DISCLAIMER: CSI and its characters are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Red Dress
By Karin


You stop at the threshold and take a very deep breath.

"Can I still leave?" you ask yourself that question every five seconds.

You see a room filled with people. The men in tuxedos and the women in evening dresses. All in black.

The room clatters with voices. Thick aromas mingled with cigarette smoke prickle your nose. Your eyes start to water.

"God," you wonder, why did you even come to this gruesome event.

"Just to listen to Ecklie get this enormous ego boost?"

Your stomach aches and your breathing fastens. Then your rationale takes the upper hand. Your career is a bit (slightly an understatement) dented because of the falling out you have had with the man in whose honor this evening is organized.

"For better or worse," is your final thought while entering the room.

Your watery eyes find it difficult to adjust to the dimly lit room, while scanning the place for an empty seat. The host of the evening just invites another speaker to the stage. It's your own night shift supervisor. When he stands up, you're drawn to his movement and then everyone in the room stops moving, stops talking, except for her, the woman in the red dress. Her long blond hair cascades over her half naked, toned back. She looks up to him and smiles. For you it is the most beautiful smile possible.

Your breathing stops a lifetime ago and your mouth is stone-dry. As if she is aware of your presence, she turns around. Big, bright blue eyes capture yours. She raises her eyebrow and her full and sensuous lips make a bit of curl.

"Go to her, start walking," your brain screams, but you're frozen like a salt pillar.

She scopes you out from head to toe and returns her attention to the stage. Somehow you manage to snap out of your temporarily paralysis, and shaking all over you walk to her table. You sit down next to her.

"Hi, I'm Sara Sidle, I work nights at the crime lab," your voice croaks.

She accepts your offered hand. While holding it, her eyes scan your face, revealing nothing, revealing everything at the same time.

She bends over to you, squeezes your hand a bit harder, placing her other hand on your shoulder and pulls you near her.

"Oh, I know," she whispers...

"Oh, I know."

Her whisper is like a velvet caress. You are very aware of a faint musk aroma surrounding her.

"I'm Sofia Curtis, I work days in the same lab."

Still holding her hand, it seems you lose control over your eye-movements, because you can only focus on the front of her spectacular red dress and what it conceals.

"You what?" you hear yourself saying in a faint distance.

"I'm 'Ecklie's girl'."

"You what?" trying desperately to let go of her hand, but failing miserably.

"Oh, my, Miss Sidle, is that the extend of your vocabulary?"

You hear her tease, but the sound of a pager disturbs your attempt to make a smart remark in order to regain some of your dignity. Since it's your night off, it can't be yours. This coherent thought is confirmed by Sofia, who is holding hers, with both hands.

*Did you miss something?*

"We have a DB on the fifth floor, meet me in, let's say, three hours at the entrance of the parking lot?"

She rushes of, picking up the hem of her dress, and you gasp for air. Not only are you breathless because of the exquisite sight of her calves carried by the highest heels ever, but, she said what?

You slam back in your chair and try to concentrate on what happened.

There is tumult on the stage, your boss is trying to jump off. Apparently he got the same page. He passes you, stumbling. While following him, you see her standing. She's making a call on a cellphone, asking for her crime scene kit.

*Where in the hell did that phone come from, and not to mention that pager. She isn't carrying a purse or something of the sort. Does she conceal her weapon as well in that same dress?*

You're relieved you start asking yourself those questions again, it means your brain starts working again, right?

Three hours. What to do in three hours? Since you're a CSI, why not go upstairs and see if you can lend a hand?

In the hallway you meet Brass.

"Hey, Sara, you're not going upstairs, are you? Gil and Sofie are covering the scene."


"Uh, as a matter of fact, Jim, I am. You know, I could always lend a hand."

A poor excuse and you know it, you just want to see her.

When was the last time you were swept of your feet by another person, you contemplate during the elevator ride.

That would be, let's see, never.

You flash your ID at the police officer guarding the crime scene and duck underneath the yellow tape. Indistinct voices coming from the balcony attract your attention. Slowly you walk towards them.

You stop at the threshold, and you thank the Lord you're standing in the shade provided by the upper balcony.

Sofia makes an attempt to put on her overall, and at the same time she tries wiggling out of her dress. She seems caught in it, but she somehow manages to get dressed and undressed in one movement, freeing her long blond hair as well.

The sight of her standing there, with her red dress in one hand, while her other hand is zipping up her overall, nearly chokes you. You clear your throat.

"You must be wondering if I'm wearing any underwear?" her eyes shifting from your boss to yours and capturing them, again.

"Sara, what are you doing here?" your supervisor asks surprised and immediately picking up your tension. He slowly looks away from you, to Sofia, and back again to you.


What seems like a lifetime later, you give him the same answer you gave Brass downstairs.

"Sofia and I have got it covered, you can go home, Sara."

Three hours turn out to be four, but you're still standing there, waiting for her. Inner turmoil rushes through every vein of your body. This is so not like you.

Should I stay, or should I go? Run, would be a more appropriate description of the way you handle your affairs.

But before you reach a final dicision, a door slams, and slow footsteps come your way. No red dress, but an over-sized overall comes in to view.

"Hey, Sara."

"Uh, hey, Sofie, uh, Sofia."

She raises her eyebrow, but lets it slide.

"I'm so glad that you're still here."

And there is that same velvet caress again.

Not by her words this time, but by her lips brushing yours.

The End

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