Author's Notes: I'm loving all y'all out there who are reading/reviewing. You rock!
Jewels
by Kristen Elizabeth
"Daddy called us his jewels. The sapphire is our birthstone. The diamonds…they were just for show." Regan paused. "We've worn the rings every day since we graduated high school. Eight years now."
"My parents gave me a briefcase," Greg told her. "Just what every college-bound, eighteen year old guy wants."
"Do you still have it?"
"I dig it out of the closet whenever they're in town and stuff it with papers. They're going to start catching on to the fact that the leather always looks brand-new soon."
She laughed faintly. "What will you do then?"
"Sadly inform them that due to overuse, I had to buy a new one to replace it."
As the conversation entered its second hour, Greg found himself more relaxed than he had been in days, if not weeks. They'd talked about everything. Movies, current events, music, politics. They'd never been at a loss for words, in the entire two hours.
But the one thing they hadn't discussed was the night of Maia's murder.
Regan delicately cleared her throat. "Do you get along with your parents?"
"I got along with them a lot better when I was safely tucked away in the DNA lab," he admitted. "Even after the lab explosion…" They'd already covered this topic, when she'd asked him if he had any scars, physical or emotional. "…I can't seem to convince them that being in the field isn't any more or less potentially dangerous than staying cooped up inside. They don't care that I enjoy my work about a hundred times more now. All they hear is that I have to carry a gun. And that's apparently too much for them."
"Parents," she mused.
"Tell me about yours."
Regan was quiet for a moment. "My parents played favorites."
She didn't elaborate, and Greg was disinclined to pressure her into continuing. Truth be told, he was enjoying himself too much. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just talked to a woman. Especially not a warm, funny, sweet one. Who happened to be gorgeous beneath her overcoats and hats.
"What do think happened to my sister?" she asked a few seconds later.
Although he should have been relieved the topic had finally been broached, Greg wasn't sure he wanted to take the conversation back to business. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I've been trained not to jump to conclusions before all the evidence is in. And there's so much we still don't know about that night."
Regan hesitated, a half-second that under any other circumstances would have caught his attention. "What do you know?"
His phone beeped in his ear, the call waiting signal. He glanced at the screen. SARA--CELL.
"Regan," Greg said with a sigh. "I have to go. Work."
"It's okay," she accepted with a sigh of her own. "All good things come to an end, right?" Regan paused. "Thank you. I needed this."
"We can do it again sometime," he heard himself suggesting. "If you want, I mean."
"I'd love to."
He didn't say it, but he certainly thought it. Me too.
It wasn't surprising that there was a touch of friction between him and Sara when he arrived back at the lab. Greg wasn't stupid. He realized that the fear of what he'd accused them of doing, namely blurring the line between their professional and personal lives, had probably been what kept them apart for so long.
He owed credit for much of his current career to them both. Grissom had given him a chance to get out of the lab, and Sara had guided him once he was. And how had he returned those massive favors? He'd thrown their concern back in their faces.
Greg accepted the frostiness in Sara's voice when she addressed him as better than he probably deserved. "Brass managed to track down a name from Maia's day planner," she told him. "She's agreed to come in and talk to us."
Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, Greg nodded. "Listen, Sara…" She folded her arms and waited for him to go on. "I owe you another apology. What I said…it wasn't fair. To either of you."
"How long have you known?"
He shrugged. "Awhile."
Sara looked down at her shoes. "Does everyone know?"
"Nick still talks about setting you up with his friends. And Catherine thinks you're going to wind up alone except for a hundred cats. So, no. I think I'm the only one."
A smile tugged at her lips. "Good." She unfolded her arms and walked to him. "Greg, Grissom and I don't discuss anyone or anything work-related when we're not on the clock. But I did talk to my supervisor about a co-worker." Sara studied him for a moment, frowning. "Did you sleep at all? You look like death warmed over."
"Uh, yeah. I caught a couple of hours." It wasn't a total lie; he had slept through the entire South Park movie.
Her eyebrow shot up. "This is what I talked to him about. You're pushing yourself so hard on this one. And I can't figure out why. What is it about this case that's got you so obsessed?"
Because he didn't want another thing to apologize for, Greg held back from reminding Sara Sidle that she was last the person who should be giving anyone this particular lecture.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I can't explain it." He dug his hands into his pockets. "She's in my head."
"Which one?"
Her quietly spoken question struck a deeply buried chord; Greg froze in place.
"Greg, I see you heading down a dangerous path." Sara looked like she wanted to reach out and take his hand, but she held herself back. "You're falling for a ghost. And she's the one who'll get hurt."
"I don't know what that means."
She gave him a look she must have learned from Grissom. "There's a reason why we don't get personally involved in a victim's life. If we care about them too much, we lose our impartiality. And then we lose the rabbit we're chasing." She paused. "You can't investigate Maia's death if you're too caught up learning about her life."
"I hear what you're saying. I do. But seriously, Sara…I don't think it's like that."
"Really?"
Greg nodded. "So, thanks, but don't worry. I'm a big boy. Almost out of training pants."
Sara looked at him for a minute, as if deciding whether or not to pursue the issue. She must have decided against it, because she dropped her chin in a motion of acknowledgement. When she looked up, her eyes fairly glinted with mischief. "You know you're going to have to apologize to Grissom, too."
"Yeah," he heaved a sigh. "I know."
"And nothing says 'I'm sorry' like a clean fridge." Sara put her hand to her cheek innocently. "Say…didn't you lose that bet anyways?"
Brass saved him by choosing that exact moment to call Sara's cell phone. They spoke for a short moment before Sara closed up the phone again. "Maia's friend is at the station. Looks like you're off the hook." She shot him another look. "For now."
It didn't make him feel good to lie to Sara on top of everything else. But he took minor comfort in the knowledge that she wasn't totally right on this one.
Because he wasn't so sure it was about Maia anymore.
"It really wasn't a big deal to be stood up by Maia." Jillian examined one long, acrylic nail. "Trust me, it was way weirder when she actually showed up for something she planned."
Sara made a note on the pad in front of her. "So, when she didn't meet you all at the club, no one thought to find out why?"
"Well, we figured we knew why. She was shacked up with a hottie. Or two. Maia liked things in triplicate, if you get my drift."
Greg frowned at the girl. "You don't seem all that sorry about her death."
"We just hung out. It's not like I was her twin."
"You knew about Regan, then?" Sara asked.
Jillian rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Maia complained about her enough."
"What did she say about her?" Greg demanded.
"I don't know. Stuff like…how boring she was. How she was always trying to get Maia to 'shape up'," she quoted with her fingers. "I never met her, but Maia always said she was a saintly little bitch."
Greg felt Sara's eyes on him for a moment before she asked, "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything about that night, or about Maia?" The girl shrugged her bony shoulders. "All right." Sara dropped her pen. "You have Detective Brass's card. If you think of something, let us know."
A uniformed officer saw Jillian out and Sara pushed her pad away from her in frustration. "So, basically we just spent half an hour with a future Mrs. Charlie Sheen, and the only thing more we know is that Maia hated her sister and wasn't known for her punctuality. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong."
"Knowing that she hated her sister is something," Greg reminded her. "I mean, Regan indicated that they weren't exactly the Bobbsey twins. But hate? That's just mind-boggling. How could she hate Regan? Even if they were radically different, they were still sisters. And Regan is anything but a saintly little…" He trailed off when he caught Sara's stare. "What?"
"Oh, Greg." Sara looked up at the ceiling. "Please tell me that it's not worse than I thought."
"Sara…" He attempted a scoffing laugh, but it got caught in his throat. "You watch too much TV."
She looked back at him with narrow eyes. "If it's true, you've gotta nip it in the bud. Because as of right now, Regan Mays is the only suspect we've got. And falling for a suspect is way worse than falling for a dead woman." She paused. "Do I have to ask how far it's gone?"
"Only if you don't trust me," Greg shot back.
After a minute, she visibly relaxed. "Let's get back to the lab. You can drive."
That was Sara's way of apologizing and he accepted it.
His phone rang later that night as his ramen noodles soaked in hot water. He recognized the number almost immediately and his hand reached for the phone. But he stopped short. Sara's words replayed in his head. That was happening a lot lately.
For someone who was sleeping with her supervisor, she sure was getting sanctimonious.
Greg grabbed the phone before he could change his mind. "Regan?"
"Have I caught you at a bad time?" she asked. Her voice prompted an instant smile to spread across his face.
"Nah," he replied. He took his dinner over to the couch and sat down, settling in for the evening. "Actually, I was just thinking about you."
To Be Continued