A.N: This title has undoubtedly been used on numerous occasions, but 'Too Tough To Die' has to be one of my favourite Sara episodes and I wanted to start my fist CSI fic with something I really enjoyed.

This is a WIP and will probably be a few chapters, but as a warning I feel obligated to tell you that it will be a Grissom/Sara story. *sticks tongue out at Clara*

Obviously, I adhere to the usual disclaimers and I hope you all enjoy.

Chasing Rabbits

Chapter one

Four...three...two...Sara Sidle counted down the last remaining seconds, watching the digits on the clock morph from one number to another until the power cut out with a satisfactory ping. Stretching her long sleeve over her right hand in a makeshift oven glove, she pulled open the door and made a grab for the contents, hissing between clenched teeth as the heat emanated through her cotton top and steam burned her fingers.

Moving quickly, Sara hurried over to the table and dumped the offending object before her, scowling at it's audacity to burn her before propping her bare feet on the chair opposite and picking up her coffee cup. Just as she went to take a sip, the disembodied voice behind her caused her to jump slightly and slop the contents of her mug over the side and onto her jeans.

"Damn!" Sara was on her feet in a second flat, futilely wiping at her pants with bare hands whilst staring accusingly at her supervisor, Gil Grissom, who was looking sheepish in the doorway. "I swear there's a conspiracy to scald me today," she muttered as she gracelessly accepted the proffered hand towel and scrubbed furiously at her clothing.

Grissom just smiled slightly and moved towards the table. "I only asked how you were getting on at the Grand," he said as he sat down and picked up the newspaper.

Sara glanced over at her supervisor, immediately forgetting the setting coffee stains on her jeans, and instead eager to share her initial findings. Catherine, Warrick and Nick were working on a DB found hanging by the feet in a disused warehouse off the strip, leaving Sara with an elderly lady found dead on the floor by a sun lounger in one of Las Vegas' most prestigious hotels. Grissom had a meeting with the mayor to contend with but had promised to join Sara as soon as he was done.

Her interest in the conversation suddenly piqued, she sat down opposite Gil and began to relay the situation to him, describing the layout of the pool-area and the position of the body, along with it's proximity to the water. "Her name's Annie Winchester, sixty-nine years old. Prelim shows she didn't drown and Doc Robbins estimates time of death to be around four this morning," Sara said without needing to glance at her notes. "Manager says she booked into the penthouse yesterday at three with a guy half her age that goes by the name Jerome Cardinal. He seems to have disappeared into thin air but AFIS are running a search from the fingerprints I found in the room. No immediate signs of external wounding or blunt force trauma." She took a breath and continued. "Initially looked like a suspect DFO, but I found yellow fibers on her body, and she was naked when the pool man discovered her. Greg has them now, along with the champagne glass I found on the ground next to her, but he's a little backlogged so it may be a few hours until we get the results."

Grissom nodded absently, as if he hadn't really heard a word she had said. Instead he was staring intently at the object Sara had retrieved from the microwave a few moments earlier.

"Socks?" Gil asked, mildly surprised.

Sara's cheeks flamed and she glanced at her bare feet. "I fell in the pool," she murmured quietly. "It was dark and the ground was wet. I lost my footing..."

Gil nodded understandingly, but Sara could plainly see he was trying hard not to laugh. She decided to make it easy on him. "You're lucky you came in when you did," she continued with a slight grin. "Five minutes earlier and you would have caught me nuking my pants..." Sara immediately wished she had just kept her mouth shut. Still, the fact was out there now and unbidden fantasies of Grissom catching her in her underwear flashed through her mind like photographs, causing her breath to catch in her throat and her pulse to flutter a little wildly.

Grissom seemed to be having problems forming coherent sentences and instead he glanced at the door, then at Sara's pants, then back to the door. "So...you...I mean, you...in the..." flustered and for the once utterly speechless, Gil pointed frantically at the microwave and blinked rapidly. Sara just nodded. "I have a spare pair of boots in my locker, but I had to change into my spare clothes last night after that drunk driver vomited beer on me at the scene. I wore them home and forgot to bring in another set of clothes."

Gil nodded, glad for the distraction, but more glad that he had regained his equilibrium. But your socks? He'd have had to have been one hell of a shot to have vomited on your socks too."

Sara shook her head. "I lent them to Catherine. She said she wanted to conduct an experiment and needed purple cotton." She grinned good-naturedly. "I don't expect to see them again."

"Sensible woman," Gil smiled and stood up. "So where are we at now?"

Sara blinked. "Huh?"

"The case?" Grissom reminded her patiently. "What's next?"

"Oh." Giving herself a mental kick up the backside, Sara grabbed her socks and pulled them on, wincing as she realized they were still slightly damp. "Next we go back to the scene," she grunted as she yanked on her dry boots and zipped them up. "I want to check out the suite again. This case seems a little too...funky to be as cut-and-dried as we're supposed to think."

Grissom nodded as she downed the rest of her now cold coffee. "Funky?" he asked as she placed the cup in the sink.

"Yeah, funky." Sara grabbed the car keys from her pocket and waved them in her supervisors face. "It's a word. I'll drive while you look it up."


Chapter two to follow soon. Feedback is appreciated.