Noon

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Greg receives an unexpected phone call. GregSara.

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Takes place a few minutes before noon on Tuesday, February 19th, 2007.

…

Sara Sidle snuggled into her bedding, grinning lazily as she felt Greg's arm curl protectively around her waist. His fingers splayed out along her stomach, moving with even pressure along her hip, slipping out from beneath her camisole and coming to rest at the waistband of her panties. Their case last night had been difficult, and she was relieved to see a resurfacing of his more affectionate tendencies.

He had worried her, going to bed still battling the demons that had been circling like vultures around the Las Vegas Metropolitan area. She fought off a smirk. He'd always be her student, even years later, when his hair had grown out and there were a few suits in his closet. The easy, even rhythm of his breathing told her he was still asleep. She relaxed against him, biting back a sleepy moan as he pressed a drowsy kiss to her shoulder, cuddling into her.

Something was ringing.

Sara groaned, the piercing jingle of Greg's cell phone cutting through the silence of the apartment. She wriggled against him, twisting to lie on her back, nudging him with her arm.

"S'that Gris?" He grumbled, rubbing his eye and sitting up, glancing around bleakly, an expression of disorientation hanging tiredly on his features. "Mine or yours?"

"Yours." She cringed, protesting as he leaned on top of her, reaching under her side of the bed and retrieving his phone. "Greg, gerrofffme." She couldn't help but smile, laying a hand along the soft, worn material of his undershirt as he stretched across her stomach. Sara lay back into the pillows, listening to him answer the call.

"Sanders." He shifted again, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm, frowning. "Hey." His tone turned soft, and he sat up, brushing off her fingertips, listening intently to the person on the other end.

"Did I wake you?"

"Well, yeah. I'm on nights, you know that." He smiled into the phone, and he watched as Sara settled back down into the covers, the smooth of her shin lying casually beside his.

"I'm really sorry, Greg."

"S'allright." He reached out, running his fingers along Sara's leg, offering her a partly seductive smile as he spoke into the phone. "You were never one to call outta the blue, what's on your mind?"

"I need your opinion."

"The blue dress. Brings out the sparkle in your eyes." He cradled the phone between his shoulder and his cheek, smirking as she was momentarily caught off guard, and laughed softly.

"Your professional opinion."

"Ah. Hardball. What's up, then?" Sara closed her eyes, listening to Greg transition into the persona he picked up for the county.

"My case back home is going to trial. The DNA evidence might have been compromised in storage." Lindsay Monroe sat on the hard wooden bench outside courtroom 3 in the Gallatin County Court House; file open over her thighs, holding her cell phone against her ear.

"Run it." Greg crawled out of the covers, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hand, his attention intently focused on his ex-girlfriend as she delved into the specifics of the file and the case report. Sara closed her eyes, listening to him shift back into the world he had lived in as a lab tech, a mix of lab and forensic jargon falling off his lip casually. She curled up to his pillow, breathing in the scent of shampoo and a double shift, breathing a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose, mumbling phrases and terms she hadn't heard from him since he'd moved into the field.

"What was the solution for the bacterial suspension?" He paused, listening, before nodding. "Okay, no, that's good. Pre-treatment with sodium dodecylsulfate, yeah." He sat up. "Ten percent. Bovine Serum. Boil, yeah." There was a long pause, interrupted only with scattered mumbles of approval.

A few minutes later, Sara rolled over on her back, making out his figure in the muffled light that had evaded the blackout curtains. "Purification? Sodium acetate. Ethanol." He leaned over her, pressing a silent kiss to her forehead. "One hundred percent, then seventy." He pulled away from her suddenly, however, attention rapt by the voice on the other line. "Linds, no, they're lying to you." He frowned, sitting up again.

"No, procedure is minus seventy degrees Celsius, but years ago that wouldn't have been the case." He arched an eyebrow, nodded at what he was being told. "Yeah, but you can still get a match. The sample will be severely degraded, but a pure match, or a match using mitochondrial DNA is possible, even after that long." Suddenly he was out of bed, and making his way to the bookcase lining the wall. "Hold on, I got their number."

Sara watched through heavy eyes as his fingers scanned along a row of binders and texts that used to line a shelf in the DNA lab. His personal collection, notes and commentary on procedures, musings of contexts, bizarre cases he had worked. He moved easily through the paperwork and reference material, the sharp focus of his work persona flashing in his shoulders. He amazed her, although it had taken years for her to admit it.

"Get them to run it if they have the equipment, but send it to Virginia just the same. Sometimes the name brand is more convincing, you know?" He picked out a binder and set it on the desk beside the bookshelf, flipping through the pages expertly. "Okay. The Mitochondrial Lab's number is 486-555-0973. Director's extension is 8681." He flipped shut the binder and stepped to the side, sliding it back onto the shelf, breaking into a smile. "Not a problem. I'd run it myself if I wasn't in Vegas." After a moment he laughed softly. "Nah, I can do that in my sleep."

"Thank you so much, Greg." Lindsay's voice wavered slightly, and he could tell she was struggling to remain professional. It'd been several years since he had seen Lindsay Monroe, but the details she had hesitantly shared with him concerning the massacre in the coffee shop remained as clear in his memory as the sparkle of her smile, the sound of her laugh, the feel of her skin against his.

"Anytime. Keep me posted." Sara heard his tone soften again, and a twinge of heat she recognized as jealousy burned in her chest. She'd only ever heard that tone when he was speaking to her.

"I will."

"Good luck." He paused, stifling an amused laugh. "Yeah, bye." He flipped the phone shut, tossing it onto the desk, and closed the distance between himself and his bed quickly, climbing over Sara, and into the covers. He reached for her immediately, and she let him pull her to him, sighing as she felt his body curled snugly against hers. He didn't speak for several minutes, pressing, instead, a series of kisses to her shoulder.

"Who was it?" She mumbled, twisting in his grasp and cuddling into him, running a hand through his wavy curls and touching her forehead to his companionably.

"Girlfriend I had in Grad School." His words were soft, and she didn't bother resisting the urge to kiss him. "She needed DNA advice."

"Plaintiff or defendant?"

"Witness." He sighed, wrapping his arms around her tighter, pulling her closer. "Crime's almost twenty years old, she had a question about the storage of the DNA evidence."

"Hope everything works out."

"Mmhmm." He closed his eyes, already on his way to falling asleep.

"You break her heart?" Sara pushed him over on his back, letting him take her with him, lying on top of him comfortably. He smiled, and after a moment, shook his head.

"Not even close. But she shattered mine to pieces." He ran his fingers along her skin, beneath the flimsy camisole that hugged her torso. "Are we sleeping, or are we already awake?" The teasing tone of his voice made her smile, and she shifted against him, grinding her hips into his, making him groan softly. He didn't need anymore encouragement, leaning up to catch her in a provocative display of affection, running his tongue along her lips, parting them, pulling gently at her bottom lip, making her whimper, and fidget against him. She spoke, mumbling against his kiss, losing herself already.

"We got plenty of time, it's only noon."