Author's Note: sorry, folks. After saying last time that I was updating ridiculously regularly, Real Life promptly took over and I've been running up and down the country all week. However, coming back from London on the train the other night, I managed to write some of this. Oh, and thanks for the reviews that have come in already – as Greg says in this chapter, flattery will get you everywhere. Please keep 'em coming. ;)


Sara turned her head and glanced out of the window behind her. The sky outside was a deep purple, streaks of red heralding the dawn. Casino pit workers, finished for the night, started to filter into the diner for breakfast, or dinner, or whatever meal it was; working the graveyard shift left you out of sync with the world, and no one knew that better than Sara.

'Are you alright?'

Greg's cheery voice pulled her back to reality. Looking back at their table, she saw that the waitress had already set down two large, steaming coffees (decaffeinated, at her insistence), a short stack of pancakes with syrup and for good measure, a hearty slice of cheesecake. Sara's eyes widened in disbelief. 'You're going to eat all that? For breakfast?'

Greg prodded a pancake with his fork. 'Yeah. Well, you can help if you like. Want one?'

'Greg, we ate a forty-dollar curry less than three hours ago. I thought you said that was breakfast.'

'Yeah, well… I'm still hungry.'

Sara shook her head and laughed. 'What are you, some freak-of-nature, genetic-experiment-gone-wrong eating machine?'

'I like my food,' he mumbled through a mouthful of cheesecake.

'And that stuff, before you go to bed! Think of all the refined carbohydrates in that. You'll be buzzing for the next three hours.'

'It's worth it,' he replied with a contented sigh.

'Seriously Greg – where does all that stuff go? You're skinny as a rail…'

'Oh, thanks.'

'What do you do? Run for miles? Go to the gym?'

'What?' he spluttered. 'I don't think I've willingly stepped into one of those in my entire life.'

'Come on, what is it? Because I and the rest of womankind would really like to know.'

'I dunno,' said Greg with a shrug. 'I must just have a high metabolism, I guess.'

'High metabolism is a myth. I bet you do work out really,' she teased.

Without thinking, he grabbed her hand and placed it on his arm. 'Sara, if I worked out do you think my muscles would feel like that?'

She looked up and met his gaze. Unsure of how she should react, she decided to go for jocular. 'Nope, you win. You definitely don't work out.'

Greg raised an eyebrow. 'In the interests of our continuing working relationship, I'm going to make no reply to that comment.'

'I didn't mean that it was a bad thing,' she added hastily. 'I don't really like that whole muscle thing anyway. You look fine as you are.'

'Oh really?' challenged Greg, cocking an eyebrow once more. 'Let me warn you, Sidle, flattery will get you nowhere.' He paused for a moment. 'Wait – what am I saying? Forget that. Flattery will get you everywhere. Please, flatter me some more.'

Sara smiled with relief. The moment of tension was over, and once again Greg was being his usual facetious self. She reached over the table and, pulling the plate of pancakes toward her, decided to change the subject. 'So – what did you want with Hodges?'

'Oh… I just needed to get him to sign some trace reports; he forgot to do them earlier.'

'Pleased to see you?'

'Hardly.'

'There's a surprise.'

'Don't be too hard on him, Sar; I can see where he's coming from.'

'What?' cried Sara, choking on her pancake. 'You're sticking up for Hodges, now?'

'I'll admit that he's not my favorite person in the world, it's just that I can see where he's coming from. As a former lab tech, I mean. Because it can get pretty stressful, with people bringing you evidence all the time and wanting their stuff done straight away, forgetting that everyone else is doing exactly the same thing. When you've got a backlog and a queue of people wanting results, things can get a little… heated.'

'Hmm. Now you put it like that…' Sara sipped her coffee thoughtfully. 'So, I take it you're not regretting your decision to turn CSI?'

'God no. I've been wanting to be doing this kind of thing for years. I mean, I've been working in the lab here for… what, six years? Seven? I don't know. Don't get me wrong, I'd have been perfectly happy to carry on being the DNA boy if Grissom hadn't let me make the change, but with this job I get to see the whole picture, you know? In the lab, it was like I got to put in a few pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, and you guys got to do the fun part.' He shook a packet of sugar and emptied it into his coffee before adding, 'the pay cut's still hurting though.'

Sara paused for a moment. She'd forgotten all about that. As a senior lab technician, Greg earned twice what he earned as a level one CSI; he probably earned more than she did herself as a level three. In the space of a minute her respect for the man had increased exponentially. To give up a senior position and a decent salary in order to do what you really wanted in life took courage – more courage than most. 'I think you've been really brave,' she said.

'Well done, Sar – you're getting the hang of this flattery thing,' he replied with a wink.

'No, I'm serious. You wanted a change, and you made it happen – you didn't just wait for it to happen to you, and you were prepared to make sacrifices. I'm really proud of you; we're all proud of you.'

Greg blushed. 'Hey, thanks. That means a lot to me.'

'Have you thought about applying elsewhere? I mean Ecklie's cracked down on our budget, but I'm sure you could find a county with better wages somewhere in the country.'

'No… I don't really want to do that.'

'Why not?'

'Well…' Greg smiled shyly, and ran a hand through his hair. 'I've been here so long now that it's home, really. That and… well, I really like working with you guys. I think that's worth any extra money I might make.'

Sara smiled and reaching over, ruffled her partner's hair. 'Aaaah,' she cooed. 'That was really sweet.'

'Okay, okay, so that was really cheesy,' muttered Greg in embarrassment. 'What I really meant was I can't be bothered with the hassle of having to move and everything. Another interstate haul? No thanks.'

For a moment, they were both silent, but it was a comfortable silence.

'You know how I said once that you were really good at what you do?'

Greg nodded in reply.

'Well, I still think so.'