I look dubiously at the peanut butter and banana sandwich Sara ordered me to get. Legumes and fruit just seems...wrong!

"Eat," she commands, and takes a hearty bite out of her own peanut butter and fluff sandwich. I still don't understand why she was allowed to get the sandwich that makes sense, and I got stuck with this...thing.

I shudder one more time to be sure she gets my point, then take a tentative bite. It tastes...unusual. Chewing experimentally, I decide that it's not nearly as foul as I expected, but it's still not something I'll be taking for lunch any time soon. "S'okay," I mumble through a mouthful of the sticky stuff.

She licks a glob of fluff off of the side of her hand and grins at me, mimicking my "okay" in a breathy, wishy-washy voice.

Hmph. Miffed at her mimicry, I decide to give in to the sudden sandwich-stealing urge when it hits me, and I snag her fluffernutter off her plate. I even manage to take a bite before she can protest.

"Hey!" she whines. "No fair!" With a playful look, she says, "Now I'm gonna have to…" Instead of finishing her sentence, she reaches over and grabs my first sandwich out of my hand. "Hah, so there!"

I contemplate the scene: me, sitting at one side of the table, holding her fluffernutter in a death grip, and her, sitting across from me and grinning around a mouthful of banana. Hmm. I see no reason to disrupt the current balance - I have the sandwich I wanted, anyway. As a peace signal, I touch my sandwich to hers in a jaunty toast. "Here's to sandwich swapping."

Sara raises an eyebrow, hoists her own sandwich, and replies, "And here's to hotel-room swapping."

She seems amused by my reaction to the forgotten events of this morning when I stutter, "To . . . what? No, this morning wa - . . ." Noting her amused visage, I stumble on for another few seconds, then pause, take a deep breath, and aim for speaking coherently: "Right! That was an interesting introduction to New York, I have to say."

"We'll have to work out who belongs in which room with what stuff after the end of the session today." Now that will be more like what I pictured during my traveler's daydreams - us going back and forth between our rooms, bumping into each other, laughing . . . perhaps hinting at certain things or telling jokes about others . . .

The rest of the day's workshop goes quickly. We learn that I was right - line counts are supposed to be useful in detecting falsehood. I smirk across the table at Sara, vindicated.

When we're finally released for the day, Sara hops out of her chair and starts gathering the pencils and papers we've scattered across our space. I, moving more slowly, am just about to stand up when I sense someone approaching. I look over my shoulder and spot Sharon making her way toward me. A quick glance at Sara assures me that she's seen the other woman too. Uh-oh.

I stand, placing myself between the two. "Sharon," I say politely, trying to subtly signal her with my eyes to stay away. She smiles brightly and keeps coming.

"Sharon!" Sara squeals in my ear, a bright smile plastered across her face. "How are you? Did you have a fun day with your Canadian?"

Sharon and I exchange looks. She's obviously taken aback, and I don't blame her. "Hi there, Sara," she finally manages. "My day was good, thanks for asking. Did you guys enjoy yours?"

I step in before Sara can speak. "It was interesting. I never realized our writing said so much about our intentions."

"Me either. So, do you guys have plans for tonight? I've heard rumors that there's a cocktail party in the hotel for the workshop attendees."

I look at Sara. Sara looks at me. I know what we're both thinking: Does this mean we have to dress up?

"Uh," Sara begins, caught too much by surprise to worry about her usual hostility, "we didn't know that there was going to be anything fancy. I don't think . . ." She glances at me again. "I don't think I have anything formal enough."

The prospect of seeing Sara dressed up intrigues me, now that I think about it. I think for a second. "You know, we're in New York. I bet if you can't put something together from what you packed, you can find a store to buy a dress in."

I'm rewarded with the look of death. She's wondering what in the world is possessing me to want to participate in this. I give her a slight smile and she heaves a sigh. "Fine." Looking at Sharon, she adds, "What time do we need to be ready?"

"Why don't I meet you guys by the lobby elevators at, say, 6:30?" Sharon suggests.

Sara and I nod in unison. "Come on," she says, tugging on my sleeve. "I need to figure out whether I have something to wear or not."

While Sara digs through her suitcase, I putter around our rooms, sorting out her stuff from mine and trying to determine which room is whose. She casts me a few curious looks, but mostly leaves me to myself, muttering to herself about each article of clothing she pulls out.

"What do you think of this?" she asks out loud, catching me by surprise.

"Me?"

"You're the only other person in the room, Grissom. Do you think this is too casual?"

She's holding up a tunic-length shirt, molding it to her body above her usual black trousers. How am I supposed to know whether it's appropriate or not? I manage to mumble, "Uhh . . . I think it's ok."

She looks down at herself and then back up at me. "You'd say that if I was holding up a potato sack, wouldn't you."

Well, she's got a point. I nod cautiously.

"Figures," she sighs. "I think I'm going to have to go shopping." Tossing the shirt she had been holding up back onto the bed, she stomps her foot and huffs. "Damn it, I hate shopping for girly clothes!"

"Why don't you just wear what you were holding up, then? It's not like anyone is going to care about what Sara Sidle, in particular, is wearing."

"I'm going to care, even if no one else does! Besides, the other women always judge each other by the clothes they're wearing. If I walk in wearing that shirt, I'll become an object of pity and amusement."

Wow, I had no idea she had such strong feelings on the matter. "Er, ok. So . . . you're going to shop?" She nods, and I catch her eye, saying, "Be careful. Keep track of where you're going - it would be even worse if you didn't make it to the party at all because you got lost!"

She rolls her eyes. "I'll be fine. And what are you going to wear, anyway?"

"I'm male, remember? Since I have a dark-colored suit, I'm set for just about anything except the beach."

"Jerk," she mutters under her breath as she turns and retreats to her own room, slamming the connecting door behind her. Ten seconds later, the phone in my room rings.

"Hello Sa - uh, hello?" I almost said Hello Sara, but then caught myself - what if it had been Sharon?

"Hi, it's me." Sara, phew.

"Didn't you just stomp away from me not more than 30 seconds ago?"

"Well, yeah. But I forgot to tell you that I'm going to head out now."

I could have figured that out for myself, but I guess it makes her feel more responsible for having informed me. "Ok. I'll see you later, then. Good luck."

Just before the line is disconnected, I distantly hear her hiss a curse involving dresses and animal parts. Yep, all is normal in Sara-ville.

It's 6:26 in the evening and I'm pacing the room. Well, the rooms, actually, since I've opened the door between our rooms for no reason other than I felt like it. I check my watch again and am just returning my arm to my side when my cell phone, lying on the dresser, rings. Or rather, vibrates. I grab for it before it bounces off the flat surface and just manage to snag it. "Hello?"

"Hey," she says. "I'm running a little late, but I have an outfit and I am coming. Don't wait for me, ok? I'm going to have to come back to the room to change and it's more convenient to have you gone at that point anyway."

"But I - "

"Grissom, just do it." She's using her tough-woman voice.

Amused, I say only "Yes ma'am" and hang up. I check the mirror, realizing a second later that I'm lucky no one was there to catch me doing it, and tug on my left lapel, which came out of the suitcase slightly wrinkled.

Adjusting my glasses, I head for the elevators.

It takes me only a few seconds to spot Sharon. She's wearing...a sparkly thing. It's a dress, that is, but it doesn't look like what I would have imagined for a cocktail dress. Aren't cocktail dresses supposed to be black and conservative? This one's red, beaded, and cut very low in the front.

I immediately avert my eyes, hoping she didn't catch me looking.

Walking toward me, she smirks. "I saw that, but since I'm a nice girl I'll pretend I didn't."

"Thanks," I say, "I think."

She rolls her eyes. "Where's your shadow?"

"My what? Oh, Sara. She's running late, she said to go on without her and she'll meet us there."

"So you did?"

She sounds amused. Uh-oh. "Was I not supposed to?"

"Well it's just that in girl-speak, sometimes that means, 'I want to hear you say that you would wait a million years for me'. But then, Sara doesn't strike me as that type, so you're probably safe."

Good god, why don't they make dictionaries for these things! Not knowing how to respond to Sharon's pronouncement, I say only, "Yeah."

"Well? Come on then, let's socialize." She offers me her arm in grand fashion.

Resigned to my fate, I take it and we head for the party.

"It's not in wide use yet," Sharon's Canadian friend, Alex, is explaining to the small knot of people I'm standing in, "but more and more police departments are picking it up."

"But isn't it very subjective?" asks a blonde woman who I haven't been introduced to. "I mean, who's to say what counts as a hedging remark and what doesn't?"

"Well," Alex acknowledges, "it's not as definite as -" His voice cuts off and his eyes widen. "Whoa."

Everyone's heads turn to see what distracted the man who had seemed totally absorbed in our conversation. It takes me a moment to zero in on anyone in the crowd, but then I spot the woman he must be looking at.

I'm not nearly as surprised as I ought to be to see that it's Sara - but a Sara I've certainly never seen before. True, she managed to keep to her desire not to wear a dress, but in my own humble opinion, the pantsuit she's wearing is perhaps even more of a departure for her: it's black and sleek-looking, but even with her facing directly toward us, I can see a bit of bare flesh on her side - which means there's probably more where that came from. Her hair is piled on top of her head, with a few bits trailing down the sides of her face.

I blink, shake my head slightly, and slew my eyes toward Sharon, expecting to see a look of displeasure. Instead, she has a small smile on her face - she almost looks...proud. Meeting my eyes, she grins and twitches her heard toward Sara, telling me I should go meet her.

I obey and start forward, meeting her about halfway between the entrance and our group. "Sara," I say, and then stop, unable to think of an appropriate, non-clichéd remark.

She smiles slightly. "Hi. Told you I'd found an outfit."

Feeling like I've now been given permission, I allow myself to take a closer look at her. The shirt portion of the pantsuit is cut simply in the front - it basically looks like one of her regular tank tops, only made out of something shiny, and along the bottom hem runs a row of embroidered roses. The pants, again, are similar to her day-to-day wear, and yet subtly different. They seem to fit tighter on her, and although they're not shiny like her top, they seem kind of...shimmery.

"Nice, right?" she asks, apparently oblivious to how tongue-tied she's made me.

"Very," I manage to agree.

She smiles again and glances at where I had been standing. Her eyes narrow slightly when they fall on Sharon, but she quickly looks back at me and smiles a little wider, then steps off toward the group. I'm distracted, and don't start walking until a second later, giving me a good view of her back. And I do her mean her back - there's almost no fabric covering it. What was, in the front, a conservatively cut tank top is, in the back, a deeply-cut U-shape, with drapes of fabric framing her bare back all the way down to…well, the top of her sacral spine.

I notice that I've stopped walking, and quickly pick up my pace, catching up with her.

"Sorry I'm late," Sara says smoothly to the group. "My wardrobe was caught unawares and I had to do some last-minute shopping." She offers her hand to Alex and smiles around at the group. "I'm Sara Sidle."