Author's Note: Sorry ladies (and gentlemen, if there are any) for taking so long in updating. I could offer all manner of excuses, but I shall refrain from doing so, because it'd probably take up about as much space as the chapter that follows. Instead, I shall wish you all a belated Happy New Year, and hope that you enjoy this chapter. And also review it. Thank you. ;)

'Hmm. God Bless Italia,' murmured Greg as he twisted up a forkful of spaghetti and popped it into his mouth. 'Pass me the garlic bread will you, Sar?'

Sara complied and passed the dish to her colleague, who eagerly tore off a chunk. 'Greg, you're such a bad influence, you know,' she teased as he returned the plate.

'What on Earth do you mean?' he muttered, wiping the crumbs from his mouth.

'Whenever I work with you on a case, I seem to eat about twice as much as normal.'

'It's good for you,' replied Greg, grinning.

'I weighed myself this morning. I've put on three pounds this week.'

'Oh, that's probably just water retention or something. Anyway, it doesn't show.'

'I feel fat!'

Greg shook his head in mock disappointment. 'Sara, Sara,' he sighed, ' I thought you were beyond such foolish notions as worrying about your weight.'

'Then you clearly have no comprehension of the female psyche.'

''Nope,' he replied cheerfully, 'but isn't that all part of the fun?' He ducked as the tail-end of a breadstick was aimed at his shoulder. 'But seriously, Sar, you have nothing to worry about, believe me. You look amazing. In fact, Nick was saying before shift he thought you were looking especially… what was the word?' Greg paused for a moment, lost in thought. 'Radiant, that's it.'

Sara blushed. 'Really?'

'Yeah. I said it was probably all the artificial colors and preservatives taking effect on you… hey!' He held up his hands in defense once more as Sara brandished her breadstick threateningly. 'Anyway, you should feel honored that I let you eat all that stuff. I would eat it all myself if I didn't like you so much,' he said with a wink.

Sara turned to her left to see a middle-aged couple glaring at them, their faces full of disapproval. 'People are looking,' she murmured conspiratorially, her eyes fixed on her plate.

'I thought people only said things like that to each other when they'd been married for twenty years,' Greg whispered back.

'Oh really?' replied Sara, smiling again. 'In that case, I doubt that you're aware that most arguments between couples under forty happen when women try to steal French fries from their partners' plates.'

'I wasn't, but now you say it, it's perfectly understandable. Not that I would mind, being the sensitive new-age guy that I am, obviously. But is it bad enough to drive someone to murder?'

'Who knows? People can be so unpredictable. You remember that case a couple years back in that apartment block, where the guy stuffed his wife in the hot water tank? He said he did it because she nagged him.'

'Sheesh,' muttered Greg, before polishing off the remains of his pasta. 'It's so unfair, you know. Just when I thought that this case was going to go all cool and high profile murder-y, it goes all limp and suicide-y on me.'

'Nice turn of phrase you've got there, Greggo.'

'Okay, okay… I didn't mean to sound really callous or anything. Except I did… oh well. You know what I mean.'

Sara smiled. 'Yeah. Still - murder or no murder, we still have things to do. You heard what Brass said; he's still not convinced. I think what we have to do now is to prove whether or not the wife's case stands up.'

'Right. So she says she found him already dead, surmising that he must have prepared the codeine himself. So we check trace constituents to see how it might have been done – most likely a coffee grinder, I suspect. I remember doing this kind of thing with the naratriptamine in the Dougie Max case.'

'Good thinking, Greggo. Anything else?'

'Hey, I've already thought of an idea; now it's your turn.'

His mentor raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval. 'Okay then… the wife says she dragged him from the master bedroom to the top of the stairs, then pushed him down. We need to make sure that that journey is physically possible.'

'Right.'

'So there you go,' said Sara. 'Plenty for us to be getting on with.'

'Yes ma'am.'

Sara set down her fork, and looked up at Greg. Having already finished his own, large, portion, he was continuing to break pieces off the remaining garlic bread. The guy was a human trashcan. But he was a sweet one. 'You're doing really well, Greg.'

'Yeah I know – I've finished already. Unlike some people,' he replied, gesturing at her plate still dotted with chunks of eggplant and penne.

'I meant with the work.'

'Yeah, I know. Sorry.'

'Are you ever serious? About anything?'

'What? Yeah.' Feeling suddenly chided, Greg stopped working on the bread and hastily wiped his fingers on a napkin. 'Some things really get to me – you know, like when we have cases with children, or things like that. But if you take things too seriously, it's going to drive you crazy. At least, that's what I find.'

'No, no, I get that.'

'You know, Sara, don't get mad at me or anything, but you could really do with lightening up sometimes, you know? You're great at your job and I don't think I've ever seen anyone more dedicated – at anything, ever – but you need to relax more, clear your head.'

'Yeah,' sighed Sara, thinking of when Grissom had told her almost exactly the same thing over five years ago, even if it had been worded somewhat differently. 'I've been told that before.'

'Well then; I must be right,' said Greg, smiling.

Sara sighed again, and exhaled deeply. 'I'm not always serious either, you know.'

'I'm sure you aren't. In fact, I think you have the potential to be a really fun and lovely person… not that you aren't already,' he added hastily. 'You just… need to let go. I could show you; learn from the master.'

'Oh really?' inquired Sara archly.

'Yeah... time we redressed the balance of power round here, I reckon. What do you say? I think we should start on Monday. Monday, after shift.'

'And what exactly will be involved?'

'I dunno. Probably just coffee, knowing my powers of organization, but it's better than a night in with the Journal of Forensic Science.'

'Sounds tempting.'

'Doesn't it just? Anyway,' continued Greg, 'so does dessert, so you'd better get a move on with that pasta. Mine's a tiramisu…'