Still trying to do some research for this one; there's some points I'm not sure about which I will edit later if it turns out I'm wrong, but it's minor so I'll put it out there anyways. Enjoy!

Over the next few weeks Greg tried to find out as much as he could about his office crush. After their initial breakthrough, where he'd sat mesmerized as she told him about the day that had changed her life, he became even more curious. Greg had heard all his life that he was strange, but she was definitely one of the most eccentric people he'd ever met. Her favourite food was salt pork because it reminded her of her mother, but she'd also eat anything put in front of her. She liked to put maple syrup on everything, but wouldn't touch sauces of any other kind. The sight of chicken, cooked in any way, sent her into rapture, and she would always eat it skin first. She had a very complicated system for filing her reports — different pens for each section, and if someone stole those pens she'd be upset for days until she bought new ones. He'd made that mistake one day. She smoked in high school for a week, then quit because her brother took her to a morgue and made her look into a smoker's lungs. It also made her decide to go into science. Her parents died when she was 12 and living in Finland, and her brother had already moved to the US, so she was forced to move in with him while he completed Navy training. It was a trying time for both of them, so she took up running to relieve stress. She knew by heart the names of all the top runners in the world since 1910, and their fastest times. Meanwhile her brother taught her everything he learned during his time off, which had made her almost as well-trained as a SEAL. She could tie 50 different kinds of knots.

She was also an excellent singer, as he found out one day. He often thought back to the incident with fondness. Popping in on his break, as usual, Greg started to say something, until he noticed that Viviane's back was to the door and she was filling out paperwork. Usually she would turn as soon as he came in, but at the moment she had headphones on and couldn't hear him enter, so he moved as quietly as he could to see if he could sneak up on her for once. Evidently the song had come to its climax, because her humming became louder and louder and suddenly she burst into song, throwing her head back and belting it out. It startled Greg so much that he stumbled backwards. After his initial shock he straightened and grinned. She was singing with such exuberance, clearly unaware there was someone else in the room. And she really was a good singer — the notes came easily and her voice was strong. He stood there for a while, enjoying her singing, when the song apparently ended and silence descended on the room. Greg leaned over her shoulder slightly and looked at the music player's screen.

"That was great. What was it?" he asked, quite close to her ear.

Viviane yelped and nearly fell out of her chair away from his voice. Head whipping around, she made a face sheepishly as Greg dissolved into laughter.

"It's my favourite song," she blushed, standing up and sweeping the player off the table into her pocket.

He continued laughing for a while before managing to regain his composure. It was just so unusual to see her surprised by anything — she was almost unflappable most of the time. He finally straightened up.

"You sing really well," he said with a straight face.

"Thank you," she said, huffing adorably. "Now get out." She pushed him bodily out the door despite his protests, grumbling about interruptions while she was trying to work.

______

Greg found her one day rifling through the fridge. He stopped in the doorway and watched her sway to invisible music. He knew he shouldn't be doing it, but he'd managed to control himself so far; what was the harm in a little peek? Busy rationalizing to himself, he didn't see the figure coming up behind him. A heavy hand dropped to his shoulder and made him jump guiltily.

"Doing a little sightseeing there, buddy?" laughed Nick.

Greg flushed red and quickly looked away. Hearing the commotion at the door, Viviane had poked her head out of the fridge. Not wanting to cause his friend further embarassment, Nick pulled him into the room casually and spoke loudly.

"Whatcha doin' there, Viv?"

"Just fixing myself a snack," she replied, brandishing a pickle and a jar of peanut butter. She stared at Greg mischievously, eyes twinkling.

"Pickles and peanut butter?" Nick made a face.

"Yes, sir. It's too bad I didn't bring hot peppers, it's not quite complete without them."

"Gross," joked Nick.

"Says the man who eats flies?" she retorted.

"It was just one fly, and it was a dare!" laughed Nick. "But I see how it is. How about I don't make fun of what you eat and you lay off my favourite foods?"

"Deal," smiled Viviane before taking a bite of pickle.

Nick was paged soon after and left the room in a hurry; Greg had meanwhile recovered from his bout of mortification and settled to watching, fascinated, as Viviane dipped pickles in peanut butter and ate them. Noticing his stare, she fixed him with one of her enigmatic smiles.

"So did you like what you saw?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Just deny, deny until you're out of breath, thought Greg frantically.

"Saw what? What did I see?" he choked out.

"You were looking at my butt, Greg," she said matter-of-factly, licking peanut butter from her fingers.

"No I wasn't," he shook his head vehemently.

"Did you somehow forget that I'm a trained detective, Greg?" she smiled.

"No..." he squirmed.

Why do you have to look so damn bewitching, he asked silently. And that red hair...

Stop licking yourself, he scolded silently.

Perhaps she saw the pleading expression in his eyes, because she dropped the subject and steered the conversation into calmer topics.

______

Coming home after a long night of work, Greg tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and wearily shrugged his jacket off. Carrying it and his backpack in one hand, he nudged open the door to his bedroom with one shoulder and strode into the room. As he entered something inside stopped him in his tracks.

She was on his bed, hair splayed over his blue pillows and legs seductively extended towards him. The wind whistled in through the open window, curtains buffed by ghostly hands. Her skin pricked from the invisible contact and looked at once chilly and molten hot. His eyes, now adjusted to the dim light, travelled over her naked body. He observed how the moonlight glinted off the smooth nape of her neck, ran over her pearlescent belly and down her long legs. The thump of his bags hitting the floor reverberated through the room and the air crackled with anticipation. He remained silent, breathing in the cool night air.

Her moist lips parted and she spoke. "So did you like what you saw?"

"How did you get in?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

"I picked the lock. Did you somehow forget that I'm a trained detective, Greg?"

Her eyes burned holes in his brain. The wind whistled again through the room and he moved as if in a trance, pulling his shirt over his head and letting it drop to the side. His hand ran across his belt to the buckle, hesitating briefly before undoing it and pulling at the waistband. He stepped out of his pants slowly, then took a step towards the bed. She regarded him cooly, but her body rose slightly to meet him and he tensed in anticipation, stepping forward once more. The moment seemed to drag on forever as he finally reached the bed and lowered himself, and their lips connected finally with one electrifying surge.

Greg's eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly. His body felt burning to the touch. After a minute of panicked disorientation he regained his bearings and his heartbeat stilled. He flopped back into the sheets and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling for a long time. Grabbing his pillow and burying his face in it, he groaned to himself.

"Nooo...Greg what have you gotten yourself into?"

______

Greg sat on a bench in the locker room, tying his shoelaces with intense concentration.

Ok, you can do this, he thought. It was just a dream. Just. A. Dream.

As she passed by Sara heard his mumblings and stopped just inside the doorway. She knew she was over-reacting. There was no reason to be angry at him — he was being Greg. She regarded him with a mixture of amusement and irritation. Friendly, caring Greg. Then why did she feel so bitter? He had been spending a lot of his time with her, but he'd augmented it fine by helping her pick out a present and shop, which she hated to do. Sara decided the reason was Grissom's tacit refusal to be neither as affectionate nor as outgoing as Greg. She focused back on him — he seemed to be wrestling with some personal problem. His expression changed often from one of dreamy foolishness to a grimace of frustration.

She tapped her knuckles on the glass of the door to announce her presence. Greg's head snapped up guiltily and his face smoothed into a beguiling smile.

"Sara Sidle. How goes it?"

"Not bad, Greg Sanders. Have I done something to deserve the last name bomb?" she smiled, sitting down beside him.

"Nah, just...messing," replied Greg cheerfully.

He's good at pretending everything's fine, thought Sara. Like a lightbulb, he can turn it on and off.

"How is the lawsuit going?" she asked carefully, not wanting to set him on the defensive.

He tensed, and a pain settled into his eyes, but he shrugged noncommittally. "About as well as can be expected. Grissom hooked me up with a good lawyer, I think."

"When is the hearing?"

"In a month," he said, eyes flicking back down to his shoelaces and wishing he was anywhere else but having this conversation.

"Do you want us to be there?" she searched his face for signs of cracking, but at least for the time being, he was handling the stress well. Or maybe he was just so distracted by a certain someone...

"Is this why you came down here? They sent you to check up on me?" Greg was slightly affronted, though he gave his friends the benefit of the doubt. Truthfully, he'd been so preoccupied with Viviane that he hadn't had a nightmare in a while. The ones with the staring face that accused with burning eyes. It was something to be thankful for, at least, but now that Sara had brought it up it all came crashing back — the guilt, paranoia, and helplessness that had nearly rendered him immobile the first few months after the beating. He could still feel the accusing stare of Aaron James at the coroner's inquest. A sudden shiver tore through him, though he tried to hide it by shifting in his seat. Wanting to quell the conversation where it stood, he placed a hand on Sara's shoulder, faced her and assumed his most winsome face.

"I'm fine, Sara. There's nothing I can really do about it anyways," he said as carefree as he could.

She seemed somewhat mollified, or at the very least she had decided to relent.

"All right, but if you need any of us at any time —"

"I know, I know who to call. I'll take you up on that sometime," he said, winking as he made his exit quickly.

Later when Greg was alone in the garage; the furthest place he could find away from Sara and Viviane, both of whom he was dutifully avoiding, and also doing the most physical labour he could find, he cracked a wry smile.

I sure know how to make life easier for myself, he thought. I can either think about my crummy deal with a family bent on ruining my life and career, or the intense forbidden feelings I have for my co-worker. Wonder which is worse, he grumbled to himself as a wrench screeched against metal and skittered out of his hands. What a day, he thought as he bent to pick it up.

______

That night the lab's rumour mill churned ferociously. After Greg's blowup at McKeen and Grissom, news of the settlement with the James family raced through the halls like wildfire. Greg could hardly decide which was worse; the pitying looks he received as he walked past complete strangers, or the heartfelt offers of help from friends.

The end of his shift found him contemplating a painless, not to mention numbing, sleep via the corner bar; he settled for coffee on the roof. He spent the time glumly waiting for the sun to rise and analyzing his two problems. Deep in thought, he didn't see the figure that stepped out into the roof and stole up beside him. A soft hand touched his shoulder and he turned to look into soft brown eyes. He searched her face quickly for pity, but it was carefully expressionless. Greg was grateful for that, at least.

They stared off into the crimson light for some time, basking in the early morning peace and letting the comfortable stillness soothe. Finally, he broke the silence.

"You heard?"

She nodded slightly. "They're worried down there. You disappeared."

"You weren't?" He wasn't sure if he wanted her to say yes or no.

"I wouldn't assume."

"No, you wouldn't..."

"You've been avoiding me."

Greg glanced at her in alarm, but she was still staring at the horizon. The sunlight set fire to her hair, glorious reds and golds vibrating in a halo around her head.

"Sort of, yeah. I just couldn't deal with much right now, what with, everything..."

The lie felt sour in his mouth, but he dared not tell the truth. The truth is, I had a dream about you, Viviane, and ever since then I can't get you out of my mind. He stared at the side of her face intently, hoping she believed it and that she would forgive him when the time was right. She made no sign of judgement; her face was calm and contemplative.

"I know what it's like," she said.

"What what's like?" asked Greg.

"In my line of work, there were some inevitabilities I had to deal with. That some scumbags will always get away to hook more kids, or sell guns to thugs on the street. That those guns will come back to me as evidence in the killings of innocent civilians."

"Bet you never killed those civilians yourself though," sighed Greg bitterly.

"I have never killed an innocent civilian, Greg," she said, turning to face him. "And neither have you."

Greg stared at her uncertainly. Her gaze was direct, penetrating, and as he looked into her eyes he found himself nodding. It was true, sort of. The events of that night had begun to blur in his mind; he was starting to believe what they were saying about him, and it wasn't right. But there had been no one else there...and had Demetrius really picked up the rock? Or had he imagined it?

"You didn't imagine it, Greg. You mustn't start doubting yourself."

"Does it ever get any easier?"

"Yes, it really does. And no matter what they say, you'll know what really happened. The people that matter will believe you."

"Like you?" asked Greg with a raised eyebrow.

"Well I wouldn't say that I matter in the grand scheme of things, but I do believe you." She smiled at him, then turned to stare at the rising lump of gold in the sky.

"Yeah," said Greg, satisfied and for once at ease. They watched the sun rise in silence.

"I found your stash of Hawaiian," she said after a while.

"That's ok," he replied, laughing for the first time in days.

"I'll keep it away from them."

"Thanks."