SUNDAY

Part 1

Greg drove to the desert early in the afternoon. The race was still three hours away, but he was too restless to stay home doing nothing.

He was not the first to arrive, however.Members of Las Vegas PD had been working all day, making sure that the race was a success.Greg recognized some cops, a few mechanics, and most of the female secretaries who were there to help. He waved at them.

It was too early, but Greg wasn't surprised to see his Washington teammates were already there. What he didn't expect was the welcome he got from Marcia. The others merely nodded at him, but Marcia smiled widely and even came to meet him.

"Hey, Greg." She said, "Ready for the race?"

Greg did a double take. Was this the same Marcia Thompson who only the day before had been so focused on the trial run that she didn't answer his greeting or even glance at him?

"Hey." He said tentatively.

Her smile grew wider when she noticed the look of confusion on his face.

"I know," she said, "I haven't been too nice to you, have I?"

Greg shrugged good-naturedly. He never held grudges.

"Friends?" She asked, offering her hand.

"Sure," Greg said, shaking it.

Without releasing his hand, she gently pulled him aside.

"Listen," she said, "I know I've been bitchy, but-" she lowered her voice, "I would like to make it up to you.Would you like to have dinner with me?"

Like it? He was absolutely thrilled... but he forced himself not to show it.

"I'd like that." He said evenly.

"Good. Is tomorrow ok?"

"Yes. I mean, no." he amended, "I'll be on call, tomorrow night... But we could have lunch," he said quickly.

"Sure," she said, "Lunch is fine... As long as we go to some quiet place-" and she smiled suggestively.

"Oh. Ok." he said. He was glad that things had changed between them, but he couldn't help making a comment, "You're in a really good mood." hessaid, "You got good news or something?"

"Yes!" She smiled, "Dr. Vauchss chose me to run in the team. That means you and me aren't rivals anymore."

"Oh." Greg mumbled. He looked around. "Who's out?"

"Barrios." She said, "He didn't do well at the race, but between you and me, he would have been out anyway." She lowered her voice, "He bad-mouthed Vauchss during dinner, yesterday evening. Someone told Vauchss, and-" she shrugged pointedly.

Greg glanced at Barrios, who had come anyway. He seemed to have taken the news well.

Either he was a supremely mature guy, or he just didn't care about the run...

...Or he was simply used to the professor's maneuvres.

The thought troubled Greg.

"You said that someone told Vauchss?" he asked.

"Yeah." Marcia shrugged again, "Someone always does." She noticed the look of concern on Greg's face, "Oh, I know what you're thinking," she said, "But it's not that bad, believe me. One just got to be careful." She smiled at him, "Not that you'd ever get in trouble with Vauchss -"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're his golden pupil –you can't do no wrong." She said. "And besides, he's chosen you to be his second in command –everybody knows that." She glanced at her watch, "It's getting late," She said, "Listen, we're planning to take one last look at the route. Do you wanna come?"

Greg hesitated. He had nothing to do before the race started, but getting into a car with these people was not exactly appealing. He smiled mechanically.

"I've got some things to do." He said. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

"Ok!" she smiled and jogged to join her teammates.

Greg turned and walked away.

Greg walked aimlessly until he saw a familiar figure: Gil Grissom. The CSI Supervisor wastalking to the PD mechanic in charge of thevans that were going to be used at the race.

"Hey, Grissom."Greg called out. When Grissom turned, he added, "You're early."

"I'm here to check on my van." Grissom said.

Greg smiled knowingly.

"You couldn't get anyone to take over, huh?" He said. His smile widened when he noticed Grissom's questioning look. "I heard you were looking for a substitute." He said.

"Oh." Grissom muttered uncomfortably. He disliked being a subject of office gossip, more so when it was over something he wasn't exactly proud of.

He was not going to deny it, though.

"Yeah, I tried. But I failed, so-" he shrugged slightly, "I've decided that nothing will get in the way of the night shift this year." he looked at Greg in the eye, "Not even me." he paused, "I'm going to keep my eyes on the road, be completely focused-"

"Good for you." Greg said.

Grissom glanced at the Washington logo on Greg's sweatshirt.

"What about you?" Grissom asked. "Are you ready for the race?"

"Yeah."

Grissom looked up.

"You seem a bit subdued." he remarked.

"Nah, I'm fine," Greg replied, mustering some enthusiasm, "I'm ready. I think I even have a shot at the Individual Achievement trophy, this year."

"Really? Good for you."

They stared at each other, and all of a sudden Greg had the impression that a barrier had risen between them. He, who usually had something to say about everything and everybody, suddenly did not know what to say to his boss.

"So..."he mumbled.

"So..." Grissom said, seemingly as uncomfortably. "You... You're doing fine, then."

"Actually -" Greg started, but before he could add anything, he was interrupted by David Hodges, who appeared by their side.

Hodges was wearing a Las Vegas PD vest;it was at least one size too big, but he was clearly proud to have it on.

"Hey, Grissom." He greeted. "You're checking on your vehicle? Good! It's one thing less for me to do." He ostentatiously checked something out of a list he had, and then he bestowed a casual glance on Greg, "Well, well," he said, "If it isn't Greg Sanders, the Night Shift's prodigal son, wearing his natty Washington Lab uniform-"

Greg glared.

"You're not running, Hodges." he said, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, Conrad asked us to lend a hand today." Hodges said. "You know, put up banners and signs, and act as gracious hosts to a bunch of visiting jocks." He looked at Greg in the eye, "Remember," he said solemnly, "It's people like us who make these events possible." He glanced at Grissom, "Now, if you'll excuse me... I'm very busy." And he motioned the PD mechanic to follow him into the parking lot.

Greg rolled his eyes.

"Can't stand that guy," he muttered. Heturned to Grissom to comment something but before he could,Grissom spoke.

"You're probably busy, too." Grissom said.

Greg hesitated.

That sounded like a dismissal.

Just before Hodges came,Greg was going to spill his guts to Grissom... but now he was grateful for the interruption. Surely Grissom had other things to do.

"Yeah,"Greg said then,"I mean, there's always something to do before a race. Stretching exercises... meditation..."

"I know."

"I should go then," Greg said, "So- I'll see ya later, boss." He said and walked away.

Grissom exhaled and looked down.

He couldn't believe it. He'd had a chance to talk and he'd wasted it.

Greg sat in his car. From there he could see all the action without taking any part of it. He saw Sara drive by, looking for an empty spot; he saw Warrick and Nick arrive together in Nick's car; he saw dozens of visiting athletes get off their buses, while a frantic Hodges followed behind, checking out their names-

Damn Hodges.

Greg shook his head. He couldn't understand how Grissom could stand this guy.

When TPTB sent Hodges to Las Vegas, nobody thought he'd last long. He had a bad reputation -he hadn't lasted more than six months in any lab, and if he had survived the system it was because he knew whose ass to kiss. Therumour was that Hodges had been sent to this lab just so Grissom –who didn't need to have his ass kissed- fired him.

And Hodges should not have lasted more than a month... but he was still there; and, truth to be told, he had turned out to be a pretty good technician, too.

Somehow, Grissom had drawn a good performance from him.

Greg wondered what Grissom's secret was. He, who kept people at a distance, somehow won everybody's loyalty. He didn't care if you liked him or not, but you cared about his opinion –and not just because he was the boss. You tried harder and made sacrifices, but you didn't really mind. Why?

Greg absently glanced at his reflection on the rearview mirror. He touched his hair. He had worn different hair styles over the years, one more outrageous than the next; he had toned it down in order to work in the field, but the truth was, Grissom never made an issue of it. Never. Other CSI bosses made snide comments, but Grissom never did.

Maybe that was Grissom's secret? That he let people be themselves and accepted them no matter what? That he rated their ability to work and not their likability or their ability to kiss ass?

Greg scoffed softly. Maybe Professor Vauchss ought to spend a little time with Grissom; he might get to learn a thing or two.

Or maybe... Maybe it was Greg himself who would have to teach thisto his old professor?

It was a huge responsibility, and Greg didn't know if he could do it, but he could certainly try.

He looked outside. More athletes were coming, and there was Sara, reading from a page and glancing around. Greg frowned. What was she doing? She was not helping Hodges, was she?

Greg opened the door, but he quickly changed his mind and closed it again. No. He couldn't talk to her -not while he was seriously considering leaving Las Vegas.

What would she do if she found out? She'd probably be pissed off at him; after all, she had taken him under her wing these past months. She had helped him study, she had given him all sort of tips; she had encouraged him and helped him believe in himself-

But Sara would never throw all this on his face, would she? She would be pissed off perhaps, but mostly, she would be disappointed, sad-

That's it. She would be sad, and she would ask him if he was sure... But he didn't think she would try to talk him out of leaving. In the end, she would leave that decision in his hands, just like Grissom.

And that's how it should be, he could see that now. It had to be his decision, like it or not.

Sara Sidle glanced at the groups of visiting athletes. She had come early to the desert, but she was not part of Conrad Ecklie's Welcome Committee. On the contrary, one might say; she was there to meet the guys from Obregon –one of them in particular.

According to the description on the list she had, the Obregon team would wear brown sweatshirts. So far, no one had come.

She was deep in thought, when someone approached her. Grissom.

"Sara? What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for a guy." She said distractedly.

"What?" he asked.

Sara winced when she realized what she had just said.

"I'm not really looking for one," She said quickly, "But a friend of Greg's is coming from Obregon -not that he's a friend -" she added with a scowl.

Grissom frowned.

"You're not making any sense," he said.

"I know," She admitted sheepishly. "Look. I'm going to tell you the full story, but it has to remain between us, ok?" She said, and once Grissom nodded, she told him all about Chip Barnes.

"So what you're saying is that Greg signed up with Vauchss' team-"

"-to beat this guy at the race." Sara finished.

Grissom knew this was not the full story but didn't mention it. He was moreinterested inwhat she had said.

"And you want to meet this guy Barnes because...?"

"I just want to keep an eye on him." She shrugged evasively.

Grissom looked closely at her.

"Sara, you're not planning on beating up this guy, are you?"

"Me?" she was surprised, "No." She said.

Grissom was obviously skeptical.

"I'm not, Grissom." She insisted, "I'm just gonna, you know, make sure that he keeps his distance."

"Sara..." he said, "I know you mean well, but you can't fight Greg's battles for him."

"I know," she said reluctantly. "But I want that guy to know that Greg has friends here."

Grissom seemed to muse on this for a moment. Then he smiled mischievously.

"What's with the smile?" she asked.

"Maybe there's something we can do for Greg." he said, "Come on," he said, taking her arm.

Thank you for reviewing!

TBC

Note: Vauchss' actions were inspired in the real-life antics of a former boss of mine, who used to ask his close minions to find out what the rest of the Department thought of him. He would also give jobs to people he thought he could control.