Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own CSI or its Characters. Don't sue me.

Rating: G

A/N: So I have a sever case of writer's block with my other story, Metamorphosis. I thought of this yesterday in the shower, and I decided to write it down. This is going to be a short little thing. Enjoy!

The Women in His Life

"Fourteen A."

Upon finding her seat, Sara Sidle threw her duffle bag into the overhead compartment and made her way across the row. She sighed contently and rested her head against the back of the chair. Her visit to San Francisco to see her cousin had been rather boring, but pleasant, none the less.

After being a CSI, it's hard to find something more exciting, she thought to herself.

She was glad to be returning to Las Vegas, to her job, to the craziness that was the graveyard shift, to Greg's crazyantics and, of course, to her Grissom.

Sara shook her head and smiled. Grissom. She didn't understand why she was still drawn to the "Bug Man" after all these years and all that they had been through.

An old woman with silky gray hair tied back in a bun took a seat next to her. Although it was to be a quick flight, she was relieved at this sight. The last flight seemed to have lasted hours, being that the person next to her was a whining, nagging, seven-year-old. The constant "are we there yet?"s still rang inside her head.

Sara was occupied for a while, watching the ground crews scurry about around the plane. She soon realized, however, that the plane should have taken off twenty minutes ago.

With that, the captain came on the loudspeaker. "…so our flight will be delayed for another forty minutes or so. We apologize for the inconvenience."

There was a chorus of audible moans throughout the fuselage. Deciding that she had to find something else to do to keep herself busy, Sara rummaged through her carry-on bag that she had placed under the seat.

Uh, left it in the duffle bag. Referring to the book she was reading, Sara stood up to get into the aisle.

"Excuse me." The woman in the seat next to her didn't seem to notice she was trying to get through.

"Excuse me….Ma'am…um, excuse me." A little frustrated now, she lightly tapped the woman on the shoulder who immediately turned to face Sara

"Oh, I'm sorry dear!" The older woman said, with a slight twinkle in her clear blue eyes, letting Sara pass.

"It's alright," she stated, retrieved the book, and retuned to her seat. Sara opened to her book-marked page of Entomology in Forensic Science, a new work by none other than Dr. Gil Grissom, himself.

"Excuse me, miss," Sara turned to her neighbor who spoke, "did they make an announcement about this flight being late?"

"Yes," she replied, "A few minutes ago."

"Ah, thank you." The woman must have recognized the slightly puzzled look on Sara's face. "I didn't hear it… I'm deaf," she said nonchalantly.

"Oh….um…they said it would be another forty minutes or so." She wasn't sure if the deaf woman understood.

"Oh," the woman said, "I can read lips." Sara nodded. "Hmm… I guess I have no choice but to catch up on my reading." She reached down to pick up a book.

Sara got half way down the page before she was interrupted. "I see we have similar tastes." The woman chuckled slightly, referring to their matching copies of Grissom's book.

Sara smiled, not thinking anyone else would actually be interested in her boss' bugs. "Small world…"

"Are you an entomologist?" The deaf woman asked.

"No. Actually, I'm a crime scene investigator, but my supervisor is. He gave me a copy…told me to read it and learn." Sara flipped her thumb through the pages. "So, here I am, reading up on the life cycles of roaches. I guess I'm hoping to impress the boss when I get back to work," she half-joked, running a finger over the author's name.

The older woman stared at Sara for a brief moment and then spoke. "You're hoping to get a date," she stated simply. It wasn't a question. She just knew it.

Quite shocked at the woman's hypothesis, she answered, "yes…".

"You know what they say about losing a sense. The others get stronger…I can see it in your eyes. Oh don't worry, I won't tell anyone!" She smiled broadly.

Sara was starting to take back that fact that she had been glad to sit with the old woman. So much for a quiet trip.

Sara knew that her work had become her life, and because of that she didn't have many friends. Sure, a few acquaintances here and there, but no one she could trust to wake up early in the morning to talk about how Grissom touched her elbow that day. Chatting briefly about him to strangers once in a while made her feel a bit better. After the flight, this old lady would go home and knit or something until she forgot Sara's brief mention of her crush on her boss.

As hard as she tried, nothing she did was ever enough for Grissom. She had tried talking to him, tried dating another guy, tried to wear more revealing clothing…maybe the way to this man's heart is through his bugs.

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she asked the woman, "What about you?"

"Well, I could care less about these little critters, but my son is an entomologist. He definitely did not get his bug-loving genes from me!" She let out a motherly laugh. "He's always writing these bug books, and I feel it's my duty as a mother to read my son's works, as boring as they may be." Loving this opportunity to brag a bit about her beloved son, she continued. "I hear he's very good at what he does. He's written so many of these."

"What's your son's name? I've read a lot of books; maybe I've read one by him."

"My Gil wrote this one, actually." She gestured to the green hard covers that were lying on the trays in front of them.

Your Gil! Desperately trying to put two and two together, Sara could feel all the color drain from her face and her palms begin to sweat.

"Dr. Grissom is my son." Sara stared into her lap and blinked twice. "And judging by the expression on your face, he's also your supervisor." Sara brought her hand up to her forehead, sensing a headache coming on. "You must be the lovely Sara Sidle. My son has described you to me countless times." She looked over Sara for a moment. "He described you perfectly, actually."

Describing Sara as being speechless would have been an understatement.