Grissom heard an echo of Sara's laughter come faintly down the hallway and paused until he thought he wouldn't meet them in the parking lot. He knew that Sara's reason was perfectly understandable. She certainly had sounded sad – or maybe wistful – when she was apologizing. There was no reason to think that she had suddenly decided it would be a bad idea to ride with him to the lab. Unless, of course, she thought that he didn't want to drive her. He groaned. She may over-speak when she was around him but he over-thought when he was around her. Which is worse, I wonder? At least her method precipitates action while mine…. He sighed and looked around. Mine precipitates lurking

in hallways.

He pulled into the lab parking lot to see Greg's car already parked and empty. Christ, how fast was he driving anyway? He's so young….He stopped that train of thought before it progressed any further. He had delayed so that they would get to the lab first. There was no reason to go pull Greg's DMV records. No reason at all.

He walked into the lab, still ruminating over plausible excuses and picked up the night's assignments. He glanced down at the lone file. Apparently there were nights when Las Vegas was capable of being boring. He walked into the break room and cleared his throat lightly. Greg stalled mid-grab for Sara's hat and she hastily sat down across the way from him. Grissom raised an eyebrow at the pair, noting Sara's change in hair color. He had always thought she looked cute in that cap, much better than that old beanie she would occasionally wear.

"Look's like we've only got one case thus far. It's a DB in a nursery. There are some bugs so I'll come along with you both and if there's another call, then Sara can take it." He looked at them both; they were nodding. "Okay, let's go."

--

Grissom sifted his fingers through the soil around the body, a mix of dirt and shredded bark. He sighed, "Well, there are bugs on this guy but they're all of the basic decomposer variety typically found in a nursery." He watched as Sara picked one of the bugs up and placed it in her palm.

"When I was a little kid, I remember going to the park and digging through the sand to get to the clay underneath. Closer to the grass there'd be these little rolly pollies and my brother and I would nudge them until they curled into a ball. Sometimes they couldn't quite roll into a full ball – it was like they got stuck halfway." Sara looked up from her palm to Grissom, a crooked smile on her face. "I've never seen rolly pollies here though, I thought it was too hot."

"Well, normally it is. There are several species of pill bugs; the two you were talking about are some of the most common – Cylisticus convexus and Trachelipus rathkei. Pill bugs are actually in the Class Crustacea, one of the few species from that class to adapt well to land."

"I've always been amazed at the way nature can tie together things that appear so different but once you dig deep enough – they're related. This little guy –" she glanced down where the bug was making its way up a gloved finger and continued, "—and a lobster."

He smiled and peered at the bug in her hand, saying, "Well, this little fellow won't be rolling up." His gloved finger grazed her palm as he nudged the pill bug, which stopped its movement until Grissom withdrew his finger. Sara's breath had stopped for a moment; normal people would not wonder how that touch would feel without the latex between them. Of course, most 'normal' people didn't wear latex as a regular part of their job.

Grissom blithely continued on, "If you look closer, you'll see that he has white markings at the leg joints, as well as his antennas. That marks him as a Porcellionides pruinosus; unlike C. convexus or T. rathkei he can't roll into a ball – he also appears broader and flatter than the other two species. They have different shadings and striations of color on their backs and, as we can see here, on their antenna and leg joints."

"I'd always wondered about that – if the ones that couldn't roll up had been injured or if they were being foolishly brave in the face of my finger." Sara said.

"No, not hurt, not broken. Just different. In any event, this guy just came along for the mulch and water vapor. As to how he came here –" Grissom peered at the stacked boxes and crockery around them before drawing one of the boxes off a shelf. "I'd say we can discuss that with the driver from Verdant Valleys Greenhouse Supplies, Watsonville, California." He looked up from reading the box and smirked. "Bugs are following you from California, Sara."

"Well, I guess we all follow someone," slipped out of her mouth before she took a moment to think about it. A slow flush crept up her neck but fortunately stopped short of her face. Well, at least I didn't ask whether he would curl up into a ball or stop at a 'C' if I tickled him. I have some modicum of self-preservation left intact anyway.

Grissom just quirked an eyebrow up and opened his mouth to speak when Greg came bounding in.

"Hey, I was talking with the neighboring store clerks and Mindy told me that she saw a green delivery van peal out of the delivery area. She went over to ask our guy what had happened but ran back into her store when she saw buddy's feet stickin' out like the wicked witch of the east. She's the one who called 911."

Grissom made good use of his cocked eyebrow as he asked, "Mindy?"

Sara adopted a hurt expression and said, "Oh Greg! You've replaced me so soon!"

Greg stared at her, taken by surprise, and managed to squeak out "Never" before Sara's pager sounded.

Sara grinned at the silent pair as she glanced down, "Oh look!" She exclaimed brightly, "It's Brass!" She carefully nudged the rolly polly, Porcellionides pruinosus she reminded herself, into a pot of mulch. She snapped shut her case and stood up, back arching slightly as it cracked. Sara grinned mischievously at Grissom before grabbing her case and winking at Greg as she strode past him. "Well, I guess it's on to bigger and better things; I'll see you boys later."

Heh. Sidle, you still got it, she thought as she turned on the Denali and called up Brass to see what awaited her.

--

Grissom entered the break room and saw Sara making herself a cup of coffee. "So I hear that your 'bigger and better' thing turned out to be a B&E." He said to her back.

She shrugged as she turned around, a ripple of motion that started across her left shoulder and terminated in her right hand as she stirred cream into her coffee. "Yah, well you make do with what comes along, right?"

An image of Hank flashed before Grissom's eyes and he found himself saying, "Well, our delivery guy came back with a dolly for the body so…." He gave a slight shrug.

"Yes, well, apparently it's not just a slow night in terms of activity – all of our criminals are slow as well." She said, rolling her eyes. "I think I'm going to go through the files of a cold case. Unless you have anything for me?"

Grissom shook his head, "I'll page you if anything comes up."

She nodded and left the break room, leaving Grissom standing there – trying to remember what he had come in for. That was twice in one night she had left him speechless; if he was honest with himself, he would have to admit to years of the effect. When she first came to Vegas, he could still manage to keep up an intelligent conversation with her. They could discuss journal articles and new methodology; they could tease and flirt with each other. But somewhere in the last two years things had been changing and he had been to self-involved to see it hurting her. To notice that she wasn't sleeping enough, wasn't eating enough, was drinking too much. He looked up one night, after asking for her assistance with his case, and he had said, "I haven't seen you in a while, have I?"

She had looked puzzled and said, "You see me everyday," before walking off. He realized at that point the extent to which he had been blocking her out, all in the name of reason and practicality. And who was it doing any good? Certainly not him. He could stand there, grousing to himself over lost chances and risks untaken for as long as he liked and it wouldn't change matters any. What he needed to do was suck it up and move on with his life – get back to the plateau where work was his life. In short, he needed to get over Sara. The trouble was, he had been trying to do that for the last ten years and had failed miserably thus far. Maybe it was time for a change in tactics – maybe it was time to give up tactics entirely.

--