Grissom sat behind his desk in the comfort of his Las Vegas Crime Lab office. He fidgeted with a pen as he read through the folders of cases the team handled in his brief absence. He'd been back nearly a week but still his desk was overrun with stacks of paperwork. Grissom, Assistant Grave Shift supervisor, was number two in command to Jim Brass. Brass, who delegated most of the lab's oversight to Grissom, including the administrative tasks, much to his chagrin.

He found himself pinching the bridge of his nose more often this week. His mind would drift to thoughts of Sara a fair amount, especially when he was glossing over these mundane tasks.

It was rare for someone to capture his imagination in such a way. The closest another woman had come, he mused, was a woman his mother had introduced him to from Gilbert College. God how long had it been?

Julia Holden was someone he'd enjoyed getting to know and their time together. But he'd rarely think of her when she was out of sight. They'd been on several dates over the span of a few months but ultimately Julia broke it off. She'd been put off by her second fiddle status to the job, despite her equally intense relationship with her own job. And even more put off by his inability to take the reigns, emotionally, romantically, sexually.

He opened his top desk draw and pushed around a few loose items to find the 4x4 photo of he and Sara, the Golden Gate Bridge behind them. He looked at it briefly before turning it over to read the contact information before realizing he could barely read it. Sevens and ones, nines and zeros, they all looked the same. He thought about her for a moment. About how much he'd enjoyed working with her in the field. He thought about the way she'd change her intonation on a dime, how many questions she seemed to be able to fire off, and how her ponytail bounced as she walked toward him that first time.

He placed the photo back in his desk drawer but she stayed on his mind for a moment longer.

September 1999

It had been about a month since the Forensic Academy Conference. At first Sara had expected Grissom to call her or send an email her way, but she received neither forms of communication from him. Initially there was an air of disappointment and confusion. She could have sworn she'd read the situation differently, felt the energy shift around him. She'd been convinced he'd felt something for her too. But in the end, she concluded realized she must have misread the situation. If the evidence changes, so too must the hypothesis. She'd packaged up their time together in her mind and decided to set it aside.

She sat in the break room waiting for assignments and for shift to begin. The rest of the team running behind, evidently. But when she looked up she noticed them all walking toward the break room in unison, Dave held a small cake with a candle perched on top.

She flipped her head back and groaned, "Guys…" her voice trailing with disbelief.

"Happy birthday, Sara." Dave placed the small cake in front of her and grinned widely. "Make a wish."

Dave was very much like a father to Sara. He took her under his wing and praised her accomplishments the way she knew parents were meant to do. She had a deep rooted respect for this man. Dave, in his mid-fifties with a thick coat of white hair, was actually the age her father would be if he were still alive. Her mother and father had her at 21 and 25 respectively.

Their story had seemed romantic to her in her youth, at least the version that had filled her bedtime stories. Richard and Laura had met in Napa Valley. He'd been there visiting with friends when he saw her and became, "Instantly mesmerized by her beauty and wit" he'd say. They eloped that fall soon after learning that Laura was pregnant.

She smiled at Dave before turning her attention to the candle's flame. The last time Sara actually wished on a candle was her 13th birthday. She remembered vividly as she wished for "the fighting to stop." She got her wish just a few short months later when her father died.

So she did what she'd done every birthday since if presented with the time honored tradition, she'd pretend to think hard on a wish before blowing out the candle. Though this time, she couldn't stop Grissom's face from seeping into her mind as the candle danced out. She'd found it curious that he was still on her mind.

Before the candle's smoke had even dissipated, Crow was getting down to business handing out cases. She liked that about him, a decent mix of fun-loving and serious.

"Sara, NTSB is coming in to co-run this one. Charter plane went down 30 minutes north of the city."

Sara nodded as she took the assignment slip to get a better idea of the location. Before she even had a chance to muse as to who from NTSB may stop by, Doug was standing in the doorway.

"Sara," He'd nodded her way and then turned his attention toward the older gentleman, "Dave Crow? I'm Doug Wilson. You guys call for NTSB?" He joked as he joined them around the conference table.

Sara worked to conceal her smile with pursed lips. His eyes bore into her as the rest of the team filtered out with their marching orders leaving just Dave, Sara and Wilson left sitting around the table.

"I'll leave you two to it. Sara, when you get a chance, stop by after shift."

Doug raised his brows at Sara, insinuating that she must have gotten in trouble. But she knew otherwise and brushed off his childish antics. The two made their way to the scene together after a lengthy debate over who would get to drive. Sara won the battle.

They'd arrive at the scene to find the plane seemingly split in two. A solid crew waiting for instructions. They worked together with ease, dividing and conquering the massive scene, cataloguing evidence and throwing around theories. By the time they'd felt comfortable filing their report, they'd pulled a double shift and found themselves sharing a drink at a bar.

"I'm headed to Vegas tomorrow actually." He told her between swigs of beer. "There's something going on with the new's helicopters that seems fishy. Systematic malfunctioning. I think our friend Dr. Bug runs that lab."

"Dr. Grissom." She'd corrected. "Sounds interesting. How long will you be there?"

"Doubt more than a few days. Let's grab dinner when I'm back."

She thought about it for a moment, "Sounds like a plan."

Doug paid their check. "I'll see you then."

"Ecklie, Doug Wilson." Doug stuck out his hand to shake the day shift supervisor's. "I'm here to investigate the choppers, NTSB."

"They're in the garage, come I'll show you."

Doug spent the next couple of shifts pouring over the mechanical and electrical components of each of the affected choppers. He'd finally found a good stopping point and came up for air. He walked through the halls to grab himself something from the vending machine when he found himself looking at a familiar face.

"Dr. Grissom." He spoke effortlessly as he grabbed his drink from the machine.

Grissom pulled off his glasses to get a better look at him but couldn't seem to place his face.

"I was at the conference a couple week's ago. Sat in on your lecture. Doug Wilson, NTSB."

That's it. Grissom put it together, realizing this was the man seated next to Sara at his lecture. The one with his eyes glazed over.

"You're uh— investigating those news helicopters?"

"I am. Just came off a case in San Fran actually. Got to work with Sara Siddle, she was also at your lecture."

He nodded knowingly, enthused to hear her name again. They exchanged some pleasantries before parting ways. Grissom poured himself another cup of what should have been coffee but tasted more like motor oil.

"How long are we going to be short staffed?" Catherine took the pot of coffee out of Grissom's hold to pour her own cup.

"None of these new hires last more than a few months." His face screwed in disgust as he sipped the coffee. He immediately poured it right down the drain as he continued, "Have you wrapped that 419 in Henderson yet? Because I have another one for you."

She snatched the assignment slip out of his hand. "You approving my overtime or will that paperwork sit on your desk until it needs to be back paid in two months?"

"Yes, dear." He joked, knowing full well she was absolutely right. He was always behind when it came to that part of the job.

October 2000

Grissom held his cards close, only glancing at them briefly. He looked up at the rest of the gentleman around the table doing to same as he pushed in a few chips.

"You know I have a candidate that would be a great addition to the lab." He looked directly at the Sheriff now. "She's currently at the San Fransisco Crime Lab."

Grissom had been trying to convince the sheriff to let him pick the next hire at the lab. Each CSI they hired over the last year now had lasted less time than the last. After a year and four unsuccessful hires, Grissom genuinely felt that he could pull Sara in. She'd been incredible to work with, bright and competent. He was so sick of the subpar talent that Brass was forced to hire. The sherif had favors to repay, and somehow they kept showing up in the form of a CSI hire.

"I already have your new hire lined up." The sherif folded his cards on the table, "Holly Gribbs starts next week. Plus," He looked up at Grissom as he sipped his whiskey, "I'm not paying to relocate someone from California.

Grissom nodded in defeat. He tried, he'd noted to himself. He'd just hoped this Holly Gribbs was more seasoned than the last few. But upon his return to his desk, he'd open her file and resume to find just the opposite. This would be Holly's first field job, fresh out of the academy. He leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. Three months. He thought to himself. That's how long he expected this next hire to last before they were short handed yet again.

Grissom fought back a migraine that threatened to overtake his senses. His team was falling apart. Holly Gribbs had been on the team for less than a full shift and now she laid in an operating room at Desert Palms Hospital with Warrick, his favorite CSI, to blame.

The sherif had called him just a few moments ago to let him know that he'd be taking Jim Brass' place in running the unit. Their bi-weekly poker games seemed to have earned him a spot on the sherif's good side despite Grissom's utter ineptitude for politics.

Internal Affairs would be called in shortly if he didn't act fast.

"Sidle."

"Sara, it's me. It's uh— Grissom."

"Everything okay?" Two clues were an obvious give away. His voice, for one, thick with hesitation, sadness and sleep depravation. That, and that he'd not called her since the Forensic Academy Conference last year.

"Let me just clear it with Dave. I'll let you know once I book a flight." She responded empathetically after Grissom detailed the days events to her.

"I need someone I can trust. I don't want Internal Affairs poking around and stirring things up unnecessarily."

"I understand."

"Thank you." And with that he clicked the phone shut.

"Who was that?" Doug asked as he sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes to take a look at the clock.

"I think you call him Dr. Bugs." She said as got out of Doug's bed and got herself dressed.

"Dr. Grissom huh?" She could hear jealousy in his voice. "What did he want?"

"I might be headed to Vegas for a few days."

Sara and Doug had a casual fling on and off over the last several months. She was having fun with him, and enjoyed not taking it too seriously. He instilled a lot of confidence in her that she otherwise tended to lack around romantic prospects. Plus, he was gone often, traveling for work, making it even easier to balance their non-relationship with her own hectic lab schedule. But hearing the way she picked up Grissom's call left Doug yearning for more of her, a part of her she'd seem to have made unavailable to him.

He listened as she called Crow to tell him of the situation and receive his blessing to be loaned out to another state's lab. She wanted to go, he could tell by the way she chose her words.

"I'll be out east for the next month." Doug spoke as Sara closed the phone. "Leaving next week so—" he shook his head a little bit and shrugged, "So this may be goodbye for a while."

"Guess so." She responded simply, clearly not as affected by the statement as Doug seemed to be.

Grissom walked briskly into the break room where the team was already standing, watching an evening reporter relay the details of the situation they'd been all to keenly aware of. Shame was riddled over Warrick's face.

"The Sherif phoned me earlier this morning, Brass has been moved back to homicide."

"Who's going to run the unit?" Nick spoke what Catherine and Warrick were already thinking.

"For now, me." He replied simply and watched their faces change and shift. "I know— we'll just play it by ear okay? As of now, we're short staffed," He continued, "So I'm bringing in Sara Sidle to help."

"Sara Sidle?" Catherine questioned with contempt laced thickly.

"She's a CSI out of San Fransisco. She's a friend of mine. Someone I trust. She's going to handle our internal investigation. I want to keep this in house. I don't want IA involved." Warrick's head slumped down at Grissom's words.