Number Two: WARNING: Filler chapter, not a lot happens, LOL. Will get better.

Clover frowned as she swivelled in her seat. Imogen, the scary day-shift receptionist, was hovering over her with a disapproving face. Clover smiled, nervously, and stood up, leaving the seat completely free for her colleague. Imogen flopped down onto the chair and cleared her throat, sharply. Clover knew Imogen wasn't her biggest fan, ever since Clover accidentally walked into Imogen, spilling volcanic amounts of coffee over her. Since then, they were best enemies. Imogen was the kind of woman that did everything, but sweep the floor with a broom up her rectum. Clover, however, preferred to take the easier route in life, approaching everything with a laid back, calm and efficient manner that won her a lot of points with the night-shift team.

"Look, I'll be out of your hair in about five minutes." If Greg Sanders bothered to show his face. Their first 'date' hadn't gone fantastically well; the chat was great, they really liked each other, but Greg got called back into the lab after the other lab-rat was taken ill. Henceforth, Clover was left all on her own at a diner in the middle of the day. It wasn't exactly likely that anything would've gone fantastically well, anyway, after Greg had spent nearly two whole days cooped up in the lab. He was not his usual, enthusiastical self, but a tired, laid-back Sanders that let Clover do most of the talking. Being a lab technician seemed to be much more difficult that Clover originally figured.

Imogen glared up. "I believe you." Cold, curt, and extremely icy. It almost sent shivers up Clover's spine.

"Mm." Clover folded her arms and leant against the desk. The place was packed, completely, with people, walking around, talking, arguing- God knows what else. Clover loved it. People intrigued her; they always had. She remembered being twelve and booking a place on a tour bus with forty-nine other people that ran for four hours without a break, getting to sit next to Jack, a fifty-five year old man with a sarcastic, yet very philosophical, nature. Her mother had not been pleased. Clover cast her eyes this way and that, looking for Greg. She glanced at her watch. Five more minutes and then she was going home. As soon as the thought struck her, Greg seemed to appear from nowhere at the desk, hair spiked up to an unreasonably tall height - at least two inches! - and a smile to rival the Cheshire Cat. "Hey, Greg!" Clover could barely contain her excitement, and it almost showed through. Imogen glanced up, sighed and rolled her eyes at Greg's appearance.

Greg momentarily furrowed his eyebrows, caught slightly off guard by Clover's merriment. He quickly regained his composure, however, as he studied her. She'd dressed casually, with a deep-green, low-cut, round-neck sleeveless top with inbuilt beads - that Greg would have to remember to take a closer look at later -, that showed off two pristine-white bra-straps and added a regular pair of jeans that fitter her perfectly. Her hair, as always, framed her face perfectly, clipped up, effortlessly. "Hey, Clover...you look fantastic." This was met with another sardonic eye-roll from Imogen. The woman had no romance in her life, Greg decided. Clover blushed, and bobbed her head from side to side. "You ready?"

Clover glanced down at Imogen and then back up at Greg. "Yeah...lead the way." She smiled and Greg walked forward, taking a gentle hold of her upper arm as she walked next to him. It was a nice touch, slightly warm and comforting. Clover decided that she could definitely get used to this. "So, may I ask where you're taking me? Or is it a surprise?"

Greg shrugged, opening the front door for her, proud of his gentlemanliness. This time, he had taken advice from Nick Stokes, as opposed to a book. Nick, after all, had far more experience than Greg ever would. Greg could never be considered a player. "All in due course, m'dear." He ushered her over to his car, again, opening the door for her, and hopped into his own seat. "So...you never told me what kind of music you're into..." Always the best way to start off a conversation. He started the car and quickly put the car into motion.

"Um..." Clover glanced at her hand. "Anything, really, as long as it's good. Oh, but I do like kind of, big-band stuff. That comes from when I was a showgirl. Brings back good memories, all that jazz." She explained, nonchalantly, with a very large smile.

Greg turned to her, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Really? You were a showgirl?"

"Mmhm. I was a damn good one, too. I was only one of two girls in my lineup who could do the splits, properly, without once complaining. And I can put my leg right up in a, uh, straight...line, nearly over my...head..." She bit her lip. Maybe that was a little bit too much information to share on a first date.

"Really?" Greg smiled to himself, suddenly developing a very nice, very unexpected, mental image. "You'll have to show me sometime." Whoa. That slipped out before he could've stopped himself. Nick had told him to be himself, but a reserved, less-outrageously-flirty version of himself. Not even five minutes in and already he'd stepped over that line.

Clover grinned, liking Greg's brazenness. Usually, whenever someone of the male persuasion was as suggestive to her, she was utterly repulsed. It was the same when a man's eyes lingered for too long over her body. When Greg did it, she couldn't have cared less. In fact, she positively lounged in the glory of it. "Maybe I will." They chatted, admirably for a short while; Clover told Greg a little bit more about her days as a showgirl, while Greg explained to her about DNA, it's many uses and just how fascinating it could be. Half of it went over her head, but she enjoyed just listening to him, the deep - only occasionally surprisingly high-pitched -, solid timbre of his voice sending goosebumps down her arms whenever he leant in to whisper something to her, as though it were a deep, sordid secret that shouldn't ever be spoken of. Eventually, Greg pulled up into a tiny, oddly-shaped diner with three other cars outside it. All that driving, for this place. Clover wasn't sure what to think.

"Don't worry; it's cool on the inside." Greg offered her a lopsided smile. She nodded and opened her door. The view that greeted her was pleasantly...nice. It was retro, completely, almost like something out of a 1950s noir flick, chock-a-block full of gangsters and their femme fatales. Clover smiled and glanced over at the desk that they were moving rapidly towards. It was a very tall man, dark hair, sparklingly bright, blue eyes in a dark, foreboding suit that greeted them.

"Good evening, Sir. I'm Glen. Have you got a reservation?" Glen smiled, cheerily. Clover liked the way, even though he was a receptionist, he had introduced himself. The world would've been a better place if people told her their names. This was just a delightful little place, all told.

"Uh, yeah, Sanders...Greg Sanders." Greg began hoking around in his back pocket for a small piece of paper, before handing it to Glen. Glen nodded, typed a few things into his computer and pointed to a table in the middle of the room, overlooking everything, really. Greg thanked him and placed his hand on the small of Clover's back, ushering her over to the table. She fought off a smile, but couldn't do anything to stop the crimson in her ears. She thanked the Lord that she had thick hair to cover said aural appendages.

"Greg! Why have you been hiding this place from me? It's fantastic." Clover tugged her jacket off as soon as she sat down and let it rest where it fell. Greg smiled.

"You never asked to come with me." Greg had been coming here for a while now, but hadn't ever enjoyed sitting on his own. This, however, tiny cocoon of a table, Clover sat in front of him, lovely as always, was definitely much better. Fantastic, in fact. He shuffled around for a few seconds before Glen returned with the menu. One menu. Typical. Greg, being the utter gentleman that he was, handed it to Clover with a broad smile.

"Thanks." Clover snatched it from him, almost ready to eat her own shoe. She'd been starving herself since breakfast for this. There had better be meat, preferably a lot of it.

"So...uh, what do you do? I mean, in your spare time, cause I already know what you...do..." Greg frowned at himself. Nick, again, had told him not to fall into his usual habit of inane psycho-babble. Greg had scoffed. As if he would do that.

Clover looked up at him from behind the menu and grinned. "Uh, well, I...watch a lot of movies, read a lot of books...and...no. That's it. Very dull, unexciting girl, I'm afraid. You'd probably be better off with Imogen. I swear she has a secret life, Greg. She comes in, looking like she's spent the last ten years of her life sleeping like a baby, smelling like roses, smiling, then she sits down and all Hell breaks loose. She doesn't speak, doesn't do eye contact, doesn't seem to have a personality. Nada. But she does get text messages. Lots of text messages. And she takes more personal days than she should. She went on a week's holiday to Rio when she said she had a gastric flu. Although, don't tell anyone that I told you. Maybe she's in the CIA, I don't know."

Greg laughed. Nobody had ever had as much to say about Imogen before. Clover, on the other hand, was held up on a pedestal. "Huh. She sounds like a bundle of fun. And what do you mean, 'dull'? You're not dull." He sounded almost appalled at the notion. Clover laughed.

"No, I am, really. Twenty-six-and-three-quarter years of peace...and then I met you." She seemed to like reminding Greg that she had those five little months extra that he hadn't experienced, and he seemed to like being reminded.

"But you were a showgirl. You told me all about that...leg stuff. I don't know anybody that can do that." Good, God, she still had the menu. He was going to starve! Sure, he enjoyed watching her look everything through, but this was not the time for indecision. He hadn't eaten all day. He needed something substantial.

"Stop soothing my ego." She smiled, handing him the menu. "I'm having the roast chicken, I think." Greg nodded, opening up the menu and letting his eyes dart from one foodstuff to the next. Clover examined him with a light smile. "You're cute when you're hungry, Greg." She had noticed his eagerness to get the menu, and that was precisely why she had taken to long to pick something.

He glanced up and smiled. "Why thank you. And you told me to stop soothing your ego. Ha." He began drumming his fingers against the table. Clover arched her eyebrow at his weirdness. She was beginning to really, really like it. A lot more than she should. "Okay. Rack. Of. Lamb. Oh, yeah. Uh, you like wine, Clover?" Girls liked red wine, Greg knew. Always go with the red wine.

"Oh, yes. White, though, red's kinda foosty." Oh. That was a turn up for the books. Never again was Greg going to listen to Nick Stokes.

"I concur." Greg nodded, conversationally. Now that the whole ordering-ordeal was over, he could take it a little bit easier, focus all his attentions on Clover. Food was only a passing thought when she was next to him; she was that good.

"You concur?" Clover giggled. "Jeez, I can just picture you in one of those little British caps with a golf stick in one hand and a pipe in the other. I have relatives like that. My cousin, Cherie, and her husband...Marc, I think. He's a hot-shot entrepreneur kinda guy. She's agoraphobic, though..." She shook her head, realizing that she was babbling on incoherently. "You got any funny relatives?"

Greg nodded, eagerly. "My grandpa, he's fantastic. Seventy-three, married with five kids. He got kicked out of Norway for getting my grandmother pregnant before they were married. To this day, he still tells me, 'som man reder, sa ligger man'."

Clover stared at him, unsure whether she should even ask or not. "Um..."

"It means, 'one must lie in the bed one has made'."

"Oh. I learn something new every day."

"Yeah, he's very wise, so..." Greg opened up the menu again, scanning the dessert page. Some had called him greedy. He insisted that he just had a hearty appetite.

Clover grinned, finding that story a little bit too romantic, all things considered. "Huh. I like that. All those old romantic stories just get to me." She shook her head, a sudden chill coming over her. "My dad sent my mom a flower every day for a year so as she would go out with him. When she eventually said yes, he was in the middle of courting Laura Simmons. My mom was not pleased and insisted that Laura leave him alone, or else. Actually, that doesn't sound at all romantic..." She trailed off, eyebrows knitted in confusion. Greg was about to go off on one about his own parents, when a waitress came over. She took their order and left them in peace for a while. Clover told Greg more about her family - two other sisters, one brother, no other men in her house except for her father - and listened intently as Greg told her more of Papa Olaf's infamous stories. As they ate, they still chatted. It wasn't really a date, it was more like a random meeting, trying to get to know one another, sharing their likes and dislikes, letting their chemistry do all the work. It was fantastic. There was no pressure from one on the other one, no awkward silences, no strings. Neither of them could be happier about how the evening was turning out. They joked, flirted, everything. When they had finished, Clover decided they were going for a quick drive, considering she'd witnessed the scenery on their way to the diner, and wanted to see it much closer. Greg, feeling a new sense of responsibility for Clover, let her have his jacket and made sure to hold her hand all the way over to the car. "You don't have to hold onto me, you know. I'm a big girl, I can fend for myself."

"I know!" Greg raised his eyebrows. "I just wanna make sure you don't get abducted or anything. I do work in a crime lab, you know."

"So do I." Clover smiled. Greg started the car and began at a gentle enough speed, too full to hit the legal limit, contentment settling around the two of them as they drove along quietly for a few moments. The silence didn't last long, though. "You scared of anything, Greg?"

Greg frowned and shrugged. "Not that I know of..." He could think on several things, none of which he would admit; not to a girl. He didn't like the complete dark, for one, and never in his life would he ever go near a snake.

"Hm. What about allergies?" As previously stated, Clover was a people-person. She liked to know everything. Everything.

"Uh...no. I had chickenpox, though, when I was eight, my great grandma suffered from polio, and I think my grandma was missing two toes. Anything else?" Greg was feeling rather proud of his oddness.

"How'd she lose two toes?" One was a coincidence. Two was...strange; an inordinate amount of missing toes.

"Frostbite. She always said her principals came before anything, and that was how she lost her toes. Don't ask me what it was about." Greg shrugged the thought away. "What are your sisters like?" She hadn't had a chance to finish telling him earlier; the waitress had stomped over to the table with their food and a very displeased manner.

"Well, there's Carole, she's nearly a year younger than me, she's a cook, and she's married to Bob, he's a solicitor and they've got two kids, Robbie and Caitlin. Twins. Then there's Becky, she's eight years younger than me and she's not really very wise...she likes boys and shoes and that's about it, but she's harmless. And...my brother's Freddie, he's the baby of the family and we're really kinda close. He's into music, and films, and books, and you can tell him anything. See, I was more of a tomboy, so I hung out with him and my dad instead of Carole and Becky." She could almost write a book about sibling rivalry. "I take it you don't have any brothers or sisters."

Greg quickly shook his head. "No...my, uh, my mom wanted two girls and two boys but...all she got was me." He didn't sound overtly happy about it. "She was very overprotective. If I so much as got a nosebleed, she'd take me to the ER. But she's really nice, though. Amazing cook. She and my dad are polar opposites, though. He's kinda free-living and really likes taking it easy. My mom's...well, she's my mom." She, though, hadn't wanted him to settle down, which was surprising.

"Oh. Well...at least she hit the jackpot with you." She could sense that Greg had suffered a hard time with his mother, and she really did want to drag anything out on the first date. Humour was always a brilliant technique to diffuse an unpleasant situation. Thankfully, Greg gave a small laugh and nodded. "So, what were you like at school?"

Greg shrugged, pausing to let out a few impatient drivers. He grinned to himself. "I was captain of the high school chess squad."

Clover giggled. "Say no more." Before she could say anything else on the subject, and all too soon, they were back at the lab. Clover could plainly see her car; old, rusty and dirty. And black. Clover hated black. "Oh. We're here." She felt - and sounded - thoroughly disappointed. Greg parked his car next to Clover's and turned to her with a smile.

"Okay-"

"Greg, I had a fantastic time." She placed her hand on his knee and grinned.

"Yeah, me, too." Oho, yes. Here they were, inches away from each other, love - or something akin to it, Greg fervently chose to believe - floating around in the air, Clover's hand unashamedly resting near his thigh. This was definitely going to end with a kiss.

Clover tilted her head to the side and examined her nails. "So, I'll see you tomorrow and we'll do this again? Maybe Saturday?" She shifted and opened her door, swinging her legs gracefully out onto the damp tarmac. Greg couldn't believe it. He was stunned.

"I-uh-yeah! Definitely. Night, Clover." He placed his hand on the steering wheel. What else could he do?

Clover smiled and blew him a kiss. "Goodnight, Greggo." And then she slammed the door, taking two steps to her own car, a certain spring in her step, a je-ne-sais-qui that stayed with her long throughout the night. She got into her car, turned it - and the radio - on and drove off with a wave and a honk of her horn.

Greg sighed contentedly and turned his ignition back on before speeding back to his own place.

A/N: Hola!

Wow. I did not expect to get so many reviews, but I'm very pleased :D Thank you SO much to everyone who did review, I really appreciate it!

I'm not a huge fan of filler chapters...they're just kinda...meh. But the next one was thoroughly plotted, and my writing style seems to constantly change from really fluffy and incoherent to semi-intelligent, LOL! Very strange, but I love it.

Please read and review, and I'll post the next chapter just as soon as I get five more reviews...:D

Have a great rest of the evening,

Mary-Lou

XOX