SATURDAY: Greg

Prologue

Sara logged off and then didn't move for a few minutes. She simply stared at her own reflection on the dark screen.

She knew she wasn't pretty –not in a conventional way, as her mom used to say to comfort her- but she had never cared, really; she had gone through life depending more on her brains than her physical appearance and she had done very well, thank you.

There were times, however, when the Demon of Insecurity reared its head and whispered discouraging words in her ear. Today was one of those days.

Catherine's criticism had stung her badly, and Sara still couldn't understand why. After all, it wasn't the first time the older woman had tried to talk fashion to her, and Sara had always managed to placate her with vague promises to do better…

But this time Catherine had mentioned her and it had made a big difference. It wasn't just that Grissom was attracted to someone –though that in itself was hard to take – but the fact that he liked this woman. Not that she was jealous, she told herself; oh, no. Not at all. She had always despised jealous people; too many times a little spark of insecurity flared into jealousy, and then tragedy struck.

So, no, she wasn't jealous…

…But a little voice whispered in her ear then, reminding her that she had hurried to log on Lady Heather's web site instead of going to the morgue, as Doctor Robbins had requested. And all so she could stare at a stunningly beautiful woman –a fantasy woman- who apparently turned men into putty, including Grissom. Sara shook her head slightly, musing at the irony: She had always hoped to see a human side to Grissom, but this… this was more than she had bargained for. Still, she couldn't believe that Grissom would fall for this woman simply because she wore black leather. There must be something else to her… Maybe she had a brilliant mind, or maybe she was a dazzling conversationalist-

Maybe this Lady Heather was a sweet tempered woman who didn't need to fight every time they talked, Sara thought morosely. She surely wouldn't be caught dead wearing some ratty, mustard-colored blouse… She probably didn't even drink-

"Oh, that's enough!" Sara growled, snapping out of her little pity-me trip.

She needed to go to the morgue.

SATURDAY: Greg

It was six o'clock. The night shift was winding down, and Doc Robbins was putting his delicate equipment away. He had explained to Sara that her unidentified arm had been cut off with a very sharp blade; it had been sliced in fact, and very easily: There were no hesitant cuts on the skin or the bone. 'Maybe the murderer is a butcher', Robbins had said, happy to speculate. Grissom didn't let him do that often enough.

"Thank you, Doc." Sara said, reading the rest of the doctor's report. "I guess the rest of the body is somewhere in the garbage." She commented, "I guess I'll have to go back tonight." She waved goodbye and went back to the lab. Her shift was ending in an hour, but she was committed to identify the arm. The tattoo might give her some clues. She smiled to herself, thinking that Greg might want to help her with that. Time to visit her young colleague, she thought; and at the right time too. He was probably in the break room brewing some of his pricey coffee.

Leaving the safety of the morgue, Sara went upstairs, self-consciously smoothing down her blouse. Damn, maybe she should have kept her lab coat on; she felt as though everybody was staring at her stripes.

She lifted her chin, though. So what if she looked bulky? So what if mustard didn't flatter her? So what if-

"Hey, Sara," called out Hodges somewhere behind her, "Nice shirt."

Sara's mood fell.

She entered the break room with an expression that Nick and Greg interpreted as 'don't even dare to speak to me.'

But Greg would always dare.

"What's up, Sara?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sara replied morosely, "Apparently I don't dress well enough to do my job" "Who says?" asked Greg, "You look great."

Sara glared at him. Unfortunately for Greg, Sara had never learned to accept personal compliments. They made her as uncomfortable as criticisms.

"Looks like you took it seriously, girl." Greg said with a serene smile on his face.

"Hey Sara, forget it." Nick said kindly, "Besides…" he said, pausing for a moment to get her attention, "I know someone who likes you just as you are."

"Who?" asked Greg.

"Pete Martin" answered Nick, turning in time to see Greg's frown.

"Who's Pete Martin?" asked the young man.

"He works with the day shift-"

"The fingerprint guy, Nick?" scoffed Greg, "Oh, please; that guy's an idiot-"

"Maybe so, but he's interested."

"So what? Sara doesn't need any guy from the day shift-"

"Well, maybe not but Sara could benefit from a little roll in the hay-"

"Hey, Nick," protested Sara at last, "do you know how offensive that sounds?" Sara looked from one to the other, "And stop talking as if I weren't here!"

"Uh, sorry," said Nick, "Look, Sara. All I'm saying is, if that guy asks you out, think before saying no, all right? He has tickets to all the games-"

"Then you go out with him." Sara said, morosely gulping her coffee.

Greg stared at her.

"Hey, Sara, that's blue Hawaiian; you don't gulp it down, you sip it." He said, lifting his own cup and sipping the coffee, "Mmmmmh!" he hummed in appreciation.

"Thanks for the lesson," she said smiling falsely. Greg smiled openly. He had always been strangely immune to Sara's thorny attitude.

"Any time." He said.

"By the way, Sara-" Nick asked, after a moment. "do you know where is Grissom?"

"Do you, Sara?" asked Greg eagerly, "I don't buy that 'vacation' story. He never goes anywhere-"

"I have no idea where he is." she said evasively. Then she sarcastically added, "But maybe Catherine convinced him to get an extreme make-over."

She immediately realized she was being disloyal to Grissom and regretted her words, but the men found them very funny.

"What, that beard isn't extreme enough for her?" laughed Nick.

"Maybe she'll get him to drop the baggy pants thing-" added Greg.

"You know what I've just realized, Greggo? Someone's been watching television on her few free nights-" Nick teased, glancing at Sara. "Someone needs a date, and badly-"

She rolled her eyes and left the room. She'd simply ask for Greg's help by phone.

Sara was checking up fingerprints, when Greg entered the lab.

"I checked up the tattoo, Sara. That arm you found belongs to a member of an LA gang." He said, "The 'Manitos'."

"Oh." She said, glancing up briefly. "Thanks, Greg," she said, turning her attention back to the screen, "If that guy was fingerprinted at some point, he'll be here-" she muttered to herself. She wanted to identify this guy and she'd do it even if it took her all day. Hopefully it would. She wasn't tired enough to go home yet.

She worked quietly for a while until she noticed that Greg was still hovering by the door.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing." He said quickly, but without moving.

Sara stopped her work altogether.

"What?" she insisted.

He hesitated a little and then he closed the door behind him. He approached her desk and leant on it.

"Hum, Sara…" he said, unsure of what to say, "I was wondering if… I mean, I thought you-"

"Greg, I don't have time for this. What do you want?"

"Would you like to come with me to my class reunion?"

Taken by surprise, Sara dropped the pencil she was holding and when she tried to pick it up, Greg did too and their heads clashed.

"Aw," moaned Sara, "You idiot!"

"Ouch!" Greg rubbed his head, "For a woman you have a hard skull, you know?"

"It's as hard as yours!" she retorted, "What do you think women are made of, anyway? Cotton?"

Greg looked at her and smiled winningly.

"I was told they were made of sugar and spice, actually."

Sara glared, still rubbing her forehead.

"Why are you still here, anyway? Your shift ended a long time ago!"

"You said you needed to know all about the tattoo ASAP." He reminded her. "but I also wanted to ask you-"

"You just did-" She said impatiently. "-and the answer is no."

"Oh, come on, hear me out first. Some old classmates from high school are coming to Las Vegas, and I was wondering if you -"

"No." she said, turning her attention back to her computer.

"You don't know what I was going to say!"

"Whatever it is, I'm not interested." She said evasively.

"Just listen!" he pleaded, "I agreed to host a party and I'd like you to be my date. It's just for one evening!" he said a bit hurt by her attitude, "I'm not asking you to cook or anything like that-"

Sara took a deep breath and turned to him.

"You want me to be your date?" she asked slowly… dangerously so.

"Yeah."

"You want me to go with you." She said coldly, then she asked "What is this, Mock-Sara Day? Do you want to join in the fun-"

"What fun?"

"- first Catherine blasts my clothes and then Hodges-" she glared at Greg, "And now you say you want me to go to a party… "

"Hey, this has nothing to do with them-" he said quickly, "I just need a smart, beautiful woman by my side. You're it."

"Beautiful; yeah, right." She muttered to herself. Then she said aloud, "You want me to go with you." She said skeptically, "Me, with my jeans and my combat boots-"

"Hell, no," he frowned, "You would have to wear your little black dress." He said and when he noticed her expression, he added, "I mean, you do have one, right? Every girl has one-"

Sara glared anew and, realizing she wasn't going to be able to work anymore, turned off her PC and picked up her reports.

"So," Greg said, watching her get ready to leave, "Will you think about it? It's next Tuesday-"

Sara glared so eloquently that Greg knew better than to insist.

TBC

COMING UP:

Sunday: Warrick

Monday: Brass