Will and Sophie exchanged unreadable looks when Sara informed them of their assignment for the night. They seemed to reach a silent conclusion, because when their eyes moved away from each other's, both looked satisfied. "Sounds good to us," Will summarized to Sara. "What are you sending us out on?"

Sara flipped through the pieces of paper in her hand, thinking. "Here," she said after a few moments, handing him one. "Suspected arson up in Oakland."

"Cool!" he chirped. "That's right up my way." Looking at Sophie, he said smugly, "I'll drive."

Sophie looked unperturbed. "Whatever you say, man." She turned to Grissom and smiled. "This'll be fun, trust me. We'll be out all night, not the least because that's a good half-hour, forty-five minute drive from here."

Grissom, lacking anything to say, said nothing and just nodded, then looked at Sara, who nodded. "Ok, then, I'll leave you guys to yourselves," she said, inclining her head toward them. "Keep in mind that you'll be having a lot more fun doing what you'll be doing than I'll be having doing what I'll be doing."

"Right, boss." Will gave her a grin and a wink, then turned to Sophie and Grissom. "Shall we?" he asked, sticking out his arm for Sophie to take hold of.

"We shall," she answered, taking his arm.

Grissom gave the pair a pained look and followed them outside.

"So," he said from the passenger's seat of the department vehicle, "where are we going again? 'Oakland,' as in the California city?"

"Yeah," Sophie said, leaning forward from her position in the backseat. "Oakland, the same name. I wouldn't exactly call this Oakland a 'city,' though. It's, uh . . . small."

Will, somehow managing to keep his eyes on the road and participate in any and all conversation at the same time, flicked a playful hand over his shoulder at her. "Don't knock 'small,' kid. We raise good people up here."

Sophie snorted. "Yeah, if you call yourself 'good'."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "You're from Oakland?" he asked the other man politely.

"No, Ringwood. One town over. But close enough – and Oakland is more industrialized than Ringwood, too, so I'm a fan of what other people think of as the backwoods."

"Backwoods, hah." Leaning further forward so that she was in the front seat from the shoulders up, Sophie shook her head. "You want 'backwoods,' you should see where I grew up. Some cows, lots of snow, and not much else. Upstate New York's worse than any part of North Jersey."

Grissom was beginning to get worried by all this talk of rural areas and backwoods.  He hadn't grown up in a city, either, but he was having visions of them pulling up to a burned-down barn surrounded by people with beards and overalls. "So . . . there's no cows here?" He had no idea how his brain had come up with a lame question like that.

The younger people seemed amused by this question. "I'm sure there's some in town somewhere," Will said, "but you don't exactly see them on the street corners in Oakland. Let me put it this way: the main attraction of the town is a Shop-Rite."

"I see."

"Oh, enough about the damn cows," Sophie said after a moment of silence. "Can we talk about something more interesting than how boring the tri-state area is?"

"Sounds good to me," Will replied, then glanced slyly at Grissom. "We could talk about this guy in the car with us, and why he's up here visiting Sara and working with us."

"Ooooh," Sophie concurred. "Good idea. So," she said, turning her face toward Grissom, "who are you, how do you know Sara, and why are you here?"

Grissom let out a startled chuckle. "I thought we had already been introduced. My name's Gil Grissom, and I used to be Sara's boss in Las Vegas."

"Vegas," Will said with a knowing nod.

"Yes, Vegas. What about it?"

"Nothing big. Just that we don't know much about what Sara did before she came here. She doesn't like to talk about it. "

Grissom had a sudden, overpowering urge for a cigarette. He could hazard a good guess as to why Sara didn't like to talk about her past, and said guess would definitely involve him. "Do either of you smoke?"

Puzzled looks crossed their faces. "Uh, no," Sophie said. "Why?"

"I just quit, like three months ago," Will said with a clear hint of stress in his voice. "It's been a bitch. Why?" he finished, echoing Sophie.

"I'm, uh, in the process of quitting. So I guess that means neither of you has any cigarettes on you, then . . ."

"Check the glove compartment," Will told him. "There might be a leftover pack in there from me or Mark."

"Mark quit too?" Grissom asked, opening the glove box. Will nodded and Grissom fought back the urge to groan. He was trying his best to not feel threatened by the younger man Sara was so close with, but it was beginning to sound like he could do everything Grissom couldn't.

That depressing thought was joyfully pushed aside, though, when he spotted a crumpled pack of Camels behind the car's owners manual. "Thank god!"

"Not to interrupt your joy or anything," Sophie said hesitantly, "but isn't the point of quitting . . . not smoking?"

Ignoring that for the moment, Grissom turned to Will. "Is smoking allowed in these cars? Do you mind?"

Will shrugged. "Yes, and no. Just don't blow it in my face."

Within seconds Grissom had lit the cigarette and was taking a deep drag. He held his breath for a moment, waiting for the buzz to hit his brain, then let out a sigh of relief. "Ah . . . so much better." Opening his eyes again, he looked at Sophie. "What did you ask me?"

"I said, 'Isn't the point of quitting cigarettes to not smoke them?'"

He glanced at the smoldering object in his hand. "Uh, well, yeah. This is my first in almost two days – that's a new record. Quitting is part of why I'm up here to begin with."

"Oh?" The curiosity was evident in Will's face. "Do tell."

That was the last thing he wanted to do. "Are we getting close?" Grissom stalled, looking out the window.

"Nope," the others said in unison. "Just tell us," Will coaxed. "We're not going to go spread tales."

"It's not a 'tale,'" Grissom said defensively. "It's just a . . . story. About why I'm here."

"Uh-huh," Sophie said impatiently, "and that story is . . .?"

Grissom took another hard puff on his cigarette.

"So, Sara," Sheriff Max Andrews said, leaning back in his chair. "You want to tell me about the guy you've been sending out on cases with your staff the past few days?"

The word "no" jumped to Sara's lips, but she repressed it. "Is there a reason you're asking me that, Sheriff?"

"We don't usually invite guests to help in the lab. You know that as well as I do. This guy could tamper with whatever evidence he wants, he could mess up scenes . . . just try explaining it on the stand if a defense attorney finds out!" He paused, pressing his hands. "You know I'm not going to come down on you like a ton of bricks about this if you have a reason. But I need to know that reason so I can explain it to any higher-ups who might ask."

Sara narrowed her eyes. "Is that why you asked me for this meeting? You told me that you wanted my sound bytes, not my . . . personal life."

An eyebrow went up. "Is he a part of your personal life, then?"

"That's not what I meant. I just meant that this has nothing to do with what you told me this would have to do with."

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Andrews pointed out calmly. "And no, I didn't lie to get you in here; I do need that background information. But this matter strikes me as more important than the other."

Sara gritted her teeth, knowing the man was right. If she were on the other side of that desk, she'd be demanding the same information. There just couldn't be civilians allowed to roam scientific labs that produced legal evidence unless they had clearance and a good reason. She sighed. "His name is Gil Grissom. He used to be my boss when I worked in Las Vegas. I promise you, he's qualified to work on scenes and in labs. He's a CSI-III and quite well-known in forensic circles."

"Mmhmm," Andrews nodded, making a note on a post-it. "Ok, good. So he's not a civvie . . . but why is he here, rather than in Las Vegas? Is he looking for a new job like you were?"

Sara suppressed the interest that leapt to the front of her mind at that possibility. "Not that I know of. Basically, he's taking a vacation from Las Vegas, but he's a workaholic and so his idea of 'vacation' is coming to another lab to work."

He looked skeptical. "That's an interesting notion of a vacation, but to each his own, I suppose. So you're telling me he's an eminently qualified CSI who just decided to take a trip to New Jersey and lend his expertise?"

"Essentially," Sara said, nodding. "He's also trying to quit smoking, so he thought a change of atmosphere would do him good." She thought for a second. "If you want to meet him – so you can approve him or whatever – that's fine. He's out with Sophie and Will tonight, but I can bring him in to talk to you tomorrow."

The sheriff nodded. "Yes, why don't we do that. Not that I distrust your judgment," he added, "but since I'll be assumed to have approved his presence, it's probably a good idea if I meet him. How's, say, ten o'clock tomorrow night?"

"That's fine." She hoped she sounded more composed than she felt, because she was sure that Grissom wouldn't be happy about having to play politics and shake hands here any more than he was happy about doing it in Las Vegas.

"Well?"

Grissom looked up from the circle of red-burning paper he'd been contemplating. "What?"

Will rolled his eyes. "'Well,' why don't you tell us the story of why you're in New Jersey with Sara instead of at your lab, or on some tropical island or something."

"Oh, that." He stared at the cigarette for a moment longer, then looked up. "It's really not much of a story. Tropical islands aren't my style, and my lab wasn't conducive to quitting these things." He lifted his hand briefly, displaying the cigarette in it. "That's basically all there is to it."

"Uh-uh," Will said with a laugh. "That's never all there is to it. We want to know why you're here, with Sara. We heard her on the phone with you before you came up."

"Oh really?" It was Grissom's turn to roll his eyes. "I begin to see why she was so annoyed with you two. Aren't you supposed to be making amends by squiring me around and making sure I don't get into trouble?"

Will grinned. "I'm squiring." He looked over his shoulder at Sophie. "Are you squiring?"

"I'm squiring."

"There, see?" He turned back to Grissom. "You're being squired."

"Gee," Grissom said dryly, "thanks."

"So?" Sophie prompted. "Tell us the story."

"There is no story."

"Is too."

"Is no—hey, wait." Grissom glared at the young woman. "I will not be drawn into a childish argument."

"Too late," Will smirked. "You just were. She's good at that."

Grissom glowered.

"Look," Sophie said in a more grown-up voice, "we're not going to get to the scene for another good ten, fifteen minutes. Why don't you just tell us? We have nothing against you, and whatever's up, we'll help if we can."

Grissom was silent.

"Come on," Will said, "what do you say? Please?"

"Oh, fine." Grissom took one more drag off of the cigarette, tossed it out the window he'd rolled down, and rubbed his hands together. "But this information doesn't go any farther than this truck."

Two heads bobbed in vigorous agreement, and Grissom began to speak.