Disclaimer: I do not own CSI. But we knew that already, right? Hell, I don’t even own the DVDs (until Christmas, anyway!). I do, however, own a cat, a perfect husband, a degree in biology, a passion for entomology, and an insatiable desire for Sara and Grissom to hook up.

A/N: This is my first fanfic—hopefully the first of many. I will warn you, however, that my stuff will be all GSR, so if you’re not into that...I hate it for you. There will probably also be a constant fluff alert, so if you’re not into that, either, too bad. Oh, yeah, one more thing. I don’t give a crap if G and S are OOC or if we’re living in an AU. It’s my story and I’ll do what I want with them. Steps down off soapbox One last thing, TriplePirouette, I hope you enjoy this—it’s right up your alley!

Facades

Sara looked around her as she stepped out of her Tahoe with her gym bag. Thankfully, she didn’t see anyone she knew. That would be just exactly what she needed—someone from the lab finding out about her newfound “diversion.” Slipping the bag over her shoulder, she headed through the morning sun toward the door to the gym.

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Grissom pulled into the gym parking lot and cursed under his breath when he didn’t see Jim’s vehicle. He was dead-tired after shift and wanted nothing more than the comfort of his bed; however, an agreement was an agreement, and he had agreed to start working out with Brass three mornings a week. But where was that man? With a sigh, Grissom grabbed his bag and headed into the gym alone. The receptionist nodded at him as he walked in. Grissom was pleased that it had only taken a couple of weeks for the gym staff to get to know them. It was nice to be noticed...occasionally.

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Walking into the dance studio, Sara dropped her bag in the corner. Plopping down next to it, she kicked off her Chacos and rummaged in the bag for her ballet slippers. She was still sore from yesterday’s session, and she wondered for the millionth time if she wasn’t crazy to try to start dancing again after nearly 15 years. When she had begun coming to the gym to work out, she had noticed the dance studio. One of the staff members, a petite girl named Jessica, mentioned that it was mostly used for aerobics classes, but when Sara had commented on the fully mirrored walls and the presence of a barre, Jessica smiled knowingly. She helpfully mentioned that the studio was empty in the mornings, and that gym dues included use of all of their fine facilities. Sara had smiled at that as Jessica walked off. ‘Hmm,’ she thought. ‘Grissom said I needed a diversion...’

Sliding her ballet slippers onto her feet, Sara moved to the stereo for some music before she began stretching. After some basic floor stretches, she moved to the barre and kicked her left leg up. Moving through some simple pliés and relevés, she smiled to herself as she imagined the looks on her coworkers’ faces if they could see her. Sara, a dancer? That would be almost as shocking as Sara as a cheerleader. Almost. She had begun dancing when she was 9—her mother had thought it would be a great way for her awkward daughter to learn some coordination, and with any luck, a little bit of grace. To everyone’s surprise, Sara had been good. Very good. Within a month, her dance teacher had taken her on for private lessons, in order to catch her up with her peers who had been dancing since they were three or four. Within a year, Sara was dancing en pointe. Dancing became her refuge, her passion. Dancing was the initial reason for her interest in physics. By understanding physics, she reasoned, she could improve her skills as a dancer. She continued to dance until college, and even took one or two classes at Harvard to relieve the stress of her physics-laden courseload. When she had gotten to her last couple of years of course work, though, everything else had fallen by the wayside as she hungrily devoured 15- and 18-hour semesters. By the time she graduated and moved on to graduate work at Berkeley, dancing had been effectively shoved to the back of her mind, where it stayed for nearly 15 years. Then, a couple of months ago, when Jessica had hinted that she could use the dance studio, she decided to bite the bullet and dig out her ancient ballet gear.

As Sara moved away from the barre and began moving through some basic footwork, she was glad she had decided to splurge on new slippers. She hadn’t wanted to buy new pointe shoes until she knew whether her ankles were still strong enough to dance en pointe, but one look at her ancient slippers had told her that new ones were in order. She had eagerly gone to a dance supply store in search of new leotards, tights, and slippers. After selecting five leotards in varying colors of pink and black, she had moved on to tights and slippers. Tights were easy enough—several pairs of classic pink. Same story with slippers: classic pink. When she had gotten home, her first order of business was to open all the packages of tights and cut the feet off. Unless she was performing, she couldn’t stand to have anything on her feet besides her ballet shoes. She had tried her selections on and had been marginally satisfied at what she saw. At 33, she knew she should be thankful that she was still so trim and toned. ‘Still,’ she had thought, ‘there’s always room for improvement.’

On Sara’s first day in the studio, she had been relatively pleased at how quickly everything came back to her. She knew that in some respect, dance was like riding a bike—you never quite forget how. On the other hand, she knew she would probably have major problems with form, flexibility, and most of all, strength. She had no idea if her ankles were strong enough to allow her to do something as simple as a piqué turn en pointe. As it turned out, they were. On her first day back in, she managed to do two or three rudimentary pique turns and something resembling an arabesque—all while en pointe. She was glad that she could do that much, but her real desires—pirouettes and fouettés—were still far out of her reach. She resolved to perfect the steps in slippers, and recondition her ankles. Two months, she told herself.

As Sara finished warming up on footwork, she smiled as she thought to herself, ‘Today’s the day!’ Today she would begin attempting more difficult steps en pointe, and if all went well, she would try to begin to choreograph something for herself. She decided to spend a few more minutes in slippers before progressing to pointe shoes. She moved to the center of the floor and did a single pirouette. Perfect. She spun into a double pirouette. No problem. Now for a triple...yes! Sara grinned as she came to a stop. She thought about attempting a quad, but decided to leave well enough alone. Now for some fouettés.

TBC...