San Francisco 1993

"So the lesson we learn from this case is this: never allow biases or prejudgment to cloud the investigation. Always follow the evidence." Grissom scanned the faces of his young audience. Most of the class looked bored, but there were a few students who made eye contact and appeared genuinely interested. At least it's not a total loss, he thought. "That concludes the discussion for today. See you Tuesday."

Grissom collected his scattered papers and photos from the podium, revisiting the case he had spent the last hour dissecting. It had been one of his first cases as a CSI, and had taught him a valuable lesson – never try to make the evidence fit a theory, no matter how much you want that theory to be correct. He didn't want to believe a mother could be the murderer of her two children. He wanted her story to be true. Grissom spent days searching for evidence of a "masked man," even when the evidence he found pointed at the woman's guilt. When the evidence changes, so must your theory. It was now his mantra.

"Excuse me? Dr. Grissom?"

Grissom pushed the memories away, and glanced up from his papers to see who had pulled him out of his reverie. It was a tall brunette, hair pulled back in a ponytail, clutching the course textbook as if it contained the meaning of life. Ah youth, Grissom thought. She looked at him eagerly, and he noted that she was one of the students who remained awake for most of his lecture.

"Yes?"

"I noticed that you didn't specify office hours on your syllabus. I was hoping I would have the chance to ask you some questions about your lecture today."

Definitely one of the interested ones, he thought. "Sure, um, I haven't quite settled into my office yet. If you can ignore the piles of paper and boxes I can chat with you now if you like. Miss?"

"Sidle. Sara Sidle." She extended her hand to him, and Grissom accepted it in his own, shaking firmly.

"Ok, Sara. Follow me to my office."

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Over an hour had passed before Grissom glanced at the clock. He was lost in conversation with his young pupil, who had questioned him incessantly about the case and generated three new questions for every one he answered. He was fascinated by her enthusiasm and eagerness to learn, and appreciated that she didn't just accept what he said as fact. She wanted evidence. She had the mind of an investigator. He was surprised to find that he was enjoying himself; she reminded him of when he was a young CSI. He also recognized that she was beautiful, and found himself enjoying the moments when she smiled or laughed at something he said. He was sure she was just being polite by laughing at his lame jokes, but he felt an attraction to her that made him nervous. She was young and impressionable – he couldn't take advantage of that. Still, he couldn't help but notice the fullness of her lips, the cream colored softness of her skin, and the way she tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear when she laughed.

"I'm sorry Sara, but I have an appointment at the San Francisco Crime Lab in twenty minutes - I am consulting on one of their cases."

Sara looked at the clock. "Is it really five already? I'm sorry I kept you this long Dr. Grissom! I think I get a little carried away sometimes with my questions . . ."

"Not at all. It's not every day I have a student as eager and curious about my work as you are." Grissom chastised himself. He was flirting with a student!

Sara smiled warmly at him. "It's not every day I find a professor as passionate about their work as you are. It makes you a great speaker."

There was an awkward moment, at least awkward for Grissom, as he and Sara stood smiling at each other. Grissom broke eye contact. "Well, I'll see you next week, Miss Sidle."

"Sara, please. And thank you again for taking time to talk with me. I'll see you Tuesday." She paused. "Good-bye."

"Bye Sara." She closed the office door behind her, and Grissom let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

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Grissom rushed down the hallway toward the classroom. He spent the weekend working a case with the SF crime lab, which was in need of his expertise as an entomologist. He had wrapped up the case only a few hours ago, and Grissom neglected to set his alarm before falling into a deep sleep fully-clothed on the sofa of his sublet apartment. Although exhausted he enjoyed being immersed in work, as he found his idle hours spent thinking of Sara. Even though he only spent an hour with her, he was intrigued. She was brilliant and beautiful, and made him feel like he was twenty-five again. But he wasn't twenty-five, and she was one of his students. It was at this point in his thoughts that he tried to push the image of her from his mind, only to find a few minutes of reprieve before his mind drifted back to thoughts of her.

Grissom barreled through the doors of the classroom, not waiting to catch his breath or reach the podium before beginning his lecture. "Today we are going to talk more about evidence collection procedure, and the importance of following protocol and regulations in order to . . ."

"Ahem."

Grissom looked out at the classroom to see only one student sitting in the front row. He gave her a perplexed look.

"Ever heard of the fifteen minute rule?" Sara giggled, and stood up and approached the podium. She leaned against the structure, and took in Grissom's disheveled profile. "Your lecture has been effectively cancelled."

Grissom frowned. "It's barely quarter passed. Where is everyone?"

"If you are over fifteen minutes late, it's assumed that either a.) the lecture has actually been cancelled or b.) you are late, but can't hold anyone accountable for not being here due to your tardiness." Sara smiled playfully. "Can you really expect us restless college students to sit still for fifteen minutes without anything to occupy our time?"

Grissom returned her smile. "If that's true, why are you still here?"

Sara paused, her smile turning to a look of sincerity. "Well, I guess that means I'm either an uncharacteristically non-restless college student, or I am really interested in what you have to say." Sara looked into his eyes for a moment, but quickly turned away and blushed. "Um, I was hoping you could schedule some time to speak with me this week about your experiences as a CSI? I am interested in the field, and I think you would be a great help to me if you have the time?"

"Sure, I'd love to." The words were out of his mouth before he had time to process the implications. I'd love to? This isn't a date, Gil, it's an appointment with one of your students. He tried to recover. "I mean, your enthusiasm and inquisitive nature would bring a lot to the field of forensics." He knew it sounded trite.

Sara paused a moment, noting his sudden change in demeanor. "Great. I am sure you have a lot of interesting stories to tell. I thought that maybe since the class was 'cancelled' that you might have time now?" She raised an eye brow at him.

"I, um, well . . ." Grissom couldn't think of any plausible excuse. He had obviously set aside this time for class, so he couldn't say he was busy. He convinced himself that there was no way out of the situation, albeit very quickly. "I don't see why not . . ."

"Excellent. Mind if we go around the corner to the café? I haven't had a chance to fuel up yet today, and I have a two hour lecture on quantum mechanics later. Besides, I imagine you still haven't 'completely settled in' to your office still, right?" She gave him a knowing look, as if they shared an inside joke.

It was true. "Um, sure, that's fine."

The café was a meeting place for students and professors alike, all in search of the caffeine they found necessary to complete a day of intense learning and experience. Gil felt both extremely out of place and at home at the same time. The air was filled with both pretentiousness and ambition, but the décor was soothing and inviting. The walls were painted a deep shade of crimson, and the soft yellow tones of the light played with the shadows on the wall.

"Have you been here before, Dr. Grissom? I know it's a bit of a cliché, but they have cheap coffee and comfy sofas."

Grissom knew they had comfy sofas. He knew this because he was currently seated on one of them, sipping a mocha and trying to look cool and casual despite the fact that his thigh was pressed firmly against Sara's. He had a rather burly man to thank for that who, in commandeering the third cushion on the couch, had forced Sara to almost sit in Gil's lap to make room for him.

"No, this is my first time. I do like the warm atmosphere in here, though." It's a little too warm, he thought.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a mocha man," she said, gesturing at his steaming beverage and smiling.

"I have a little bit of a sweet tooth. What can I say - I am a sucker for anything chocolate. Chocolate and coffee combines two of my favorite things: caffeine and . . ."

"Endorphins?" Sara asked playfully.

"I was going to say sugar." Gil chuckled nervously as he felt his face blush. "You know, there are only trace amounts of tryptophan and phenylethylamine in chocolate, so it seems unlikely that the ecstatic feelings associated with chocolate consumption are actually caused by an increase in serotonin levels in the brain." He was rambling, he knew, but Sara continued to smile at him. She had such a beautiful smile . . .

"I noticed you had chocolate covered grasshoppers in your office. Combining more favorite things?" She asked.

"With all the mess in my office, I am surprised that you noticed them," he said.

"Well, I do consider myself an observant person, but they were hard to miss next to your jarred fetal pig." Her eyes clouded over a moment, her mind in deep concentration. "And, if I remember correctly, you had a quite impressive butterfly collection framed on your wall."

Grissom was intrigued. "What else do you remember, Miss Sidle? Let's put these powers of observation to the test."

Sara accepted his challenge. "Let's see. There were two copies of "An introduction to the Study of Insects" by Borror and DeLong on the floor next to your desk. On the bookshelf there was a copy of "Stokes Butterfly Book," "Simon and Schuster's Guide to Insects," and Shakespeare's Henry V. There was a poster on the east wall detailing the maturation of the Black blow fly, and green-bottle flies were pinned to what I assume was a recent regression – maybe what you were helping the SFPD with? You also had a charming coffee mug labeled "#1 Bugman," which I can only imagine was a gift of some sort, and four sharpened pencils next to the daily crossword puzzle. Oh, there were five-six boxes on the floor, all with a return address of 18 Osman Ct. in Las Vegas." She paused, and Grissom couldn't hide the full blown grin that was forming on his face.

"Is that all?" He teased. He was impressed with her recall abilities, but he was more taken with how much he was enjoying their conversation. She was brilliant for sure, but there was something about her that just made him feel . . . well, just feel.

"I am sure I would be able to identify more if it wasn't all in boxes." She thought for a moment. "Oh, and that day you were wearing khaki pants, brown leather shoes and a cerulean blue collared shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. I remember how that shirt made your eyes look incredibly blue and warm."

As if caught in the memory, Sara stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the clear blue image of herself that they reflected. She stared longer than she should have; she found it difficult to pull herself away from Grissom's gaze. When he looked away first, she was able to compose herself.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare you down. It's just, um, you really do have remarkable eyes."

"Thank you." Grissom didn't know what else to say. He forced himself to make eye contact once again, and gave her a small smile. He needed to change the direction of the conversation. He was extremely flattered by her compliment, and her stare had ignited a desire in him that he didn't realize he was capable of. This is inappropriate, Gil. Get a hold of yourself.

"So, Sara, you said you were interested in forensics. What exactly do you want to pick my brain about?"