It is decided. I was seriously considering the salsa for a while, but then I saw a video clip of it, and the speed at which they were moving just made my head whirl. It was cool, but not quite what I wanted. So we will be following Sara and Greg in their quest to learn the mambo, which is slower than salsa, and I have a bias towards it because of Dirty Dancing. Which, heh heh, I watched yesterday on Family Channel. I think it will work out for the best. (Still can't decide on that damn lift, though...stupid need for realism...)
Reviewers, once again you have proven that my efforts are not in vain. I think that this is my most successful story yet. Huh. I knew I'd hit it at one point. Much love to you guys.
Disclaimer: Didn't I already do this? It depresses me. Alright...IdonotownCSIoranyofitscharacters! The honor goes to Bruckheimer, the lucky bastard.
Sara stared apprehensively at the door in front of her, then looked back at the address she held clutched in her hand. She had been doing this for the past fifteen minutes. It was stupid, perhaps, as the numbers matched perfectly and it was written in Greg's own scrawling hand, but what if this was the wrong apartment? Maybe he'd miswritten it, and when she opened the door, she'd meet some fat, fifty year old man who had a grease stained shirt and left beer cans everywhere. In which case, she would run screaming no matter how much of a helpless girl it made her seem.
Oh, this was ridiculous. All she was doing was going to his apartment. Gritting her teeth, she gripped the knob to the door that he said he'd leave open for her.
The door opened with a click, and she sighed with relief as she stepped inside. The first thing she heard was fast tempoed drums and guitar, which wasn't too unusual for Greg, but what she SAW was what struck her speechless.
He was dancing, but not in the thrasher way that he had around the lab. This was real, bonufied feel-the-rhythm-in-your-bones dance, the you-are-one-with-the-music crap that they spouted in almost every 80's dance revolution chick flick. It was incredible, and something she'd never have associated with the new CSI. Plus, if she leaned her head just so she could see a thin strip of leanly muscled abdomen that the shirt didn't quite cover as he moved around-'WHOA! HOLD THAT THOUGHT RIGHT THERE, SIDLE!' her subconscious screamed. 'Since WHEN am I even REMOTELY attracted to Greg Sanders?' It was the dancing. It had to be. There was no other reason for it. Clearing her throat loudly to grab his attention, and stop the one man show that he was unwittingly putting on, she sighed with relief when he halted and then jumped when he realized it was her. Blushing a vibrant hue of red that might just match her own flaming cheeks, he stared at her in the doorway for a moment.
"Oh, hi!" he squeaked in unnaturally high octaves. He coughed, and resumed speaking with more normal tones. "I was just..." He gestured at the CD player by way of explanation.
"Right," Sara said, thankfully without tremor. "So...this is not what I imagined your apartment to look like." Glancing around, she saw that either Sophia had either caught Greg's place on a bad day, or she was exaggerating, because the space was nothing if not neat. Hardwood floors, bookshelf along one wall full of textbooks and novels and forensic journals, matching furniture, an entertainment center with a stereo system, DVD player and television...actually, Sara had to admit she liked it quite a lot. Plus, there was the amazing fish tank that took up almost an entire wall and emitted a soft blue glow. Swimming about through the fake seaweed were exotically colored fish of all shapes and sizes.
"I get that a lot," Greg said a bit sheepishly, turning down the music.
"What were you listening to?" Sara asked curiously. "It didn't sound like your usual…and I use the term loosely…music." Greg's face held something akin to horror.
"Come on, Sara! It's JOURNEY! They're CLASSIC! How is it POSSIBLE to not know them?" The older CSI merely shrugged. Greg groaned. "Don't tell me…you're one of those people who listens to the Dixie Chicks, aren't you!"
Sara shifted uncomfortably. 'It's just the one CD…and it was only because I liked their cover of Landslide! I swear!' However, she refrained from mentioning this, opting to take the defensive.
"Did you invite me here to discuss our routine, or knock my taste in music?" she snapped peevishly. He scratched the back of his head.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
Sara didn't answer; instead she crossed to his loaded bookshelf.
"So what do former lab rats read, anyways?" she mused out loud, scanning the titles on the shelves. Nearing the bottom, she stopped short, blinked, and looked them over again. "Greg…" she began uncertainly "what are these?" Glancing over her shoulder, he froze.
"Ummm…they're not mine?" he ventured.
"Bull," she stated flatly. "Now Playboys I would've expected, but this-this is just sick." Before her were several volumes, among them The History of Contemporary Dance, A Comprehensive Guide to Salsa and The Mambo: Step By Step.
"Erm, well, you know when I told you my mom made me take dance classes?"
"Greg, generally when you take a class and hate it, you don't have whole books on the subject."
"I never said I hated it," he said quickly.
"You didn't?"
"No-in fact, I liked it. A lot." Greg seemed interested in his feet all of the sudden. "So much so that I took lessons all throughout college."
"What!" He nodded grimly.
"It gets worse. You know that month when I refused every breakfast invitation extended to me? It was because I was helping Fiorenza-"
"Who!"
"My friend who owns the dance studio," he clarified. "It was because I was helping her teach a course on Advanced Mambo. I've done competitions before-" Sara went pale "-and won them. I'm a disturbed man. But I swear this one was all Grissom, evil supervisor that he is. I was all set to sit back and watch someone like Archie or Hodges make a fool of themself on the floor, and then Griss interfered to save his own skin."
"This...is a side of you I never expected to encounter," Sara said faintly. "But, you know, you're strange enough so that this really shouldn't surprise me."
"I'm not sure whether to be offended or grateful," Greg said mildly. He flopped on the couch, and Sara perched in the chair next to it. "So how about we put this little episode behind us and get down to business. Now I'm still stuck on the routine. I spoke to Fiorenza before you got here, and she said using her studio was fine. I'd really like to do the mambo, because I totally rock that dance, if I do say so myself. Specifically…you have seen Dirty Dancing, right?"
"Once or twice." 'More like twenty-seven times, to date. I can't help that it appeals to my feminine side.'
"It's similar to that sequence, except for a few differing steps. However…" he looked doubtful. "It's a little difficult for beginners to master."
'Excuse me? Is that a challenge? Yeah, so what if I haven't taken classes in decades, and I never competed. I could recall that training at any time and be accidentally graceful, buddy!'
"Are you underestimating my abilities?" Sara glared. Greg raised his hands in defense.
"No-no-it's just…I don't know how far you're willing to go with this. It can get a little strenuous at times," he said cautiously.
"I can do strenuous. You teach me the routine, I will work twenty-four/seven to master it.," Sara stated determinedly. SHE certainly wasn't going to be seen as the weak spot in this team. Greg, clearly defeated but not very surprised about it, sighed.
"I had a feeling you'd say that. One other thing…there's a lift near the end. I think we may have to leave it out."
"Why?" Sara asked with annoyance. Greg went a little pink.
"Um-well-not to sound-what I mean is-" he stammered nervously. Sara tapped her toe against the ground in impatience.
"Spit it out, Greg."
"Uh, when I do the routine with Fiorenza-she's shorter than you are, and-" he cringed "-lighter."
"Are you saying I'm too fat for you to lift!" Sara spluttered indignantly
"Not at all!" Greg protested. "You're not fat, Sara-I just don't know if I'm physically strong enough to support your weight, because you're taller and therefore heavier. It could be dangerous, trying it without being sure I can hold you. And I'm not going to risk you getting hurt because of some stupid competition that doesn't even mean anything," he said fiercely. Sara was taken aback.
'I didn't know Greg had a protective streak. It's actually…really sweet. Kind of adorable.' She flushed at that thought, and banished it from her mind.
"Okay," she said in a small voice very unlike her.
"You know what?" Greg offered after a moment of slightly tense silence. "We'll see. I guess that's a bridge we'll have to cross when we get there. In the meantime," he looked over at the clock "let's call it a night-er, day. You should probably go home and get sleep before shift, and, well, so should I." He grinned, and for a brief second Sara's heart stopped beating. "Because I can be a total bitch without my required two hours."
"Isn't it eight hours?" Sara amusedly as she headed for the door. He raised an eyebrow.
"When you're a CSI, all the rules change."
'Yes,' Sara thought, 'they certainly do.'
Ooh, did you catch the funny little double meaning there? You know, Greg's now a CSI, and she's seeing him in a different light...well, I thought it was kind of clever.
And when I say things will heat up, I mean plotwise. Sorry all you disappointed fans who were waiting for hawt Greg/Sara fully clothed sex on the dance floor. Maybe you'll get a little bit of that next chapter. If you're good and review. Yes, that is a bribe.