Chapter 2

A/N I got a review that referred this Sara as skanky Sara. While that didn't particularly disturb me... Actually it didn't disturb me at all. It is important to note that this Grissom and Sara are our Grissom and Sara in very, very different circumstances. They are good people but still just people and their motivations might not always seem so noble.

Thank you so much to Losingintranslation and Michelle.

Observation

He always parked his car next to hers. It was a Toyota Corolla that was in pretty good condition. She kept it washed and cleaned. The gas gage was never on empty. He surmised that she hadn't lied about being able to make it on her tips. The envelopes were stuck under her tire. They were damp from a puddle of water and oil. Unable to resist anything of interest, he bent down to get a better look at the papers and picked them up.

The first thing he noticed was that they were both addressed to one Sara Honeysuckle Sidle. One envelope was from the Sun Valley Community College, and the other was from the American College Testing Center. They were both postmarked from a month before.

He opened the ACT score first.

English, 26

Science, 30

Math, 31

Social Sciences, 25

Composite Score, 28

He then looked in the other envelope.

Dear Miss Sidle,

The Admissions Committee is pleased to offer you a full tuition scholarship and a place in our Fall class. Based on your ACT scores and your online placement exams, we will also award you three credit hours for Freshman English, three credit hours for College Algebra and three credit hours for College Biology. There are several other online placement tests that are available as well as an IQ test that has no bearing on your placement.

Please call our office and acknowledge your willingness to accept the above scholarship.

He turned to unlock his trunk and pulled out a legal pad. Ripping off a piece of the paper, he wrapped the wet pieces in it. After sitting them down on the passenger's seat of his five year old Lexus, he took a deep breath, counted to 10 and turned the key. This was so not a good idea, but he really didn't care anymore.

OOOOOOOOOO

Sara held the beer up to her forehead. So damn hot. The knock on the door made her jump. It was probably Mr. Zobowksi from next door. He was a retired baker and was forever bringing Sara fresh rolls and cookies.

"Hey, Mr. Z. You through with your morning walk already?"

Blue eyes, not gray eyes greeted her. She had never seen him in the light of day. He was growing his beard again. She could see that now. It was black, like his hair. Her ex-boyfriend had tried to grow a beard once. The hair had come in sparsely and some odd red color, so it had done nothing for his bid to buy beer.

"Hi, Gorgeous," he said softly peering into the small tidy room behind her.

Strangely, she wasn't surprised to see him. She stood back and let him in. Hadn't everyone said he'd come around to make the offer one of these days? Apparently today was the day.

He looked around the apartment. Sara had tried to cover up the dreariness with a few plants and framed prints. He could see into her bedroom, where she had painted one wall lavender. The building was not in the greatest neighborhood. But it appeared to be well kept, relatively safe, and inhabited by single people of all ages. Thankfully, he'd never been to a crime scene there.

"You want a beer?" she said, indicating the one in her hand. She was surprised by how happy she felt at seeing him there.

He shook his head and sat on the ancient couch that Sara had covered with a cheap replica of a Native American quilt.

"Is that your breakfast?" He waved a hand at the beer.

"No. It's… no," she gave him a look of mock incredulity. "I have proper breakfast food, thank you very much. I was just getting ready to have some blueberry muffins and eggs."

"Sounds good. I'll take double your portion." She shook her head and raked her eyes over his clothes. Daylight looked good on him. Her dark eyes fell to his shoes and she knew they must have been at least a hundred bucks.

"How do you want your eggs?"

"Now you care about my likes and dislikes?"

She squinted at him and capped the beer. "Doc, I am always serving you: serving you at work, at my apartment. Look, this is your first time in my apartment and I'm already cooking you breakfast."

She moved around her minuscule kitchen wondering how it was all going to play out. What did he want from her? Clearly he wasn't here just for breakfast. Did he want a roll in the hay, a one night stand or maybe even a mistress? He could have the latter, she'd decided that on her ride home. It was time to grow up and become a big girl.

The apartment was not as small as he would have imagined, but he could see straight into the kitchen. She pulled open the refrigerator and he was glad to see it full. A small, but solid collection of fruits and vegetables were next to the eggs. There was also a quart of juice and some whole milk. There were two boxes of cereal on the counter and a canister of whole wheat pasta. Perhaps she was eating well, just like she had claimed. Maybe she was just naturally thin.

He swiveled his head in the other direction and took note of the TV. It was hooked up to a cable box and VCR. She hadn't lied to him, she was doing okay. Better than a lot of twenty something girls on their own. He didn't know what her background was, but it couldn't be too pretty considering what he did know about her past. He would have to remember to buy Melinda something nice for Christmas, seeing as how she had been doing right by Sara.

She peered at him as she cracked brown eggs into a bowl. Her mouth began moving of its own accord. "I am going to make you the best western omelet this side of heaven."

"I have no doubt."

"But the muffins I can't take credit for. My neighbor's been trying to fatten me up ever since I moved here. Thank god it's not working, 'cause then I might have to actually provide for my own sweet tooth."

His blank expression unnerved her.

"Mr. Z is a retired baker."

"Ah. I'll have two muffins then."

"They're mini muffins, so you should probably have more than that. He used to work at a fancy schmancy hotel, so he's the master of the diminutive."

"Whatever you think, Gorgeous."

She turned away from him, but not before he saw the tiny buds of red start to spread across her cheeks. He watched her back and shoulders as she made quick work of the green peppers, mushrooms and tomatoes.

"I like hot food, Doc. Our next door neighbor growing up used to make spicy chicken, spicy omelets, spicy lasagna. Me and my brother, we were the closest thing she had to kids. She even came to my school plays."

"You somehow manage to keep picking up neighbors who specialize in the culinary arts. What is Mr. Z? The third one?"

The relaxation that was starting to set in left and her shoulders bunched up again.

"Deductive reasoning. You had a neighbor as a kid. You probably lived one place in between. Now Mr. Z. You have a way with older people."

Sara waggled a dangerous looking pepper the color of a ripe orange. "I'm not used to people knowing stuff about me without me telling them, Doc."

"If I had to wait for you to tell me, I wouldn't know very much."

"Takes two," Sara shot back.

"Hey, I'm sure that you probably know just as much about me from observation."

Sara cut the pepper in half and squeezed the juices in the skillet. A few seeds landed there too.

"The silence is deafening," Gil half joked.

"You just like being the quiet one, so you surround yourself with talkative people. No, quiet isn't the word. I think you just like the chatter more than you'd like to admit: probably some childhood thing. Isn't that what Freud would say?"

The vegetable and egg mixture followed the pepper juice seeds into the skillet. "My mother's deaf."

The words were out before he knew it. He wanted to validate her intellect and intuitiveness. "I like silence, but I like chatty people, too."

"Chatty women. You surround yourself with chatty women. There's the boss lady, who isn't exactly talkative, but she talks to you. And of course Marg talks your head off. Do you have any male friends?"

"One."

Nimble fingers moved the eggs around. There was something familiar about the movement. It reminded him of the diner he frequented for breakfast.

"Let me guess. Guy's guy. Man of his word. Straight shooter. Probably a-… What do they call them in those cop shows? Loose cannon."

"He's not a loose cannon-exactly."

"Whatevah, Doc."

"My name is Gil."

"Know what your name is. I have your book. I had to know your name to get it."

"What do you think?"

"It's wonderful. Who knew bugs could do all of that?"

He watched as she dashed something red into the skillet. "Got any sausage?"

"You know, as matter fact I do. It's not breakfast sausage."

"Any sausage is a breakfast sausage."

She reached in and pulled a packet from the refrigerator. "Courtesy of Mr. Thoma down the hall."

"Thoma is a Lebanese name, so the sausage must be Margeolic"

They ate in companionable silence, taking cautious looks at one another every now and then. They both took turns looking sheepish and curious. When he was done she took his plate, rinsed it off, put it in the dishwasher. She gave him a long stare as she crossed the threshold of what he assumed was her bedroom.

"Watcha waiting on, Doc? A girl needs her beauty rest. So let's get the show on the road."

In the bathroom, Sara tossed her Ozzy Ozborne t-shirt into the hamper, shucked her black jeans and hung them on the back of the bathroom door. She checked herself out in the mirror, but for what reason she didn't know. She was skinny and some guys liked that. Mostly though, she'd learned that it was usually because they preferred men or kids.

She was glad that the things between her and Doc were about to be settled. He would get what he wanted and he'd continue to help her. It was a fair trade; Doc's book smarts for a little ass. She knew he wouldn't hurt her or raise a hand to her. So it could be worse.

He was surprised to find her in the center of the room pulling her panties down her thin frame. Her words came out in a nervous, sing-songy, and well-rehearsed rush. "Here's the deal, Doc. I'm no hooker, so don't get any funny ideas. That being said, I'm not charging now, or the next time, or the time after that. You can do anything you want except put it in my ass."She kept her eyes averted as she folded her panties into a precise square as she sought to keep her voice steady. "If you bring me a clean bill of health, you don't have to use a condom, and I'll be needing that once a month. Look, I just want you to help me like you've been doing. I figure I need to know things if I want to improve my lot in life. I just don't know what that'll require at this point. I might need some help with money every now and then, but don't go thinking I'm some kinda whore. What do you want me to do first?"

His eyes devoured the sight of her body as she recited the practiced speech. When she was finished, his eyes finally returned to her face and he found that he was willing himself to breath. "Sara, I didn't come here for-… I came here, because I found these and I wanted to talk to you about them."

She squinted at the papers in his hand and he made a mental note that they would need to talk about her eyesight later. He was surprised when she reached for a pair of new looking and quite fashionable glasses. She slipped them on and,

still naked, she walked to where he was and took the letters.

She read them quickly, took off the glasses and looked at him. "Oh."

"I found them by your car."

"Yeah."

"You threw them away?"

"Not really. I guess they fell out when I got out of my car. I've been trying to work up the nerve to show you, or Marg."

"You've nearly missed the deadline. Why didn't you open them?"

Sara sat down on the purple bedspread, crossed her legs and peered up at him. "I don't know. Scared I guess. I mean, I got a job; a good job. I have a few friends. I have a nice place to live and decent neighbors. If I go to college, all that's gonna change."

He pulled the end of the bedspread up and motioned for her to cover herself with it. When she took the spread from him and wrapped it around her, he sat down next to her. "Thought a lot about this, have you?"

She nodded. He was pleased that she didn't appear embarrassed by her earlier assumption and declaration.

"You should at least try, Sara. Why did you take the tests if you didn't want to give it shot?" The use of her given name was like cold water splashing in her face.

She blew away a stray curl that had landed on her nose. "Not gorgeous anymore, now that you have seen my ass?"

He waited a beat, not sure how to respond and not wanting to hurt her, but not wanting to give himself away, either. "Still gorgeous."

She hazarded a look at him and was relieved to see him smiling and sincere. "Sorry I thought you wanted to screw me."

"Don't be sorry. It was a sensible assumption. I show up here without calling, and based on our increasing intimacy, I can understand why you would think that. Seems like you did a lot of thinking about what you were going to say to me, or whomever…"

She jumped in quickly. "No, just you. I've never done this kind of thing before. It's just, I see girls at the club, ya know, and the guy hangs around, he pays special attention, and pretty soon he makes his move. They make a deal and he takes care of her and she takes care of him."

She kicked at imaginary dust across the freshly vacuumed carpet. "Should've known better, I guess. The way you check out Marg. You'd still help me though, wouldn't you, if I decided to go to college?"

"Of course I will. I didn't start helping you because I wanted something from you. And for the record, I think you are worth checking out: probably more than Marg. You have a very different quality, and as much as I like Marg, her qualities are a bit overly contrived."

Sara didn't believe him, but she still appreciated his putting forth the effort.

They sat for a full minute while Gil calculated what he would say next. It was all right there on the table. Sara was offering him everything he thought he wanted. It unnerved him that the offer was so black and white; so crude. He thought about what he really wanted from the slip of a woman that sat next to him; slightly embarrassed. She was just a girl, really: a tough girl, a sweet girl. She was a girl that he dreamed about more than he ever wanted to admit. She wasn't in a terrible situation, but she was in one where she could be easily taken advantage of. Was he going to be one of those men? Shit! It looked as if he was.

Sara's surprisingly white teeth worked on her thumb nail. The gap between them showed just a bit. She had once said that she wanted braces, but he believed imperfection made a woman the total of what she was, and there was no such thing as perfection. Or perhaps the imperfection was perfection.

"Whatcha thinking about, Doc?"

"Wondering how I came to a place in my life where I could be sitting here with this stunning young woman and yet, I find it suitable to turn down such a very enticing offer."

Sara

He always made everything sound so elegant and civil. Like he was talking from the page of a romance novel and his name was Lord something or other. Sara smiled and hunched thin shoulders up to her ears. Grissom's hand reached out and touched an earring made of a white metal with minuscule emeralds dotted along the ring. "Those look like a pair that my aunt once owned."

"They were my grandmother's and then my mother's," Sara said softly. When was the last time anyone had touched her? Really touched her? Not the casual brushes in a crowd or the meeting of fingers as she passed a drink. She honestly couldn't remember.

"If someone was to help you… If an arrangement was to be made..."

Sara tried to suppress a tiny grin. She had been right. "I can be a good baby doll, Doc. Gimme a shot?"

He kept his eyes intent on her face. "Honey, I just don't know…"

"You got somebody?"

He shook his head. "Then you should give me a shot. Money back guaranteed. I don't need much just a little to help with school, if I go."

His voice was stern. "Part of any deal we make is that you are going to college."

Sara threw her arms around his neck and kissed him solidly, and when they finally came up for air he breathed against her. "Okay. Okay."

Gil

I wanted this to be special, our first time. I have thought about it for some time, but now I can't wait for that. My dick is so hard that it's going to break off. Maybe a blow job or a hand job.

I tug at the quilt she is clutching fiercely and touch the white knuckles of her hand. "Let it go, Honey. Please?"

She does so nearly instantly, catching site of the bulge in my pants.

I am not sure what to say or do anymore. I mean, it's not exactly going to be a cheap fuck. I just want to see what she looks like; to look at the smooth skin beneath that bedspread and to see where all those freckles lead. I'm trying to take it all in, thinking that I might not get another chance.

"I just want to see," I say. "Later, there can be more, but right now, I just want to see."

She shrugs the quilt off of her shoulders and looks away. I put a finger on her jaw and move her face towards me. I want to see her eyes. I run a thumb over her lips. Her lips are full and pouty. I wonder if she likes giving head; if she's good at it, if she would do it for me.

The image of her kneeling before me with her mouth around my cock shoots through my brain.

"You're lovely."

"You don't have…"

"Ssh… Don't… You are absolutely breathtaking." I say emphatically.

She is. It's not a con game to break down what few barriers remain between us.

A ray of light settles on her cheek and I'm reminded that I've never seen her in the light of day before now. From the same window, a soft breeze moves the hair on the side of her face and I wonder how hard she works to keep those natural curls straight. She shouldn't have to work hard to do anything. She's beautiful and smart and young. Her life should be filled with reckless adventures and muscle bound boyfriends.

"Daylight suits you." My hand brushes across her cheek and the light slips over my hand. My hand is dark from ancestry and processing in the field. The apple of her cheek is pale for the same reasons: work and heritage.

There's that blush again. I realize I'm smiling when I see my face reflected in one dark pupil. "You don't have to lie to me, Doc. I don't mind if you have someone. I'm not naive."

"If I had someone… Let's just put it like this. I like women a great deal and monogamy is not my strong suit. I've tried to be honest about that with everyone that I have ever been involved with. I will never ever lie to you, Sara. In my line of work, the lie is always more trouble than the truth."

She nods.

"Would you mind terribly standing up?" I ask, trying to sound stronger than I feel, and somehow I manage to pull it off.

She smiles a little. I know she doesn't want to do it and I don't like the sound of my voice when I ask again. I need time to think, away from Sara. My nether regions are doing most of the talking and I don't like what they are telling me. I could have more worldly women. Women like Sara are a troublesome lot; sweet girls that pull you in with their innocence and wonder.

"It's okay, Honey, you don't to have to… Though I'm fairly certain you wouldn't make a very good stripper at this rate." I brush a hand over the goose flesh that has appeared on her shoulder.

"You cold?"

"I don't think so."

I pull the quilt back up over her shoulders and give her a kiss on the forehead.

"We can do this later. What are you doing the rest of the day?"

Sara

I feel stupid. Here I am, brokering this arrangement with my cavalier grownup attitude, and I can't even let the man see me naked again. What the hell is wrong with me?

Get it together, Sidle! He's nice. He's smart and he wants to do this with you. He can have any girl at the club he wants, and he wants to be with you.

The kiss on my forehead was too brotherly. He's going to bail and I can't say as I blame him. Started of with a bang Sidle. Looks like you're gonna end with a whimper.

"Bathroom through here?" He motions towards the white door of my bathroom. I started painting it, but never finished the job. I was going to add some thin lavender stripes like I saw on Oprah, but I never got around to it. Story of my life.

"You want me to?" I know what he's going to the bathroom for and it makes me feel even more ridiculous.

"We can do this later… When you feel more comfortable."

"Do you want me to?" My hand brushes across the bulge in his pants. "I can. I mean, we have this deal made."

"I don't have any condoms right now."

"Oh." Neither do I. I am so not ready for this.

"I can do it with my hand." I run my fingers over his engorged flesh. The low sound in his throat lets me know that I'm doing this right. I press my palm over the hardness, groping it through the heavy material.

"Honey…" I squeeze again. His mouth goes slack, a puff of invisible air escaping his lips as he struggles to close it again. Moving purely by instinct, I undo the button of his Levis keeping my hand on the material covered swell. His eyes are closed now, and I sigh with relief.

Taking care not to lose contact, or snag any sensitive skin in the zipper, I tug at the jeans until they land just below his hips. I work my fingers over his flesh with one hand and pull the shorts down with the other one. They join his jeans at the bottom of his hips. The maleness of it all surprises me. There he is; rock hard, balls tight, veins standing rigid.

I look up to see a muscle in his neck pulsing, with his breath coming in short bursts. Doc is a deep, slow breather, even when Roxy was shaking her tits in his face. That's how I finally convinced myself that he was interested. Rox doesn't work at the club any longer, because she was a causality of the three strikes and you're out rule. Rox was the headliner before Marg. She broke a number of club rules, including going on stage high and prostitution on club premises.

Rox's game would be to find a whale, and run what could only be described as a sneak attack under the table. Bada Bing Bada Boom: this poor guy's getting a free hand job. Melinda said she was like a crack dealer: give the first hit for free. She had tried her scheme on Doc. It had only lasted for maybe a minute or so, but he got this look on his face. That was the first time the mask slipped. After less than a minute, he marshaled what I considered to be a great deal of strength and removed her hand. He then told Melinda, who'd been suspicious, but now had proof.

His breath had quickened that time, but not nearly as much as right now.

"Ga…" he says.

I think he called my name, but the end of the sound is lost in the back of his throat. The hair is standing up all over my arm. The back of my hand comes in contact with the dark curls nesting around his cock. The urge to take him in my mouth is natural, but completely dangerous. I never understood before when people talked about getting carried away in the moment. I get it now. I get it, but I have no intention of doing it, no matter how much I want to.

"That feels good." He moans. I suppress a triumphant grin and continue stroking him. My hands, never feminine or petite, are perversely suited for this. My long bony fingers work the ridges and grooves in what proves to be satisfying work. I don't know if I should touch his inflated sacks. The feather light touch releases a painful sounding wail.

"Sara, I won't be able to-..."

"Relax. Just feel good."

He pulls me up by one elbow and my face slips past the supple fabric of the white shirt. My nose catches a bit of spice left over from breakfast on the way up. Lips meet lips and tongues play out an aggressive symphony.

"So good, honey. Feels good... Smell Good... Good," he grunts against my hair as his hips begin to work in tandem with my hand.

His hand caresses the spot made warm by sun. The kiss starts out slow and sweet, but it quickly gives away to a deliciously teenage sloppiness, and then finally a purely adult heat. This is what girls my age do in the back seat of cars or in parentless houses. His hands have started their own movement, working on the sweat soaked curls at the nape of my neck. His mouth leaves fluttering kisses on its way to my ear.

His tongue snakes and in and out of the canal and it's made crystal clear that Gil Grissom is no kid.

Gil

"Your turn to relax," I say, my voice thick with my impending orgasm. Her mouth is perfectly seasoned with berries and spices. Her full mouth takes me under and then releases me. Just when I catch my breath, the sensation of her hand over my cock takes it away and I am drowning again. She has found a spot on the underside of my shaft and her short nails dance over it skillfully. Her other hand has wound around my neck and is aggressively working and massaging my scalp.

This erotic fumbling in which we are engaged is beyond foreplay and very dangerous, and I really couldn't care less. Of all the people in the world, I know too well what the arrival of pre-cum means, and I know I need to stop. I need to stop Sara. She's just so young and sweet. I don't want to upset her or make her reconsider.

Then it happens, before I can even begin to get myself together. I shoot what is left of my sanity all over Sara's hand, bedspread and hardwood floor.

Fireworks cloud my vision and I nip a little at her earlobe. "Sogoodhoney…"

Mortified at my inability to control even this simple situation, I lift my head from her thick hair to meet her eyes, and I find myself intensely jealous of the lip she's biting and wondering what else I can do to keep that look on her face.