CSINut214's A/N: Yeah, I don't have anything witty to say. Sorry man.
Sara couldn't believe this scenario had never crossed her mind. She stood over the body, gritting her teeth as Grissom arrived at the scene.
A body with severed limbs, covered with insects. Days baking in the desert sun had made identifying time of death nearly impossible. Weren't they lucky, Peter mused, that they had a forensic entomologist on call at all times?
Lucky wasn't the word Sara would have used, but she smiled indulgently anyway. From the three weeks that she had worked with him, she'd found Peter to be an ideal boss. His patient, easygoing personality was a welcome change from brooding Gil Grissom. He was in his late fifties, but had the energy of a teenager. He rubbed his hands together with anticipation when Grissom's Denali pulled up.
"Hey, it's the Bugmobile," he grinned, waving Grissom over.
She stared at the mutilated body, not acknowledging his arrival, and wondered if he'd purposely worn sunglasses to mask his eyes. Grissom could keep the rest of his face completely passive, but his eyes always gave him away.
He crouched next to the body and stared at it appraisingly. "Some of these shouldn't be here," he said, peering at the insects. "Not on a body this fresh."
Peter frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Possible cross-contamination," Sara supplied. "Means there may be another body. I'll look around."
Taking slow, careful strides, she studied the brush and ground around them, checking for disturbances in the soil patten. About a hundred yards away, she found it.
"Some kind of animal carcass," she yelled. "Definitely not human. Looks like it's been here a while."
"Bag it," Grissom called, and for a moment it felt like old times.
Sara gingerly placed the carcass in an evidence bag, wrinkling her nose at the smell.
"I could have done that."
She looked up to see Peter standing over her with a sheepish expression. "What do you mean?"
"Well, Morgan told me you're a vegetarian," he said, squatting down next to her. "So you probably don't enjoy touching dead animals. I could have bagged that for you."
She bit back a smile. "I processed three severed limbs over there, how is this different?"
"Just is," he shrugged, and she frowned, because it was.
Peter picked up the bagged animal with a gloved hand. "A mole, maybe?"
"Kind of big to be a mole. Might be a gopher."
He chuckled to himself, murmuring, "Gopher it, Pete…"
"What?" She scraped at the soil, gathering the dirt that had surrounded the carcass.
"Are you free to have dinner with me after work?"
If she kept her eyes on the ground, if her fingers kept moving deftly, if she didn't raise an eyebrow, maybe he wouldn't notice the fluttering sound of her heart in her chest. "Isn't that… frowned upon?"
"Not that I know of," Peter said easily. "I checked the employee manual, there's no written rule. And we're professionals. You know what they say… What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas… um, what happens off-duty in Vegas I mean… though that's not as catchy… More accurate, though…"
She laughed at him as she worked. Round and round and round, she swept the dirt in tighter circles until there was a small, neat pile, and the only thing left to do was scoop it into the canister. "So… dinner."
"Dinner," he repeated, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. And something else… a flirting tone that made her throat ache.
"You're on," she said, turning to look at him with a wide smile. As soon as she turned, she saw him. Grissom was standing a few feet behind Peter, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Her face fell as she took in his expression, so stormy even his sunglasses couldn't hide the hurt and anger.
"I'm going to get back to the lab," Grissom told them tersely. "I… the timeline needs to be… I'll be at the lab." He turned quickly and was gone.
Greg had taken to calling the new team "Triple-S" – Sofia, Sam, and Sanders. They all seemed to think it was terribly cute and clever, so Grissom didn't bother pointing out that Sara had been an S too.
From Sam's very first night, things had been different. He and Sofia had previously worked together on days, and trusted each other implicitly. Greg followed him around asking questions, and Sam mentored the younger CSI without an ounce of patronization. They solved cases more efficiently and had even taken to socializing together after work.
Grissom watched them joke and poke each other as he handed out assignments, conscious of his outsider status. They hurried down the hallway, anxious to get to work, and he wondered whether his heart was still in this job.
Sara lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying the evening in her head.
He'd opened the car door for her and led her into the restaurant with his hand on the small of her back. He'd told her she looked lovely… radiant, even.
He hadn't ignored her, or made her feel small.
They'd talked about their favorite sports teams, the different places they'd lived. He'd demanded that she explain the difference between a gazebo and a pagoda, and she'd laughed wine out her nose.
He hadn't quoted philosophers or poets. He hadn't brought up the forensics journals that he knew she read, and he hadn't talked about the average wingspan of the male cicada.
After their date, he'd walked her to her door, kissing her cheek sweetly and telling her what a fine evening he'd had.
He hadn't pinned her to the wall, making her heart race and her knees weak. He hadn't caused her body to thrum with waves of heat.
Sara curled up on her side, fighting back tears. Peter had been attentive and charming. He'd been everything she'd wanted, so why did her chest feel so tight?
She couldn't be alone right now, she felt it all the way down to her toes. But there was no one to call. Morgan was nice enough, but she didn't know her well enough to cry in front of her. Her former colleagues had barely kept in touch with her after the shift changes.
She knew who she should call, of course. There'd only been one person in her whole lifetime who'd been willing to be there at her lowest points without judging her. The phone seemed to dial on its own accord, and when she heard him answer the tears spilled over.
"Sara? Are you okay?" His voice was soft and thick, like the jars of honey her mom had kept in the fridge. She cradled the phone in her palm, weeping as she listened to his murmurs of concern.
"I—" A sob shook her body. "Am I interrupting something?"
"Sara," he admonished, and she cried harder. "Talk to me. What's going on? Are you hurt?"
It did hurt. Raw, visceral pain, pumping through her heart and shooting through her veins. "I just… I didn't know it'd be this hard."
He sighed. "Yeah… I know what you mean."
They sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the faint sound of Sara's sniffles. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, glancing at her alarm clock.
"Oh, god, you're at work, aren't you."
"Lifting prints off a convenience store counter as we speak."
"Grissom, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have called you at work."
"If it had been a problem, I would have told you so," he said calmly. "I'm processing the scene alone, and PD is outside. It's just you and me."
Her tears started up again. "Can you just… stay on the phone till I fall asleep?"
"That's my plan."
"This doesn't change anything."
"Okay."
She listened to the sound of his kit opening and closing. "What're you doing now?" she asked, growing drowsy.
"Well, the clerk swept the floors at midnight, and the robbery happened shortly afterwards. So I'm checking for footprints."
Her eyelids were heavy, and she felt herself sinking into the bed. "Any luck?"
"Doesn't seem to be. But you know that recent article in the Journal of Forensic Advancements?"
She hummed in response. Of course she knew that article.
"I'm going to try that technique… luckily, the store has a supply of contact paper and plastic wrap… I'll replace it, of course… So first, I'll spread a thin layer of glue over the paper…" His voice flowed out of the receiver, covering her like a warm down blanket, and she slept. She didn't dream.