Prologue.

Monday evening.

Sara went home after dropping her evidence. Now that she knew a little more about Grissom, she wanted to read his messages again; and she did - carefully, as if looking for hidden messages. There were little hints of personal stuff, but nothing major.

"I had forgotten the thrill of traveling for pleasure." He'd said at one point. And 'I'm becoming quite good at diving.'

He talked extensively about the feeding of caterpillars ('the babies') and about the pests that were threatening them. He also talked about the people working at the butterfly reserve, José, Nora, and Roberto. "They don't have much money, but they know how to improvise. It's hard, though; people don't think insects need preservation; they see them as pests."

He talked of people he talked to in the market, "We get along fine. Between my bad Spanish and their bad English, we manage. I've been trying to learn their native tongue but without success - unless you count their laughs as a success."

He had captioned each picture he included.

"This woman has seven (yes, seven!) kids, and they all work at the market-" "This old man makes the most beautiful wood cuttings-" "See this guy? He's a painter. His son was a painter too but he was killed by a 'marero' (that's what they call the local gang members)" "This is Dr. Schmidt; he came from Germany on vacation and decided to retire here." "Look at that sunset-"

And so on, and so on. And suddenly she understood what he was doing. He was sharing his vacation with her. There was a moment when she even felt as if she were walking beside him, meeting those people and admiring the landscape.

She was smiling faintly by the time she opened the third message. He continued telling her of the caterpillars they were raising in potted plants, "We cover them with a muslin sleeve, for protection. Caterpillars will eat just about anything, but to be healthy they need the right food; one of my tasks is to get them fresh oak leaves and" He stopped this explanation and wrote, "I'm boring you, right? Here I've been going on and on about butterflies and caterpillars, and you don't care much for those. Sorry.

"I've been babbling, I know. I was supposed to convince you that taking time off is a good thing to do, and I've been doing it badly. You must think that I've simply traded one job for another. But there's a difference. Here, I'm helping create life.

"This vacation has done wonders for me, Sara. Last night - for the first time in a long time - I didn't have any nightmares; no cold sweats- no insomnia. Of course, the fact that I haven't seen a dead body lately helps. I'm as far as I can be from Las Vegas and my job as a CSI. But I believe I'm getting some perspective on things, and I'm learning to enjoy being by myself again." Sara sighed when she read this last part, but continued reading.

"Am I going to be a better person by the time I return? I think so. I'll try to be more open to changes. I'll try to talk.

"Now, I know you're swamped with work – and it's my fault - but I have the feeling that there's something else that's keeping you from saying 'hi'. I wish you'd tell me what it is. Please, do. Remember what you once said: It's easier to write things than saying them face to face. Drop a line or two. I promise I'll understand. And listen-

I know that our lives will change in these two weeks. No doubt about it. It had to happen. No matter what, I want yours to change for the better."

"Anyway, here's a picture I took today…"

He ended his message with:

PS. I forgot to tell you that kids here call me 'el gringo que juega con arañas'. Want to know what that means? Ask me."

He had not sent any more messages after that.

Sara was standing by the window, glancing now and then at her lap top. She had tried to send a reply to Grissom, but had deleted the first line so many times, she finally stopped trying. Instead she did some laundry, cleaned up the living room, and ate some fruit. Part of her problem was that his messages frustrated her. All she needed to hear from him was that he missed her. Instead he wrote about changes - not as something to relish, but as something to be resigned about.

The only clear message was that he wanted her to write. All right; she would. She wanted to. She just froze every time she started to type. She couldn't get pass the 'hey' part. Hey, what?

Sara reluctantly sat back at her desk, but this time she picked up pen and paper to compose a 'to do" list. She had promised to visit Tina, and she needed to make sure her work wouldn't suffer if she went away. She wrote:

1. Finish Paperwork

2. Filing

3. Court schedules-

A familiar beep interrupted her and she immediately looked at her lap top. The words 'YOU'VE GOT MAIL' appeared on the screen and she hurriedly ID the sender: jjavila.cafesantiago.gt.

"Santiago," she read aloud, "That's one of the villages around Lake Atitlàn." It was from him.

"I've come to terms with the fact that you're not going to write." he wrote, "Finally."

"Up until this morning I'd been pestering the hotel manager with questions about their internet service. I was sure there was something wrong with it, since I wasn't getting any messages – I thought you'd write daily, and ask me questions about this place and the people I work with-

But you didn't.

"I did think something like this might happen. When I was making arrangements for this trip, I had the feeling that things would change, and I wouldn't be able to cope.

"I was afraid that life in Las Vegas would go on, while mine simply stopped. Like a modern day Rip Van Winkle, I'd go away for only two weeks and then return to find that:

Catherine has done a better job than me and is keeping it;

Entomology has been outlawed.

The evidence lies all the time.

There's no place in your heart for me anymore.

You're married and have five kids-

Ok, ok; I know it won't be like that. But things ARE changing already, aren't they? I'm out of your sight, out of your mind… and out of your heart. It seems that as soon as I stopped being the all-knowing CSI, you lost all interest. Or maybe you've simply smarted up.

"Still, I'm glad I did this. I needed to know if I could survive without the safety net that the lab has become. I've been using other people's misfortunes to forget my own, Sara. I've been hiding from myself. I admit that. It's easy. There are other things that are not that easy to admit. Like the fact that the only thing that keeps me human is the dream… a treasured dream that I've kept in the back of my mind –you and me. But it's only a dream.

"Brass says you're doing ok; he says you're not drinking, and God, I'm so grateful for that. No matter what happens, it'll be ok as long as you're healing. Please, please heal.

"I keep telling myself that I did the right thing by coming here and setting this chain of events in motion. Out of sight…you won't need me anymore. And I'll have to accept it. I will. But it's hard because-

"Why can't I just say it? It should be easy. I'm writing, after all; I can press delete any time I want.

"I miss you.

"There. Not hard at all.

"As for what happened today-

"It's not a big deal and I've tried to put it out of my mind but I can't. I wanted so much to talk about it, but I don't want to burden my travel companions, so I'll just write about it: Today I was at the reserve and a butterfly came fluttering about; one of the newborns. We all stopped what we were doing – I think we even stopped breathing. They're just so fragile, any harsh movement from us might damage them. We simply watched, expecting it to fly away at any minute. But it didn't. It fluttered straight to me and it brushed my cheek.

"It's not a big deal, as I said. My beard must have some pollen on it, and that's what attracted her to me. But I couldn't help thinking that I'd been kissed by a butterfly. It sounds sweet, but it's not. It's painful. I saw it as a symbol of my life: I'd been touched by this beautiful creature, but I couldn't reach for her because I knew I'd hurt her. And while José kept babbling nonsense about me having good luck in love from now on, all I could think of was you and the fact that you were once so close and I brushed you away, and now that I've figure it out, it's late and"

Sara had been holding her breath as she read the last paragraphs. She couldn't believe he had opened up like this. But when she reached the end of the message, she exhaled in frustration. It ended too abruptly.

She stared at the screen, willing it to produce the rest of his message….but nothing happened. She tried to send a response, ('I didn't get the entire message, please send again') but all she got was a notice that jjavila.cafesantiago.gt was temporarily out of reach.

Sara panicked. She had read a little about Guatemala these past two days and learned that it was a country plagued by military coups and violence, and –God forbid- earthquakes. Thinking the worst had happened, she frantically looked for the travel brochure she had shoved under her phone book.

The receptionist at Grissom's hotel patiently endured her questions and told her that no, Dr. Grissom wasn't in; no, there had been no volcanic activity in recent months; and no, there had been no military coups in years; in fact Guatemala was quite a peaceful paradise, 'the land of the eternal spring', etc., and would she like to visit their website in case she wanted to-?

Sara quickly interrupted him and after some expert questioning she got him to tell that Grissom had taken a little tour to Santiago and would be returning tomorrow.

Sara thanked the man and hung up, feeling a mixture of elation and defeat.

And damn! It was getting late and she had to go to work.

TUESDAY

I miss you. I've figured it out

Sara was at the conference room, adding three items to her 'to do' list: 1. 'talk to Grissom', 2. 'talk to Catherine', and 3. 'Greg's party'. She had gaped when Greg told her he'd be picking her up at five-thirty that afternoon. She had completely forgotten about the party, but had the good sense not to tell him so. She had merely smiled and assured him she'd be ready. She would too. She hoped. As long as Sidle's law didn't rear its head today, she'd be fine.

As for the other two items, talking to Grissom was out of the question, so she concentrated on her second task. She had prepared two approaches: The dignified one: 'Catherine, I need to take a few days off. My work is up-to-date as you can see-'; and the whiny one: 'I haven't taken a vacation in two years-'.

To her chagrin, Catherine had kept her door closed all night.

Frustrated by this, towards the end of the shift she had gone down to the morgue for a cup of Dr. Robbins' fine coffee. She loved to hear him talk about the old days, when autopsies were done with 'stone-age tools', as he put it.

They were talking when Catherine entered the morgue.

"Hey Doc," she greeted, "Sara, I've been looking for you." She said, a little pissed off; before Sara could say anything, she added, "Listen, I'm taking you all to lunch today. I have a reservation at Martino's."

"What?" Sara frowned, "Why?"

"No reason at all," Catherine said, "We'll simply eat and talk about our current cases. We might take the chance to talk about ourselves too." she paused to see if Sara understood. "You know. Personal stuff."

"Oh." Sara mumbled, inwardly dreading it already.

Catherine smiled at Robbins.

"You can come along too, Doc."

"Thank you, Catherine; I can't." Said Robbins, "I promised my wife to take her shopping."

"Good for you." She smiled. She turned to the younger woman, "So, Sara? Twelve-thirty, all right?" she said pointedly and walked away.

"We eat lunch together all the time." Sara muttered after a moment.

"Ah, but do you talk about personal stuff?" Robbins said teasingly. He smiled widely when he saw Sara's expression, "You and I are more used to Gil's approach to the job, aren't we, Sara? Personal stuff takes a step back when he's here."

Sara shrugged and sipped her coffee.

"I think Catherine's smarter than Gil." Robbins said after a moment.

"Is she?" she frowned.

"Yes. She has the right attitude for the job. You see, a supervisor has to deal with the sheriff and the press; it's practically a politician's job and Gil's bad at it. He'd rather examine a stinking body than have lunch with the sheriff- or us. He pisses off the people he should be in good terms with."

"I suppose," Sara muttered.

"Then there's the budget-" he added, thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Grissom gets paid according to his qualifications. …" he shrugged, "You've seen all those diplomas, haven't you? One day the sheriff will realize that is cheaper to pay someone else for the job of supervisor. Someone with less qualifications, but more willing to play the game."

Sara looked at her empty cup of coffee. Poor Grissom. No wonder he didn't like the idea of leaving for so long.

"He wouldn't be replaced that easily-" She said with conviction.

"Of course not." He said kindly. After a moment of silence, Robbins got up with some difficulty and said, "Go home and rest. Oh, and enjoy lunch."

Sara looked up and noticed the gleam in Robbins' eyes. He didn't care much for formal lunches either. She smiled back.

She went home in a hurry.

'YOU'VE GOT MAIL'

Yes! She almost shouted when she saw the little message. And yes, it was from his hotel.

Sara quickly opened the file and read:

Sara.

Remember that you once told me that it was easier to say it in an e-mail than to say it in person? Well, some people can't even manage that.

I learned that yesterday, at a coffee shop/chat room in Santiago. There was a guy there who kept writing messages only to delete them afterwards. He wrote and deleted, over and over. He wrote pages, Sara; he was inspired. He was really pouring his heart out because he knew he would not send any of those messages. They were too personal, you see. Letting anybody read them would have been like…like being naked in public. Worse perhaps, since it wouldn't be his body out there in the open, but his thoughts.

"He was happy while he wrote, though. It was like doing therapy without having to talk to a shrink.

"And then he did something incredibly stupid - he hit 'send' instead of 'delete'.

"You should have seen him, Sara. He lost his head. Instead of calmly retrieving the message, he pushed his chair back - horrified at what he had done - and accidentally unplugged something that apparently held the whole room together. Can you believe it? Every other computer and every light in the room went out. (No wonder it cost only $0.50 an hour, cappuccino included; the place is crumbling down). When the owner appeared, he simply said 'Oh, f-, not again' and told our hapless guy that it would take a while to get things going again.

It took hours. By the time he tried to retrieve the message, it was too late, so-

To cut this story short, all I can say is that I can't believe I pressed 'Send' instead of 'Delete.' I'm so sorry, Sara.

Sara gaped at this message.

"'I'm so sorry'." she read aloud. "Sorry for what, for God's sake?" she asked. "Damn it, Grissom." She hissed angrily, "You're taking back what you said, aren't you-"

She read his message again, growing angry at him for making fun of his own actions. Why couldn't he simply say something and leave it at that?

She shook her head in disappointment.

"Fine." She muttered, reaching down to take off her shoes. "Be sorry, I don't care anymore." She wasn't going to waste a single minute feeling sorry for herself or feeling angry at Grissom. Right now she needed a shower and a nap -and mostly, she needed to stop thinking about him.

Sara lay in bed, counting the cracks on the ceiling. This had always helped her fall asleep, but not today. She was nervous; she had an eventful day waiting for her: Lunch with her supervisor – that made her cringe; dinner with Greg- that made her smile a little. She couldn't wait to see the look on Greg's face when he saw her dress – Whoa. She blinked. She was looking forward to go to a party?!

Maybe Grissom was right. Things were changing in his absence.

'Poor Grissom' she thought, 'He must be mortified right now. He must feel so… so naked.'

She felt a pang of regret. Maybe she had been unfair to him. He was trying, after all. He had done all this with the best of intentions...and he'd done it for her. As for the rest… He was simply being Grissom. Mysterious and secretive. Enigmatic. Infuriating. Courageous.

And after all, she thought reluctantly, wasn't that precisely why she fell in love with him? Because he was so different?

"Oh, damn," she muttered. She couldn't stay mad at him.

She turned and hugged her other pillow. Maybe there was no mystery to Grissom. He was clearly wary of relationships. Perhaps he knew himself so well that he knew what a relationship with him would be like and he wanted to spare people's feelings. Maybe he sucked at the dating game and knew it. He was probably clueless about courtship rituals and didn't understand why women expected roses on Valentine's Day or dinner on their anniversary. She smiled, as she imagined what he did on his dates: He probably took them to ride roller coasters or to dusty museums. And then he wondered why women didn't go twice with him-

She closed her eyes. She didn't have a right to mock Grissom. She didn't understand courtship rituals either. She had tried, when she dated Hank - and maybe she would still be trying, if things had gone differently- but frankly, she was terrible at it. She was too direct; she lacked subtlety and couldn't flirt to save her life-

And she didn't understand why anyone would want roses at Valentine's Day either –what a waste. And dinners were nice, but sometimes they felt so artificial, and so forced-

And then she remembered that she had once asked Grissom to dinner- to dinner. She frowned.

She had acted out a courtship ritual… and she had expected Grissom -someone who didn't get you flowers or dinner, but a plant and a book- to accept.

She cringed. Suddenly she visualized what that dinner would have been like: They would have sat and tried to act a part, like actors in a play they hadn't rehearsed for. They would have done everything but be themselves!

"And we're two of a kind." She said aloud. And then she smiled.

Sara bounced out of bed and marched into the living room.

"You miss me, Gil Grissom." She said as she resolutely punched 'reply'. "You said it and I won't let you take it back. I have all this written evidence backing me up."

She wrote,

"Dear Grissom:

I want to write to you but right now I'm just too busy. I will, though. I promise. Meanwhile, keep telling me about your butterflies and scuba diving. And send me more pictures. Let me see if you're getting a tan, too."

PD: What does 'el gringo que juega con arañas' mean?

"And that's my goal now." Warrick said as he dug into his cassata. "I want to try writing my own songs."

"Very nice, Warrick," said Catherine approvingly.

Lunch at Martino's had been a nice idea, thought Warrick. They had talked about their pending cases while eating good food. And even though Greg had already left - to pick up some friends at the airport- Catherine, Sara, and Nick were still there.

All through lunch, he had noticed that Sara kept glancing at the files beside her plate. Warrick knew what she had there; her pending cases, her 'to do' list, and some application forms. He had already promised to take care of her court appearances and she had gratefully checked those off; but she still hadn't talked to Catherine and was nervous about it.

Warrick knew very well what the problem was: Sara just didn't like to ask for favors.

"Hey Sara." Nick mumbled, glancing over at the bar area "Those two guys are checking you out."

Sara didn't react, but Catherine glanced around. There were two guys looking in their direction but they were actually looking at her; one of them winked and lifted his glass in a silent toast. Catherine smiled and glanced at Nick.

"It's true, Sara," Catherine said with a smirk, "They are checking you out."

Warrick noticed the look that passed between Catherine and Nick. Warrick shook his head slightly. He hated it when these two acted as if they were still in high school. He had bad memories from that time, when he was a skinny kid with bulging eyes and saw the blond cheerleaders and the jocks making fun of less popular kids, and getting away with it simply because they were good looking-

Sara didn't seem to mind this time. She simply ate her desert.

"Come on, Sara." coaxed Nick. "You should be more open, you know."

Sara shot him an unfriendly glance and didn't say anything.

"Sara," Catherine said aloud, to get her attention, "What about you?"

Sara looked up in confusion.

"What?"

"Your goals." Catherine said, "We would like to know about them."

"Oh." Sara looked around the table. They had stopped eating to look at her. "Oh. Well. Hum." 'My goal is to talk to Grissom. ' she thought, 'Then I want to strangle him for the whole Lady Heather thing-' "My goal…" she said aloud, "Hum, my goal is to do my job well, I guess-" She answered, "To learn-"

"But what about your personal goals?" Catherine said, "You must have some."

"I do." She replied reluctantly, "Like I said, I like to learn-"

"What about trying to have some fun for a change." Muttered Nick.

"I always have fun." Sara replied sarcastically

"I mean fun, Sara." Nick replied, glancing up, "You know- the kind that involves Jazz, a bottle of wine, and sweaty sheets-"

Warrick winced at Nick's words. After what Sara had told him on Sunday, he hoped Nick wouldn't tell one of those 'roll in the hay' jokes of his. Sara hated them. They always reminded her of Tina's last words ('have fun, have sex') on that fateful night, years ago.

'If Nick knew what his jokes mean to me he'd be horrified,' Sara had told Warrick, 'He's not a mean person. But he pisses me off anyway.'

Sara didn't look pissed off right now; she simply stared at Nick.

"So, what you're saying is that I ought to pick up some guys and have fun-"

"Well-"

"-because I'm sexually frustrated-" she finished.

"Hum. Well." Nick was flustered. "You make it sound like-"

"It's what you said, Nick." She interrupted placidly.

"Sara, all I'm saying is that you keep your gaze down while life passes you by," he explained, "You should do something about it."

Warrick expected to see Sara throw a 'look' at Nick, but she seemed pretty calm.

"I will, one of these days," she said evasively.

"'One of these days' sounds like 'never'," noticed Catherine. "Come on. Do you want to be like Grissom and reach fifty with no life of your own?"

Sara had to take a deep breath not to show her anger. She didn't think it was fair to discuss Grissom like this.

"And what should I do?" she asked, "go over that table and talk to those guys?"

"Sure," said Catherine, "Why not? Get a date. After all, you have a new dress in your closet. You don't want it to turn into moth food, do you? "

"Sara has a dress?" asked Nick.

"Yes, Nick, I have one." Sara glared. "Why?"

Warrick had had enough of this conversation.

"You know," he said deliberately, "I think what Sara needs is to make a trip and visit her family and her friends-"

Sara cringed. She hadn't planned on bringing the matter in public, so to speak.

"Hey, that's a good idea-" Catherine said, "I mean, you do have friends, right?"

"Actually-" Sara cleared her throat, "I was thinking-"

"Forget friends." Nick interrupted, "She should go on a cruise -"

"Oooh, a cruise." Nodded Catherine, "Aruba, Jamaica -"

"Bermuda, Bahamas, Come on pretty mama," sang Nick.

"I couldn't do that." Sara said quickly, "My cases-"

"Hey, your life is important too." Nick interrupted, "You need to take risks- Look at Grissom. Even he realized he needed some time off -"

"Bad example." interrupted Catherine, "He's not on some beach getting a tan, Nick; he's bound to be in some dusty lab doing some investigation or reading something boring-"

'If you only knew' Sara thought with some angry satisfaction. 'your jaw would drop-' "

She listened as her colleagues discussed Grissom as if they knew him… and suddenly, she decided not to waste the chance that Warrick had given her.

"I can't just go on a cruise." She said, firmly, "They last, what – a week?-" she looked at Catherine, "Would you let me go a whole week?"

"Why not?" Catherine said, knowing perfectly well that Sara would never take a weekend off, let alone a whole week.

"Really?" Sara challenged, "What about giving me two weeks off?" Sara challenged, "Would you do that?"

"Sara," Catherine said patiently, "you have enough vacation time to go away on three cruises."

"All right," Sara said with a faint smile, "You're on."

Catherine frowned as Sara shuffled some papers and wrote something on a couple of forms. She couldn't see that Sara was changing a number 3 into a 13. Now her requests for time off read "13 days".

"Here." Sara said, handing the file to her Supervisor.

"What is this?"

"Forms." Sara said cheerfully, "I filled them out today. I'm taking thirteen days off, starting the day after tomorrow. You'll authorize them, won't you?"

"What?" Catherine stared at Sara.

"I'm taking some time off, Catherine." Sara said patiently, barely managing to contain her smile. "I'm following your advice," She added.

"But… but-" Catherine gaped.

In the silence that followed, Warrick snorted… and then chuckled openly. Catherine looked at him, still unsure of what to say or do. Nick's reaction was quicker.

"Sara?" he said, "Are you really-?" he didn't finish; he only waved his hand in the air.

"Yes, Nick. I am really" and she did the same little move in the air, "I'm taking some time off."

"Ok." He said, letting the idea sink in, "Ok. Hum. That's- Congratulations."

"I know you'll have to handle more cases," Sara said sheepishly.

"He'll be happy to cooperate, Sara." Warrick said. "You too, right Catherine?"

"What?" Catherine looked at Warrick. "Oh." She paused, "Yes. Yes, of course."

Sara smiled to herself. Let's see if Catherine has time for the sheriff now that she'll have to work as hard as Grissom, she thought.

"Hey, Sara?" Nick said, "I'm glad." He said honestly, "And listen: I'll do my part, Ok? I'll finish any paperwork you have- whatever. Ok.?"

Sara looked at him for a moment. She hadn't expected this. She smiled and leant to peck him lightly on the cheek.

"Ok. Thanks." She looked at her colleagues, "Thank you, everybody. Now-" she picked up her files and pushed her chair back, "I've got to go. I need to get ready for a party."

She didn't turn but she knew they were gaping at her.

TBC

Coming soon:

SEVENTH DAY: Grissom again.