Disclaimer: Wow, there's CSI on my TV again. But alas, it still isn't mine. For the record, Gary Dourdan is hot and I want William Peterson – BAD. Bummer he's married. And in this ep, the special effects people are not impressing me at all. That is a lazy ass Adobe Photoshop rewind of the smudge tool on a fingerprint jpeg. At least run a couple more filters on it to make it look a little more realistic. Geez.

Rating, Beta Props, etc. – See Chapter 1.

A/N: This week's lines were tough – but still, this is a helluva lotta fun. This is apparently turning out to be a melancholy and introspective chapter. Although I can't let it go without a little wry humor.

First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 1,801 words.

The ringing of the cell phone shattered the unnatural quiet. Sara stood from her vigil at the bedroom window and walked to the white lace doily on the night stand. The still-ringing phone indicated that Grissom was calling again. And again, Sara chose not to answer. She'd have thought he would have figured it out by now – she wasn't answering. Obviously he hadn't.

She returned to the softly upholstered wingback chair to continue her observation of the bay. Her bay; Tomales Bay. The inn she was staying at now was the same inn she'd admired as a child. Her parents' bed and breakfast could never compete with the luxury and ambiance that The Sterling Inn held. Sara was always in awe of the grand old Victorian home and its sandy beaches. And as it turns out, the food isn't half bad here, either.

The decision to come to the Inn was easily made. Sara was living out her dreams, as many as she could, if only for a little while. She'd taken a month of leave time. Last week she'd been in Arizona, and she had spent the majority of her time with the Canyon, making peace with her soul and enjoying the solace and serenity of nature. The week prior she'd been in Boston, touring her old haunts and visiting her old campus. She had attempted to look up some of her favorite professors, but they had since retired and moved out of the state. Such is life, she had thought.

This week was a homecoming for her, and she'd even been brave enough to walk past there, the old two-story colonial where her skewed version of normalcy had been carved into her soul. It was still a bed and breakfast, but the entire outside had been re-done and there wasn't even a shadow remaining of the home she had known as a child. Time changes everything, she had thought.

Next week was a return to her current home, a week to recover from traveling, a week to determine what she would do with her life from here on out. She'd finally made an unsteady peace with her past, but the nagging questions about the present and the future still remained in the back of her mind. Her beautiful bay wasn't providing any answers either.

She stood, and walked back to the night stand, sitting slowly on the plush bed beside it. She lifted her phone in her hand, reviewing the call log for the umpteenth time. Grissom had called a total of fifteen times now. Three times during the first week, five times the second week, and seven times already this week. She considered returning his call. Perhaps he was just concerned. Perhaps he thought something had happened to her, and he wanted to make sure she was okay.

Perhaps he was just a controlling and self-centered bastard trying to manipulate her yet again into doing what he wanted her to do.

Sara frowned before placing the phone back in its place and laying her back width-wise along the bed. She loved him. She knew it deep in her soul, and this time away from him echoed her feelings loud and clear. The Grand Canyon had told her that, in each piece of nature that she saw, she had wished Grissom was there to share it with her. He would love the Canyon, she had thought.

Yet it wasn't meant to be. She'd known this before his outburst and was sure of it now. It wasn't meant to be. It was too much for him, too many sacrifices and too much compromise. He couldn't handle whatever it was he felt for her. She tried not to overanalyze their past, but instead recall it in an unbiased manner. What would she tell a friend if they were in the same situation? And she knew, without hesitation, that she'd tell that friend to pack it up and get the hell outta Vegas, pronto. Move on, girlfriend. Quit wasting your time.

The thought of permanently leaving Vegas ripped at her heart. She didn't want to move. Where would she go? She didn't want to start over someplace else; not at her age. Transitioning from San Francisco to Las Vegas had been jarring enough, thank you. And she would miss her co-workers. Warrick, Nick, Greg, Jim, David, Bobby, Doc Robbins… heck, she'd even miss Catherine. She would miss her job and the semblance of stability and virtue it provided her. She would miss her apartment, and her grocery store, and the familiar faces that surrounded her every day. And she knew, she would miss him most of all. Not seeing him again would leave a permanent scar across her soul that would never heal.

The deep sigh she released did nothing to calm the thoughts spinning in her head. Particularly the one that wanted her to sing here in town, at the Sailor's Dock two blocks up the road. She'd seen the sign for open mike night as she drove in earlier this week. It was tomorrow, Friday, at 8:30 p.m. The desire to return to the stage was strong, but she was alone – no Warricks in sight. Could she sing on her own, without his support? Should she? It felt like a betrayal of what they'd shared. Still, the idea remained, buzzing around in her mind like a fly trapped in a windowsill.

Enough. Dinner was in a half hour, so Sara reached for the paperback she was reading last night and headed downstairs.

When she walked through the archway into the common room, chaos surrounded her. People were packed next to one another like cattle lined up for slaughter. There was a haze of anxiety and impatience in the air.

Of course, it was a wedding. The Sterling Inn was known for its romantic charm and its high-profile catering facilities. Sara wormed her way through the crowd to the kitchen and dining room area, only to find a sign indicating that dinner was unavailable for this evening. Dammit. Sara wasn't in the mood to flit around town looking for a place to eat, and the loud nagging in her head was of course suggesting she try out the Sailor's Dock. 'Harmless… just go look… check it out… don't have to commit to anything…'

Well, it wouldn't hurt to just have a drink and something simple. God knows she could use a drink. Her subconscious would need it to shut the hell up.

She went back to her suite to drop off her book and make herself more presentable. She knew it didn't matter; why would anyone out here care about a middle-aged gap-toothed brunette? She was just getting dinner, not socializing or cruising the singles scene. If you sign up, you'll want to look pretty… and what if you meet the man of your dreams there? You never know…

Sara stared at herself in the mirror. God, maybe she needed more than a drink. Maybe she needed to get laid. She could sing tomorrow night, and the man of her dreams would be in the crowd. He'd see her, and come up to her after her performance. He'd be tall and sexy and smart, and maybe blonde. He would not have blue eyes. Definitely no blue eyes. He'd be adorably embarrassed and flustered, but he'd ask her to dinner anyway. She'd smile and they'd eat pizza at the little shack right on the bay. He'd hold her hand and tell her that he'd never seen anyone like her. They'd walk across the sand in the moonlight, and he'd kiss her like she'd never been kissed before…

Maybe she should just turn off her overactive imagination for a minute and live in the real world. Her reflection scowled at her. Get a grip, Sidle.

Frustrated with herself, she left the Inn and walked around the side to the parking lot to find it packed with cars. Great. The wedding ceremony was in full swing down by the gazebo. A young couple from the looks of it. Whoopee for them. Sara gave it five years, tops. They were too young, and nowadays most first marriages ended in divorce anyways.

Off to the side of the heavily decorated gazebo, a lone man who appeared to be sweltering in a too-tight tuxedo stood next to a large box. Apparently getting some sign from either the couple or the minister-type performing the ceremony, he walked ceremoniously over to the box and lifted the lid.

A large number of white birds, most likely doves, flew off into the amber sunset of the sky. It truly was breathtaking, and a pang echoed deep in Sara's chest. Would she ever have such a ceremony? Did she really want one? She realized that yes; part of her did want something like this. She watched as the pale birds circled once, twice, and then flew northeast, over and around the back of the Inn. Sara didn't move until the sun had lowered itself beneath the bay, and the twinkle of the first evening stars had appeared over her head.

With the ceremony over, Sara went to step into her rental car. A wry smile formed on her face as she looked over towards the catered dinner under the huge white tent. Perhaps she'd skip the doves at her wedding. An older woman, probably the mother was screaming at the man in the too-tight tuxedo. Another man in a chef's hat was hollering at him in French as well. Both were pointing at the table in front of them, and Sara could just make out the cause of their distress. A lone dove floated in the punch bowl.

… continued next chapter ->

A/N: Now really, where else would you find a dove winding up in a punch bowl? Good thing there were no doves at my wedding. Well, that was by design - my dog would have eaten them in a heartbeat.