Title: It Started with Hank, part 1

Author: butterflied4life

Rating: PG

Pairing: Grissom/Sara, of course

Spoilers: Leapin' Lizards and the first part of that Without A Trace crossover (whatever its name is).

Summary: Maybe FBI Agent Jack Malone was right. Maybe it did start with Hank.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. I promise.

A/N: Many thanks to Keegan, the best beta a FF writer could have.

Sara was jogging at Falker's Park, which was only a short distance from her apartment complex. Jogging was her method of relaxation, exercise, and therapy combined: a short jog could usually help her find both perspective and solutions to her life's problems. Today she was contemplating her so-called 'relationship' with her boss, if a relationship that hadn't gone beyond boss/employee for several months could even be classified as that.

Either he doesn't think that the disposal of raw, processed hamburger should be mentally disturbing to a vegetarian, or he doesn't care. He calls me 'honey', but won't even go out to dinner with me. He doesn't tell me he's having a dangerous surgery. He tells me to get a life, and then when I do he wants to know why I wasn't just sitting around waiting for his call. He can't risk his job for me, or at least that's what he said to Vincent Lurie. What have I done to make him hate me so much? We used to be friends, and now I wouldn't dare to use that word to describe the two of us.

As she turned the corner, continuing to jog she spotted a certain entomologist holding the leash to a puppy. Shit. Think of the devil… She contemplated turning back around, but since he raised his hand in greeting, it was obvious he had already spotted her. She slowed to a stop beside the bench he was sitting on.

On Grissom's part, moments earlier, when he had first spotted Sara, he had been rendered incapable of speech. She was dressed in her usual jogging outfit: tank top and shorts (very very very short shorts in his opinion). However, he had never seen her dressed in anything less than a short-sleeved shirt and slacks or jeans. Mentally reprimanding himself (he was NOT a teenager), he regained presence of mind long enough to raise his hand in greeting. All rational thought once again left his brain after that.

Grissom and Sara silently looked at each other for several minutes, trying to decide what to say. Finally, Sara gestured to the puppy (a neutral subject, she felt) at his feet. "I didn't know you got a dog." I cannot believe you! You were just contemplating all the ways he's hurt you, and now you're feeling like a lovesick teenager again. This is why you two don't get anywhere.

In response to her question, Grissom nodded. "He was forced on me, in a way. My neighbor's Boxer had puppies, and she decided that a workaholic bachelor like me needed a pet. I didn't really have a choice in the matter. You can't exactly say 'no' to Mrs. Argena."

The corner of Sara's mouth lifted a little. She squatted down to rub the puppy's head. "What's his name?"

"Hank. Mrs. Argena had already named him. Said something about Hank the CSI Dog, you know, like Hank the Cowdog."

"The other Hank I knew was a dog too," Sara murmured, scratching the grateful puppy behind the ears. "But you, little guy, are so much cuter. I bet you don't already have a girlfriend, either."

Grissom wanted to laugh but didn't know how sensitive the subject was with her. His mind started to wander, thinking about how much of her skin was visible . . . and how much of it wasn't. He reverted his mind back to the subject of the dog. "I've actually been looking for someone to walk him every day. I'm not home regularly enough to do it, and the last girl I had turned out to be some kind of a dog worshiper. I want someone to walk Hank, not revere him."

This time he got a full smile out of Sara. "I could do it," she replied unthinkingly, looking up at him. "I usually jog here every day. I could just take him with me." I cannot believe I just said that. What am I thinking?! Now I have to see him even more. Being around him more equals more opportunities to hurt me. She mentally sighed. Oh well. Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? Oh my God, I cannot believe I just thought that. Who am I? Grissom or something?

Grissom was somewhat surprised at her suggestion. "Well, if you don't mind, I would really appreciate it."

Ignoring Hank's disappointment at the loss of her attention, Sara stood up so she wouldn't have to keep craning her neck to look at Grissom. "I don't mind at all. He's cute. I usually come running around six in the evening. Depending on how far your house is from here, I could just walk over, pick him up, run for about half-an-hour, and bring him back. Where do you live?"

Grissom stood also, cursing the ache in his knees. "Why don't you walk over with me?" he suggested. "That is, if you're done running?"

Sara looked at her watch. She was surprised to see that while she had been mentally ranting on her deficient love life she had run an extra ten minutes. "I'm actually done for today."

Grissom held out his hand. "Shall we?"

Sara pursed her lips, fighting a grin. "I'd be delighted."

A/N 2: Reviews (and reviewers) are adored. Just one review can make my day. So go ahead, click the little purple button that says 'go'. Plus, reviews earn you a sneak-peek of the next part!