The biggest question going into Season 7? When did it all start? The second biggest question? How will the team find out... Maybe this can answer question number 2...

And remember - reviews are like shots of William Petersen without his clothes on - always most welcome!

Only playing with them, but will give them back unbroken, I promise!

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Nobody Knows

He was going to have to kill him.

He was going to have to take a heavy, blunt object, give one good whack and then bury the body in the desert.

He could definitely do it. He'd been a CSI for longer than he cared to remember, and graveyard supervisor for the last six years, sohe could damn well commit the perfect murder if he ever had to.

And right now – well, let's just say his need was great.

As he hastily pulled on his work clothes, he thought wistfully of the baseball bat he kept in a closet at home, but there was no time to go and get that now.

Every second counted - and Greg had a head start…

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It had begun well enough.

After his blind date with a cute, smart blonde (who had agreed to a second date, much to his surprised pleasure), Greg had ended his day off,with a stroll along the Strip, pondering what would be the most inconspicuous way to get his hands on a sample of the blonde's DNA. She had potential – a lot of potential in fact - and he thought it only good practice to take a look at her epithelials as soon as possible.

After all – DNA maketh the woman.

When he got home, he spent a few happy hours playingThe Simms on his computer. He'd spent hours designing all the characters, so that each one mirrored as closely as possible actual members of the lab. He always took a rather perverse pleasure in dressing the Grissom character in the most lewd costumes available, sniggering to himself as he imagined the real Grissom in some of the ensembles.

As he got ready for bed, he made a mental note to swing by Sara's apartment before the next shift started. A couple of months ago, she'd caught him in the break room reading a little ditty he'd picked up, called "The Art Of Seduction", and he'd jokingly suggested that she might learn something if she borrowed it.

"This is good stuff – full of useful information and helpful tips on how to…uh…seduce the one you looooove…" he had informed her suggestively.

"Really Greg? And what makes you think I need help in that department?"

He had chanced a look at Grissom, who was standing a few feet away, but since his boss seemed to be engrossed in the file he was reading, Greg merely dropped his voice slightly before continuing his little discourse.

"Well, it is the duty of the protégé to look after the needs of the master – and with all the finely tuned CSI skills that you have helped me to hone over the last few months, I have managed to deduce that you, Obi Wan, might be going through a bit of a – shall we say – dry spell…"

Greg could have sworn he heard Grissom snort before the older man was overcome by an uncharacteristic coughing fit, and stalked out of the room.

Sara watched their supervisor's hasty exit, smirked and took the book out of Greg's hands.

"Yes Greg – I have obviously done an excellent job of perfecting your powers of observation."

And with that she'd wandered out, book in hand, in the general direction of Grissom's office.

But now he needed the book back – he was meeting Blondie for breakfast after his shift, and he wanted to be prepared.

He could just phone Sara and ask her to bring the book in to work, but that would deprive him of the opportunity to see the look on her face when he explained why he needed it back so urgently.

Grinning at the prospect, Greg closed his eyes, pulled the bedcovers up to his chin, and dreamt happy dreams of ambling along a sandy beach, the blonde on his arm, Grissom and Ecklie fighting over whom would have the honour of serving him lunch.

Ah yes – it had all started so well.

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With a groan, Grissom stumbled out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and searched for the blue Hawaiian shirt Sara had stripped off him a few hours earlier. He felt completely - well, screwed, to be perfectly honest – his muscles stiff and aching, his body lethargic and his head still foggy with sleep. She'd kept him…busy…a long time after they'd come home, but since today was his day off, he didn't mind. Today he could sleep in and recover.

Well, in theory at least.

But the insistent banging on Sara's apartment door had woken him up, and as she was already under the shower, he had been obliged to force his worn-out body out of bed, to pull on something resembling acceptable attire, and to trudge wearily to the front door.

Whoever the idiot on the other side was, Grissom was ready to punch his lights out.

Without checking first, he yanked the door open. And nearly collapsed from what could quite possibly have been a simultaneous heart attack combined with a massive stroke.

Shit.

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It was a sight that would haunt Greg Sanders till the day he died. Years later, there were still nights when he would wake up in a cold sweat, those horrible images ingrained in his brain forever.

Grissom, in Sara's apartment.

Grissom, with his hair dishevelled and his eyes still puffy from sleep.

Grissom, in the ugliest blue shirt Greg had ever had the misfortune to lay his eyes on.

A shirt which was unbuttoned,happily revealing what could only be a huge hickey, right in the middle of Grissom's chest.

And as the big grin on his face transformed itself into a frozen grimace and the blood drained from his extremities, only one thought kept repeating over and over in Greg's head.

Grissom was wearing almost exactly the same clothes as the Simms game on his computer.

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How long they stood there, staring mutely at each other, neither would ever know, but it was Sara's emergence from the bathroom that finally tore Greg's attention away from the abomination before him. She was wearing a rather skimpy bathrobe and was running a towel over her hair. When she noticed the two men in the open doorway, she skidded to a stop and her hands dropped to her side.

A rather shrill, "Hey…Greg…" was all she managed before she scuttled off into an adjoining room, slamming the door behind her.

The sound of Sara's voice seemed to shake Grissom out of his reverie as well, and he snapped his head to the side, watching her retreating figure with such an expression of disbelief, that Greg would have giggled if he had been able to get any air into his lungs.

With Grissom's attention temporarily diverted, Greg spotted his opportunity to escape, and with a squeaky, "Work…gotta go…" he reeled around and nearly broke his neck in his haste to get down the stairs.

He had to get to work. He had to find Nick. Or Warrick. Or Catherine. Heck, right now even Archie would do. Because if he didn't tell somebody about this within the next twenty minutes, his head would explode.

Then again, if an exploding head was what it took to get those images out of his brain, he would gladly allow his grey matter to be splattered across the interior of the lab. Maybe in Grissom's immaculate office, as some sort of payback for what he - poor, innocent Greg - had just been forced to witness.

As he pulled into his parking space and switched off the car, Greg slumped back in the seat and started to laugh softly, albeit a little hysterically. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and he was realising that telling anybody, even in the strictest confidence, was probably not the most mature way of dealing with this unfortunate turn of events. Taking a deep breath, he took a few minutes to calm downbefore slowly dragging himself out of the car.

Keeping this to himself was going to take every ounce of energy he possessed.

He had barely slammed the car door shut, when a squeal of tires made him spin around. Grissom was out of the car and next tohim before Greg could even get a word out. Despite his sudden rush of apprehension, he did take note of the fact that Grissom had at least taken the time to change into his "normal" work clothes.

Greg was eternally grateful for that small mercy.

Fixing Greg with his Death Glare, Grissom pulled himself to his full height, and peered into the younger man's eyes unblinkingly.

"If you ever, ever tell another living soul that you saw me in Sara's apartment, in that state, with her just coming out of the shower, I will hunt you down, smash your skull in, and dispose of your body in the desert. Clear?"

Nodding mutely, Greg tried to stifle the nervous giggle he could feel bubbling just under the surface. Letting out a sigh and shaking his head slightly, Grissom turned around and went back to his car.

"Oh, and Greg - next time - call first, will you?"

And with that he was off, leaving Greg grinning openly now. As he locked his car door, Greg wondered how long this thing between Sara and Grissom had been going on. Maybe "The Art Of Seduction" had helped after all?

Trying desperately to fight off the pictures of Grissom and Sara that were suddenly swimming in front of his eyes, Greg never even noticed the motionless body standing behind a car a few feet away.

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Hodges was smiling smugly as he watched Greg exit the car park. With the kind of information he was now privy to, a promotion and eventual world domination would surely just be a matter of time…