A/N: So, I'm going in for mammoplasty (breast reduction) surgery tomorrow, so hopefully I'll be able to crank out lots of chapters of both Like Cinderella and Fifteen Years Later. But for now, here's a fun little one-shot I wrote in the waiting room of my doctor's office.

Crime Solving – AC/DC Style

"Concrete shoes, cyanide, TNT. Neckties, contracts, high voltage." Sara said grimly, observing the scene before her.

"Dirty deeds done dirt cheap." Grissom replied, standing behind Sara.

"Nonprofessional hit." She confirmed. "Prints everywhere, blood, bullet casings…Either none of this is relevant or we're dealing with the dumbest hitman ever."

"I'd put my money on option B." Grissom snapped on a pair of gloves and started checking around the body. "This is messy. Hurried. No attempt to hide the body. No cleanup. But the perp used a gun. Suggests premeditated."

Sara glanced up. "Seeing as this is Vegas, I'll take that bet. Name your stakes."

Grissom's head shot up. It was back, that flirtatious banter that had been so prevalent the first year Sara had been in Vegas. Don't push it, Gil. He warned himself. Don't say dinner. You're just setting yourself up. "Dinner." He blurted out, before he could stop himself. Idiot!

"Dinner?" Sara was skeptical, which Grissom understood.

"Dinner." He nodded. "I win you buy. You win, I buy."

Sara narrowed her eyes, as if she were trying to figure out his plan. He's not mocking me, I think. Maybe…maybe he wants to try and be friends again. Just friends, Sara. Don't even think about anything romantic. She held out her hand. "Deal."

They shook on it.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Hey. All those prints? From four different people. Our dead guy, one unknown, a Mr. Mark Trenton and a Ms. Lydia Jones." Sara handed Grissom the manila folder containing Jacqui's report. "I called Lydia to get an interview. Her daughter answered. Lydia left for Florida a week ago. Before the TOD. Mr. Trenton is waiting for us in an interview room."

Grissom followed Sara to the room where Mike Trenton was waiting.

"Mr. Trenton, my name is Sara Sidle and this is my co-worker, Gil Grissom. We'd like to ask you a few questions about where you were on Monday."

"I was with my wife and daughter on Monday. We went hiking at Lake Mead."

"Mr. Trenton, we found your prints present in the room where a Mr. Jack Shaffer was murdered."

"Oh." Mike gasped. "Shaffer. That's the guy who was selling me his house. I was there last Friday." He glanced from Sara to Grissom and back. "That must be how my fingerprints got in his house."

"We'd like to get a DNA sample, if possible, to rule you out as Mr. Shaffer's killer. For legal purposes." Sara assured him.

"Yeah, of course." He sat up straight. "Do you need a blood sample?"

"Uh, no." Sara smiled placatingly. "I'll just swab the inside of your cheek."

"Oh." Obediently, Mike opened his mouth. "Let me leave you my business card so you can call me if you need anything else." He dug in his pants pocket and presented Sara the little square of cardstock.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Trenton." Grissom stood. "Judy will show you out."

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Please give me good news." Grissom waited for Mia to give him the DNA report.

"Sorry. Mike Trenton is not a match to your killer. The DNA is XY. And before you ask, I checked CODIS, and Lydia Jones is in the system. Not her either."

"A woman." Grissom groaned. "Okay. I'm going to go check with Bobby on the gun." He strode down the hall. "Bobby. Please, no bad news."

"Then you might want to take about three gigantic steps back." Bobby suggested. "The gun was Glock 9mm. Standard issue for any police officer."

"Neither Jacqui nor Mia got a hit on CODIS. I'll tell them to check compliance."

"Well, you can try that, but I doubt it'll do you much good. There is one way I can guess that this gun was stolen." Bobby held it up to show Grissom the serial number ground down. "I'll see if I can raise the number and get a hit, but don't hold out any hope. The registered owner probably doesn't have anything to do with this."

"Try anyway." Grissom rubbed his forehead.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"The registered owner is a Mr. Evan Lander, resident of Atlanta, Georgia. Mr. Lander filed a report stating that the gun was stolen a year ago. Also, Mr. Lander doesn't live with any women, doesn't have a daughter or a sister who might've lifted the gun. Sorry." Bobby hated to disappoint Grissom, but he couldn't do anything.

"Alright. Thanks Bobby." Grissom went back to his office and dropped into the chair.

"Boy, you look cheerful." Sara leaned against the door, causing Grissom to jolt upright.

"Oh. Just thinking about the case. Bobby said the registered owner lives in Atlanta and reported the gun stolen a year ago." He sighed. "You win. None of it was relevant or helped. Where would you like to go to dinner?"

Sara nearly choked. "You don't have to take me to dinner." She offered.

"No, I made a bet. Where would you like to go?"

"You pick. Call me when you know, tell me what to wear, and I'll be there."

Grissom pinned the assignment slip to the fish corkboard. "Okay."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Sara exited the internet browser and surveyed her apartment. It wasn't an ugly apartment. She should spend more time here relaxing, reading, having friends over. As she was thinking about maybe changing the curtains, her phone rang.

"Sidle." She answered brusquely.

"315 Caufield Street." Grissom spoke, without preamble. "Wear jeans and a t-shirt."

"Okay." Sara nodded. "What time?"

"Seven. See you tonight." Grissom hung up.

"He is the strangest man." Sara muttered to her phone before replacing it in the cradle.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Sara found 315 Caufield Street without much trouble. "His house." She mused. "He invited me to his house. This can only end – well, this can end one of two ways." She sighed. "Let's hope it doesn't end with him kicking me out of his house. That would be great for our working relationship."

Stop talking to yourself, and go ring the doorbell! Sara's brain chastised.

She darted up the steps and lifted her hand to knock when the door swung open. "I heard your car." Grissom explained, ushering her in. "Can I get you a glass of wine?"

Just hand me the bottle. Sara thought, already sensing that Grissom really just wanted the night to be over already. "A glass of wine would be great." She said instead.

"Here." Grissom poured her the wine, gulping his own glass and refilling it in quick succession.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"We are probably really, really drunk right now, aren't we?" Sara held up an empty bottle of wine and cocked her head thoughtfully. "Like, totally shitfaced. Three sheets to the wind. Inebriated."

"Hammered." Grissom threw in for good measure.

"Well then, somebody's gotta get nailed." Sara giggled, her head lolling back.

"That's terrible." Grissom groaned, unconsciously moving closer to Sara, his hand starting to snake across her back.

"How much wine have we had, anyway?" Sara turned to Grissom. He quickly pulled his hand away.

"Dunno." He squinted and looked around the room. "Looks like about three bottles or so."

"Damn." Sara dropped her head on Grissom's shoulder. "I can't drive. I'm totally tanked." And with that, she burst into a raucous round of giggles for no apparent reason.

"You, Ms. Sidle," Grissom wagged his glass at Sara, "are completely drunk."

"I know." She grimaced. "Take me to bed." She clasped her arms around Grissom's neck and leaned back.

"Whoa!" Sara's added weight pulled Grissom over her and he was too tired to move. "In the morning." He mumbled, falling asleep.

"We work the nightshift." Sara reminded him in a singsong voice.

"In the evening." He adjusted, drifting off to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Ow." Sara clutched her head. "Grissom, wake up."

"Not so loud." Grissom rolled off of Sara. "Oh my God!" He scrambled away from her. "What the…"

"Hangover." Sara moaned miserably. "We must have been pretty faced."

Grissom checked the kitchen. "Three bottles of wine."

"Ouch." Sara winced. "I should probably get home and…drink some water."

"Yeah." Grissom helped her up and walked her to the door. "I'll see you tonight at work, right?"

"Yeah." Sara nodded, considering Grissom's lips. Before she could hesitate, Sara pecked Grissom's lips with her own, pulling away just as quickly. "They saw me knocking on your front door and they saw me smile when you let me in." She said.

A slow, lazy smile spread over Grissom's face. "It was love at first feel."