... part 1, chapter 3 ...

Another week dragged on. Brass was apparently checking on a daily basis, but no signs of Sara were popping up.

Grissom felt he was a patient man in most regards. He could wait, right? Catherine had said it; eventually Sara would appear on their radar.

Time seemed to be waging war with Grissom, however. The minutes of each night dragged on forever. And crime in Vegas was on an unplanned holiday. They hadn't had a new case in three days. It was bizarre.

The lack of crime scenes to investigate forced him to finish the majority of his delinquent administrative paperwork, and he caught up on organizing his case files. He'd finished everything he could possibly think of doing two hours ago.

Grissom was… absolutely and unequivocally… bored out of his freaking mind.

In the last hour and half, he'd surfed the Internet, sent an e-mail to his mother, and read today's newspaper. He was halfway through the crossword puzzle, and not a very challenging one at that, when Brass appeared in his doorway.

"Hey," he said.

Grissom said nothing, as his eyes spoke for him.

"Sorry, Gil. Nothing so far. Slow week, hmm?"

"Yeah…"

Grissom looked back towards his crossword, not feeling very sociable. Jim knew his friend well enough to read the signs.

"I'll stop by later, maybe bring us some lunch, okay?"

"Sure. That'd be good."

Brass walked away, leaving Grissom to his crossword. But the interruption had broken Grissom's concentration, and after staring at the paper for a few minutes, his mind began to wander.

What would he do on the day when Brass walked into his office, and told him where Sara was? He had no idea. He had run numerous scenarios through his head, where he found her and tried to speak with her. In each, she was angry, and she would ask him why he was there. And each time, he had no answer for her.

Maybe he should just let her go. Leave her alone and let her start a new life. A life without him.

The thought made his heart ache, and he sighed aloud. When had their relationship become so complicated? In the beginning, they had been friends. She had earned his trust in a way he'd never forget. He smiled at the memory. Sara was always independent, and she always spoke her mind. She certainly had ripped into him at that seminar…

oooooooooooooooooooooo

"The temperature of a human body will decrease one and a half degrees Fahrenheit per hour in normal atmospheric conditions. In extreme heat and cold, this rate changes, and you, or your coroner, will need to take the conditions at the scene into consideration when determining time of death for your victims. And despite any rumors you may have heard, the temperature is still best measured through the body's liver."

Grissom paused, noting that his audience appeared extremely bored. This was typical for the beginning of his presentation; once he brought out the transparencies of past crime scenes, people tended to pay more attention.

He reached into his kit and withdrew the thermometer.

"It is best to insert the thermometer at least one half-inch below the last rib on the right side of the body. Not your right, the body's right. This allows the sensor within the thermometer to be completely embedded in the largest part of the liver."

Grissom then reached for his first slide, a photograph of a similar thermometer, inserted into a male cadaver.

He liked to start out with this slide, in order to gauge how the women in the audience would react to seeing a dead body. His first pass through the crowd didn't show many women. He wasn't surprised; most people in general didn't enter into a profession where dead bodies and gory crime scenes were par for the course.

As his lecture continued, he began to notice the young brunette sitting at the second table from his podium, in the chair closest to the aisle. She had originally appeared interested, but as he had progressed to the transparencies of the crime scenes, and described how each were processed, she had begun to frown slightly.

Her face now showed something Grissom read as disgust. Not disgust at the bloodied body being projected to a 10-foot screen behind him, but disgust with him, and his presentation.

Grissom wrapped up a little later than he had anticipated, and only eight minutes were left before his hour was up. His audience would leave to attend yet another presentation on forensic science, and he himself might attend one as well.

"Are there any questions?" he asked, suspecting that there may be a few quick ones, as usual, and then everyone would be on their way.

The hand of a dark haired man in the back shot up. Grissom nodded at him, and the man asked, "How many forensic specialists are required to be at a crime scene?"

"Well, it depends on the scene, now doesn't it? A burglary of a convenience store may require more manpower than a triple homicide, if there is more evidence at that scene then there is at the homicide. Processing the evidence is a forensic scientist's primary focus."

As Grissom was speaking, he noticed the young brunette filling out the standard survey, and she was not giving him good scores.

She stood abruptly and began to leave, triggering the other attendees to start packing up as well.

Grissom could have let her go, ending his lecture a little early, but something about her attitude irritated him, and he wanted to put her in her place. His words stopped her halfway down the aisle.

"Miss, my lecture is not finished. Please take your seat until I dismiss you."

She froze, and turned to face him. Her eyes were dark fire, and Grissom automatically put himself on alert for a verbal attack. He also noticed how attractive the young woman was in her anger.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that this was a classroom, and that you were my teacher. I thought we had all graduated from tenth grade by now."

Her voice was deep, and different, and filled with sarcasm. The room was silent, and the other people who were packing up to leave immediately stopped. All eyes were on him and the young woman.

She continued, "Clearly, by your presentation, the technology at the Las Vegas Crime Lab hasn't gotten past the tenth grade, either."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your presentation. I thought the Las Vegas Crime Lab was supposed to be second in the nation. And still, you are using outdated technology and archaic tools. I can't believe your lab doesn't have access to CODIS or AFIS, and you do print matching by hand."

Grissom chuckled at her, and his laughter triggered some other members of the audience to snicker as well. The young woman stiffened.

"Miss, of course we have those things at our lab. We have access to the latest and most powerful technology…"

"Well, if that is so, why are you showing us slides of how to do fingerprint matching the old fashioned way?"

This woman wasn't backing down.

"I know who you are, Doctor Grissom. I've read your publications, and I was excited about attending this seminar to hear your lectures. But if I had known that you were going to show us outdated technology, I would have saved my department the money and not wasted my time."

The audience was silent, and Grissom paled at the slur. His pride stung, he responded to her harshly.

"Madame, new growth in any technology is based on our understanding of its foundations. And today's forensic tools, although powerful, are not as stable as we'd like to believe. Twenty years ago, we did not have the luxury of computers and the powerful technology they provided. I am grateful for the wonders of innovation in forensics, but keep in mind, if there is a failure anywhere in the system, all of the technology becomes useless until the point of failure is restored."

He stared at her pointedly, and she met his gaze with a defiant one of his own. His eyes narrowed at her as he continued.

"Criminals will still commit crimes, irregardless of the availability of databases or the Internet. And it is still our job to prove them innocent or guilty. Would you prefer that a crime lab just declare an in-plant holiday on crime, if a particular server goes down, or there is a power failure? Would you give up on your duty to see justice served?"

Grissom was confident with his argument; he'd had this same exact discussion with Catherine back at the lab, numerous times in fact. You couldn't argue with his logic.

The young woman continued to stand tall, and spoke clearly in her reply. "I am not saying that understanding the history of forensics isn't important. That is not my issue. Perhaps it is best for me to say that I personally am disappointed with your presentation, and we should leave it at that." "

"And," she said as she looked down at her wrist, "this lecture is officially over, and we all have other commitments. Good day, Mister Grissom."

With that she turned and walked down the aisle toward the double doors at the end of the conference room.

The audience didn't look at him as they packed up their belongings. Grissom felt as if he had won a battle, but lost the war.

Who was that woman?

That same night, there was a social gathering for everyone participating in the seminar. The seminar was being held at a posh hotel in the southern suburbs of San Francisco. All attendees were staying at the hotel, and various presentations were being held at the conferences rooms on the first and second floors.

The outdoor patio behind the hotel encircled the Olympic-sized pool, and at each corner, a small thatched hut housed a modest bar with a single bartender. Drinks were on the house for the next hour and a half, and most people had changed out of their business clothing into more social attire.

Grissom wore black dress pants and a grey shirt Catherine had picked out for him, stating it made him look "hot" and "studly". At his age, he could care less, but he wanted to present himself and his lab well at these public gatherings. He wore a tie Catherine also bought for him, as it "brought out his eyes". Whatever. He was grateful for Catherine though, as he watched a few women turn their heads as he walked through the crowd. He knew his clothing presented him in a positive light.

After retrieving a bourbon with water from the nearest hut, he wandered through the crowd, looking for his friend, Charles Rourdan. He and Charlie knew each other from way back. When Grissom first worked as a coroner down in southern California, Charlie had been a young criminalist, and the two had shared many a beer after a tough case.

They both had grown up and moved on in their careers, and Charlie now led San Francisco's Crime Lab. As Grissom spotted him near the north end of the pool, he noticed the three other people standing around him. Those must be his top employees. Charlie had mentioned he was bringing his best folks with him for this seminar.

Closest to Charlie was a young woman in a short black dress and legs that made Grissom pause for a second look. This woman must be the new criminalist on his team. Grissom didn't know much about her, other than Charlie was extremely impressed with her. Grissom suspected Charlie was smitten, and wondered if he and the young woman were an item.

Across from Charlie stood a man and a younger woman, both clearly engrossed in their own conversation. Charlie and his young companion appeared to be listening to them.

Charlie must have spotted Grissom's approach out of the corner of his eye, because he faced him and hollered, "Gil! I'm so glad you decided to grace us with your presence! You must come over and bore us all to tears with your bug talk!"

Grissom glared humorously at his friend and called back, "Only if you haven't bored them already with talk of ballistics, bullet boy. By now they probably know all the patterns of striations for every legal and illegal firearm created in the past fifty years."

As Grissom stepped towards his friend, Charlie gave him a huge bear hug, and Grissom was lucky not to spill his bourbon all over himself and Charlie.

It however sloshed a little, and Grissom feared he had splashed the young woman standing next to Charlie.

"I'm extremely sorry," he spurted as he turned towards the young lady. "Charlie and I go way back, and I should have known better than to approach him with a full drink in my hand."

Grissom was looking downward, examining his shirt for bourbon spatter as he spoke to the woman. He lifted his head and eyes to face her as he said, "I hope that you weren't splashed in the process…"

His voice died off as his blue eyes met the dark, fiery brown of the young woman who had disrupted his lecture earlier today. He froze.

"Gil," Charlie preened as he thumped his hand on Grissom's shoulder, "I'd like you to meet my new CSI, Miss Sara Sidle. Sara, Dr. Gilbert Grissom."

To Grissom, time stopped for a second. This woman wasn't just attractive, she was vibrant and sensual. There was something about her… her eyes seemed to reach right into his soul. Grissom's heart had jumped into his throat, and he felt himself swallow, forcing it back down to his chest where it belonged.

Time started on its journey again as he realized this woman most likely hated his guts. Her expression seemed mild, but he saw a flicker beneath that he couldn't interpret. Most likely horror at meeting me up close and personal.

"We've met earlier, Charles," Sara said politely. "I attended his two o'clock presentation today."

"Oh, you did?" Charlie smiled at her. "Excellent! I hope you took good notes. Dr. Grissom knows tons about forensics and is one of the most brilliant men I know."

"Charlie…" Grissom muttered, finally breaking his staring contest with Miss Sidle.

"Not to worry, boss," Sara said lightly, "I took notes, and I intend to sit in on the remainder of Dr. Grissom's lectures this week. It is clear to me that Dr. Grissom is an expert in his field." She then shot Grissom another hooded look that he couldn't understand, so he stared blankly at her in return.

"Good! Good!" Charlie beamed, oblivious to the exchange. "Glad to hear it! And Gil, before I forget, let me introduce you to Brian Stone and Madeline Hearst. They are two of my best." His voice dropped to a loud whisper. "They're also something of an item… as you can see."

Gil did indeed see the reference, as the couple continued their conversation. He noticed the woman's shy smile and the man's unspoken pride that he was the focus of her attention.

"Brian! Maddie! This is Dr. Gilbert Grissom of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I hope you two will attend at least one of his seminars this week… if you can both find the time…"

The couple blushed slightly at the jibe, and both shook Grissom's hand and exchanged pleasantries with him.

Grissom's skill at small talk was minimal, and he wound up excusing himself after five minutes of chitchat with the couple and Charlie. Sara Sidle has drifted away sometime during the conversation, and he noticed she was standing about 6 feet away from the bar farthest from the pool, looking out over the patio into the remains of a brilliant sunset.

He approached the bar and refilled his drink. He pounded most of it and left the remainder on the shelf on the side of the thatched hut. He shored up his courage and walked over to the young woman.

He stood about three feet behind her, hesitating, but somehow, she knew he was there, and turned to face him.

"Oh, hello again," she said. Then she turned away from him, and resumed her vigil on the awakening night sky.

"You should have told him the truth," Grissom said solemnly as he walked to stand next to her, joining her in her vigil. Neither looked at the other.

"Tell him what? That I had unrealistic expectations of your lecture? That I didn't read the synopsis before I attended, and my lack of preparation caused me to waste my own time? That I made it my own personal vendetta to embarrass you in front of fifty people because you had embarrassed me, even though I was being deliberately rude to you? Which would you prefer?"

He turned to look at her at the same time she turned to look at him. He could tell she was ashamed and embarrassed by her voice, but her eyes were radiating that dark fire again.

"I see," he said. This woman is something else.

"Would you be willing to accept an apology?" Sara smiled at him gently, her eyes shifting from fire to something softer, and Grissom found himself with his heart problem again. Sara didn't seem to notice, and continued shyly, "Sometimes my impatience gets the best of me."

Grissom said nothing for a minute, lost in his own surprise, and Sara seemed to shrink away from him. He blinked and came to his senses.

"Certainly. As long as you accept mine for putting you in an uncomfortable situation."

"Agreed." The lights surrounding the pool had turned on automatically, sensing the impending darkness, and their reflection danced across the water, highlighting her hair. A glimmer of something was reflecting in the softness of her eyes, and Grissom wasn't sure if that sparkle was coming from the lights, or from her soul itself.

The two of them broke eye contact suddenly, both feeling awkward, and stood next to each other in silence, staring at the night sky.

"So, you have a fascination with the stars?" Grissom asked quietly after a few moments had passed. He was intrigued that she hadn't felt the need to start a conversation with him.

"I do, I suppose," she replied. "There is an inherent beauty in them."

"I agree," Grissom replied, his eyes on her face, not the stars themselves. The two bourbons he'd consumed were fueling his courage, and he was openly admiring this fascinating woman.

Sara didn't notice, and continued. "They are always the same, in the same patterns. The constellations. Yet they are constantly moving across the night sky, and throughout the seasons. It's almost like they are a paradox."

"Always in motion to us, but never actually moving," Grissom replied, his mind turning philosophical.

"They are reliable," she continued. "Orion disappears from our sky in the summer, but reappears in the winter. Each year, like clockwork."

"And halfway across the world, he disappears from their summer, and reappears in their winter."

"Perhaps he doesn't like the heat," she deadpanned, and Grissom found himself laughing at her little joke. She giggled along with him, and they again simultaneously turned to smile at one another.

"Would you like to take a walk around the grounds?" he asked, surprising himself. What did I just say?

Sara smiled a full, fabulous smile in agreement, and Grissom was sure his heart was permanently lodged in his throat. He decided to leave it there.

She held out her arm for him to escort her, and Grissom almost fainted. She wants me to touch her?

He wrapped his arm in hers, hesitantly, and noted her skin felt warm through the fabric of his shirt. He led her around the pool, through the now full crowd, and they walked along the sidewalk around the hotel.

The path along the side of the hotel was landscaped with numerous flowers and shrubs. After walking together for a short while, Sara eventually extracted her arm from his to walk closer to the plants. She was clearly interested in them.

"So you're a botanist?" Grissom inquired politely.

"Oh, no," she replied. "…not really. See, I was never very good with animals. When I was eight, my mother bought me a goldfish, and it died three days later. When I was eleven, I tried a hamster, but he disappeared one day when I was cleaning his cage, and I think the local alley cats eventually got him. Either that or he died in my bedroom wall."

She chuckled to herself quietly. "Plants are a little easier for me. All they require is a little water, a little sun, and some nutrients every now and again."

She paused, reaching over to a taller shrub to examine its leaves.

"And these need a good spray of pesticide. See? Aphids."

"Ah yes, Phylus Arthropoda, Class Insecta, Order Hemiptera, Sub-order Homoptera, Superfamily Aphidoidea. They feast on many varieties of vegetation. A gardener's nightmare."

Sara turned and grinned slyly at him. "That's right. You're an entomologist. A forensics expert on insects."

"One of twelve in the country, m'dear."

Sara eyed him strangely, and Grissom feared he had come across as a pompous oaf.

"But… it really isn't much. It just means there are only twelve people in the country that are crazy enough to get their doctorates in crime scene creepy-crawlies."

"Oh, I dunno," she replied. "I suppose at a high level it could be very interesting. And I've always liked the prettier bugs. Some butterflies are gorgeous, and ladybugs look cute. I still am not a fan of spiders. I don't care how beneficial they are."

"They keep order. Without them, we'd be chest deep in gnats and flies. Arachnids are very useful."

"Spoken like a true bug lover," she chided him, a flirty look on her face.

"That's me," he replied merrily, going along with her flirting as they continued to walk along the sidewalk.

When they reached the front entrance, Grissom stopped. Sara stopped as well and looked at him, realizing that their small trip was about to end.

"I suppose we've run out of places to walk," Grissom stated, becoming nervous. Now what, Romeo? He became clearly aware of why he'd remained single for such a long time. Romancing a lady was not his thing.

"We… could take a walk around the town…" she said, turning away. "Maybe… go get a bite to eat?"

Dinner! What a brilliant idea!

"That sounds great!" he blurted. And he immediately wanted to crawl into a hole because his voice sounded so desperate.

"Really!" she said, in almost exactly the same tone as his, and she too was bitten by the same shy fly that bit Grissom two seconds earlier.

They both knew it, and Grissom couldn't help but grin madly at her, and as she looked up at him, she echoed the same grin back. From that point on, it was unspoken and agreed upon between them. They liked each other.

continued next chapter ->