I started to merge this with the next chapter but it just didn't' feel right so here's a another .5 chapter. I am trying to make up for the last week's missed deadline. Big ups to Jennifer, Michelle and Doris. I don't know exactly what big ups means but from MTV it seems to be a good things.

Carefully Laura Sidle turned over the envelope in her hand. Robin, the woman who handled the mail duties, passed her the envelope at breakfast, just before she'd headed to help out with the computer lab's GED course.

The black handwriting was neat if not a little cramped. The envelope was mid weight ecru with little maroon something smattered throughout.

Gilbert. I. Grissom

The man, himself. The man who'd captured her daughter's heart, had inspired her to do something with her life, to use her brains for more than just mere survival. From everything Sara had said he seemed like a nice man: perhaps a bit controlling, and maybe a little too sure of himself. One could never know without observing him. Sara's letters were sometimes sparse on details, but she knew her daughter hid things. When Sara had children she'd understand that you couldn't really hide anything from a mother. Someday, God willing, she'd understand.

Sara hadn't told her the entire story. Laura didn't need her to spell it all out. Dashing older man meets troubled younger woman. That scenario only started out one way and it didn't involve Eliza Doolittle.

She had hope for the pair. The hope scared her.

What the hell do you want Gil Grissom? Shaking her head she opened the letter very carefully. Perhaps she would even keep it. Show it to the grandkids one day. It was a short letter, but it said a lot about the man who'd written it.

Ms. Sidle,

My name is Gil Grissom. I'm not sure Sara has mentioned me or not, but I have heard many wonderful things about you from Sara. I am not exactly sure why I'm writing you except that I feel compelled to tell you a few things.

You have raised an amazing woman. Sara is vivacious, incredibly bright and terribly resilient. She has survived and thrived in ways you cannot imagine, or perhaps you can. You should know that Sara has told me everything.

If Sara has not mentioned me, I suppose I should tell you that we have been seeing one another for nearly eight moths. I only expect our relationship to deepen and eventually end with marriage, or whatever commitment Sara is comfortable with.

Considering what your family has been through, this is probably a frightening notion for both you and Sara. As I prove myself to Sara, I hope that I will be able to do the same with you. As I understand it, you and Sara are very much alike.

Practically speaking, I make a good living and Sara will never want for anything. The fact is, she wants for nothing now. When she completes her education, she will be able to support herself in any manner she chooses. Even now, she could support herself without my help. I feel honored that she's allowed me to make her life more comfortable as she pursues her education.

I understand how important you and her brother are to Sara. . I am very close to my own mother.

Emotionally speaking, I will never, ever mistreat Sara and she has never, nor will she ever, fear for her safety. Ms. Sidle, I love your daughter, and I believe that she will come to love me, if she has not already. I also believe that we have started a tremendous life together. I simply hope that we might have your support.

Thank you for taking the time to read this letter. Any response, no matter the temperament, will be greatly appreciated.

Gilbert. I Grissom Laura put the letter with Sara's and Davie's. It was too formal for her taste, but it was quite revealing. She would write him back, perhaps tell Davie about him. She didn't really trust most men, but this Mr. Grissom certainly warranted a glimmer of hope.

Observation Gil

Shit. How in the hell did I miss this? I mean really, how in the hell does one not even know when his girlfriend's birthday is? Why don't I know this? Am I truly that thick? Yes, apparently I am. Stupid! Stupid! I'm holding the letter from Sara's mother. Her birthday is this month. This very month! I don't even know what day. What if it's already passed? The odds are on my side because it's only the 5th.

The letter came today. I probably should have told Sara that I had written her mother, but I felt it was something I needed to do without her consultation. I hope she won't think I was trying to keep any secrets from her when it all comes out. But this contact with her mother required a bit of old fashioned formality.

Sara is in the loft, a room that used to be nothing but a dusty storage area. It has recently become her office of sorts. My volumes and specimen jars have been relegated to the garage and any other place I can find for them. With her safely out of sight, I make a mad dash for her wallet. Her license will have a birthday and hopefully I won't look like such a schmuck. Hopefully, I've got enough time to pull something together for the occasion. Heart beating fast, my hand slips into her purse and pulls out the ancient leather wallet.

Furtively I pull out her license so that I can get a better look at it. What in the hell... This is-it's not right. Is it?

"Gil," Sara calls from the loft, standing at the top of the stairs. She starts walking down them. "If I don't like to experiment on animals, does that make me a bad scientist?"

The wallet goes back into the purse. My hands are sweating and confusion is beginning to make my head throb. Maybe I read it wrong. Surely I did. Sara's standing in front of me now, looking very worried and anxious. What? Oh, the animals. I desperately try to switch gears. Sara loves animals. She doesn't want to experiment on them. Right. I'll have to think about the purse and its contents later.

I put my hand over hers, hoping that she doesn't notice the sweat, hoping my voice is steady. "No, that doesn't make you a bad scientist. There are lots of career paths and courses of study a criminalist can take that don't involve experimentation on animals. Let me show you something I just got in the mail..."

OOOOOOOO

Patrick says I should come by the church tomorrow at four. It can't be soon enough for me. There is too much buzzing around in my head, and I need to talk to someone besides Brass. If I tell him about my discovery, he'll just feel more protective than he does right now.

Her birthday is next week. This is a good thing, for many reasons, not the least of which is that the school will be closed for a complete security overhaul.

Sara has been complaining all week about overprotective parents "messing with her schedule." Parents aren't the only ones that called. An overprotective boyfriend who has endowed three book scholarships might have had something to do with it as well.

"You know, I think Kelly's Dad actually sprung for a new library. I mean, come on. It's a guy WITH a gun. He didn't even shoot it. He didn't even AIM it. They're just being a bunch of wusses. Buck up. There's more to be afraid of than men with guns who don't even have the balls to shoot them."

"Hon, parents aren't the only ones concerned. I called Dr. Simpson, too."

SVJ's president and I aren't exactly drinking buddies, but we've played the occasional round of golf.

"You did?" Her voice is tinged with a hint of appreciation. She moves about restlessly for a second.

Her hair, nearly black from the damp of the shower, fans slightly over the pillow, leaving apple scented shampoo in the air. She's flopping her left foot from one side to the other. Occasionally, her big toe assaults my ankle. This last time drew blood I'm sure.

"Could you get those dealt with? You could climb a tree with those toe nails."

She lifts a long, elegant leg, along with her head and peers at her big toe. "Sorry," she mumbles with exasperation.

She continues to rattle on, dropping her foot back down. "What am I supposed to do for a week? I only have one shift at the club because Mandy needed extra money for some piercing or other. I'm telling you, that girl is going to spring a leak if she gets a hole put in one more thing. Do you know she has one in her na-na."

I turn my head to look at her. "Her what?"

"You know her fluffy," she says with perfect rationality.

I don't even try not laugh. Sara lets out a little giggle on her own.

"Fluffy? Na-Na? Are you referring to parts of the female anatomy?"

She absently starts with the foot flopping again. "What the hell am I going to do for a week? And don't you dare say clean, 'cause if you do, I'm gonna slap you." She appears to contemplate her options for a moment longer. "I guess I could try out some new recipes, and maybe go swimming at Kelly's. She keeps talking about laying out all week. I told her she's going to get skin cancer. I probably shouldn't have said the C word. Huh? I mean, with her mom and everything-"

"We could celebrate your birthday," I offer quietly.

"My-oh it is next week. I almost forgot. How'd you know about that?" She looks up at me suspiciously, but at least I don't feel like a jerk for not knowing in the first place.

"A man must keep some secrets."

And so, it seems, must a woman.

OOOOOOOOO

"I don't want to go out of town," she whines. "Why can't we just stay here for my birthday? Why do we have to go away. I really don't want to go out of town," she says again. There is something about the way she says that phrase with such disgust.

I decide to change tactics. We are sitting at a small French café, enjoying one of the sidewalk tables. Sara looks young and lovely with her dark glasses and coral lip-gloss. "Why don't you want to go, sweetheart?"

"I don't want to go OUT OF TOWN. I've been places..." She's beginning to get quite huffy; one of her many defense mechanisms.

"Oh?" I say. "Please, fill me in on your extensive travel history." I take a sip of my iced tea and she glowers at me for a second.

"I'm already out of town. I left one town and now I'm in this one. So there, I'm always out of town. Can't we just like go to fancy restaurant for my birthday, and have a cake, and maybe try some stuff on our lists."

I suppress a grin at the mention of our "sex" lists. That's what Sara calls them. I haven't actually seen Sara's yet, but I suspect it's a catalog of sexual positions. Mine has become something different. It covers the many things I want to share with her and talk about.

"We will be going to a fancy restaurant, and we'll have cake, and try some stuff on our lists. The only difference is that we aren't going to be doing it here. We are doing it in Catalina."

Her eyes seem to light up for a second, but the worry enters them again. "How long are we going to be gone?"

"A week. Next week."

Somehow, I thought things would get better when she heard that. Perhaps I should stop thinking where Sara is concerned.

"A whole week!"

"Seven days, 10,080 minutes or-"

"604,800 seconds, whatever… Why do we have to go out of town for all of this?"

My hand reaches for hers, and she tenses for a moment until I bring the inside of her wrist to my lips. A middle aged couple next to us smiles broadly. "Because I want you to relax. I know you don't recognize this right now, but you are under a lot of stress and if I let you stay here, you will clean, and organize, and iron my socks, and maybe you'll spend a few hours at Kelly's. But it won't be nearly enough."

She brightens for a moment. "If I promise to relax, do we still have to go?"

"Sara..." I sigh.. "What's this really about?"

She shrugs and looks at the other couple for a moment. "I bet they go out of town," she whispers, leaning in.

"I bet they're out of town," I add

The waitress comes and I place our order: a tomato salad and cheese soup for Sara; pasta tossed with asparagus for me. She spears a tomato and takes a petulant bite. "Rich people go out of town. The people who came to the lake in Lomo Costa were out of town. They didn't care anything about us. Just wanted our moms to work for them doing their menial chores for next to nothing, wanted us kids to stay out of their way, and wanted our dad's to mow their lawns. They were OUT OF TOWN."

"First of all, we aren't rich. However, if we do become rich, I promise to let you know right away. Second, I'm sorry that you had that kind of negative experiences from those people. But we aren't those people. We are going to treat anyone who provides us service with nothing but respect and courtesy."

She sticks her nose in her water class and mumbles. "In case you missed it, I'm in service. Remember me-the bartender

Another thing we still need to discuss.

In light of everything. She's got to quite tending bar. "And did I ever treat you badly? Ever tip you sparingly? Ever act like you were in any way less of a person than me."

She begins to created confetti with the whole grain roll in front of her. "Yeah, but you wanted to get into my pants… ."

Eyes dark and serious accuse me of old sins. "You can't be serious. You really think that's why I was nice to you? That I only treated you with respect, because I wanted to sleep with you?" The other couple has stopped eating and are now watching us with an undisguised interest. Shooting them a caustic glare, I lean forward and lower my voice while pushing my food away; my appetite long gone. "Do you honestly think I would have treated you differently at the club, if I wasn't attracted you?"

"Well...people do treat people differently, when they aren't attracted to them. That's how they let the people know."

"Forget the attraction in this equation-"

"How can I? It was there. It's been a part of our relationship since the first day we met."

She's right. Of course she's right. I hang my head a moment, realizing that there really is no way to separate it from the equation. I've wanted her almost from the instant I laid eyes on her. I tried to stop myself from wanting her, but in the end it was all folly. "Okay," I throw my hands up in defeat. "Point taken. But, for the record I don't go around being mean to my yardman, or the lady that cleans my office down at PD either. I treat all people with respect and dignity."

"Of course you do." Her hands have stopped assaulting the bread and she's now making waves in her soup. "It's easy to be kind when you're the one in control. You're the boss. It's just as easy to be kind as it is to be cruel, because it doesn't make a difference either way. You don't need them. Your maid, your yard guy, your nanny; they can all be replaced. You have the money and the power. There's no equity in those relationships. Nothing is going to happen to you if you treat them badly. Just like nothing is going to happen to you, if you treat them well."

I can feel that familiar buzzing in my ears and I begin to wonder how far I am from a migraine. Sara signals to the bleary eyed waiter, who immediately scurries over and frowns at our uneaten food. "Is everything alright?"

Sara gives him one of her dazzling smiles. God, I hate when she smiles at other men like that, even if it is forced and completely fake. "It was fine. We're just not feeling well." She stands, smooths down her white t-shirt, and nods towards me. "He'll be paying. He's a great tipper." She gives him another artificial smile as I reluctantly reach for my wallet.

TBC