One

Oh, crap! I think I stepped in dog crap.

Another night, another trip outside with Henry. Honestly, can't the dog urinate by himself? Don't I make him uncomfortable, hovering over him like an impatient vulture? Apparently not, because every night for the past two weeks, I've had to wake up and take the lovable mutt out. I guess it beats cleaning up a nasty little surprise in the morning.

Greg would do it – and he should do it – but I feel guilty about bothering his peaceful slumber over something as trivial as the dog's full bladder. He's been nothing but stressed for the past month, all because of his new position at the crime lab. He desperately wanted to work out in the field, but now that his wish has come true, he's regretting it.

"This is starting to get to me, Matilda," he would whine. "When I was in the lab, I didn't have to see the victims and interact with real people. Now everything is my responsibility."

I had to sympathize with him, but only to a certain extent. I was in the same position as Greg, even though I wasn't dealing with dead bodies and grieving families. Oh no, I was dealing with something much worse: Missy. Since returning to my secretary job, she has been a royal pain in the ass, showering me with both affection and a heavy workload. She'll give me a big hug every morning and be extra nice to me, but only because she has an ulterior motive.

"Matilda, sweetheart," she would commonly say. "You're looking beautiful today. Could you file these reports, answer the phone, and deliver these messages? Thank you darling!"

Blah. It was bad enough that she scratched me with her long red fingernails every time we exchanged papers. Now she was treating me like a workhorse. Ordinarily, I wouldn't let someone walk all over me, but there wasn't much I could do. After all, she is my boss.

My only refuge has been Greg: seeing him at the end of the workday and knowing that we can go home and sleep in our bed, cowboy sheets and all. After the whole Roger ordeal, Greg could be nothing but a complete gentleman to me, escorting me to my car every evening, opening the door, taking care of me when we got home. It was perfect. But as time went on, his considerate attitude wore off and he became a walking zombie. Needless to say, we had little romance in our lives.

I can't blame Greg for acting how he is, though. Grissom is working him like a dog, giving him one huge and challenging case after another. Greg tries to shrug it off, and just says that Grissom is testing him. Still I can't help but wonder if Grissom is testing his investigating skills or his breaking point. I'm sure I have been no Suzy Sunshine either, what with the boss from hell and late night poop breaks with a canine companion.

I waited for Henry to finish his business and stumbled back into the apartment, throwing the dog's leash onto the couch. The bedroom was dark, but I knew my way around well enough to not stub my toe on a piece of furniture. I saw Greg's long figure spread out on the bed, his chest and stomach slowing moving up and down with each breath. Cracking a little smile, I flopped into my spot next to him and elbowed him in the side.

"What?" he asked groggily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Did the dog poop inside again?"

"No," I answered with a bit of annoyance. "I was just thinking."

"About what?" Greg wondered, finally finding the energy to roll onto his side and face me, resting his head in his hand.

"We should go on a vacation," I said matter-of-factly. Despite the poor lighting in the room, I could tell that Greg was looking at me like I had three heads. Vacation was a big step in a relationship – it was so senior citizen, like "let's go to Florida and wait to die!"

"Vacation?" he repeated, as if he had never heard the word before. "Where is this coming from?"

"Oh don't be stupid, Greg. You and I both know that we are being seriously overworked. Even losers like us need a break every now and then." He smiled at my loser reference; Greg and I took great pride in being the coolest nerds in all of Las Vegas.

"I don't have time for a vacation," he reminded me of his full schedule, listing all of his assignments and duties.

"People who say that they don't have time are the ones who need a vacation the most!" I responded, trying to reason with him. What kind of guy doesn't want to leave work and go somewhere private and romantic with his girlfriend?

"Who told you that?" he questioned me. "Oprah?" I rolled my eyes at the Oprah reference and jabbed him in the ribs. So what if I owned the official Oprah workout gear? I'm not obsessed – I swear I'm not. Okay, maybe a little….

Hmmm….maybe a little flattery would change his mind.

"Greg, you have been doing an amazing job at the crime lab," I began. "Everybody knows that you have been working your butt off – including Grissom. I'm sure he won't have a problem with giving you a well deserved vacation."

I wrapped my arms around his body and buried my face into his chest, whispering a muffled "please" into his t-shirt until he said yes. If I was anything at all, I was persistent.

"Okay, okay!" he finally gave in, and I jumped up in glee, planting a whopper of a kiss on his cheek.

Now we just need to figure out where to go….