Author's Note: I think I've come to terms with the fact that this is never going to be a big hit of the Greg/Sara shipper community, but to the three or so faithful reviewers I have, I say a hearty thank you. ;) Anyway, I'd be really annoyed with myself if I didn't finish the story, so I'm going to complete it regardless of its lack of popularity. Besides, I know how the whole thing was done... muahahahaha...please read on. And perhaps review.

Sara didn't see Greg for the rest of the shift; he was out working a B&E in Henderson with Grissom. The Marshall case wasn't the only one they had to work with, she conceded with a sigh. Still, she had felt a pang of jealousy when Grissom had popped his head around the door of the break room to tell Greg to haul his ass out onto the parking lot – or at least more Grissomly words to that effect. It wasn't even that she'd wanted to go instead – God knew she had enough on her plate writing up the armed robbery she'd worked the other night.

She sat at the table in the layout room, chewing her pen as she thought about it. It wasn't that she was jealous of Greg for getting to work the case with Grissom, she realized; she was jealous of Grissom for getting to work with Greg. She and Greg were a team; anyone could see how well they worked together, for goodness' sake!

It took a moment for the epiphany to sink in. Faced with the same situation a couple of years ago, maybe even a couple of months ago, she'd have begrudged Greg for having the opportunity to bask in Grissom's presence, to bow before his eminent forensic genius, to even breathe the same air as him as they bent over the scattered shards of a broken French window. But now, she realized, it was Grissom she resented, for taking Greg away from her. She had grown used to him being there, she enjoyed his company, and she missed him when they worked apart. For so many years, laughter had been something other people did; since she had become Greg's mentor, she found herself laughing every day.

It was over. The passion for Gil Grissom that had brought her from San Francisco to Las Vegas was dead. But like a phoenix, from its ashes was rising something… something not yet definable, but tangible nonetheless. Something that concerned the live wire that was Greg Sanders.

She glanced at her watch - seven AM. If she could have seen the outside world, the sun would be up now, heralding the coming of the morn and the end of shift. Would Greg be back yet? She looked down at her data; the report would keep a few hours, certainly until tonight's shift. She would go and check.

On her way to the locker room, she passed Grissom's office. He was back, at least, sitting behind his desk, peering at some bug or other through a magnifier. Some things never change, she thought, and Grissom was one of those things.

She knocked on the glass of the door, and let herself in. 'Hi.'

Grissom looked up, squinting at her from the gloom of his office. 'Oh, hi Sara… sit down.'

'No, no… I was just coming to see if you'd got back yet, from the scene, and well, here you are.'

'Yes I am.'

She gazed at her shoe for a moment, suddenly awkward as a teenager asking her father if she can go out. 'Is… is Greg back yet?'

'Sure… I think he said something about wanting a shower; poor kid had to go through the garbage again.' He put down his magnifying glass. 'Is there anything I can help you with?'

'No, no,' she replied hastily, 'I just wanting to ask him something about our case.'

'The Marshall case? How's that coming along?'

'Not bad, not bad at all.'

'I heard from Greg that your little 'experiment' went according to plan.'

'Yeah… yeah, it was… interesting. And of course instructional. You er…' Sara narrowed her eyes a little before continuing, 'you did… know about it all in advance, didn't you?'

Grissom smiled. 'Greg said you'd ask me before the end of shift. And yes, yes I did. So you've no need to worry.' He flexed his fingers for a moment, then looked back at her. 'It was the most satisfying request I've authorized in quite some time.'

'Yeah, well, just so long as it was authorized. Anyway, I'd better leave you to it. Thanks Grissom.'

As she closed the door, Sara paused for a moment, her hand to the glass, but her supervisor didn't notice; his eyes were soon back on his work.

'So, tell me about yourself.'

Sara laughed. 'Excuse me?'

'Tell me about off-duty Sara. What do you do when you're not working, for fun?'

Sara looked across the table at Greg. His hair was still damp from his shower she saw as he lazily stirred the sugar into his coffee. He had such beautiful hands, she noticed, like a boy in a Botticelli painting.

The boy pulled a face and waved at her. 'Hey… you listening? I know this kind of thing is hard for you,' he joked.

'Alright, alright,' she replied, feigning annoyance. 'Well, I like to read…'

'What – the JFS? That doesn't count as leisure.'

'Not just work-related stuff, thank you. I read detective novels sometimes...'

'Huh,' he scoffed, 'That's still pretty much work-related. You ever read any Bret Easton Ellis?'

'What, American Psycho guy? No, thanks.'

'There's way more to him than that. I can lend you some, if you like.'

Sara cocked an eyebrow. 'Is this more of your dismembered-body-literature?'

'It's not all dismembered bodies, though I'll admit there are quite a few… anyway, what about TV? Do you ever watch TV? And I don't mean Cold Case and Forensics Files on the Discovery Channel, either.'

She laughed, and looked down at the carrot cake on her plate, drawing patterns in the frosting with her fork. 'Well, I like to watch movies, actually, sometimes.'

Greg's eyes sparkled. 'Right – now we're onto something. What kind of movies?'

'All sorts – drama, comedies, the occasional sci-fi, even those shitty made-for-TV movies about a man who lives with his three kids in a car that say 'based on actual events' at the beginning.'

'Yeah, I like those,' Greg replied, nodding, 'and those Jackie Collins dramatizations with aging daytime soap actors…' He glanced back at Sara, who was eyeing him suspiciously. 'In a purely ironic sense, obviously.'

'Yeah, you tell yourself that, Greggo. Anyway, do I pass the test then, or what?'

'Well,' answered Greg, pressing the tips of his fingers together, 'the doctor's diagnosis is that you have a sense of fun lurking back there, but it's been so out of use that it's… well, atrophied, like a wrinkly old...'

'Hey!' interrupted Sara, flinging a crumb of cake at him from the end of her fork.

'Now that's more of the kind of behavior we need to be seeing round here,' cried Greg, brushing baked goods from his shirt.

'What, anti-social?'

'No, liberated.' He leaned forward, beckoning her closer. 'You're off the clock, Sara. We work long hours, and I think we both love our jobs, but that's not what life's about when it comes down to it.'

'So what is it about?'

'So many things.' He pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the booth table, and a ballpoint pen from his pocket. 'Here, I'll write you a prescription.' He began scribbling something on the paper tissue.

'Involving…?'

'Uh uh uh, wait a minute,' he interrupted, shaking his head. 'Now the student really does become the master.'

'Right,' Sara smiled, bemused. 'Greg…' She paused for a moment. 'Why are you doing all this, asking me all these questions?'

He stopped writing, and looked up at her. 'Because… do you want me to be honest?'

She nodded.

'Well, it's because sometimes, you seem so… sad, you know? Lonely maybe, I don't know. Stop me if you think I'm being out of line, which I'm pretty sure I am, but still…' He glanced back at Sara; she made no interruption. 'Sara, I really like you; you've been a good friend to me. And as clichéd as it sounds, I want for you to be happy… are you okay?'

Across the table, Sara's smile crumbled as she burst into tears, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

'Hey, hey, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…'Greg hopped up from his side of the booth, and scooted over to Sara's. Tentatively, he put his hands to the sides of her arms, only to have Sara fall sobbing into his own, clutching at his shirt as she cried into his shoulder. 'Sssh… sshh, Sara, what's the matter? Look, I'm really sorry…I didn't mean to…'

'No, it's not you,' she replied, blowing her nose into a napkin.

'Then what's the matter?'

'No one's ever said that to me before.'