A/N: Thanks a lot to those who review (and those who keep reviewing). I would name you all, 'cept I think it's against rules…so I love you guys .

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"I've never been skiing before," Greg confessed as he clumsily clambered onto the lift. Adjusting his ski poles, he watched enviously as his partner slid next to him with much more grace. She had obviously done this a couple of times.

"Went skiing in college," Sara answered his unasked question. "Boston's perfect weather for the snow." He nodded and tried to fix his skis again, nearly falling off the seat. She grabbed his elbow to keep him from tipping forward. "Watch it," she warned with a friendly grin.

Trying to ignore her gloved hand tightly clasped around his arm, Greg gulped and focused on the ground below. Bad idea.

"Uh…how high are we?" the spiky-haired man stammered, only seeing the tops of the evergreen trees. It was one thing to be strapped inside of the helicopter, another to be freely swinging with nothing to hang on to.

Sara laughed lightly, noticing his discomfort. "Not that high. Don't look down if you're scared of heights," she teased.

He swallowed hard again, and looked determinedly forward at some hideous orange cap that a lady was wearing the seat ahead of him. It wasn't that he was acrophobic. But dangling over some pointy rocks wasn't exactly the safest thing to do in his book.

The mood quickly changed from humorous to concern. "You alright?" Already the brunette could see that he wasn't exactly relaxed this high up in the sky.

"Yeah. I'm fine." However, Sara knew he was only trying to comfort himself.

Without thinking about it, she took his hand and held it, almost like the time he was in the hospital-

No. She swore that she wouldn't even think about that disaster. Bad enough that Nick had faced death twice; she didn't need to remember when Greg almost met with his demise too.

Despite the cold, she could feel the heat of the chemical-induced flames that had engulfed the lab, feel the pricks of glass that had shattered down on her as she laid flat on the tiled floor. She could also remember all too well how hot his body felt, burned and scarred.

That was the worst memory of her life, third only to Nick's burial and her father's murder.

Greg felt Sara shiver next to him; still grasping onto his hand but more tightly than before. Thinking it was the cold, he didn't mind.

She was still holding it, however, when they jumped off into the snow.

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By the time the sun had begun to set, the pair was dead beat and tired. Skiing down together towards their cabin, they began talking about everything except work. Somehow, it seemed like an unspoken rule that while they were here, they were to have fun.

And work was usually anything but that.

"Details!" Greg whined as Sara gave him a rebellious smirk. He had heard something from Nick about her and the mile-high club, but didn't believe it.

Shaking her head, white flakes flew from her hair. "Nope."

"How about some of my Blue Hawaiian?"

"Why would I need it if we have perfectly good coffee-gourmet coffee-in our cabin?"

"Good point." Greg scrunched his face up in thought, turning his head to the side. He didn't see the tree until it was too late.

Wham.

The end of his pole caught around the trunk, jerking him backwards while his skis went forward. Sara, looking behind her upon hearing the sound, tried to steer from colliding, but he ended up smashing into her anyway with a loud jumble of wood and metal.

A sharp pain shot up through her foot as she landed on it. "Ouch!"

"Sorry," he apologized sincerely. When he put out his arms out at her sides to raise himself off of her, he only just realized how close they really were.

Judging by odd shade of red in her cheeks, she figured it out too.

To any outsider, it would have looked erotically like they were making out in the snow. Their legs were entangled in an intimate position (how that happened, he'd never know), the palm of her hands pressed up against his chest to push him upwards. Both were flushed, eyes half closed and mouth partly open.

Silently they stayed like that for a few minutes, snowflakes gently powdering them as it came down. Only when the wet mush began to seep through their snowsuits did they attempt to move from their spot.

Brushing the snow off of his shoulders, Greg held out his hands and she gratefully took them. A jolt of pain went up Sara's leg as she put weight on her ankle, and she nearly tumbled forward.

"You okay?" her friend asked worriedly, helping her gather their skis. Sara was still hobbling a bit.

She nodded, but her eyes barely betrayed a hint of distress. "Yeah. Just a bruise." However, the next step almost sent her headlong into a tree.

Wordlessly, Greg helped her up, more carefully than before. He glanced down, and saw that her leg was twisted a bit, like a broken bone. Not a good sign at all.

"Can you walk?"

"A bit."

Together they took the last hundred yards to the cabin, and he aided her up the wooden steps and onto the couch. Stripping their now soggy clothes, they managed to get warmed up again.

Gingerly, Sara rolled up her pant leg to see her foot, and grimaced audibly. Her leg wasn't broken, but her ankle was definitely twisted-the skin had swollen and turned an awful shade of scarlet. She grabbed a pillow and laid her ankle on top for elevation.

"Here." He handed her a cold ice pack wrapped in a thin cotton towel, and a warm fleece blanket. "Is it ok?"

"Just a twisted ankle. I'll be fine."

"You sure? Aspirin, hot pack, water, anything?" Greg babbled nervously, not realizing he was doing so.

She laughed lightly. "Relax, it really is nothing serious. I'll be okay after I get some rest."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He beamed widely, finally reassured. "Ok then. Hot chocolate coming right up," he called as he entered the spacious kitchen.

Once he was out of sight, Sara sighed. He was adorable when he was playing nurse, but sometimes he was just too caring.

For a few minutes she stared at the glowing flames of the fire, mulling over the day. It truly was fun, even though Greg still crashed every ten feet or so down the mountain. And when he always picked up the wrong pair of ski poles.

Not that she would admit it, but she really loved having to spend a few days alone with him. Romantic, even.

She mentally banged herself in the head with Grissom's entomology book. That was what their friends wanted them to think, and she wasn't going to think that. Because that meant they won, and she hated losing. A scowl formed on her face at the thought.

A steaming cup of rich brown liquid was thrust in her hands at that moment. Sara sipped it eagerly, surprised at how good it actually tasted. Smiling, she downed half of the cup in one go. "You made this?"

"Yeah." The dopey grin on his face told her otherwise. "Okay, so I used the hot chocolate and coffee maker. It's killer stuff, but doesn't quite hold up to my own forty-dollars-a-bag coffee."

"Maybe, but it's still pretty good."

Greg set his cup down on a gold coaster and peered closely at her propped-up foot. He began to observe it like he did DNA samples, before he became a field mouse. The skin had decreased in swelling, hopefully a good sign.

Warm fingers on her socked toes shocked her, making her jump a bit. "What are you doing, Sanders?"

"Massage. People said I'm really good at them." He gently rubbed at the now-purpling bruise on her foot, easing the tension out of her muscles. The numbing soreness in her ankle began to fade, replaced by a warm sensation caused by his skin on hers. "Am I?"

"Mmm."

"I'll take that as a yes."

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Back in Nevada, the T.V. in the crime lab began to produce much more static than usual. A late-night news reporter was on the screen, looking more worried that normal.

"Attention all people listening to this station: this storm has already begun coming through and we warn you-"

Dead with its last flicker, the T.V. shut off…taking most of Las Vegas' power with it.