'what if' scenario. They were now at the stage of deciding whether they'd remain friends or become more. From Sara's comments, it sounded like she wanted more.

She had been joking, hadn't she? They couldn't do something like that at work. He couldn't anyway. She did have more … adventures … than he had. It still surprised him to think she'd been part of the Mile High Club. What else had she tried? What else did she like?

Grissom let out a groan. That had not been the right subject to think of. He was frustrated enough already.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Catherine eyed their surroundings closely. She'd heard of street performers before, but their location was more like 'barely qualifies as a back alley'. And Dee and Dwe weren't what she'd call 'performers'.

The multi-hued duo were scampering ahead of them, pausing occasionally to bow to the homeless folks who apparently comprised their target audience.

"I say it was a mercy llama-napping," O'Riley whispered seriously. "Someone wanted to put Pooka out of its misery."

"You might be on to something," she replied, walking cautiously. The pavement that wasn't pockmarked was covered in trash.

"Do you know how they fit a stuffed llama into that … act?"

"No! I don't want to know," she said, shuddering slightly at the recall of their 'dance'.

"Here!" yelled Dwe, pointing down an alleyway.

"This is the spot!"

"This is the scene of the crime!"

"The attack!"

"The assault!"

"The offense!"

"The onslaught!"

"The violation!"

"Walking little thesauruses, aren't they?" O'Riley asked.

"Okay, Dee, Dwe, you go stand out of the way. I'll process the area," Catherine sighed when they began to caper around her.

"Be careful."

"Be diligent."

"Be thorough."

"We must get Pooka back."

"Pooka is our…"

"Yeah, yeah, your pride, your joy. I remember," Catherine said, holding out her hand to prevent the anticipated adjective assault.

"We can entertain…"

"NO! Um, I mean, I need to concentrate on this. You've had a traumatic day. Why don't you go rest?"

The twins shrugged and went to hop up on a crate on the opposite side of the street. O'Riley and Catherine looked around the scene.

"You going to be able to find any evidence in this mess?"

"I'll do my best," she said, looking at the piles of refuse littering the area. The neighboring buildings were abandoned, and it didn't look like anyone was paying for trash pickup. Naturally, that meant this was where everyone disposed of trash. "Maybe we have an eyewitness."

The police sergeant grunted, walking over to the first person he found and holding out a picture of Pooka. "Excuse me, sir. I'm with the Las Vegas Police. Did you see a llama-napping?"

"The Oompah Loompah's llama?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, wondering how many other stuffed pink llamas were usually found in this section of the city. "That's the llama I mean."

"A group of guys took it. They drove a van. It was parked over there," he said, pointing to the spot where Dee and Dwe were now shuffling around in a spirited tap dance while a small crowd clapped.

"Damn! I'll stop them," Catherine muttered, running across the street to shoo them away from what might be their only evidence.

"They watched the show. When it was done, they knocked the Oompahs down, and stole their llama. Then they drove off."

O'Riley asked standard questions on the make of the van, the number of assailants, any descriptions he could remember. If the man was to be believed, he not only knew the make and color of the van, but knew its license plate number as well.

"Do they come here often?" he asked, nodding to the pair that Catherine was trying to herd out of the area.

"Every other day. They have their show at 7 at night."

"Do you always watch their shows?" O'Riley asked, shaking his head when the man answered yes. "Why?"

The homeless man shrugged. "They never bring us any chocolates. I keep hoping they'll bring us some chocolates."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

TBC