A is for Argyle.

"Dammit Bruno! Not another one!" Sara stooped and picked up the shredded remains of Grissom's last pair of dress socks and glared at her happily slobbering room mate. "I don't get it," she complained loudly, shaking the holey hosiery. "We buy you all kinds of toys. Lots of chew bones. What is with you and his socks lately?"

Bruno didn't answer. In fact, she didn't think that he was even remotely listening to her tirade. He was in his 'hunting' stance and was eyeing the sock dangling from her fingers with steely intent. Drool painted the carpet at his feet.

"What?" she demanded. "You don't think the poor sock has suffered enough? You think there's still some fight left in this poor excuse for a foot warmer?"

Bruno whined and licked his lips.

Sara sighed and then shrugged. He'd shredded the thing anyway. There was little point in keeping him from finishing it off. She was sure that there was a trainer somewhere rolling in his grave but she gave in and gave the argyle sock back to the dog. She tossed it and he sprung, barking playfully at his quarry and caught it in mid-air. She regarded him, speechless, as the big lumbering oaf of a dog shook and tore the bloody thing to shreds. And when it was over, he lay down at her feet panting, having presented the sodden mess with a sticky plop to the spot in which she stood. When she didn't move…or immediately respond…his big black eyes begged for approval and she rolled her eyes, bending to his level. She shifted the laundry basket carefully with her cast encased arm and proceeded to coddle him. "Oooh," she cooed, "Big brave puppy." She scratched his ears and he rolled and presented his belly. Well then, of course she had to give him a scratch. "Proud of yourself, aren't you?" she praised. "Showed that menacing sock who was boss. My hero. Could have used you in the desert. Well, you might as well have you jollies now because when Gil comes home, you're going to have a heap of explaining to do. I'm sure it's against dress code to show up at the lab without socks and that was you owner's last pair. I wouldn't expect a belly rub from him. What do you think?"

Sara straightened and then nearly jumped out of her skin in fright when Gil spoke from the doorway. "Hey, Sar, I know you think that my dog is intelligent but I don't think he's mastered the art of speech yet."

"That does it. We're going to have to tie a bell around your neck or something…anything to warn me that you're in the house. That's the second time this week you've come home early and scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry. The lab was slow. I got time off for good behavior." He embraced her awkwardly, hugging her around the basket she was carrying and then deftly removed it from her hands. "I know it's foolish but I keep thinking…no, scratch that…hoping that I'll come home and you'll be resting like you should be. I try to be quiet so I don't wake you. A wasted effort, I see. You're not supposed to be doing laundry. You have to go to work in six hours."

"I know that, Gil. I couldn't sleep."

"Did you try?"

She glared at him and he held up a hand. "Okay…okay…sorry. I'm-I'm just so amazed that you're not dropping. How the hell are you still functioning…let alone standing?"

"Sheer stubbornness, I suppose," she responded. She flopped down on the bed, belly-up and growled grumpily, "I hate swing shift! My whole system's out of whack. I hardly see you…my stomach's gone on strike. I can't sleep and the dog's eating your socks!"

"My socks? What? Again? I didn't leave any out this time. I double checked before I left."

"I know. I think he's figured out how to open your drawer because it was partially open when I came home."

"Dogs can't do that…can they?"

"I don't know…I'm only telling you what I think could have happened. I haven't seen the mate to that one over there yet but I bet it's probably still in the dresser."

Unable to resist, Grissom walked over to his bureau and pulled open the appropriate drawer. "Yes, it's still safe. The lone survivor of the wool-eating menace." He pushed the drawer shut and regarded his dog; hands on hips. "I don't know what's gotten into him. He's never been destructive…not even when he was a puppy. Did we switch laundry soaps again? Maybe a new scent?"

Sara raised her head from the mattress and pinned him with a look. "By 'we' I assume you mean 'me' and no I didn't. I found one that was gentle on my skin and still actually cleaned and I've been using the same one for over a week."

"Well, then maybe that's it. Maybe he doesn't like the new stuff."

Even though her skin was almost healed, the desert sun had burned away several layers so she was having problems with anything that contained fragrances or dyes. She'd had to stop using her favorite shampoos and soaps because they were all scented and had even resorted to switching laundry detergents just so that she could go through a shift without trying to scratch the remaining skin from her body. She'd been reduced to using baby-gentle products and additive free soaps. She hoped that the situation was only temporary but it was really too early to tell. There were days when she really missed her grapefruit body splash. She shook her head. "Gil, I hate to tell you this…but none of your socks have made it to the washer. I think the score lies at: Bruno: 11, Socks: 1. Guard the pair you're wearing with your life or plan on making a trip to the store before you go in tonight." She held up her good arm to Gil and he smiled. He walked closer to grab it but instead of letting him haul her off the bed, she tugged him down beside her. He went willingly enough, collapsing onto his belly and she curled around him contentedly. "How was your shift," she asked, finally feeling like her day had officially come to an end.

"We closed the Mckenna file," he reported. "Your team did solid work on that one. I didn't think we were ever going to see the end of it."

"There are some good people on swing. Lots of experience (with one notable exception) and a couple of creative thinkers. On their own not really remarkable but together, they have their moments of brilliance. Ecklie may not have been a great CSI himself but he certainly has a good team."

Gil shook his head. "He's not taking credit for putting those people together, is he?"

Sara shrugged. "That's the impression he gave me when I moved over."

Gil rolled to his side, propped his head up on his hand and reached out to stroke a strand of hair from her face. "Sophia practically put that shift together single-handedly after Catherine, Warrick and Nick moved back to nights."

"Really?"

"Yes. She'd asked me for advice on a couple of her choices but she was the one who moved the bodies about. She thought she was up for promotion to supervisor – I think Ecklie let her think that – but when the time came she was by – passed again and Ecklie took the shift. That's why she transferred out of CSI and went back to Brass' side of the fence."

"Office politics! I'm so tired of playing these games. Sometimes I think we spend more time negotiating with our co-workers than we do actually solving cases. Yet another reason to hate swing. Great. You didn't play that game…still don't…and we were able to ignore it for the most part on nights."

"All the same, ignoring the corporate machine has its pitfalls too."

Sara could hardly dispute his words. It was the whole reason behind her being moved to a separate shift. They'd tried to keep their relationship private but paid the consequences when it became public knowledge. They were both silent for a moment and then Sara whispered sadly, "Point taken." She looked into his eyes, suddenly more serious than she had been in a long time and said, "I don't know if I can do this, Gil."

Panic banked and his body tensed. "Do what exactly? This? Us?"

"No. Not us. Work. I know that of the two of us it was the right decision for the team for me to move to swing but I'm not at all sure that it was the right decision for me. I'm not enjoying this and nothing feels right anymore."

"It's only been a couple of weeks…a total change from what you've been used to since you came to Vegas."

She shook her head. "If I seriously thought that I would get used to it, I wouldn't be so concerned. I think…I'm thinking about leaving the city lab and either going back to school to finish my doctorate or doing research in the private sector. There are a couple of forensic avenues I'd like to explore more fully from a development point of view. I think I could contribute by helping to design new methods of processing materials and trace evidence and by honing our current techniques."

Gil's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "You sound like you've been giving this a lot of thought."

She didn't deny it. "I suppose I have. I mean…I don't really want to give up forensics as a whole but…but the main reason I've stuck with the justice system was because it challenged me. More precisely because you challenged me. I enjoyed working with you despite the problems we've had in the past and now that we're split up…I'm just not-" she broke off, unable to find the right word. "Anyway, this change is frustrating the hell out of me. Not only don't I get to work with you but it's playing havoc with our private lives as well. At least if I was working the same hours as you we'd be able to see each other longer than it takes to say 'hello' and 'good-bye' in passing. If it meant I could actually have a private life with you, I'd give up CSI in a second and pursue other career paths. I see less of you now that everyone knows about us than I did when we were sneaking around."

Gil rested his forehead against hers and nodded. "I hear what you're saying and I know that there's a part of me who agrees with you fully that there are other places you could use your skills, but I really feel that CSI will lose out in the end. You're very good at what you do and I'm sure that the others feel as I do that there's been something a little off since the day you transferred. Give me a little time. I'd like to try a few other options first before you make such a drastic move. Let me talk to Ecklie, see if there's anything he can suggest to help us out and then we'll talk about this further." He dropped a kiss on her lips, hesitant and comforting and then another, deeper and more probing. Before long, work was the last thing on her mind and they made the most of their time together.

About an hour later, when all was quiet and Gil was snoring loud enough to wake the dead, Sara heard an odd noise and raised her head off the mattress to see what was making it. There in the corner of the room was Bruno, sniffing around Gil's dresser and being very sneaky about the whole thing. In the pale light of morning that filtered in through the slats of their blinds, Sara watched as the dog clasped the large iron knob on the front of the drawer firmly in his teeth and hauled open the thin tray of wood. He rooted around and snagged the last remaining sock then padded off to the living room to enjoy his purloined treat but not before he pushed the drawer home again.

Bemused by the whole thing, Sara lowered herself to the mattress and giggled softly. She wouldn't have believed that Bruno could do it if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. The question now however was why. Why had Bruno suddenly declared war on Gil's socks and made it his mission to eradicate them from the face of the planet? Bruno was a pretty sensitive dog. Maybe he was reacting to her feelings of frustration and loss of control and taking it out on Gil's things because he thought Grissom was the cause. Maybe he was having as much trouble dealing with the abrupt change in their routine as she was. Anything was possible but she couldn't dwell on tn much more right now. Her brain had finally settled into a receptive mode for sleep she rolled over and tried to clear Bruno and the mystery of the socks from her mind so she could take advantage of it.