A/N: Another day, another chapter. Not much to say about this one. The Seal Rock Inn is a real place, and I don't own it. Usual disclaimer applies--I own nothing, really. Please read and review!

Chapter 5

"Did you run away?
Did you fall apart?
Do you see yourself for what you are?
Will you be looking for it anymore?
When five becomes four"

Greg had been driving for over an hour before he decided that it was now late enough in the morning to give his friend Matt at the SFPD a ring. He had gone to college with Matt, and they were good enough friends that Mat wouldn't mind bending the rules for Greg, just as Greg would bend the rules if Matt needed him to. Greg pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Matt's number.

A very groggy voice picked up on the other side. "Patterson."

"Wake up, Matty," said Greg in a singsong voice. He was amazed at how much lighter he felt just being on the road and knowing that he was on his way to do the best he could. "Come on, I know you have at least two cups on coffee in you, so you have no excuse."

"Sanders." Matt's voice was not overly amused. "Shouldn't you be mid-hibernation by this hour of the morning?"

Greg shrugged, even though he knew Matt couldn't see him. "I should be, yes, but I'm taking a few days off, and I figured I would drive up to San Francisco for that time. You know, see the sights, maybe run into a few old friends…"

Matt seemed instantly more awake. "Why do I get the feeling that I am not one of these old friends, and, somehow, this is going to involve me doing some private investigating to figure out where someone is?"

"Ah, Matty, you know me too well," Greg said, grinning. "I suppose the better question is, do you have enough free time to do this favor for me? Or should I call one of my other contacts at SFPD?"

There was a brief pause, but then Matt responded, mock-hurt, "Greg, you would honestly cheat on me with another person at SFPD?" He paused again. "You're in luck, Sanders. I just checked my calendar, and, provided I don't get a new case, I'm free all morning. Who do you want me to hunt down, and, more importantly, why?"

Greg ignored the second part of his question. "Her name is Sara Sidle. She'll probably be staying in a motel. I can give you her car make and model, and most of her license plate number." He rattled these things off the top of his head, not pausing to consider the fact that this would be considered fairly strange. "Do you think you can find her?"

"Shouldn't be a problem," said Matt casually. "However, whether or not I can find her does not mean that I will find her. Not without a very good reason as to why she should be found. For all I know, Sanders, she ran away from Vegas to get away from your ugly mug, and I'm not one to subject an innocent woman to that face of yours if she doesn't want to see it."

Greg frowned. "Hardy-har, Patterson, good to know that your humor hasn't improved since I last talked to you. If you must know, she's a former coworker of mine, and she left without saying good-bye, and therefore left some business between us opened and unfinished."

"And you want to finish that business," finished Matt, a note of relish in his voice. "You totally slept with her, didn't you? And that's why you want to find her again."

Snorting, Greg rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Patterson, did you ever mature past the age of eighteen? Because I swear…" He trailed off, his tone softening. "No, I didn't sleep with her. I may have wanted to, but I never got the opportunity."

There was a pause, then Matt said, equally quiet, "Oh." There was an awkward silence, then Matt said, "Well, if that's the case, Sanders, then I will slave away all morning until I find her for you."

Greg smiled. "Thanks, Matty. I appreciate it, seriously."

"Not a problem," said Matt, before adding gruffly, "Now get off my phone line and leave me alone so I can track her down for you."

"Bye, Matt," said Greg, rolling his eyes as he hung up. He couldn't help but smiling as he drummed against the steering wheel while humming to himself. He just had a good feeling about this.

A little over an hour later, Greg's phone rang, and he opened it without looking at the display. "Sanders."

"Who is a miracle worker?" asked Matt's voice, the smile unmistakable in his voice. "Seriously, who is the best detective you have ever met?"

Greg grinned as well. "You, hopefully," he said, scarcely daring to hope. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and hope that you found her. Am I right?"

After a moment, Matt said grudgingly, "Well, credit where credit's due, I suppose…I didn't actually find her. She is a hard woman to find, let me tell you. I bet she's even paying for her motel with cash. However, I did find someone who may be able to help you out. I have evidence from a reliable source that one Sara Sidle signed in two days ago as a visitor to the San Francisco coroner's office."

"That makes sense," Greg remarked. "She used to do a work-study at the coroner's office, so my guess is she was visiting an old friend or two."

"Yeah, my contact surmised the same thing," Matt confirmed. "However, as Sara undoubtedly learned when she went there two days ago, our most recent coroner, Jack Phillips, retired two years ago. Chances are, however, that Sara asked for his address and phone number, which I have for you, by the way. So, hopefully, this guy will know where Sara is staying, and thus, you will be able to track your love down once and for all and finish whatever business you have with her."

Greg closed his eyes, wishing that Matt had a more concrete lead. "Yeah, hopefully," he said dryly. "Thanks, Matt."

"No problem." Matt paused for a moment, then suggested tentatively, "Look, Greg, I know that you're driving all the way out here, but, you know, Sara obviously went through a lot of trouble to make sure she couldn't be found, and, you know, maybe you should leave well enough alone."

Greg was surprised by the sudden tears that sprung up in his eyes, and he cleared his throat before answering hoarsely, "Trust me, Matt, if I was doing this just for me, I probably wouldn't go through with this. But without Sara, the four of us left on Grissom's team seem so different, you know? And we all miss her, really. I just…I just think that I miss her more than everyone else."

There was silence on Matt's end, then he exhaled heavily. "Ok, well, I'm going to text you the phone number for the coroner. And Greg, I hope you find the answers that you're looking for."

Greg hung up without saying good-bye. He understood where Matt was coming from, really he did, but he also knew that he had things that he needed to say to Sara, and for once in his life, he was not going to let anyone stand in the way of that.

Instead, he punched the coroner's number into his phone, hoping that he was as genial as Doc Robbins. After two rings, a voice answered gruffly, "Hello?"

"Doctor Phillips?" asked Greg, hoping he didn't sound too eager.

"Yes?" answered the doctor, sounding slightly suspicious.

"I hope I'm not bothering you," said Greg, also hoping that he wouldn't start rambling. "My name is Greg Sanders, and I'm a CSI with the Las Vegas Police Department. I understand that a former coworker of mine, Sara Sidle, may have come to visit you, and I was hoping that you might know where she is staying."

There was a pause, then the doctor said slowly, "Yes, Sara did come to visit me. She said that she quit her job in Las Vegas."

"Yes sir, that's what I wanted to talk to her about," said Greg, biting his lip, hoping that this guy would be slightly understanding.

Again, there was a pause, and Dr. Phillips said, "Well, I'm not sure if she would want me to give out where she's staying."

"Please, sir," Greg said, not even bothering to hide the desperation in his voice. "She left without giving me an opportunity to say good-bye, and, well, she's my best friend, and there's so much that I still need to say to her."

"I understand," said Dr. Phillips gently. "And normally, I wouldn't do this just anyone. But when Sara talked about her job in Vegas, she mentioned you quite a bit, so I have no doubt that you two are, in fact, friends. She's staying at the Seal Rock Inn, 545 Point Lobos Avenue, room number 112."

Greg exhaled deeply, not even aware that he had been holding his breath. "Thank you, sir," he said honestly.

"You're welcome," responded the former coroner, a smile in his voice. "And Greg? Good luck."

Greg hung up, a grin spreading over his face. He knew where she was, and he felt better than he had in days. He ran a hand through his hair and reached for the radio, turning it on to a random station and just leaning back in his seat, ready to face the road ahead now that he knew his destination.