That Sidle Scent
"I know that Sidle Scent" - Greg, Fannysmackin'
"Not in so many words" - Greg, A La Cart
Greg knew the Sidle Scent well.
Actually, he knew many things well but kept them mostly to himself. His mind cataloged everything he saw, read, and heard for future reference, and rarely did he forget things. He could tell from the sound of the footsteps who was approaching; he had the periodic table memorized down to atomic weights; if he had any interest in baseball, he could be a statistics expert. Greg did his best not to publicly flaunt his ability; he wanted to wait and become an eccentric middle-aged scientist, not be a young show-off punk.
His first whiff of The Scent was caught in the fall of 2000, when Sara came in for her grand tour accompanied by the lab's then Assistant Director. Greg normally would not waste his time figuring out the scent of each person he met but hers was different, one he knew he had never before smelled. It wasn't quite feminine, but not masculine either; a crisp, clean smell.
Her tour guide paused at the threshold, gestured toward his work space, and was poised to move on. Instead Sara smiled at Greg and engaged him in a brief, friendly conversation about his lab's equipment. Her kindness was a pleasant surprise to Greg, since Sara was only going to be in town for a few days - a couple of weeks max. It was during the conversation, when she made a Grissom-esque pun requiring highly specialized knowledge, that Greg thought, "I wonder if the lab in San Fransisco needs a DNA tech?" But as it turned out there was no need to update his resume, because Sara Sidle moved her things and her scent to the Las Vegas Crime Lab.
If Greg could go back in time and relive those first three years with Sara he would be more mature around her instead of channeling his inner seventh grader. He would show her he was genuinely interested in a relationship with her, not act like a schoolboy with crush on his math teacher. Maybe then he could have stood a fighting chance against all the other lab techs, CSI's, coroners, and EMT's vying for her attention and affection. That she saw Hank Peddigrew as at least one step above him was a blow to his ego and the catalyst for his eventual reinvention.
The years went on. Greg stepped out of his DNA lab into the field and there found an easy friendship with Sara. In him she found a protege, someone with whom she could share the vast knowledge she was quickly amassing. He, in turn, was now guaranteed minimum of eight hours a day for at least five days out of each week with Sara. Instead of worshiping from afar, he could now bask in her glory from mere feet away.
The proximity also meant that Greg could now solve the riddle that had been plaguing him for the last five years: the source of Sara's distinct aroma. He had caught himself, on more than a few occasions, cracking the tops of bottles of body wash from drugstores to specialty shops in the mall, hoping to find a match. He had concluded that whatever it was, it couldn't be bought in any store.
One day at the end of shift, Sara received a call from Brass about their suspect's apprehension. In her haste to be present for the interrogation, she forgot to shut her locker door. Greg saw the perfect opportunity and stole a quick glance at her body wash under the guise of protecting his friend's personal belongings.
San Fransisco Soap Company, Rosemary Mint. Organic, of course. No synthetic fragrances. Judging from the lotion bottle and face scrub beside it, she had the whole set. Pricey, from the look of the packaging. She probably had to special order them online.
With the newly acquired knowledge, Greg felt that he was getting closer to unraveling the mystery that was Sara Sidle. The skin care products spoke of a woman who was willing to put her time, effort, and money into looking and feeling well without standing out, and Greg fell just a little deeper in love.
Greg's heart broke on what started out as the best day of his life. He had just seen his first case go from the crime scene to the courtroom, gotten wined and dined by the Assistant District Attorney, and broken in his brand new far-too-expensive court suit. He was walking down the hall feeling on top of the world when he smelled Sara coming toward him. He couldn't wait to gloat and tell her all about his day. He looked up and was met not with Sara's smiling face, but the trademark scowl of concentration on the face of his boss.
Grissom not only made fun of his suit, but gave him a new assignment even though he had just been in the courtroom all day and was technically not even scheduled to work. At least he got to run point on the case; it would give him time alone to think of the implications of what he had just observed as he drove to the scene. Maybe Grissom had gotten messy at work and had to borrow her soap for the locker room showers. But Greg knew that was highly unlikely because first of all, Grissom never got messy while on the clock, and second, if on the off chance he did he would surely be prepared for cleanup. Even if he did have to borrow soap, he would have asked one of the guys or stopped at a store; he wouldn't have asked Sara. He ran through many explanations in his mind, but only one thing made sense: He had used Sara's body wash - at her home or his, it didn't really matter - and was comfortable in doing so because they already shared things far more intimate than skin care products. The thought was depressing.
So while he was getting pummeled by a street gang, Greg's only thought was, "I guess being beaten to death would be the perfect way to end a shitty day."
The weeks of Greg's recovery were painful to say the least. His doctors and physical therapists did their best to heal his physical wounds, but he had to work out the emotional scarring all on his own. The task was even more difficult to manage with Sara's constant presence and words of care and concern. While it was refreshing to be around her, it was laced with the knowledge that she was not and would not ever be his. But time eventually healed his wounded body, pride, and heart.
The months passed and Greg kept the discovery of the relationship to himself. He could now see the undertones when Grissom and Sara interacted, but only because he was looking for them. Whatever was going on between them, they made sure it stayed out of the lab and for that he was grateful. He did his best to be there for Sara during Grissom's sabbatical without letting on that he knew she was lonely. He invited her to hang out slightly more than usual but not enough to arouse suspicion, and not once did he invite himself to her home, wherever that was these days. Four weeks later, he let her go once again.
The second time Grissom came to work smelling like his significant other, Greg decided he'd had enough. On the way back to the lab from a scene with Sara, he made up an excuse about needing to restock on hair gel for a hot date after shift (he left out the part where the hot date was his mother who had dropped by for a visit), so they stopped in a drug store.
He found his product fairly easily and fought off the disturbing mental image when Sara joked with him about needing condoms as well. Walking towards the cash register, Greg spotted his chance for the confrontation.
"Hey, while we're here, you should probably pick up some of whatever it is that Grissom uses." He said, pointing down the aisle with bars of soap and bottles of body wash.
"Um...What?" Sara asked with with the raise of an eyebrow.
Upon seeing her expression, Greg realized it must be a mannerism she picked up from Grissom. She never used to raise her eyebrows.
Greg took a deep breath. "Well, he came in smelling like Rosemary Mint today and..." You can do this, Greg. "and well...I just figured he, ah...ran out of his and had to use yours?"
An awkward silence began, with each searching the face of the other for some sign of what their friend was thinking. After nearly a full minute of the staring contest, Sara conceded with the slow release of breath Greg hadn't realized she was holding.
"Yeah, I probably should." Sara replied in a near-whisper.
They made their way down the aisle and she quickly chose the product: Irish Spring, Original Scent.
"That figures," Greg thought, "He's probably been using that since it was introduced in the mid 70's"
The pair paid for their purchases and together they left the store. They were heading to to car when Sara stopped.
"Listen, Greg..." Sara's voice trailed off. Obviously she didn't know what to say, but knew she had to address the issue somehow.
Greg cut in before she could form a sentence.
"It's okay, Sara. I've known for a while and I haven't said a thing. I'm happy for you, really, I am. I just..." Greg kept his eyes on his feet. "I want the Sidle Scent to stay yours. It kind of adds insult to injury to smell it on him, that's all."
From Sara's sharp gasp, Greg knew that the truth had just dawned on her during his monologue. He looked up and saw that her face was marred with guilt over the fact that she had broken his heart without knowing that it was hers to break.
"Oh, Greg, I'm so sor-"
"Don't," He interrupted, "It's alright. Okay?"
Sara paused.
"Okay," She replied, and they continued on to the lab.
The end of shift found Greg in Grissom's office updating him on he and Sara's progress. They talked through possible theories and went over the list of suspects. Greg wondered if Sara had told Grissom about their conversation, but it remained unmentioned. He said his goodbyes for the evening, got up from his chair, and made to leave the office.
"Oh, and Greg?" Grissom asked before he crossed the threshold.
"Yeah boss?"
"I'll make sure I use my own soap from now on."
"That's all I ask." Greg paused, then added, "Be good to her."
Grissom gave a slight nod, which Greg returned.
And until the relationship became common knowledge, they never spoke of it again.