AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Jenn Sidle, TheMusicalPoet & Tabby Bee – thanks for reviewing! I'm glad that you are enjoying it.

Lemonjelly – I'm not quite sure where my allegiances lie with CSI partnerships yet but fancied a stab at a GregSara fic, just to play with a few ideas. I've taken a look at your C2 and I hope that this chapter doesn't disappoint.

SpeedRacer15 – Thanks very much for the tips –VERY useful (and I hope you see that they have been put to good use in this chapter!) I've only skated once before myself and seemed to eat a lot of ice - it never occurred to me that it might be easier with a stick! And as for who they are playing, my idea is to have them playing against a few other labs. I was debating a Cross-Over but I don't really know enough about CSI: Miami and CSI: NY for this to happen, so I think I'm going to stick to other labs that haven't (as yet!) made a TV appearance!

Morbid though this sounds, I'd been hoping for a challenging case to get stuck into when the homicide had come through. Something slightly complicated to get the brain-cells working and to keep them occupied. Sadly, I was to be disappointed. Not only had the moron of a husband left the murder weapon (a kitchen knife – for the record) by the side of the deceased, but he had left his fingerprints all over it, had a pathetic excuse for an alibi and the perfect motive as well – money (unoriginal at best)

And so it is that I find myself back home by midday, replaying the events that had occurred between the last time that I had been contemplating sleep and now. It has been well over twenty four hours and yet I surprisingly not tired. I'd offered to go and do some extra work at the lab to help with a bit of a backlog that they managed to find themselves with but had been instructed by Grissom not to. And so I feel at a bit of a loose end and find myself going over to the fridge to examine the contents.

Not long after this, I'm back on the sofa with the results of my search – a couple of ice cold cans of beer. I know that I shouldn't, but it feels right. I pull the tab and hear the reassuring hiss as beer mixes with air and starts to foam. But, even before I can take the first swig, I feel my cell-phone vibrate in my pocket.

'Sidle' I answer instinctively, not even looking at the ID of the caller as I presume that it must be Grissom changing his mind over my offer of help.

'Hi Sara, it's Greg..' he starts. And I could swear that he sounds slightly nervous, even through his attempt to sound his usual bubbly, confident self

'Hey' I reply, it coming out slightly more defensive than intended, and then, without wanting to, find myself continuing in the same vein 'Not calling to gloat about earlier, are you? Because, if so, I'm really not interested. Yeah, I fell over a few times but….'

'I thought you did really well actually… it took guts to stay out there and keep going with it.' Greg cuts me off but I sure am glad that he does. He doesn't deserve any of the rubbish that comes out of my mouth.

'Thanks… and sorry,' I manage sincerely, happy for the first time that I might have said something close to reasonable.

'Don't mention it. I was just wondering if you fancied a bit of a practice actually. I mean, you're probably sleeping and I probably just woke you up which is why you're so ratty but, well, the offer's there…'

I smile thoughtfully. It definitely seems like a better cure for insomnia than turning to alcohol. And, more than that, I don't think I can stand another session with all the others unless I improve just a little bit...

'Yeah, that sounds great, thanks. I'll meet you at the rink in half an hour?'

In fact, it's about an hour before we actually get onto the ice. But it certainly feels more natural than the first time when we do. I skate around quite happily for the first ten minutes or so, using my stick to help with my balance while Greg gives me the occasional tip. I can really feel myself picking up speed and even have the confidence to put in a few more turns and stops and I go along.

Greg decides that it's a good idea if we skate around for a while, hitting the puck around as we do so. While I did this a bit last time, it certainly feels like a step in the right direction. And, luckily for me, Greg is good enough to make even my poor attempts at passes look surprisingly reasonable. Added to that, he even makes them sound good as well.

'A cleaver little short pass by Sidle there' he commentates as he sprints towards me to collect one that, well…. isn't very well struck on my part.

'And now she hits one long so that Sanders can have a clear run on goal' he talks at well over two hundred miles an hour as he skates equally quickly to gather a pass that is well struck but not so well directed and then coolly continues to place a shot low into the right corner of the net. 'And he finishes to the crowd's delight.'

I can't help but laugh as he skates over to his imaginary crowd to take in their 'applause'

'And now, my pupil, it is time to learn from the Sanders school of shooting.' He skates back over as he speaks and races through the theory of shooting; showing me where my hands should be positioned on the stick, how my body should be positioned, how to strike the puck and lots more besides. But then he speaks the dreaded words – 'Why don't you have a go?'

I can think of plenty of reasons why I shouldn't have a go and yet still find myself taking up a position on the ice from where I can practice taking shots on goal. At first it goes well, really well in fact, and I find myself managing to hit shots with at least an element of precision and power. And, more than that, for the first time I can actually see why Nick and Greg get so excited about this sport.

'Do you want to try dribbling up a bit and then letting a few shots fly?' Greg asks. 'It'll make it more like a game situation that way.'

I nod, feeling, I must admit, quite confident. I dribble the puck backwards a bit before turning and facing the goal. I take a second or two to compose myself and to listen to Greg's commentary.

'The rookie Sidle is preparing to set off now from her stationary start. She takes off now, picking up considerable speed and keeping the puck under mesmerising control'

Whatever Greg might be saying, 'control' is certainly not a word that is in the forefront of my mind. The goal is now looming, the perfect time to get the shot away.

'Now would be the time that everyone would be expecting Sidle to shoot before she gets too close to the goal.'

Yes, yes – I'm trying to shoot already but the puck doesn't seem to want to go. My entire body freezes for no good reason as the goal gets ever closer.

'It seems like she's going for a close range finish. She's within 5 metres of the goal now but still skating quickly.

I finally manage to get the shot off and watch it sail into the netting. Unfortunately, it is not only the puck that ends up in the netting as I find myself overbalancing and unable to stop.

The next thing I know there is a pile of boarding, netting, goal posts, puck, padding and yours truly on the edge of the ice with a concerned Greg looking over it. I'm getting a strange sense of déjà vu from the previous practice.

'Quite a wipe-out!' Greg enthuses. 'Are you ok?'

I slowly nod, presuming that I am but really not entirely sure and continue to lie there as Greg clears up the debris around me. I try to mask a grimace as he helps me back to my feet and leads me to the safety of a less slippery surface.

'You were doing really well' he reassures me as he sits me down on a nearby bench.

I shrug, words still refusing to come out of my mouth.

'Are you going to tell me where it hurts or am I going to have to find out myself?

I shrug again, weighing up my options. I mean, just hours ago this would have been the perfect excuse to get me out of the tournament but now I simply can't face the possibility of being unable to play.

'Just my wrist' I offer 'No biggie.' I just hope that he doesn't notice that my stick is being carried in my left hand as I head into the changing room.

TBC