My Dear Readers: The following is just something that struck me today. Yes, today. I am thinking it has all the fixings for one of my signature long stories, but I also think it might be good on its own. What do you think? Please read and review and let me know if y'all have any interest in seeing Nick and Sasha anymore.

Now is the time in our program for the usual disclaimers. Sadly, I do not own CSI or Nick Stokes. While George Eads is my future husband (he just doesn't know I exist yet, but I am working on remeding that fact), he is one of the masterminds behind the great character/man that Nick has become in nine years. Him along with all of the writers, producers, directors, makeup people, craft service people...you get my drift. Also, I have absolutely no money. Hence why I can't get out to LA to marry George and spend all my time writing a novel that still isn't finished and writing fanfic, but I digress too much. Sasha, on the other hand, does belong to me. She was born in the dark of my mind, but I am happy to allow her to go on playdates, just ask. Now, on with the story...

It was a hot summer day in Las Vegas. The kind of hot that taxed even the most hardy of electric and air conditioning systems in a city that was used to triple digits. The heat, while dry, was still oppressive. It sent numerous souls to the already crowded hospitals and natives running for cooler destinations. The city's power grid was pushed to capacity and barely keeping up. There were rolling brownouts. Even the famed Strip hotels were running on partial generator power just to appear normal and there was no relief in sight. All the weather reports called for the stifling temperatures to continue for at least five days. It was set to be the longest heat wave in the city's history according to one broadcaster. The only silver lining to come out of all of it was that the crime rate was down. It was even too hot for the criminals to come out to play, Nick thought to himself when he stepped into the elevator of the Venetian.

It was hot, sure, but Sasha didn't know it. She hadn't left the hotel for close to a week. In fact, her venture to Restaurant Row for a late dinner was the first time she'd left her hotel suite for the better part of two weeks. Deadlines were looming, but room service was getting old. All she new of the current heat wave was what she read in the morning paper. Even then, it was only a brief glance before turning her concentration back to her laptop, but a combination of eyestrain and cabin fever had driven her down to the lobby for an hour before she stepped back onto the elevators to go back to her suite and get back to work.

"What floor?" Nick asked the raven-haired, blue eyed beauty with a smile.

"Sixteenth, thank you." Sasha returned his smile, enjoying how his caused his brown eyes to light up.

They exchanged light conversation until suddenly the elevator lurched to a stop and the emergency lights came on. "Well, that's not good." He reached for the phone panel and pulled out the receiver, but found it dead. "That's really not good." Pulling his cell phone off his belt, he dialed the front desk. "Yes, this is CSI Stokes. A guest and I are stuck in the north elevator. What is the status?"

"The entire city is out, Sir. We are working to get the generators up and running, but it could be a few hours."

"OK, thank you." He sighed and hung up. "Looks like we are going to be here for awhile." When the woman didn't answer, he finally looked over and saw her curled up in the corner, her head between her knees. "Come on now. It's not that bad. They'll have us out of here in no time."

"That's what I'm trying to convince myself." His Texas drawl and gentle yet strong hand on her shoulder was calming. "Thank you, I'll be fine. I'm just not a fan of elevators, or enclosed spaces in general for that matter."

"Can't say that I disagree with you there, Ma'am." He sat down next to her with another sigh.

"Sasha."

"I'm sorry?"

"Sasha, Sasha Pennington, not Ma'am." She finally smiled and extended her hand.

"Nick Stokes." He smiled back.

"Are you a police officer, Mr. Nick Stokes?" Sasha gestured to his sidearm.

"Criminalist."

"A scientist who packs heat. The perfect man."

Nick laughed; grateful she wouldn't be able to see his blush in the strange yellow lighting, before countering. "And what do you do, Ma'am."

"I'm a writer."

"What do you write?"

"Travel books."

"That sounds exciting."

"It can be." Her smile faded as she thought about the weeks spent in foreign cities locked in expansive hotel suites with only her laptop and the room service delivery boy to keep her company. "What about you? It must be satisfying to be able to conclusively prove that the bad guy did the crime."

"It can be." He winked at her with a smile. "It's satisfying when the bad guys actually go to jail for their crime. Can't say it's as satisfying when some slimy defense attorney gets them off. Just the same as, I'm sure, you can get lonely sitting in all those hotel rooms typing away."

"How'd you guess that?"

"The lighting in here is bad, but I can still see your beautiful face, Sasha." He grinned and touched his shoulder to hers with a gentle bump.

It was her turn to try to hide a blush behind a wide smile. "What sort of case are you here to investigate?"

"Missing person."

"Guy probably left because it was cooler wherever he was from." They shared a laugh and she unzipped the jacket of her tracksuit.

"Here." Nick helped her off with her jacket and enjoyed the look of her perfectly toned arms and beautiful curves her tank top did nothing to hide.

"Thank you. I didn't know that gentlemen existed anymore."

"We're an endangered species, but we're still around."

She smiled at him then gestured to his department issued vest on top of a white polo shirt. "What about you? You must be dying?"

"I think I'm getting used to this weather, but I do think we are going to be here for a little while longer."

As he removed his vest, Sasha suddenly got the urge to see what was underneath the haphazardly tucked polo shirt. His arms were well defined. It was obvious he spent more time in the gym than she did and it showed. From just a cursory inspection, the man was tight, an incredible level of fitness that was a typical indicator of someone who knew they were good looking. Nick Stokes didn't give off that air of arrogance or self-importance. It was just the opposite. If she were describing him for one of her guides, she would have said unassuming yet with a strong presence. A true gentleman, but something told her he could be tough. "Hmm?"

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"You've been staring at my vest for almost five minutes."

"It's an interesting vest." She covered with a slight laugh. "Sorry. I'm just worried about my deadline that's in less than twelve hours and less than three-quarters of my assignment is finished."

"What are you writing about?"

"All that there is to do in Las Vegas. I've got most of the chapter written, but there are still some things that I'm having a hard time getting to because of the deadline."

"Like what. Maybe I can help you?"

"Like all the activities off the strip. I like to throw in the non-tourist destinations when I can. You know, an obscure club that has the best dance floor in town, or a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that has food so good and inexpensive that you rave about it to everyone when you get back home, but you wouldn't have stopped there if you hadn't gotten lost and almost run out of gas. That sort of stuff has become almost my signature. The only problem that I'm running into is that there is too much to do in this town that I am required to include. It doesn't really leave room for going out and exploring."

"Tell you what," he bumped her shoulder with his again, "once I finish with my case, and if you can get an extension from your boss, I will show you a native's tour of the city."

"I may just take you up on that offer, Nick, but I need to know one thing."

"Shoot."

"Where are you really a native of because that drawl is more East Texas than South Nevada?"

Again, he laughed a deep resonating laugh. "You are very good, Ma'am. I'm from outside of Fort Worth. How about you? Where do you call home?"

"I don't. This job isn't really conducive to signing a lease when I spent two months in a city being bounced from hotel to hotel trying to finish six books a year, but I grew up in Westchester County, New York."

"What made you choose your line of work?"

"It chose me." She laughed. "I was actually pre-law in college. I wanted to be a district attorney in the worst way, but I put myself through school writing little puff pieces for various local magazines. My junior year I was approached by a professor who taught International Studies and wrote for various travel magazines. She had figured out who I was, which was no small feat since I still write under a pen name, and offered to introduce me to her editor if I was ready to take my writing seriously." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I must be boring you to tears."

"Not at all and I've got no where else to be, Sasha, so please, go on."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

His Texas came through and she had to smile again. "OK, East Texas, but I'm a writer. I can spin yarns that go on for days." She laughed as his smile widened and for a split second she saw his deep brown eyes sparkle. "Where was I? Oh yes, my junior year of college. So, I took her up on her offer thinking that I could write for a few years, save up my money, and then be able to pay for law school without a single loan. Only one problem, I fell in love with the mystique of having tourism boards treating me like royalty. So, here I am, ten years out of college now with a masters degree in English and still hoofing from hotel to hotel at the behest of my publisher."

"Sounds like some of the mystique has worn off."

"You are very observant, East Texas." She smiled and bumped his shoulder.

"That's my job." He smiled and pushed her back. "If you don't like what you do, why don't you stop?"

"Because I do still like what I do. I just don't love it anymore. Some of the shine has worn off, but I have loyal readers who I have come to admire and who have come to trust me. It's a very complicated relationship." She shook her head, wondering what she must have sounded like. "What about you? How did you get into being a scientific superhero? Were you bitten by a radioactive spider or something?"

Never had a woman made him laugh the way he was laughing with Sasha. It almost made him forget the fact that he was trapped in an elevator nine stories above the ground in the middle of a heat wave. The temperature had dropped since the sun had set, but it was still at least eighty degrees and the confinement of the elevator wasn't helping since there was only a small opening for the exhaust fan for air to pass through. Watching her pull her long black hair back into a bun while he spoke just caused his body temperature to rise even more. Her neck was almost begging him to kiss it. The skin glistened with perspiration and it just looked so soft. Almost as soft as her arms had been the couple of times he'd bumped her shoulder.

They'd been stuck in the elevator for the better part of a hour and the sweat was beginning to pour out of her every pore. Sasha had rolled up her pants to her knees, kicked off her sandals, and desperately wanted to take off her sweat-covered tank top. "Nick," her voice didn't hide the exhaustion that was beginning to set in, "please don't take this the wrong way, but I really have to strip one more layer."

"By all means, Sasha. Please, don't stand on ceremony."

"Whoever said that women don't sweat was never trapped in an elevator during a Vegas heat wave." She laughed and pulled her tank over her head.

Nick had been dialing his cell phone, calling Grissom, as she had stripped and he struggled to sound professional at the sight of her half-naked body. She was toned yet still had curves; beautiful smooth curves that called for him to caress them with his hand. "Yeah, hey Gris, look, I'm, um, still stuck in the elevator over at the Venetian."

"I'm not surprised. The entire grid went down. How are you?"

"We're hot, but I think we'll survive. I'm just hoping they get this thing running soon. That hotel suite has evidence degrading as we speak."

"I know. OK, hang in there, Nicky. Give me a call when you get to the scene." Gris hung up.

"How much trouble are you in?" Sasha looked over at him with a small smile from her place against the wall.

"Actually, I'm not." He pulled his polo shirt over his head and threw it by his kit, relaxing against the wall as well. "How are you doing?"

"As long as I don't move, I'm fine." She laughed again. "How about you?"

Nick pulled his bandana from his pocket and wiped his face and neck. "About the same."

"What was the report from the outside world?"

"The entire city is still out and my crime scene is probably toasted." His voice was filled with distain and disappointment.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." He actually cracked a smile. "That is unless you did something so you could get stuck in this elevator."

Her laugh resonated in the car. "Oh yes, East Texas. It's on my bucket list to get trapped in an elevator during a heat wave with no air conditioning."

"I knew it, Ma'am." Nick laughed and bumped her shoulder again. As his laugh faded to a smile, he noticed his breath coming faster, and he reached for his kit. There was always a bottle of water in there. It was what they both needed in order for them to keep heat stroke at bay. "Here. Take a few sips."

"Dear Lord, East Texas, I am going to nominate you for Boy Scout of the Century." Sasha opened the bottle and took a swallow of the water that was halfway between warm and cold. A thought ran through her head that water never tasted so good, but she just laughed it off.

He laughed again. "Not sure there's a merit badge for that."

"There should be." She handed him back his bottle and smiled when their hands touched. If they hadn't both been feeling the effects of heat exhaustion, there might have been more than just hands touching.

It had been a full ninety minutes from when the elevator stopped and Nick was only hearing that the serviceman had been called but, because the power was out and traffic was jammed, no one was there yet. It wasn't the news he wanted to hear, but at least they were faring well with their water supply down to the last few swallows. They had about another hour before he was going to start worrying. "Do you know what you haven't told me yet?"

"What's that?"

"What cities you've been to."

"You really want to hear about my travels? Nick, it's rarely as exciting as I make it out to be in my column in American Adventure Magazine or in my books. Most of my two months are spent going where the tourist board wants to send me or writing. I'm a writer. It's my job to make it sound like you're missing out on something by not being there with me."

"You also write a column?" He looked at her intrigued and actually sat up. It was the first tidbit of information she'd given him as to what her pen name was in the entire time they'd been trapped.

"Yes, in a magazine that only about ten thousand travel junkies read every month. It's not like I have a show on the Travel Channel or anything. Samantha Brown, I'm not." She grinned. The look on his face was like a boy with a puzzle. She'd given him a key piece and now he had the best part of trying to figure out where it fit.

"But it is syndicated and runs in local papers, right?"

"No. My publisher doesn't want me over exposed."

"Have your books been on the New York Times Best Sellers List?"

"A couple of times, but they are dated. I only go to specific cites and alternate each year. For instance, this year I started in January with Denver, went to Key West and Miami in March, and finished Chicago three weeks ago, and now here we are in July and I'm in Vegas before I head to Boston in September. It'll be six different cities next year. Actually, that's not quite accurate. They will be the same cities as last year and the year after that will be the same cities as this year. There are always a few variations on the same theme, but the music really doesn't change." She laughed as she watched him still with the same grin and childish look on his face, but that laugh turned to a gasp when the emergency lights went out.

"They lasted longer than I thought." Feeling around for his vest, he pulled out his flashlight.

"Boy Scout of the Century saves the day again." She shook her head with a smile and he laughed. "You know, Nick Stokes, if I was destined to become trapped in an elevator, I'm glad I was trapped with you." He laughed a nervous laugh. "I'm being serious here. I don't think I've had this good a time in months." She laughed. "What does that say about my life?"

"That you need to get out more." He winked at her and smiled as she did. "No, I'm actually having a good time myself. You are a very nice person to be around, Ms. Sasha Pennington, and I will be happy to tell your editor to give you an extension so I can show you the real Las Vegas."

"You'd do that? You'd call up and say," she deepened her voice, put on her best Texas drawl, and tried hard not to laugh, "this is CSI Nick Stokes, Ma'am, and I think you should extend Sash's deadline because she was stuck in an elevator with me?"

Her laugh was infectious. "I would say it a little differently, but yes, I would do that for you." Reaching for her hand, he kissed her fingers, and they were even softer than he'd imagined. "And for me. I want to spend more time with you, preferably somewhere with air conditioning."

Sasha laughed again, as he did. "Yeah, that's an idea."

"And if I call your editor maybe she'd tell me the name that you write under so I'll know if I've ever read your stuff."

"This is killing you, isn't it, East Texas?"

"Yes, Ma'am, it is. I'm not the type to leave questions unanswered. Nature of the beast, I'm afraid, and I've been known to go digging through remote corners to find the answers I seek."

She laughed as she'd been doing for almost two hours. "Well, I wouldn't want a police inquiry on my record. So, I'll tell you, but you have to give your word that you won't tell another living soul."

"Boy Scout Honor." They shared yet another laugh when he held up three fingers.

"Shannon Piper."

"Shannon Piper?" Nick thought for a moment. "I think I have read your book. Actually, I know I've read one of your books. When I went to Chicago for a conference last year. I bought your guide." He smiled. "There was a lot of good restaurants and you were right about the place off the beaten path. It was the best food."

"I'm glad I could help."

His smile faded when she yawned and he checked his watch, almost midnight was glaring back at him. "Why don't you lie down and get some rest, Sash?" Winking, he balled up his shirt with her jacket, and lightly ran his hand over her hair. Even with how hot they both were, how drenched in sweat, her hair was still silky and smooth.

The sensation of his gentle yet masculine hand on her head and then her cheek was too much. She took his hand in hers and kissed his palm before closing the distance between them to kiss his lips, but he pulled away. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm still on the clock. That's the only reason." His lips tingled from the sensation of their tender kiss. He wanted nothing more in the world at that moment than to continue what she had started, but there was still the thought that at any time, that elevator was going to begin working again and he would have to try to explain why he was seen on a security camera making out while on duty. "Lie back down, Sasha. Get some rest, please." His hand touched her cheek and even in the shadows of the small flashlight, he could see her close her eyes.

"I can't, Nick. I can hear everything underneath us and," she looked away with a nervous laugh, "I don't know. I just don't like it."

"OK." He moved their clothing against his kit then lay against that before opening his arms to her. "Now, I can't promise you that I smell very good or that I'm all that comfortable, but I can promise you that you won't hear anything from below us and that I won't be fresh."

"I don't think I smell like a bed of roses myself and I am so hot I am probably going to be slipperier than a politician, but if you don't mind, I don't mind."

"I wouldn't have offered if I minded, Ma'am." She just smiled at him and curled up against him, laying her soft head against his peck, right on top of his heart, and he almost regretted the offer because she felt so good. There hadn't been a woman that close in months, at least not one who'd fit as well as Sasha. When he felt her sigh, her ample bosom heaving slightly against his chest, her breath slowing down, almost cooling down, he placed his arm over hers on his stomach, and nestled his cheek against her soft raven hair, falling asleep himself until cold air suddenly began blowing on his face. "Sasha, Baby," he kissed the top of her head, "wake up. I think the power is back on."

"Hmm?" She sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. She hadn't intended to sleep so deeply, but she'd felt safe in Nick's arms.

"The air conditioning is back on. I don't think it will be much longer now." There was disappointment in his voice. He heard it, but he didn't think Sasha did given how groggy she was.

Oh, she'd heard it and she couldn't disagree. So, after throwing her tank top back on, she reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a rather soggy business card. "This isn't going to work."

"What's not going to work?" He shined the flashlight over at her.

"I was going to try to subtly pass you my business card, but I'm afraid it's soup."

"How about we try the not so subtle approach?" Laughing, he handed her his cell phone.

After programming in her number, she leaned against the back wall and enjoyed the cool air on her face. "I am not going to take air conditioning for granted for quite some time." They shared another laugh and she took his hand for a quick moment before the lights came back on and they were deposited on the tenth floor, five hours after their fateful meeting.