A few days later he found himself once again at home, this time he was making himself do things to keep him busy. He was never one for sports, so why was a baseball game playing on the TV? He sat in his kitchen, eating cereal. He had a book out before him, a book he had read over a dozen times. It never got old though. But he felt himself not actually reading. His eyes flickered across the page, his mind was concentrated on one thing, and it wasn't the book before him, it wasn't the baseball game he barely heard in the background, and it certainly wasn't the Raisin Bran he was eating.
She was not into baseball. It kept her interest for about five minutes. But even so, she sat there, his arm around her, watching the most boring sporting event on TV. Were they dating even? They hadn't gone anywhere together, they hadn't spent time together out side of his apartment. And most of the time they were in his bed. Having sex, and only having sex, doesn't mean you're in a relationship, does it? She had asked herself this question many times over the past few weeks. She knew what was going to happen after the baseball game. She felt guilty almost. They never really talked to each other about why this was happening between them. He wanted it because he had feelings for her, she wanted it to take her mind off things; it was working, almost.
Of all places to eat he picked the traditional place. The place he knew they always went. Luckily they weren't there. He sat down at the counter and ordered a coffee. He drank it slowly, and looked around at the back counter. Why did they eat here? Yet, as he asked himself this question he didn't dare move. This place had history between him and his team. He felt the hot Nevada air float in and he heard the bell on the door chime. Another customer. He kept his eyes on his coffee, he watched the cream swirl around with the hot brown coffee. It was almost mesmerizing, the out of the corner of his eye, the seat next to him spun around slightly, and a figure sat down next to him. Being friendly, Grissom turned his head to give a smile, but his smile faded when he saw who was sitting next to him. Greg. He enjoyed working with Greg, he honestly did. But Grissom was smart, and sometimes that wasn't for the best, especially for himself. It didn't take Grissom long to discover Sara was sleeping with Greg. "Coffee good today boss?" Grissom silently stared at Greg, contemplating what to say. "As good as it could be."
Sitting at the computer at the lab was rather annoying. She had been there for almost an hour looking for a missing person. Nothing. She was calling it, Jane Doe. She exited out of the program, and swung her chair around. As she stood up she rubbed her eyes. She was more tired than usual. It wasn't because she was up too late at work, or because of all her free nights with Greg, it was because she was missing him. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew it was true. Being with him wasn't stressing her out half as much as being away from him was. She needed to go back to him. She needed him. But how was she going to tell Greg, sweet loving Greg. She knew all he ever wanted was to be in a relationship with her, and she had been stringing him along these past weeks. But didn't Greg know, that she had been sleeping with him out of revenge, didn't he say that the first night they had had sex? Letting her feet guide her, without thinking where she was going, she found herself before Grissom's office. She looked in, he sat there reading a report of some case, his eyes concentrated on the paper, his eyebrows scrunched over his glasses. She suddenly realized she was watching him read. She left quickly and headed toward the break room. He looked up at the doorway. She wasn't standing there like he thought she was.