Title: Have a Nice Day
Summary: Just a small one-shot Greg Sara piece
Disclaimer: Pay attention because I'm only going to say this once. Well, actually, counting the first chapter I guess this makes it twice. Either way, I don't own CSI. Let's not dwell on it… it makes me sad.
A/N: I really didn't plan on making this piece more than one chapter, but I guess people really liked it and they asked for more. So… I hope this delivers. It didn't come as easily as I would like, and I still personally like the first chapter better, but I'm glad people asked for more. Thanks for all of the great reviews:D And I'd like to apologize for the hypothetical elimination of Frosty in advance. You'll see what I mean.
He'd watched her for the rest of the week after that kiss. Glass windows make for easy viewing of a certain Miss Sara Sidle; a fact he'd taken advantage of numerous times between identifying seminal fluid for Warrick and burying his head in a microscope for Grissom. While watching her, Greg noticed two things, the first being that as observant as these CSIs were supposed to be, they never caught on.
The second was that Sara'd yet to have a day as good as that one was.
She'd come close, though, he thought ruefully, like that day she'd spent interrogating a rather stubborn suspect. After hours in the interrogation room she'd emerged victorious, her trademark smirk plastered on her face, followed by a sullen looking perp accompanied by his very own police escort.
She'd come to the lab to tell him, and he tripped over his own two feet (his frog socks were as of then tumbling around in his washing machine). She'd laughed when he got up, shooting her a cheesy grin and admitting, "I just can't help falling for you". He remembered she'd rolled her eyes, although he could tell she was at least slightly flattered, and their faces moved closer. He could feel her breath on his lips, and he smiled, remembering the last time they were this close, and inhaled deeply, determined to imprint her scent on his memory.
Then he'd learned it was true when Catherine told him that Grissom was not a people-person; his supervisor walked in looking for Sara, and the moment was ruined. And that was the closest they came.
But then there was today. If that day when they kissed was Christmas, today was the day when Santa gets shot, Rudolph turns to a venison steak, and Frosty has an unfortunate accident involving a heat lamp.
He didn't know exactly what got her so worked up. He had some ideas, of course; she'd pulled a double on a really gruesome, dead end case; she'd dealt with an intolerable husband and a nasty transvestite nanny. And from what Warrick said, she'd gotten the "don't-get-emotionally-attached" sermon from Grissom again.
What he did know is that he, like most of the staff, should've ducked for cover when she came storming in the lab, demanding her latest test results in such a domineering voice that, had she not been so angry, Greg would have found completely irresistible.
How was he supposed to tell her the results weren't ready yet?
He guessed she saw the pained look on his face, like that of a new (might he add, excruciatingly attractive) puppy whose owner just yelled at him, and felt sorry because the next thing he knew she was apologizing and moving closer to rest an apologetic hand on his arm.
"You get so cute when you're angry" he tried to joke, shooting her a nervous grin, before he pulled her into a hug without thinking twice about it.
When he realized that he and Sara were standing in the middle of the lab, his arms wrapped firmly around her waist, and the fact that he was the party guilty of initiating such action, he braced himself for a sucker punch to the gut, or a loud yell accompanied by a violent shove (remember, today was akin to a day when three lovable Christmas icons met their untimely demise). But none came. Instead, Sara fell into his embrace, her body wracked with tears. This was a side of Sara Sidle Greg had never seen.
Their first kiss, that day in the lab, was hesitant. Cautious and new. This one, Greg noticed, was hungry and needy and beautiful and tasted of her tears.
Later, when Greg got home from (what he considered a very good day at) work, as he lounged on his sofa, TV set to mute, he thought to himself he wouldn't mind so very much if this kissing thing became a regular occurrence. He'd just have to remember to wash his lucky frog socks. He had a feeling he'd be wanting them.
A/N: I originally write all of my pieces on sheets of notebook paper late at night listening to a mix CD and wiggling my toes in crazy colored socks. Then I type it on the computer. Just thought I'd let you guys know I like it more now then I did when I first started typing it; I changed a few things from my rough draft to this. So? Good, bad? What did you think? I'm not sure if I want to continue this… it feels like there's more to the story, but I don't know what. I guess I'll sleep on it for a while if someone wants me to continue. Let me know.