Greg was seized by an uncontrollable urge to quit. To just slam down the stick and walk out of the bar. Who would really care? To them it was just a tournament. There were no lives at stake, no feelings in the balance. People, Greg tried to convince himself, he meant people, not feelings.

Sara looked up from her second shot. She was two balls ahead and Greg had managed to keep a silent cool and not engage her conversation. Sara had let it pass but now was pressing him as to why they weren't talking. After all, it shouldn't ruin anyone's game. She was a late entrant and he was the only loser who was trying to re-enter the tournament.

Greg managed to pass a few mumbling minutes while watching her shoot. He could dismiss most of her inane chatter while he was shooting. Sara did seem genuinely curious about where he had learned to play though. She claimed the mannerism seemed too different from his own.

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Greg turned from a very stressful bank shot and Sara smiled innocently.

"The style is just well, how should I put this? Not quite as masculine as you've been in the past."

"You never thought I was masculine." Greg stated blankly as he moved toward his stool.

"Well, it's not as though you flaunted it. But I was just wondering who you'd let influence your style." Sara bent forward, only seeming to half-concentrate while she shot. Another ball flew into a pocket.

"Hey, it's my business who I take lessons from."

"No need to get defensive, Greg. I was merely stating a fact. There were only a few times I ever saw you chummy with Nick and Warrick. Most times..."

Greg stared her down, boring holes through the back of her head. "Lab work is not feminine."

"Classically it is. Attention to detail, precision, organizational skills, multiple tasks to complete at once. Most of the great forensic labs in the country, minus the autopsy rooms, are driven by women."

"So?" Greg squeaked with just enough anger to blow his concentration. What was Sara trying to drive at?

"I was just wondering who taught you to play pool. Again, you don't have to get defensive about it."

"Someone stepped up to help me." Nick stated without a hint of ferocity in his voice.

The door clanged as it opened, light blinding them both as they looked over. Nick entered the building and surveyed the pool tables over the chaos. Greg silently cursed himself. If there was one time that he did not want Nick here, facing off against Sara was that time. Nick's face flashed with surprise before a poker mask dropped down upon it.

"Sidle." Nick stated the fact without a proper question, just slightly drawing out the name.

"Nick. I take it that you're as surprised to see me as Greg was."

"I'd say so. Mind telling us what you're doing back in Vegas? I mean, I would think Grissom would say something..."

"Grissom doesn't know." Sara was quick to shoot Nick down.

"Why not tell Grissom? Weren't you two..."

"Whatever we were doesn't matter. We can't be that now."

"So why are you back in town, Sara?" Greg mimicked the question she ignored from Nick.

"I'm here on business, convention. Just happened to have some free time and stopped off at an old haunt."

Nick bit his lip for a moment, the taste of Big Red dancing on his tongue. "There's a couple pieces of this puzzle that don't fit."

Greg looked up from his stool. "Just a couple?"

"Well, yeah, Greggo. First off, a recovering alcoholic shouldn't be going back to a bar she used to haunt. And second..."

"Hey! I beat my addiction. Just like I'm beating Greg." Sara smirked at her remark.

"You're only a ball ahead." Greg used his pool cue to make his point.

"Regardless, it doesn't hold power over me anymore."

"Fine, that's just fine Sara. Congratulations. But my second point... convention? I think you can do better than that." Nick pinched his brow with his forefingers out of exasperation.

"Think so? I don't have to explain myself. I just beat Greg. Sorry Sanders. Looks like you're out."

Greg didn't move for a second or two. Was it possible that Sara knew what was going on and had a plan? She had just wiped him out of his second chance. Greg left the bar not with a defeated attitude, but with far more questions in the foggy part of his brain than answers. Greg spent the next two days going through the motions of work while avoiding Grissom. He didn't want to have to lie and Lord knows Sara would get herself in enough trouble if Gil found out. Greg also forced Nick to swear he wouldn't tell. That had been a conversation for the record books.

Greg was convinced it was better for everyone involved. Unfortunately, she disappeared and reappeared only at competitions. Sara was good at hiding, a trait she probably perfected while off the wagon, and Greg wasn't as stealthy as he would have liked to have thought. Nick declined his invite to tail Sara all over town. Truth be told, Nick just wanted her gone. Didn't want to think about what seeing her did to him. Not since he and Greg had begun private lessons.

Sara just kept winning, but then again so did Nick. Their brackets opposed and parried each other so often that Greg wouldn't even come to the games anymore. Nick preferred it that way. As stressed as he was about Sara getting in the way or something happening, he couldn't risk Greg getting in the way as well. It was better for all parties and for Nick's tension if Greg pretended he was watching television or something, not climbing the walls waiting for his "Desperado" ring tone to sound.

"So...you and Greg? That's surprising." Sara smiled warmly, watching her shot compliment Nick's opening.

"It's really not your business."

"You don't think so?"

"That's correct." Nick sunk a bank shot just to prove his point.

"Funny, doesn't an ex usually have some sort of say, approval or not?"

"And why should I care if you approve? And who said anything was going on between us?"

"I can tell." And Sara shot a purple ball into the same pocket as Nick just to prove her point.

"Doesn't matter what you can tell. Only matters what is."

"You afraid I'm gonna share a dirty secret of yours?"

Nick slammed the butt of his cue quietly on the ground. "Go back to San Francisco, Sara."

"And what? Miss you getting all defensive and angry? You're still kind of cute when your nostrils flare."

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

Sara set up her shot. "That's where you're wrong, Nick. And you'd better start paying attention or someone might lose something."

Nick's throat went dry. "You know, don't you?"

"Seems pretty obvious to someone doing any sort of detective work."

Nick spoke low while setting up his shot. "Then you know how dangerous it is."

"We used to put our lives on the line for each other all the time, Nick."

"Unnecessary risk is not part of the job."

"Unnecessary risk is the job, Nick."

"Go back to San Francisco, Sara."

"I can't do that."

"You have to."

"This is the last game of the tournament. You know he'll be here."

"What makes you so sure it's a he?"

Sara shrugged. "Foot patterns, type of attack. Cowardly, less heat of passion. Probably male and most likely Caucasian considering his choice of venue."

"Then you have been listening to scanners. The cops'll save my butt Sara, not yours."

Sara shook her head. "No one will be able to save anyone else. But you, you have more to lose. Let me do this."

"Go home Sara."

"I have to make a call. Need a break? Or how about a tie?" Sara smirked at Nick and he scratched his head and she whispered to a judge. Nick tensed. What was going through this girl's mind?