A/N: I promised a preview of the next fic in this series so here's not one, but TWO samples (finally)! My normal laptop broke down, but I've been working on it in a notebook. I want to get it nearly complete before I start posting so that readers don't have to wait so long for updates.

*I'm currently using an old computer of mine that has Ubuntu installed, and I just can't get decent quality when I try to make GIFs. I miss PS! So for those of you that also follow me on Tumblr, I promise I haven't given up on my Greg/Eric GIFsets, I just don't currently have the ability to create them.

Coming soon…

Cursing himself for being so absentminded, Greg walked back to the apartment then froze with his hand hovering over the doorknob. He'd locked it because Sara was in the shower. His key was likely dangling right by the mailbox key inside of the apartment. This day needed a reset button. Greg knocked, hoping that Sara was out of the shower and could hear him.

The door opened, but only as far as the chain allowed. An elderly black woman eyed him warily through the crack.

"Oh, I'm so—" Greg glanced up at the brass apartment numbers that labeled the door. 18. That was his number. Unless… "I'm on the wrong floor. I'm so sorry, Ma'am." He spun and retreated toward the stairway, hanging his head and blushing furiously. He hoped he never ran into that woman again. When he was back in the enclosed stairway something made him look at the inside of the door, which was labeled at each floor with that floor's number. According to the number, this was the 14th floor.

That's my floor.

Unless someone was switching numbers around, that should have been his apartment.

He looked up the stairs, then down. Opened the door, closed it again. Finally, Greg cautiously retraced the route to his apartment door, seeing that it was the same as it always was—including a couple of minutes ago. It would be an impressive task to mess up; it was a straight shot down the hallway from the stairs. His fist paused above the door's surface, poised to knock, but his nerves forced him to lower it once more.

Greg didn't want to bother that woman again.

But this is my place.

That poor old lady you just about gave a heart attack to would say otherwise.

"Okay, okay," he whispered to himself, holding his head in his hands. "Pull yourself together."

"Greg? Are you alright?"

He had been so entangled in his internal conflict that he didn't hear the door open. Sara now stood in front of him, just outside the entrance-way to their apartment. Where just a few minutes ago an old lady stood wondering why the hell he was knocking on her door.

Two weeks later…

Sitting up then resting carefully onto her backside, Sara removed the backpack from her shoulders and opened it. Neither of the cellphones had a signal, and she swore. She looked around at the wilderness and estimated that she and Greg were maybe a ten-minute walk from camp. That was, if either of them felt up to walking anytime soon. Because Sara's leg was clearly broken and Greg was still unconscious.

At least they should have plenty of daylight left.

To do what, exactly? To contemplate exactly how screwed we are?

Because at this point they both needed medical attention. Without a cellular signal, their best chance would be to head back to the rental car, which would be another two-hour hike.

Sara was having a hard time remembering why she ever enjoyed camping.

'Goes Without Saying' by gregszandles (Part II of the 'Just Getting Started' series)

…In which a mandatory vacation allows Sara to meet Greg's cousin Jerker in Smedjebacken, Greg loses his mind, and we learn that bears are not naturally nocturnal.