Author's Note: thanks for all the reviews that have come in. If I were a master in the art of suspense, I would be eking out these chapters and making you beg, or something. But I'm rubbish at that sort of thing, so I seem to be updating ridiculously regularly. This is obviously because I'm meant to be doing Other Things, but that's another story… read on. Oh, and review, an' all.

Oh yes – and the chapters have titles now, see? If you can guess where they all come from, I'll be well impressed.

The rest of that evening's shift was uneventful – no gangland shootouts, no domestics that got out of hand, not even a good old-fashioned household breaking and entering. In fact, there were no call-outs at all, as Grissom had informed them on his way out of the lab.

'A quiet night in Vegas,' he marveled. 'Wonders never cease.'

'What night is it – Monday?' asked Greg. 'Everyone must have got their fighting rocks off over the weekend. Nice tie, by the way, Griss.'

'Thanks.' Grissom rolled his eyes as he struggled with the knot. 'Some departmental heads meal thing with Ecklie…'

'So we've heard,' remarked Sara. 'Catherine's going to be pleased; she thought you'd forgotten.'

'I should be so lucky. Opened my emails this evening – there's three marked 'urgent' from our friend upstairs, stressing 'the importance of the presence of all members of the team', along with some stuff about 'group responsibility' and 'proactive management', or whatever.'

'Man, I wish I could be there,' sighed Greg. 'Sounds like Buzzword Bingo heaven.'

Grissom looked at the young man, puzzled. 'Buzzword Bingo?'

'It's a game,' supplied Sara. 'Junior executives in the big corporations play it in meetings; you write down all the company buzzwords, like 'interpersonal organization' or 'sensitive spokesmanship', or whatever, then cross them off as they come up.'

'First one to get a straight line's the winner,' finished Greg. 'Maybe you and Catherine should have a go; sounds like Ecklie likes his jargon.'

'You don't know the half of it,' replied Grissom despondently. 'Anyway, I've got to be off. You two don't have to stay too long either; if you don't have anything outstanding, by all means get yourselves home early. God knows we don't often get the chance.' The supervisor shrugged on his jacket. 'See you both tomorrow. Wish me luck.'

The remains of the graveyard shift waved their goodbyes, and Grissom was off.

'I'm impressed, Sar,' said Greg once they were alone again. 'I didn't think you remembered all that stuff I told you.'

'I'm like an elephant,' she replied jokingly with a smile. 'So… got anything left to do tonight?'

'Nah, not really. Most of my paperwork's in order. You?'

'Me neither – there isn't much we can do with the Marshall case until we hear back from Brass. He said he was onto their financial records, which sounded interesting, but until then…'

'…We're just spare parts.'

Sara nodded in agreement. 'So,' she said, as casually as she could, 'shall we go and get that drink?'

'Sure,' came Greg's rapid reply. 'Just give me ten minutes to get hold of Hodges' signature and I'll meet you in the parking lot.'

As soon as Greg was gone, Sara made a beeline for her locker, fished out her purse and was off to the bathroom. She peered at her face in the mirror. She didn't tend to wear much make-up at work; to be honest, given the extent of her social life, she didn't tend to wear much make-up at all. She remembered how years ago, at a scene, Catherine had remarked how Sara didn't tend to care about how she looked. It was a throwaway comment, taken out of context, but looking in the mirror now Sara was plagued by insecurity over her appearance. Her nose looked a little shiny, and there were circles under her eyes, and that damn gap in her teeth… opening her purse, she pulled out her make-up bag and examined its contents. A bit of concealer, powder and eyeliner? Don't want to look like I've made too much of an effort, she thought. It's only a drink, anyway; just a drink with Greg…

On the other side of the mirror, in the men's bathroom, Greg sighed and looked at his reflection. You are not looking your best, my man, he thought, running a hand through his hair. He was hardly an ace for punctuality, and there hadn't been time for a shave before shift tonight. He took in his clothes – band tee shirt, striped button-down on top, jeans, hi-tops. Same as he wore every day. He put his hand around a bicep. There was no denying it – he was not a built-up guy. Not like Nick, or Warrick, or Hank… he sighed. I'm a skinny bastard in crappy clothes, and I'm going out for a drink with a woman I've been obsessing over for… what, four years? He sucked in a deep breath. Calm down, Greggo, said the voice inside his head. It's not a date, or anything. After all, she still thinks of you as the little lab rat. What was it she was saying the other day? Not a grown-up, that was it. Laughing, showing that damn sexy gap in her teeth… laughing with you, or at you?

That'll just have to do, thought Sara, running a finger under her eye to straighten out the pencil line. God, I'm crap at this. She took a couple of paces back, took in her whole reflection, then turned to the side. Damn; little bit of a belly on me. Should work out more. It's all that junk food Greg keeps pushing on you, she thought bitterly. How come he never seems to put on weight? Lucky bastard. How is it fair that the man gets to stay slim and pretty?

That'll just have to do, thought Greg, playing with his hair for one last time. God, I'm crap at this. He took a couple of paces back, took in his whole reflection. For God's sake, man; on a dark night, anyone would think you were still a teenager. You still get ID'd sometimes, not that you're prepared to admit it. God… what if you get ID'd with her? You'd never live it down. Because she's tall and slim and beautiful, and what are you?

On both sides of the mirror came a sigh. It's just a drink, right?

Just a drink.