Falling Short

…

She had tried not to love him, but all her efforts, it seemed, were falling short.

…

Greg'n'Sara, in a roundabout way

…

Greg Sanders shifted carefully, gently untangling himself from the sleeping brunette beside him. He jostled her ever so slightly, cringing as she moved, afraid to wake her. He didn't. She twisted only just beneath the sheets, hiding the swell of her chest from his view. He tried to smile, she really was stunningly beautiful... classy and intelligent and witty. Science geek. The perfect woman.

He tried not to laugh; perfection seemed to be so subjective these days.

He sat up, now, on the edge of his bed, frowning as he scanned the room for his boxers. When he finally spotted them he sighed, amused that his investigator eyes didn't really work that well off the clock. He stood, stepping into them, and turned to look at her sleeping form as he pulled the thin material over his hips, then reached down and retrieved the crumpled white tee shirt from the floor as well, pulling it over his head. She really was beautiful.

Slipping silently from his bedroom, he made his way down the hall and into the kitchen. Running a hand roughly through his disheveled curls, and over his eyes, Greg rummaged quietly through the freezer for his secret stash of Blue Hawaiian, a treasured specialty now that his paycheck had been halved. He almost never brewed it… but he needed to feel like his old self for at least the amount of time it would take to drink a cup of coffee. Making the move to the field, being an investigator, had dulled his smile, especially after landing in the hospital this last time. He had always dreamed of having his own vest, with 'Sanders' printed clearly across the breast, instead of a lab coat. Now that he had it, he almost preferred the latter. Particularly since his beloved vest was still locked up in evidence, as the case with the beatings was pending trial.

He sighed heavily, shaking the thoughts of his recent brush with mortality out of his mind; busying himself with the mechanical motions of brewing coffee in his archaic, but well-loved Mr. Coffee. He didn't usually do this, sleep with women he didn't love, and he was starting to think she was catching on. If she had, she hadn't said anything. For that he was grateful. For several months now, she had saved him; and he was thankful for the outlet, and the comfort.

She assured him she didn't mind their understanding. The long hours in the lab she had said, kept her from dating or doing much of anything extra curricular in nature. After all, she had said, they had had some fantastic sex.

He could agree.

It had started erratically, almost. A one night stand. A few tempting smiles, a string of forensic jargon masquerading as foreplay. A few more nights. A few more after that. They never talked about it, at work. They never talked about work in bed. It was simple. It was self-destructive. And it wasn't going to last.

Neither of them cared, really. Well, neither of them complained, at least. It was how he liked his relationships. Nice and complicated. Examining it was like examining an onion; with every layer he pulled back, his soul cried even more. His body pleaded satisfaction, happiness, but he knew better. The hardest part was remembering to not call her Sara. Everything else was physiology and human nature. He didn't have to think. Most of the time he didn't want to, anyway.

Wendy stirred tiredly, rolling over and reaching her hand to the other side of the bed, not surprised when her fingers found cool sheets instead of a warm body. He was always up before her. Subconsciously she knew he just couldn't bear to wake up beside her. It was fine. It worked for them. Greg had had a difficult time the last few months. He had unsuspectingly caught a glimpse of Grissom and Sara, and it had thrown him for a loop. It was as if he had lost all the kinetic energy in his career, and his focus, and his smile.

It wasn't that he wasn't doing the job. He was. Geniusly. He was a brilliant investigator. Even she could see that he must have been a nightmare in the lab, once upon a time when her chair was his, and his world consisted of CODIS and blood and semen, skin tags and epithelials. Bored out of his mind. From the anecdotes she had heard from others in the lab, he had been on the brink of insanity, wild and childish, a brand of juvenile humor that lit up the lab even when the cases were dark, the stakes high.

She sat up groaning as her muscles argued with her. He hadn't exactly been the essence of sweet and gentle last night. She could hold her own, though, give as good as she got. It was almost a game, really. Except no one ever won. She pushed her hair into a ponytail, frowning as she tried to remember where her panties ended up. Hallway. She sighed, crawling over Greg's side of the bed, and picking the oxford shirt he had worn to the lab the night before off the nightstand, and thrusting her arms through the sleeves.

In the hallway she stooped quickly, grimacing as she slipped her panties up her legs, and rubbing at her eyes, making her way to his little kitchen, the scent of Blue Hawaiian heavy, assaulting her senses, and making her smile. He almost never made his favorite blend, claiming that it just tasted that much better after three months of whatever was on sale. He didn't fool her, she knew about the pay cut he took to be out in the field. She admired it, almost. He wasn't about the money, he was about the job.

And now that he had it, he was miserable.

She couldn't help but be amused that he though he had her fooled. She had been dutifully filled in on his affection for Sara Sidle before she was finished processing her first blood sample. The other lab techs tended to gossip like seventh graders, but they wouldn't have even needed to say anything… the first time she saw Greg and Sara together she was arguing with him, and, while he was arguing back, the unconditional affection he had for her was all but tattooed across his face.

He read like a book, and sometimes she could hear his heart break. She tried not to think about it.

Wendy pushed the flop of bangs out of her eyes, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She frowned, taking in Greg's tired, dejected posture, resisting the urge to pull him into a hug, and sooth his broken heart. Resisting the urge to cry his tears for him.

"Hey." It was barely audible, and when he didn't respond, she wasn't surprised. He stood facing the percolating coffee squarely, leaning his weight on the counter by the heels of his palms, his elbows locks, his body bent at the waist. The length of his arm was built of sleek, defined muscles, only casually tensed, residue from years of barbells and kickboxing. She tried not to smile, that would be admitting she was anything more than attracted. Against the rules.

She shuffled a bit into the kitchen, and he turned only just, acknowledging her presence, letting go of the counter and straightening, laying his hand along the waist of his boxers instead.

"Didn't mean to wake you." He leaned against the dishwasher along the other wall, watching her ginger movements as she eased herself up onto the counter a few feet from Mr. Coffee, sitting carefully.

"It's okay." She leaned back against the cabinets, swinging her feet silently, trying to break up the quiet that had settled between them. She felt his gaze shift from the coffee maker to her, and she shivered as his eyes swept over her figure. Here was where the guilt came in.

"I'm sorry." His whispered apology was heartfelt and sincere, but she dismissed it. He had been too rough. But she never said to stop. She could handle rough.

"It's okay." She matched his tone, and his sincerity. She'd be okay, she always was. Her whole inside was angry with her, sore, and would be for days. She just hoped it had helped him get through whatever was going on in his head. Maybe he would tell her. Probably he wouldn't. Greg Sanders, for all of his childish smiles and amusing jokes, was a sort of enigma; requiring little but affectionate attention to discover exactly what that somber glint was in his eye. She'd stumbled across it months ago.

He was in love with Sara.

It only halfway broke her heart, really. Sometimes he smiled, and she could forget the she was really playing second string. He was the only one night stand she had had that she hadn't cringed when she saw him in the light. Seeing him in the dark, though, that was when he became real. A Picasso of emotion, when he didn't think she could see.

It was beautiful.

Mr. Coffee bubbled to a final flourish, and sighed heavily as it finished brewing. Greg stood reluctantly, and moving to the cabinet beside her, stepping between her knees to retrieve mugs from the shelf. She let him, watching him as he closed the cabinet door; mirroring the tense smile he gave her with a more genuine persuasion. He turned away from her, pouring steaming hot coffee into each mug before setting the decanter back into the coffee maker. He twisted, swinging open the fridge and pulling out the cream, dropping a dollop into his and a bit more into hers. He must have made it strong. He swung shut the refrigerator door in a seamless motion, grabbing the sugar and stirring in a teaspoon into her mug before handing it to her.

"Thanks."

He nodded, pausing to press a slow, deliberate kiss to her lips, taking her bottom lip between the both of his for a mere moment before pulling away. She arched an eyebrow at him, challenging him to continue, but he didn't. Part of her hoped he would give up on Sara, part of her knew his stubbornness and determination were among some of his best attributes. She didn't feel dirty; they weren't doing anything wrong. She did, however, feel like the other woman, despite being the only woman.

Wendy sipped at the coffee he had given her; absently wondering whether or not today was a good day to dispense advice. In the time she had been physical with Greg, she had been able to draw several conclusions about his state of mind, his feelings, and his heart. First of all, it wasn't an easy thing to win. She didn't know, however, if that was because he generally guarded himself emotionally from women, or she'd just been out of the running for his affections long before even coming to Vegas. His bed wasn't the easiest thing to get into, either. His reputation had him as somewhat of a ladies' man, but the fervor with which he had first kissed her, first tumbled her over into the bedding, inclined her to not to believe the rumors in the lab. He was an emotive lover above all, talented, but more than anything, raw with emotion. His kiss made her feel every heart wrenching detail, but he held back just enough to make her addicted to figuring him out.

He liked her, but she knew better than to call his hollow affection for her love. That word was sacred, kept only for Sara. Wendy was startled by the sharp prick of tears welling softly in her eyes. For the first time since fifth grade, she wished she was someone else. She wanted to be Sara. Well, she wanted to be his Sara. The woman he loved the most, the woman who would be able to get into his heart and push down the walls guarding everything he had tried so hard to hide. The feeling came on suddenly, and Wendy took a sip of her coffee, hiding her expression from Greg.

This was supposed to be uncomplicated. A series of one night stands. Release. It was killing her, as much as she would never admit it.

"You should tell her." The words flew out of her mouth faster than she could think about them, and she watched half panicked, as he turned his attention to her, meeting her gaze steadily, with a confused expression that melted into realization in a matter of seconds. Color rose in his cheeks only just, giving way to a hint of embarrassment. Like he'd been caught. His whole frame sagged as he leaned back against the counter.

"She's lost." His resigned timbre broke her heart, and she wiped at her eyes, trying to will the tears to stop before he noticed. There was a long pause of silence between them, and Greg ran a hand through his curly mass of hair, staring disinterestedly at the steaming coffee in his mug. He glanced over at her for a moment, throwing her a halfhearted smile, before voicing yet another apology. "You don't deserve this."

This. He meant whatever they have between them. It was the first time he'd said anything about it. She could have sworn he was brought up Catholic, with the amount of guilt he carried around.

"Neither do you." He didn't deserve the girl he'd love second best. Greg Sanders deserved nothing short of eudemonia. He was growing on her, and she had a feeling she wouldn't recover easily if he broke her heart. But then again, Greg Sanders was hardly that kind of guy. Or was he? Maybe he was the worse kind of all, the unsuspecting, genuine, loving, caring, considerate kind that she couldn't help but fall in love with. The kind who had never loved her back. She had tried not to love him, but all her efforts, it seemed, were falling short.

She just couldn't help but love him, in all his depressed, dejected glory, wallowing in discontent, seeking comfort in the smooth of her skin. She had fallen in love with the sound of his laugh, and the soft sparkle he got in his eyes when his smile turned into a grin. The feel of his hip against hers, the taste of him after his kisses had hardened.

She'd never admit it, though. Against the rules.

Something had to be done. She couldn't play second fiddle to an unresolved infatuation. Not anymore. Wendy all but slammed her mug on the counter beside her, startling him, and herself, sloshing a few drops of coffee out on to the counter space. She turned her attention to him, taking in the sight of his posture with an overtly analytical eye.

"What?" He was tired, weary of shouldering the load of sleeping with one woman and loving another. Charades, given time, almost always became dribbling messes, when they got to be just too heavy. The anticipation in his features was not the same as the brand that flicked across his smile when he slipped her panties off. Now he looked older, cringing slightly as if he was expecting her to chew him out for using her. The guilt there told her he was keenly aware of his moral crime.

"Come here." She sat up straighter as he obeyed wordlessly, crossing the kitchen and leaning his hip against the edge of the counter, fitting snugly between the insides of her thighs. The intimacy of their position didn't faze her, and she bit her lip as he put his weight on his hands, gripping the counter on either side of her thighs. She offered him a smile, but he didn't take the bait, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"Yes?" She tried not shiver; his husky inquiry rattled through her gently, settling in a warm heat below her waist, sore muscles forgotten. She averted her eyes, instead twisting her fingers casually into his hair, laying her palm on the back of his neck companionably.

She had never been angry with Sara until now.

How could she refuse such an incredible man?

He closed his eyes at her touch, lolling his head into the crook of her neck, making her heart race. She couldn't help but smile, his need for contact clearly evident, and she wasn't going to refuse. She sighed, running her other hand along the muscles of his arm, outing them from where they hid as he tensed gently, reacting to her touch. She pressed a kiss to his hair before she could stop herself, and he groaned against her.

"I'm only going to sleep with you one more time." Her lips breathed her words beside his ear, soft and warm. He pulled away from her mere inches, leaning back fully on the counter, giving her his full attention, despite the guilty expression on his face. He opened he mouth to speak, but she caught his jaw with both her hands, pulling him to her and pressing a sweetly attentive kiss to his lip, making him sigh into her, groaning softly as he returned her affection.

She broke away, leaning back against the cabinet, pushing a stray curl out of his eyes, and offering him a sad smile. "One. And then you have to tell her."

He flashed her a slow smile, amused at her tactic for ultimately doing what was best for him. Both of them. They couldn't keep doing this. It was destroying them slowly, a bit more each time they slid between the sheets. She knew this wasn't healthy. It was fantastic, but it was hollow, and he admired her for finally putting her foot down. He'd been waiting, on some level, for her to press the brake.

"Okay." He agreed quietly, nodding, relieved when he watched her smile, and leaned in to kiss her again, torturing her mouth and making her whimper inaudibly. He felt her leg hook around his waist, and he smiled into her, dragging her slim frame off the counter and slipping a hand under the shirt she wore, feeling the smooth of the skin along her back. He lifted her effortlessly, setting her down on the floor, pressing her back into the counter with his hip.

He turned delicate on her, pulling away from their kiss, leaving a trail of affection along her neck and collarbone. Her breathing slowly became erratic, and as her knees gave way, he caught her against the counter, wrapping an arm around her waist and smiling as her grip tensed on his shoulders, an erotic moan hitching in her throat against his chest. Greg shifted, catching her lip in an intimate kiss, and Wendy forgot completely about her angry insides, the heat returning, settling heavily in her hips, making her pull him down to her decidedly.

"One last time." She mumbled, and he smiled against her.

"Let's make it good, then."

Hours later, Greg shifted, rolling over and reaching his hand to the other side of the bed, intent on finding Wendy beside him. She was always there when he woke, sleeping peacefully, wrapped delicately in his blanket, the sun shining warmly over her shoulder, and along the curve of her hip. He found, however, cool sheets and his cell phone, laid carefully on her pillow, with a Post It stuck to it, reading 'your move- call her' in what he recognized as Wendy's feminine script.

He smiled, chuckling as he reached for it, peeling off the Post It and re-adhering it to the wall above his bed before turning his attention to his phone. He twisted, sitting up and reaching for his boxers for the second time that morning, flipping open the face of the phone, pressing a digit, and holding the phone to his ear, listening as it automatically dialed Sara's number. On the third ring, she answered.

"Sidle." She yawned into her phone, making him smile.

"Hey."

"Greg? It's eleven thirty in the morning." He had woken her, but the amused timbre of her voice told him she didn't necessarily mind.

"Yeah, sorry, listen, I've ah, I've got something on my mind…" He trailed off, leaving the air of the line stagnant for a spilt second. "Can-"

"Yeah, come on over." She yawned again, and he chuckled. "I'm up, I promise."

………

A/N: out of nowhere. Something different. Greg is becoming more and more serious; I assume that he's dealing with Sara's relationship with Grissom with a corresponding level of maturity. And I love Wendy. She's growing on me.