2. In Which Mr. Sanders Formulates a Plan

Greg arrived home at his apartment 14 hours after his shift was officially over. He tossed his keys in the bowl on the table, dropped his bag, and shed his jacket. He reached into the pocket and took out the velvet box that had made it's home there for months now. He knew that nestled inside the tiny box was a simple, delicate band holding a tiny sparkling diamond.

"Easier said than done, I guess." Greg turned it over in his hand.

A grin spread across his lips every time he opened the box, and now was no exception. He had had this particular piece of jewelry in his jacket pocket since he had decided to ask Sara to marry him. However, he had had the ring in his dresser drawer since he was nineteen, since his grandmother had passed away and his Papa Olaf had given it to him, for "that girl that will love you the way I loved your Grandma Elsa." It was all he had left of either of them, and there was no other place he wanted it than on Sara's left hand.

Greg wiped a tear that he hadn't realized had fallen down his cheek. Difficult indeed. Suddenly he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He inhaled slowly, and let out the air, feeling his pulse return to normal. He shook his head, scolding himself for being so worried about her. It was just Sara, what was he concerned about.

Sara, who let him drag her through puddles in the rain, Sara who held on to him tightly when he lifted her off the ground. Sara who had, just yesterday, curled up with him on this very couch and watched a stupid movie, just because. Sara, who had writhed under him later that evening, softly moaning his name, crumpling his sheets. Sara who had become so content in everyday life, breaking out of her shell, Sara, who had let him play Gorbachev to the Berlin Wall around her heart.

Would she really say yes? Was he out of line? Was he crazy? Greg sighed loudly and sat back. There was only one thing to do. He dropped to his hands and knees, and fished an arm blindly under the couch. He made a triumphant groan as his fingers hit their target. He pulled out his beloved magic eight ball, and sat back on the couch, shaking it profusely. He slammed it down on his coffee table, and waited for the bubbles to settle. When he peered over the top to see the message, it read:

A SURE

BET

Greg grinned to himself and stashed the box back in his jacket pocket. It was only then that he realized that Sara's coat was hanging on the coat rack, and her purse was on the other end of the couch. She had come here after she wrapped her case, and here he was, fooling around with the ring when she was in the next room, and he had no plan.

"Talk about a close call."

"What about a call?" Sara emerged from Greg's bedroom, trying in vain to wipe the sleep from her eyes. "Are you just getting in?" Greg closed the distance between them quickly, and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Yeah, Grissom kept me a might longer than I thought."

"No kidding. I got out hours ago." She tossed her hair into a ponytail and wrapped her arms suggestively around his waist. "I would say I stripped myself of the offending clothing I wore at work and waited in bed for you with candles and a bottle of champagne, but really I raided your closet and fell asleep." He grinned lopsided at her and bent to kiss her, long and deliberately. His fingers ran gently up and down her back, and found their way under the loose Rolling Stones tee shirt she was wearing.

It was when she let out a soft moan that his knees buckled, and any thought of a shower or a dinner was forgotten as he guided her to his bedroom, never leaving her delicate lips unattended.

Greg backed Sara up against the foot of the bed, and toppled her over, landing on top of her. He wedged a knee between her thighs, and pressed her into the mattress. He grinned stupidly, drugged with her squirming body and intoxicated with the taste of her lips. She tangled her legs in his and around his waist, and flipped him over in one fluid, practiced motion. She moved to straddle him, and he wrapped his arms around her body tightly. He groaned as she trailed kisses down the nape of his neck.

"I'm going to marry you, Sara Sidle." He heard her soft chuckle, and it vibrated through his body, settling below his waist.

"If you say so, Mr. Sanders."

It wasn't until several hours later, with Sara snuggled against his chest, wrapped into his arms, that Greg developed a plan, and tomorrow he would put it into motion. He pressed a soft kiss to his girlfriend's temple, careful not to wake her or disturb her sleeping form.

"I love you, Sar, and I will marry you. That I can promise. Wait and see." He pulled her body closer to his, and let sleep take him.