Midnights and Cups of Coffee

…

Greg Sanders threatens bodily harm.

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Number 34 in the Ducks in a Row Series.

…

"Hey." Greg Sanders called out towards the back of the house, smiling to himself as he heard his wife fumbling through the cabinets in the kitchen. He dropped his bag at his feet, and tossed his keys in the bowl by the door, making his way across the living room, shrugging off his suit coat and draping it over the couch on his way to the threshold of the kitchen. He offered her a lopsided grin when she looked up, and stooped to kiss her as he loosened the knot of his tie. His lips lingered against hers for a few moments, and Sara Sanders dropped the stirring spoon in the pot as she kissed him back, chuckling as he pulled away reluctantly.

"Hi." She shot him a suggestive smirk, and delicately extracted the wooden spoon from the boiling contents of the pot.

"Guy only got seven years for possession and distribution to minors. Oooh, Rodgrote Med Flote." Greg tried to smile as he recognized the ingredients for his favorite ethnic dessert, leaning against the counter beside the stove, watching her give the berry sauce a stir. She only cooked Norwegian when something was bothering her.

"Yeah, Nick said it wasn't going to look pretty." She pushed a few Shirley Temple curls out of her face, unwinding them as she tucked them back behind her ear. "It's a shame."

"He's going to be out again, and selling again, and it'll be déjà vu for us, unless he gets smart, and then we'll never catch him. And this is his fourth offense. Not like we haven't done this before." Greg sighed, pulling the slack tie from around his neck, and tossing it onto the barstool in front of him. "I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. I've provided the same testimony for that guy's prosecution each time he's been to court. I'm in a rut."

"Well, you look better in a suit than Bill Murray, if it's any consolation." She smiled at him, and he laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets, surveying her culinary efforts.

"You're pulling off June Cleaver here pretty well. Why are you cooking at two in the afternoon?" She sighed heavily, laying the spoon out on the stovetop, watching the boiling contents bubble excitedly in the small pot. "Sara Jane? Something wrong?"

"No." She bit her lip, and ran a hand through her hair, tousling her curls before speaking carefully. "Not really. Jack Cooper called."

"Yeah? What did he want?" Greg frowned, his tone was gentle, but he inwardly groaned. Jack Cooper, from the moment Greg had laid eyes on him some six years ago, had been a queasy sort of existence in his life. He wanted to like him. Really. Greg had actually gotten to a point where he almost liked Jack years ago, but within a week of Greg deciding that the kid was starting to maybe be pretty cool, he had shattered Nora's heart, and was dutifully placed back on Greg's shit list.

"To talk to you, actually. I told him to drop by the courthouse, you'd be there all morning, but he said it was important." She paused, stirring the sugary berries, adding cornstarch and juice then turning down the heat, before eyeing her weary husband. "They're getting really serious, Greg."

"I know." He watched her stir the contents of the saucepan distractedly, frowning as the pudding thickened. He wasn't an idiot. Sara must have known that the prospect of Nora and Jack's relationship evolving was going to be a bit unnerving. Hence the ethnic comfort food.

God he loved this woman. She didn't even like Norwegian food.

"He's playing a set with Jake Norton tonight." She tried to ease him into the prospect of their conversation, having an idea as to what the younger man had wanted to discus. The acidic distaste her husband had harbored for their daughter's boyfriend resonated now, bitterly, through the kitchen, just as it had since she had taken him back. Sara would put money on the wager that it was going to take a grandchild to get him to warm to Jack Cooper. Greg was clearly having a difficult time with the notion of his daughter loving any other man but him.

Amusing, but irritating.

"How serious?" Sara smiled, amused that his mind was caught processing the development of his daughter's romantic relationship.

"Jack mentioned to Jake Norton that he was thinking about moving to Chicago to be closer to Nora. Jake told Grace. Grace told Nick. Nick called me." Greg rolled his eyes at the junior high methodology involved in the grapevine. She pulled the saucepan off the burner, setting it down to cool before stepping around Greg's lanky body, and pinning him affectionately against the counter, pressing a leisurely kiss to his lips, speaking between kisses. "And I'm telling you."

He would have laughed a bit, had Jack Cooper not been perhaps becoming a part of his life for the remainder of it. He had always secretly hoped Nora would kick that kid to the curb. Maybe it'd be a curb in Chicago. Then Nora could sell her studio, and come home to Vegas. Then he wouldn't have to see Jack Cooper ever again.

That would work.

Greg turned his kisses down her neck, hugging her tightly, and burying his features in her wild curls. "I'll catch up to him after the set, then." His dejected tone made Sara chuckle, as she knew full well any and all contact with Jack Cooper was approached with trudging feet, and usually she had to cohort him to be polite to the poor kid. She pulled away only just, cradling his jaw with one hand, running her fingers affectionately through his unruly mass of peppery curls with the other, giving him an appreciative smile.

"Thank you." Greg rolled his eyes, but accepted her kiss before twisting and inspection the contents of the saucepan, dipping the wooden spoon into the thickened creamy pudding, and tasting it.

"Sar, this is perfection-" His words dribbled off, his sentence unfinished as her fingers eased the buttons of his shirt out of their holes with a practiced skill, making a genuine smile curl on his lip. He kissed her, slow, deliberate, pulling her flush against his hips in an affectionate gesture, groaning softly as she responded, snaking a hand into his disheveled curls, pulling him down to her, getting lost in him, and the rest of their world fell away.

She could always get lost in him.

…….

Hours later, Greg slouched comfortably against the wall of the back corridor of 'The Blown Change,' listening to Grace's delicate alto slur over the last few notes of an old hymn that Jake had coined into a sultry little number. For a moment he felt a bit like Dick Tracy, hidden away in the folds of the shadows of a smoky bar, all he needed was tilted fedora and a half-smoked cigarette butt hanging from his bottom lip. He smiled, pushing a few wayward curls away from his eyes, and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was determined for this to not be awkward. If they really were getting as serious as Sara had let on, then he needed to play nice with Jack.

He'd rather have a root canal.

Jack Cooper wasn't a nervous man. He could get up on stage every night, play to a house of strangers, spill out intricate riffs on the strings of his beloved guitar. He, by profession, told everyone the contents of his heart each and every set.

Nora's father, however, scared the shit out of him, plain and simple.

He loved her, wanted to have a life with her, wanted to curl up to her each and every night, raise a family with her, watch the world revolve with her hand in his. Somehow he didn't think Mr. Sanders was going to agree. Maybe he was going about this all wrong. Maybe he should have told Nora's mom. Get her on his side. Maybe the best course of action would be to get to him through Mrs. Sanders. She at least was rational. Looking at the familiar figure leaning casually against the corridor, Jack Cooper felt like he was going to throw up.

"Hey, Mr. S." Jack called out a friendly greeting, slinging his case over his shoulder, and extending his hand to Greg. "Glad you got my message." Greg shook the younger man's hand before slipping his hands back into his pockets, and ducking out of the smoky little hallway, and out onto the street with Jack following.

"There's a diner down the street, you want to grab a cup of coffee?" It was as friendly an offer as Greg was going to give out, and Jack threw the older man a grin, nodding.

"Sure. That sounds good." There was a bit of awkward space between them, but Jack shrugged it off, adjusting the guitar case on his shoulder as they crossed the street, his focus halfway caught by the glitter of the newly fallen rain mixed with the dark of the pavement and the sparkle of the yellow streetlight. Greg heaved the archaic metal door open, holding it for his daughter's boyfriend before crossing the threshold himself. The younger man flopped tiredly into a booth, and Greg slid into the bench across from him. Jack took a breath, laying his palms on the tabletop, biting his lip before raising his gaze to meet Nora's father's. Greg Sanders was seated calmly across from him, an unreadable, steely expression over his features. He watched the older man cross his arms over his chest casually, nod a thanks to the waitress who placed two steaming mugs of black coffee on the table before them.

"Thank you." Jack's gaze flicked quickly to the waitress, and he inwardly groaned as his voice cracked with nerves. He watched Greg reach over for a moment, picking out a small packet of sweetener from the caddy against the window, shaking it a few times, then tearing it slowly, empting the contents in his mug.

"Good set." Mr. Sanders started, not bothering to hide the stiffness in his voice. He usually didn't hold grudges, but this one he hadn't been able to shake. Well, he hadn't really tried.

"Thanks." That awkward air was back, heavy between them, and Jack took a sip of burning hot coffee, cringing as it singed his tongue.

"What's on your mind, Jack?" His tone was even, to match his stare, casual to match his posture, but none of that fooled Jack. Fleetingly he thought that this was what Mr. Sanders must look like in an interrogation. He tried not to make it look like he was squirming uncomfortably under Greg's steady gaze.

"I, uh. I'm at a crossroads." Jack picked up his spoon, stirring the drop of cream he had added in a leisurely manner, with a shaky hand. Across from him, Greg cleared his throat, and leaned forward, on his elbows, his hands wrapped snugly around the mug before him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Greg's inquiry was drawn out slowly, and he almost smiled out of amusement as the younger man squirmed, leaning on his elbow, his gaze flickering to the cream he had dipped into his coffee.

"I wanted to run something by you." Jack's features became serious, and Greg cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Okay." Greg couldn't figure why he was so awkward all of a sudden, like they'd never spoken before. After a few moments, Jack Cooper seemed to remember his vocabulary.

"I was thinking, the other day, when I brought Nora to McCarran, because you and Mrs. Sanders were working on that heist thing at the Monaco, and I watched her walk down that corridor, you know, the one to get on the plane? And she just kissed me, and waved, and she was on her way, she'd been working on this mural for this office, and she was anxious to get back to it, and I watched her walk away, you know? And I decided. Right there. I don't ever want her to walk down that corridor by herself anymore. I'm tired of living in one state and having my heart be in another, you know? It's so far away, and we stumbled along in the beginning, and it was tough, but we made it, you know? And I love her, I love her so much it hurts to put her on that plane every time. I go outta my mind when she's not in town, thinking about how she is, and where she is, and how much I just want her around, and I hate that she's in Chicago, I hate Chicago, but I'd go there, you know? For her. I love your daughter, Mr. Sanders. More than anything. More than this town, more than my gigs, more than my damn guitar. I love her, and I don't want to put her on another plane ever again."

"Slow down." He was rambling, and he was thankful that Greg had interrupted him. Greg Sanders held his hand out, stopping Jack from continuing. "Take a deep breath." He did, and he sat back against the hard, dingy cushions of the booth. He dug into his pocket, and pulled out a tiny, sparkling silver ring with a glittery diamond, placing it in the middle of the table. He ran a hand through his hair, making it spike casually.

"I love your daughter, sir."

Oh God. Greg exhaled a breath slowly, focusing all his energy on disguising his feelings from Jack Cooper. He frowned, leaning forward on his elbows, resting his jaw against his hands, staring at the tiny diamond ring.

He was sure beyond reasonable doubt that Nora would say yes. Love the squirming man before him for the rest of her life. His grandchildren would call this man 'daddy.' When Nora went into labor, this man would be the one driving the car. This man was who he would talk down from a frantic panic when Nora kicked him out of the delivery room in an irrational hormonal rage. He'd back Nora up when report cards came, adopt 'yes, dear' as his favorite phrase. Jack would love Nora, and he'd love the children that they would have. He'd be the man standing in the doorway of his children's rooms, making sure they were safe after a long, hard day. Jack would be the man to set the dinner table, to light the candles, to orchestrate surprises on her birthdays. He'd curl up to Nora in the night, hug her fears away, love her unconditionally.

She'd be happy. That was all Greg had ever wanted, really.

"I know we haven't really gotten along that well in the past few years, sir, but I would really like to have you as my father-in-law. Sir." There was a long moment, where Greg didn't move, his calm, even gaze not wavering from the tiny diamond ring between them.

"Is that for my daughter, Mr. Cooper?" He watched Jack bite his lip, and shift nervously in his seat. He'd laugh, if it didn't involve his baby girl. He'd seen too many abusive husbands. Too many domestic cases. Not that Jack would lay a hand on Nora, but he had broken her heart before.

"Yessir."

"Do you love my daughter, Mr. Cooper?" Greg fell halfway into interrogation mode, hardening his jaw and staring straight at Jack, holding his gaze.

"Yessir." Jack didn't hesitate, and his features became somber.

The waitress stopped by, casually leaning over and topping off each mug with fresh coffee. She frowned, glancing from the younger man to the older man, and then to the diamond ring glittering in the florescent light. She was fairly certain that if the older man hadn't throttled the younger man by now, the younger man was safe. She shifted her weight, stepping away from the tension at the table, and shuffled down to the only other occupied table, a couple of nurses from Desert Palms on the night shift.

"You're rap sheet isn't exactly sparkling."

"I know, sir. I was young. Stupid. But I never stopped loving her."

"How can I trust that there won't be a repeat performance?" Despite Greg's serious expression, Jack broke into a nervous smile.

"I love her more than anything, Mr. Sanders. Sir. She is in my very first thought each morning, my very last each night. She's in every single note I play, ever word I sing, everything I do, I do with the intention that one day I will be her husband." He took a deep breath, picking up the tiny diamond ring and turning it over in his hands. "She wants to stay in Chicago."

"So she said." Greg had had a conversation with Nora a few days ago over a few glasses of wine and a Bogart film. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Greg took a long sip of the bitter, cooling coffee before setting the mug down steadily, and leaning over on his elbows, on the table.

"Mr. Sanders-"

"Let me make this simple." Greg's tone was gentle, but severe, quiet, but unnerving. The brown of his eyes darkened, even in the offensively bright light. Jack fought off a wave of panic. "If you intend to marry my daughter, you will love her more than you've loved anything ever before. You will not hurt her, and in the event that you harm even her feelings, you will be a decomposing body in the desert with nothing left of your face for dental impressions, and nothing left of your hands for fingerprints. I will personally tear your bones apart and bury them in a dozen states, and I will personally erase all of your documentation from all of our databases. You will cease to exist. There will be no evidence." Greg took another sip of coffee calmly, his features not acknowledging Jack's halfway panicked expression. "I just want to make sure we're clear, Mr. Cooper."

"Yessir."

"That'll do, then." Greg extended his hand over the tabletop. Jack considered him for a moment, relieved that Nora's father's expression had softened to his normal demeanor. Jack took his hand, shaking it firmly, offering the older man a thankful smile. Greg watched as he fumbled with the ring a bit, tucking it safely inside the pocket of his jeans.

"Those things come in boxes for a reason, Jack." Greg smirked over his mug of cooling coffee as his daughter's boyfriend rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but the box makes me nervous."

……

An hour or so later, Greg Sanders made his way through the crime lab, searching for his wife. She had been called in on a cold case with a fresh lead, and had just returned from the field, the new receptionist had said. He made his way determinedly through the hallways, checking the layout room, Warrick's office, the locker room. He found her bent over a microscope in the garage, playing mentor to Mike Hart, the green CSI level one the department had hired a few months back.

"…Pull it up at 400 mag… okay, now, see how the algae from the grooves on the hammer is a match to the algae from the radiator? Okay, so that's a visual match, but still bring it to Hodges. Be polite. Tell him he's wearing a nice shirt, that way he'll do our stuff faster." Greg leaned against the doorjamb of the garage, sweeping his gaze affectionately over her figure, clad in loosely fitting, faded, navy blue overalls. His wife in forensics overalls was a welcome sight, a rarity these days, and he learned to appreciate moments of this sort of pseudo-voyeurism, even though they were short lived. He smiled, watching young Mikey nod enthusiastically, and then scoop up the assorted evidence to bring to Trace. He greeted Greg with a broad smile, slipping past him with only a mutter of pleasantry.

"Sanders."

"Hart."

The easy tone of her husband's voice caught her attention, and Sara threw a smile over her shoulder at him, turning and peeling off her gloves, taking a few steps towards him to meet him in the center of the garage.

"Hey." His wife always managed to make axel grease and dirt sexy, and now was no exception. Sara had a smear of grease across her cheek, and her wavy curls tied into a messy knot at the base of her neck, curly pieces falling out all over, catching the light, making her appearance turn starkly feminine. He couldn't help himself, and he didn't bother holding back, dropping a loving kiss to her lips. She accepted his reasonable display of affection, arching an eyebrow at him as he slipped an arm around her waist.

"You're off, why are you here and not at home cooking me breakfast?" There was a hint of amusement in her voice, and he pressed another kiss to her lips, taking her hand and twirling her once before pulling her against him again, swaying gently. "Greg?" She shot him a questionable look, but didn't fight him as he twirled her again. He kissed her, mumbling against her lips.

"He bought a ring." She pulled back, her eyes wide, her hand flying to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh, baby, don't cry." He pulled her close, rubbing a hand over her back as she wiped her tears on the shoulder of his jacket. "He hasn't asked her yet." She pulled away only just, kissing him hard.

"She's all grown up, Greg." Sara wrapped her arms around his shoulders tightly, and he breathed in the familiar scent of her curls, shampoo mixed with axel grease and fuel emissions, pressing a few delicate kisses to her neck.

"It doesn't matter how old she gets. She'll always be our baby girl."

……….

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Doing the milestone thing. Spurred from a conversation including my father, my uncles, and way too many martinis. Oh I love family holidays. Title comes from a line in my favorite song from RENT... lol. Only one more left.