A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews. Keep em' coming. More extensive notes at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 3: Pictures of Home

They staggered into Greg's apartment at ten in the morning, after processing the scene behind Roxie's for five and a half hours. Doc Robbins was backed up with clearing a pile-up on the I-10, and wouldn't be able to post their victim until the next night at the earliest. With that, Greg and Sara logged their evidence, took a short detour to the locker room, and decided to convene at Greg's place to review the cold case file in more detail. That had been the plan anyway, and it had seemed a good one at the time. Greg drove because he was more hyped on coffee, but now that his bed was less than 10 feet away, and his plushy couch less than five, he knew he wouldn't last a half hour, let alone the two they would need to do the file justice.

Next to him, Sara yawned widely, not bothering to cover her mouth.

"Nice one," Greg said.

"Whatever. You look like shit, too," Sara replied in a congenial tone.

"You're so mean to me," Greg pouted.

"I only meant it with the deepest affection, oh Greg of mine." She laid her head in his lap, stretching her legs out and sinking into the deep red leather. "Wake me when the case is solved, so I can put my name on it, too"

"Now, I know you didn't get into Harvard with a work ethic like that, Sidle."

"No, I've faked my way through my entire education and career, I promise. God, we only worked like 2 hours overtime. Why am I so tired?"

"Because thinking about my manly charms has been keeping you up at nights, of course."

"Of course."

Greg grinned. Nothing had happened since their kiss in the parking lot a week ago, but Greg was a patient man. They had been buried under work, and had had staggered nights off, so there had been little time for anything except the usual pleasantries and a few extremely suggestive glances between the two of them. Lifting his head off the couch, he glanced down at her fondly and said,

"Well, I don't know about you, but the only two things on my mind right now are food and sleep, and sleep is winning by a wide margin."

"Those are the only two things on your mind," she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"How long have you known me? My mind's always in the gutter. But sadly, I'm not up for anything between the sheets right now, except for catching some Z's. Check back in a few hours though."

"I may just do that."

At that, Greg choked a little on the swig of water he had just taken, and coughed. Sara just grinned. It was rare that she was the one to render him speechless.

"Alright, sleepy." He stood up, earning a small sound of protest from Sara. "Time to go to bed." He pulled her upright and off the couch, finally putting his arm around her and leading her towards the short hall that led to his bedroom.

"Greg, I can't steal your bed," she protested. "I'll just drive home."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong, m'lady. Your car isn't here, I'm not driving anymore, and you're not touching my T-Bird. No offense, but I've seen the way you drive. Besides, who said anything about you stealing my bed?" Sara frowned at the idea of sleeping on his couch, even if it was comfortable. "We're going to share."

"Oh. Am I dreaming?" She had a dazed look on her face, and a small furl had taken residence between her eyebrows.

He let out a short laugh at her confusion, and took a gentle hold of her arm leading her once again to his lair.

When he opened the door and they stepped in, she looked around. Although they had hung out at his place quite a few times over the past couple of years as they'd grown closer, she'd had no occasion to see his bedroom. Greg thanked the powers that be that he'd cleaned the place up in anticipation of her visit in the near future. He didn't know why he cared. She'd seen the place a wreck before, and god knows he didn't stand on ceremony. But, it felt like the right thing to do.

On one wall, a Norwegian flag was tacked with care and precision, not a wrinkle to be seen. Surrounding the flag were framed professional looking photographs. One was of a coastal village taken from the water, with a snow capped mountain in the background. Another was of what looked like an old church, and a third was of a field of rocks and wildflowers with more mountains in the background. A bookcase took up most of another wall, lined with everything from Zumdahl's "Introduction to Inorganic Chemistry" to D.H. Lawrence's "The Rainbow." His desk was pushed up against the wall, with a window behind it that looked on the street, although his blackout drapes were drawn. His headboard, dresser, desk, bookcase and frames were all of the same rich, dark wood. On the queen-sized bed was a white down comforter with red pillowcases, while a sleek black torch-lamp stood in the corner. Overall, the look may have been overwhelmingly masculine were it not for the soft warm glow from the lamp and the homey aesthetic the bookshelves and pictures provided. As it was, it presented a contradiction in terms, which was not surprising for Greg.

Greg walked to his dresser and took out a pair of sweats with 'Stanford' stamped on the ass and an old Sevendust tee-shirt. He threw them to Sara, and pointed to the adjoining bathroom. She complied with his silent command without saying a word. For himself, Greg just stripped off everything but his undershirt and boxers, throwing the whole pile in the general direction of the closet. He'd deal with it later. He didn't want to scare Sara by showing too much skin, although he usually slept in the buff.

While he was waiting for her, he sat down at his desk and checked his email for the last time that day. Nothing but spam, and a short email from one of his college buddies asking about their next surfing trip. He turned off the monitor and listened to the toilet flush and water running. He hoped Sara wasn't using his toothbrush. That was definitely a deal-breaker in his opinion.

He propped his elbows on the desk, and leaned his face into his hands. He sighed and ran his hands though his hair. He didn't want Sara to know, but processing that scene earlier had left him shaken. The image of the small boy lying naked on his side on the cracked asphalt save for a pair of Scooby-Doo underwear had imprinted itself on his brain. His skin had looked so pale in that alleyway, the white making him look angelic amidst the rats and trash and grime. He didn't understand why this victim bothered him so, but he supposed you never got used to cases involving children.

Just then, Sara emerged from the bathroom. He looked up with a small smile, and then stood to slip around her and brush his teeth. When he was done, he stepped out and turned off the lamp. Despite his best efforts, a few rays of gray light seeped around the curtains, leaving the room not quite dark. Sara was already lying on her back on the side farthest away from him, looking rather stiff. Her eyes were closed, but Greg could tell that she wasn't sleeping from her breathing.

He slipped between the cool sheets on the other side, arranging the covers so his feet stuck out. He couldn't stand when they got hot while he was sleeping. He sunk down into the pillow with a sigh. He turned to face his female companion, and decided not to dwell on the fact that this was the first time he had lured Sara Sidle into his bed, and the circumstances were not at all what he had imagined. Sara was frowning again. One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.

"Relax, Sara. I won't bite. At least not while you're sleeping." She chuffed out a laugh and turned to face him. He could barely make out her face in the dim light.

"Sorry. This is a little weird."

"Well, we have to start somewhere, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so." She smiled widely, showing the gap between her front teeth. "We are starting something, aren't we?" Their voices were low, hushed. Already lover's voices.

Greg brought his hand up to brush a curl behind her ear, and ran the backs of his fingers in a gentle sweep across her cheek. "I think so," he said. "I hope so." He sighed. "I've wanted this, wanted you, for a long time you know."

He looked into her eyes, which appeared like burnished onyx. "I know. Thank you for waiting," she said simply. He liked that she offered no explanations. He didn't want to hear about Grissom, and she didn't want to talk about him. She was here now, and that's all that mattered to him.

He leaned into her space, and placed a cool, virtuous kiss on her lips. She responded in kind, raising her hand from under the covers to run once, twice through his hair. They tasted of mint and sleep.

"We should rest now," he said. She nodded, and he returned to his side of the bed, but took hold of her hand and left them clasped between their bodies.

"Goodnight, Sara. I'll dream about you."

"Goodnight, Greg. Only good things I hope."

"Always, dear-one."

Within minutes, their breathing had deepened and evened out, one matching the other unconsciously. They slept while the world moved on without them. And they dreamed.

A/N: And now, my dear ones, I am off to bed as well. I hope you enjoy the update.

General notes:

So I decided to get moving on an actual plot this time around. I'm excited, because this is the first time in any fandom I've attempted to write a case-file, and I'm looking forward to the challenge of integrating technical detail with Greg and Sara's developing and already complicated relationship. There are a few things from the show which I've decided are continuity errors, and am going to ignore. In 'Playing With Fire,' Sara's badge says she's a level three. Since we haven't heard about a promotion for her (except the one she was passed over for), and she came to Vegas as a level two, I'm going with the latter. In '4X4,' there are no scars on Greg's back. I don't think anything requiring the extensive hospitalization implied from the explosion would leave him without a mark, so this too was just stupid on the part of the directors. And in watching the commentary from 'Sparks of Life,' I was disappointed that there was no mention of Greg's burns and experiences. I think something like that where he was so obviously left with PTSD would impact how he approached the case of the burn victim. While I think Eric Szmanda tried to portray Greg in that light, nothing in the episode specifically focused on that aspect. Too bad, so sad. In my CSI world, characters are actually affected by their experiences.