Just Motivation

Greg is livid after being pulled from the field on a high profile case.

(M for language.)

…………

"Get the fuck off my back, Sara. I can't do this with you hovering over me." Greg didn't take his eyes off the sample in front of him, didn't turn to see the frustration and hurt scribbled across her features.

"Greg, this is a high profile case, protocol indicates supervision of level ones processing evidence. I'm you damn mentor, I'm just doing my damn job." Greg raised the sample to eye level, sucking out the liquid DNA with a pipette.

"Don't start with that. Get out of my lab." His voice had dropped to just above a whisper, in a deadly serious, almost hostile tone that scared Sara, and had her slamming a file onto his counter, and exiting the DNA lab.

He knew that this was a high profile case. He wasn't stupid. Apparently Ecklie thought he was, however, promptly pulling him from the field the minute the identities of the victims were revealed, and putting him in the DNA lab. True, he was solely responsible for the DNA processing in this case, placing the burden of the security and accuracy of the DNA samples on his abilities. Sure, it was a huge responsibility, and he would have to testify to all DNA findings in federal court, but right now he was pissed off. This was the case of a lifetime, and he was stuck in Fucking DNA all over again. Greg Sanders had worked too hard for too long for not enough money to be tossed back into his old lab coat. He twisted nervously to glance at the burners, and note that they were off.

Fuck this lab, and fuck Ecklie. He hated this room.

Greg was already agitated, having been retrieved from the scene and debriefed on his reassignment to DNA by Ecklie himself, like a kid being reprimanded by the principal. Sara had to waltz in from the scene and start pacing for results. Supervising his ass. As far as Greg was concerned, when he was in this lab, on this side of the counter, he was Greg Sanders, Former Head DNA Technician, supervisor of DNA techs, and underling only to Grissom, supervisor of the shift. Sara didn't have a place in that structure, and she was stressing him out.

Sara the Level Three CSI had no control over Greg the Head DNA Tech. There were only fourteen DNA techs with his caliber of qualifications in the country. There were thousands of level threes. Not only was it a different ladder of power, his ladder was on a different wall completely. She could boss him around all she wanted, supervise his every breath, when he was working as a CSI. Right now, this case, he was in the lab, and she needed to get out of it. Stay on her own damn ladder. Suddenly she's all hovering over him, like he can't process a DNA sample. Like he didn't spend two and a half years processing DNA without her in the damn state. It's not like she could help him with the samples.

Greg sighed heavily, regretting snapping at her, and stealing a glance at the doorway of the DNA lab. Of course she wasn't there, she had things she had to do as well. Like process the evidence he collected before Ecklie pulled him out of there by the back of his collar. He was embarrassed more than anything. Poor little Greggo can't handle a high profile case, let's put him back in the lab coat, but not before we ridicule him before his co-workers. For the good of the lab his ass. Vaguely he wondered if he was going to get paid his old salary for the duration of the case. Probably not.

He always joked about their dominant-submissive working relationship. She said jump, he asked how high, she said dance, he asked polka or waltz. She was in charge, and she was driving. He'd love to take charge for once, slam her against the hypothetical wall, maybe that would shut her up, which was what he needed.

………

Sara left the DNA lab, without explaining to Greg that Grissom had explicitly asked that Greg personally process the DNA samples because of the high profile of the case. He had swore at her, something he never did. His quiet, even tone as he threw her out of the lab frightened her, he didn't even look at her when he spoke, didn't try to stop her when she left. She shook her head dismissively as she sat down at the layout table.

Greg ordering her around just then suddenly caused a warm pressure below her waist. She squirmed, putting it out of her mind. She was not turned on by Greg Sanders. No, she was definitely turned on by Greg Sanders. There was no way she was going to get through these samples if he was spilling over into her conscious thought. Maybe she liked it like that. Sara smiled as she leaned over to peer into the microscope. Work. She had work to do. Evidence to process. Conclusions to draw. Suspects to catch. Someone else could explain to Greg that Ecklie pulled him from the field because level one or no, he was still he best DNA technician in the country, and the state of Nevada needed him in the lab.

She let out a frustrated sigh, glancing towards the doorway that she knew would be empty. He was busy with the DNA samples, obviously, and he had wanted to be left alone. He was not going to chase her down this time. When they argued, more times than not he was at her heels moments later, apologizing and tossing her a grin. She glanced up again. He wasn't coming. He only didn't follow her when he was really, really, genuinely angry. Greg was really angry. The quiet 'Say another word to me and I'll punch you' angry. The kind of angry that caused men to shove their wives against walls. Not that Greg was a violent man in any way shape or form. The brief thought of Greg forcing her against anything made the pressure below her waist uncomfortable, and she fidgeted again in the lab seat, trying to shake herself of the image and get back to the task at hand. She was going to have to square with that fantasy some other time. She tore through an evidence seal, glancing at Greg's chicken scratch signature on the collection label. God he was everywhere.

…………

She didn't see him again until Ecklie called them all into the conference room for a briefing on what everyone had found. He didn't say anything to anyone, and leaned against the counter, lab coat still on, contamination mask around his neck, glasses in his hand. Her eyes swept over him quickly, before returning to the tox results in front of her. Do not think about how sexy the jeans and the black tee shirt are. You do not love that lab coat on him, no matter how much that lab coat loved his slender form, occasionally hugging his muscles when he moved. Stop it. He's angry with you.

She made an attempt to focus, listening as Ecklie ran through the evidence that they had, and had become totally engrossed in the case by the time they got to her. She ran through what she had found, latex transfer on the lead pipe, a film consistent with the leftovers of a meth packet on the shoe. When Ecklie turned his gaze on Greg, nodding toward the youngest CSI.

"Sanders."

Greg started to speak, rattling off the results from the DNA contributions on the victims' clothing and from the weapons recovered at the scene, as well as the items he had run for comparisons, and the pending results from half a dozen swabs. His voice was flat, his presentation to the point and without the flair and dramatics that he had always used. She guiltily took the opportunity to observe his movements, watching his muscles flex gently under the lab coat as he stepped forward and slid his results down the table toward Grissom.

"That's it?"

"I processed all the samples." Ecklie picked up on Greg's emotional detachment, and didn't push further. The debriefment was adjourned, and Sara watched as Grissom caught up with Greg footsteps away from the DNA lab.

"Greg, wait up." Greg turned to the older man, a weary expression on his face.

"I can't get the results from the panties of the dead girl if I'm not in the lab, Gris." Greg leaned on the doorframe, waiting expectantly for Grissom to speak.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. I'm fantastic. I love DNA."

"Let me explain."

"Whoa, no, I get it. I'm not stupid." Greg turned and entered the lab, shuffling behind the counter, and slipping on a fresh pair of gloves.

"I asked for you to be in DNA on this case, Greg." Grissom stood on the other side of the counter, but Greg was paying attention to the samples, running them through the processor.

"Thanks. I know, this is the best place for me."

"At the moment."

"You just don't want a level one fucking up your investigation. Hell, you barely let Nick collect evidence."

"This is not about you being a level one-"

"Like hell it is."

"Greg-" Grissom didn't finish his thought, as he was interrupted by Greg slamming his palms on the counter, rattling an empty beaker.

"No. This is not my job anymore."

"Greg-"

"I worked so hard to become a CSI, and all you did was stick me back in this fire ball of a hell hole, where I'm terrified the whole place is going to blow up all over again. You know I hate this room." Greg withdrew quietly, having said his piece, and reached over silently to the processor, delicately handling DNA samples.

"I needed work I could trust."

"You just didn't want me in the field."

"I need the DNA evidence to be solid, and I need someone reputable to stand up for it for the DA."

"Mia's been to court before." Grissom pursed his lips in frustration, leaning in.

"I don't trust her with this. I trust you. You are the best DNA tech in the country. I have made you the only person authorized to handle DNA processing in this case. This is the biggest case the lab has ever had. I need you here, and I need your word on the evidence in court." Grissom paused, as if planning out his words. "I'm not letting any of my CSIs testify." Greg frowned.

"Fine."

"Thank you." Grissom straightened, making his way to the door, pausing at the doorjamb, opening his mouth to speak.

"I'm too pissed off for the song and dance presentation."

"Thanks, Greg."

Grissom left, and Greg was left alone with his scores of DNA samples to collect and process. He didn't notice the hours slipping by, didn't feel that he was getting tired. Greg had fallen back into the groove, even stealing away to his locker while evidence was running through CODIS to grab his iPod, tuning out the sounds and tensions of the lab in favor of a shuffle collection of Marilyn Manson, ACDC, and the Rolling Stones. He turned the volume almost all the way up, and with each song, became a bit more relaxed, only occasionally glancing at the hot plate, and coming to terms with the severity of the assignment from Grissom.

He was just about finished with the swabs, and was moving on the bed sheets when he spotted a mug of steaming black coffee out of the corner of his eye. He tugged the bud out of his ear, and glanced at Sara, who stood on the other side of the counter, her fingers still on the mug. She took her coffee with cream, so this was obviously some sort of peace offering for him.

"Take a break, Greg." Her fingers wrapped around the mug, pushing it toward him, and he exhaled slowly. He was not going to think about those fingers around anything else. Remember, you are angry with her, angry with her and her bossy, pretentious ways.

"I'm not finished."

"Greg, you haven't eaten anything for seven hours. Take a break." Greg raised his gaze to hers, a come back about her giving orders, but decided against it the instant he looked her in the face. She was exhausted from processing the material fibers from the victim's bodies, and probably hadn't had a break herself. But behind the exhaustion were traces of something else, apprehension. She looked at him as if he was going to slug her at any moment, and it shattered his heart into a thousand pieces. His rigid expression dissolved instantly, and he leaned over, head in his hands, elbows on the sterile counter, tension riddling his shoulders. He fought the buckle in his knees when he felt her fingers graze his wavy mess of hair in need of a haircut that he hadn't found time for.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head at her soft apology, and she pulled her hand away, instead pushing the coffee closer to him, and leaning on her folded arms inches away from him. "Look, if you aren't going to eat anything at least down some caffeine." Greg rubbed his hands over his face, and leaned over on his elbows, facing her.

"Thank you." She let the corner of her mouth curl into a smile, and he returned it before glancing over at the CODIS processor. "I'm not tired. I have evidence to process."

"Greg." He was already hearing the argument, already hearing her lecture.

"Please, Sara. I don't want to fight." He sounded tired, discouragement and defeat saturating his usually warm, friendly features. He dropped his hands from his face to the counter, surprised when he felt her fingers over his, startled when she brushed her lips softly against his.

"At least drink the coffee, Greg, you look like shit." She smiled warmly at him, and made a move to step away. He caught her hand just before it left the table, and laid his fingers over hers delicately. When she turned back to the counter, he met her gaze, and she found herself fighting gravity to stay on her feet. His body told her he was tired, weary, agitated. But his eyes had darkened, causing a contrast with the overhead light that made them almost sparkle at her, and the corner of his mouth curved into a small smile.

"What was that?" She barely heard his words, smiling at him in full. He cocked an eyebrow at her, making her smile break into a grin. Sara leaned in, over the counter again, her nose inches away from his.

"Incentive for you to finish processing the DNA on my evidence." Her eyes darted to his lips, and back up to catch his gaze, before she kissed him gently again, pulling away before they drew attention to themselves.

"And that?" There was a soft laugh in Greg's voice, and she ruffled his hair affectionately, stepping away from the counter, toward the door. "Sara."

"Something to mull over while you're on exile. I know how you go on autopilot." She stepped over the threshold, turning back at his voice.

"This is a pretty high profile case, you think we could pick that up after shift?" He was already grinning at her like he used to years ago. She laughed, stepping out into the hallway.

"I'll find you."

"I'll be here." He watched her disappear, grinning to himself as he stuck the earbuds of his iPod back in his ears, and took a long sip from the coffee she had brought him. He still hated this room, but he definitely had found motivation to process the remaining samples.

………

A/N: tried to be all dramatic and create conflict… gave up. fluff, I know.