[A/N Okay… I promised you a serious Fic, and here it is! *Puts hand in air* I solemnly swear I will finish this even if only one person reviews me! It's a CSI Fic, and will probably have a bit of romance in it. Couples:

Sara/Greg (eventually) and possibly others… depending on whether or not I make them important to the story. Rating PG13 for mature themes (come on folks, it's a story that centers around murders and crime scenes, whaddya expect? And some swearing. ]

It was a rainy night. Not the kind of soft pitter-patter that you'd expect from a city like Las Vegas, an all-out attempt to flood the place.

Sara Sidle sat at her desk, completely oblivious to the fact that outside was somewhat in resemblance to a monsoon. It had been a long day, with a difficult robbery-turned-homicide case that was leading nowhere fast. She flipped through a list of witness statements. Two were alike, but the other four were so different that Sara wondered whether or not they had actually been there, or if the info had been passed around and garbled like a party game with a bizarre twist.

'These are completely contradictory to each other! She though as she flipped through two reports.

One says the shooter was standing to the far left of the room and shot the man in front of him, but the reports indicate the vic was shot in the back, running towards the exit.

If he was standing at the side of the building, how could he have shot him directly in the back---it would be more slanted through him…plus we don't even have the bullet…'

She was interrupted out of her thoughts by a knock at the door. She looked up and saw Grissom standing there. It looked as though he'd been there for a while.

"Uh… yes?" Sara looked up sheepishly. She wasn't supposed to be here, her shift had ended an hour and a half ago.

"Sara, you do realize that you've almost maxed out for overtime this month?" Grissom asked. Sara nodded. He looked at her then continued

"And that it's only the 12th?" Sara blushed.

"It's just this case, I can't figure out what happened. The main info we have is eye-witness, but they can't agree on what happened, and some things," she picked up the paper she had been reading "don't make sense. One man even said the perp left out the back exit, while the other five say he went back the way he came. We have no other evidence except these reports and a few fingerprints."

She looked up, and saw that Grissom was frowning slightly. She waited. And waited. Finally he said:

"Try looking for what they all have in common. Look at the more obvious, sometimes answers are easier to find then they seem."

Sara stared. Not exactly the advice I was hoping for… She grunted a reply, then turned back to her work. Grissom left. Sara shuffled through the papers.

What DID they all have in common?

There doesn't seem to be much except… they all had the shooter coming in through the front door, stopping then walking up to the front desk. Where he stopped and put his hand on the desk to lean over.

She remembered they had checked for prints, but only at the second desk… the perp had walked over to the next adjoining desk after the first and a man came out of the back room. He took a look at what was happening and tried to run, but he got shot in the back. The shooter grabbed the cash then fled the scene.

Sara jumped up, realizing that Nick, her partner was long gone, just signed out and went back to the crime scene. She double-checked for prints, and sure enough she was rewarded with a slightly smooshed set. She did one more check, recalling the information in the reports she had read. She left and went back to the office, planning to get the prints checked and then leave for home.

She walked into the lab, and straight away decided she would check the prints and go home after. The place was strangely empty, but then, it was late, and it had been slow lately. Only her case and one other, an angry

ex-employee had shot his boss in the face and wounded two others. It was practically solved, all that was needed was a little more evidence to make sure he went to jail.

She input the print data into the computer, and waited for the search to find a match. Lethargically, she wandered over to the coffee machine. She was thirsty, and she started it up. It sputtered, but with a well-placed whack on the side, the red light flickered then became a steady glow and it hummed softly. The computer was still searching through prints to find one the same, so she sat down on the couch in the breakroom to wait for them. Coffee or prints, whichever was done first. Her money was on the prints, the coffee machine was prone to spontaneous-breakdown in the middle of brewing.

She waited, then started to feel more and more tired. She closed her eyes and…

"Hey? Sara, you awake? Saaaaara?" She woke up to find someone leaning over her.

"Wha?!" Nice one, Sara, a real ingenious response.

She looked up, and blinked a few times,

Why is everything so blurr- oh. She brushed the hair that had fallen over her eyes. She looked around. Well, she was in the breakroom… and standing over her was… Greg? Why is he here? It's late at night. Isn't it?

"Oh shit!" She sat upright and, knocking Greg out of her way; ran over to the window and threw back the shades.

"You fell asleep last night, I take it." Greg said with a smirk, fixing his shirt which Sara had shoved against in her attempt to see outside.

"What time is it?? Everyone didn't see me here, did they?"

"No, don't worry, it's early. Just me, you, and the crazy janitor." He grinned. "Kinda romantic, isn't it?" He stood there grinning, and wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestivly.

Sara grimaced. "Greg, the crazy janitor would be more romantic than you… even with his 30 or so cats."

He snorted with laughter, it was a long-standing joke between everyone. Pierre Rougeau, the senile old man who cleaned office had a strange hobby. His favorite topic to discuss happened to be his many cats. He could stand grinning and talking for hours on end about his 'precious babies'.

Sara laughed a little, then remembered where she was, she glanced at the wall clock.

"4: 37? Why are you here so early?" he turned to Greg.

"I had some work I had to do on a case… I wanted to get some of it done. Me and the janitor have an understanding, he lets me in, I listen to cat stories." Sara nodded then remembered:

"But there's no work left I thought. All the cases except mine have been solved."

Greg blushed. "Well, it's kind of and old case… I want to get on Grissom's good side, and if I can find something that might help out an old case, he'd be a lot more likely to-" He stopped. "Well, you get the picture."

Sara got the feeling he didn't want to say anything, so she let it drop. She suspected that Greg was afraid that he would get rejected for his idea.

Whatever he wants to ask, it must have be important to him.

She suddenly remembered her case. She walked out of the breakroom, passing the coffee machine.

Yep. Right again, it busted out on us once more.

The machine sat; its light off and no coffee made. She smiled to herself for a second.

Figures. We have to get a new one, all that's left is pop and juice from the machine… which are usually warm and flat.

She walked into the office. Greg followed behind her, curious.

The results had come back, they matched a Dennis Pradine. She frowned.

That name sounds familiar, I can't remember from where… and why is Greg still here?

She turned around and faced Greg.

"Yes…?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"What did the results come back as?" He asked back, completely unflustered by her attempt to get him to leave.

She smiled in spite of herself, even in this ungodly hour of the morning, he managed to be friendly.

Where as I've just been a complete jerk… I need my coffee.

She held up the sheet she had just printed and passed it to him.

"I recognize the name, but I don't know from where." She said.

He studied it for a moment then replied.

"Try your witness reports, maybe that's where you got it from."

Inwardly she scowled. She should have thought of that. She really needed that coffee… She reached up and felt her hair. It has puffed out and knotted together. Her clothes were wrinkled and slept-in, she would go get changed into clothes from her locker. You never know when your clothes would be spattered with blood, so she always had an extra pair.

"I'm going to get changed, these clothes are pretty bad." She paused. "And thanks… you kinda saved me from a big embarrassment, and it would have taken me a while to figure out where to look for the name thing. I owe you."

There, that wasn't soooo bad.

That took a lot, she hated admitting she was wrong. Especially to someone like Greg.

"Any time. And for the owing part…" He grinned rakishly. "You'll pay be back eventually."

She tried to scowl as she walked away, but it turned into a smile in spite of her efforts. His cheerfulness was infectious, she couldn't help herself…

Maybe she would skip that cup of coffee after all.

[A/N- Okay, how did that go? Please, please, lease review! I am, sorry to say, almost exclusively motivated by reviews and emails. The whole 'do it for the sake of getting it done' just isn't my style, so I hope I can get at least one review for the chapter... I'm not expecting much, but hopefully after the third our fourth *rubs hands together* Hehehehe- reveiws!! This is my first, serious fic, I actually plan on making it good enough to read. Well, at least trying to anyway. Well, ta-ta! Remember to walk your goldfish! –Purple Chicken]

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