TITLE: When the Rain Comes

A/N: This is the sequel to my first Sandle story, "A Balancing Act". Thanks for all the wonderful reviews of that story, and I hope ya'll enjoy this one just as much. This plot bunny actually came to me before the one from the first story did, but I just had to write the other story first.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of the characters…just borrowing them for a while!

Pairing: Sandle.

Rating: T

Synopsis: Now that Greg and Sara are finally together, will they stay that way? An old flame of Greg's shows up and jealousy and danger get in the way of his and Sara's happiness. Will it ultimately be enough to ruin their relationship?

Ding-dong.

Sara jumped out of her bed at the sound of the doorbell ringing. She padded to the door of her Las Vegas apartment in bare feet, boxers, and a tank top. "I was almost asleep," she grumbled to herself. She'd just gotten off shift. They'd solved a case and Grissom had let them leave early. Drunk father kills kid, covers it up. Sara hated these cases. They took their toll on everyone, and Sara was exhausted. "Who in the heck-" she swung the door open, to be met by her grinning boyfriend, standing there, still in his DaftPunk t-shirt, leather blazer, and jeans, carrying just a blanket.

"Greg!" She leaned forward to give him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. "What are you doing here? You should be in bed. It was a hard shift." She opened the door wider to allow him in, but he stayed where he was, motioning her to come out to him.

"Are you crazy, Greg?" she asked good naturedly, smiling at him in slight puzzlement.

"Come on," he said mysteriously, "it's a surprise. You'll see." He once again motioned for her to join him.

"I'm in my pajamas and bare feet. What are you up to, anyway?" she asked, yawning wide.

"Aw, come on. No one is going to see you but me, and I think you look beautiful, Sara," he said, sweetly smiling at her.

She smiled. "Well, in that case…" she began teasingly. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her gently out the door. She pulled back, quickly slipping her feet into the pair of sandals that lay next to the door, then let herself be led out the door.

He led her through a rusty door, up the apartment service stairs.

"Where are we going, Greg?" she asked curiously.

"Well, we're going up the stairs at the moment," he replied, with a mischievous tone to his voice.

She laughed. "I know that, I mean where are you taking me?"

He smiled. "You'll see."

He led her up to the roof of her apartment building. There on the roof lay a wooden crate. On the crate sat a bottle of wine, two wine glasses, and a candle, its flame flickering gently in the light breeze. "I thought," Greg said, "you and I could lay here and watch the sun come up." He was looking at her expectantly, hoping she would like it.

She turned to him and smiled. "Greg," she said, "it's perfect." She moved closer to him, leaning her body against his, putting a hand on his face. "You are the sweetest guy I could ask for. Thank you." She gently brought his face closer to hers and pulled him into a slow, sensual kiss.

As they pulled apart, he cleared his throat, almost nervously. "Wow…I just got here and it's already worth it. You," he pointed at her, "are a good kisser, Miss Sidle."

"Wish I could say the same for you," she said kiddingly. Laughing at the phony injured look on his face, she took the blanket from him and spread it out next to the crate. He sat down, knees against his chest, and she sat down in front of him, leaning back against his knees. He poured the two of them glasses of the wine and handed her one. For the next two hours, they alternated between comfortable silence and conversation, savoring the wine and holding each other, watching the sky turn from black to gray to pink to orange to yellow as the sun slowly made its way to the horizon.

The sun was finally up, just breaking over the trees, heralded unnecessarily but sweetly by the occasional song of a Western Meadowlark. Sara's head was resting back on Greg's arm, and his limb was slowly falling asleep.

"Sara?" he whispered, gently touching her on the shoulder. When she didn't answer, he leaned forward. Her eyes were closed, and her chest was rising and falling slowly and methodically. She was asleep. He smiled, gently sliding out from under her and laying her gently down on the blanket. He pulled off his jacket, covered her with it, and laid down next to her, pulling her close against his chest. She stirred unconsciously in her sleep and nestled even closer to him. He held her tightly, closing his eyes in complete contentment as he eventually drifted off to join her in sleep.

Sara cracked the egg's hard white shell, watching as the white and the yolk slid together down into the pan and began bubbling slowly. "Greg, watch that toast! The button sticks and it'll burn."

"Whoops!" Greg popped up the slightly blackened toast. "I hope you don't mind a few carcinogens with your toast," he joked.

"That's a myth, Greg," Sara explained. "Burned toast just tastes harmful."

"It is not a myth, it is an unproven theory." Greg corrected her. "Big difference."

"Yeah, whatever, 'He-Who-Knows-Everything.' Remind me why we're having breakfast food at noon again?" She tried to flip the eggs over, but they were stuck fast to the pan. "Ooooh," she said dejectedly, "this is a mess. I'm sorry, Greg," she said as she dished the destroyed eggs onto their plates, "I'm far from a five star cook."

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm allergic to five star food anyway," he joked, trying to make her feel better.

Sara raised her eyebrows. "Are you? That's too bad, Greg, because I was thinking that maybe we could go to Renoir's for dinner tomorrow night. Nick told me I should take you there. You know I don't eat meat, but he said something about them cooking the best ribs he's ever had…"

"Well, I forgot…I'm not allergic to Renoir's, just everywhere else," he hastily corrected himself.

"Oh, is that right?" she laughed, turning and kissing him on the cheek, then looking him square in the eyes. "Have I told you I love you?"

He grinned from ear to ear. "Well, yeah, but you know, it doesn't hurt the ego to hear it again a few times. We'll go to Renoir's for dinner tomorrow then?"

"It's a date." Her cell phone began to ring from its spot on the living room coffee table. "Whoops!" Sara tossed the pan into the sink, where it landed with a loud clatter, and then she hurried into the living room to grab her phone. "Hello? I'm sorry…it was turned off…I must have turned off the house ringer too…ok…bye."

She turned to Greg with a grimace on her face. "That was Grissom. He's been trying to get a hold of both of us. A small private jet crashed with about 15 fatalities and they need all hands on the scene. He needs us now. There goes breakfast."

"Breakfast is…no great loss," Greg deadpanned, ducking as Sara threw an elbow at him that flew past his head.

TBC

Yes, I know it's a slow start…I promise it'll speed up next chapter when another woman comes into the picture!

Please hit the little blue button and send me a review! I would love that.