A/N: And yet again, another new chapter. This one had a much gentler tone than the previous one, which is good, because there was A LOT of angst in that one. This has less angst, but that doesn't mean by any means that it's the end of angst for this story. Anyway, usual disclaimer applies. Please read and review!

Chapter 9

"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 woke far too early the next morning. The sun had barely breached the horizon, and the clock on the bedside table proclaimed the time to be just after five. With a sigh, Greg sat up and swung his legs over to the side of the bed, where he sat for a few moments, gathering his thoughts.

He had dreamed of Sara.

It hadn't been a good dream, and yet, oddly enough, hadn't been a bad dream either. He had been chasing Sara through darkness, and no matter how hard he ran or how close he got to her, she always evaded him.

Shaking his head, he ran a hand over his face and took a few deep breaths. It had just been a dream. Nothing more, nothing less. It certainly didn't have any bearing on his plans for the day. Or, at least, it wouldn't have any bearing on his plans for the day, if he had made any plans for the day. He hadn't however, since his impromptu meeting with Sara the night before had disrupted any plans he might've had in the first place.

Well, first things first. He stood up from the bed, stretching languidly before heading to the bathroom to shower. After a nice, long shower, he would go scrounge up some breakfast. And then, he would see where the morning took him.

A few hours later, Greg found himself seated at a small table in a café in downtown San Francisco, reading an old issue of Journal of Forensic Sciences that he had found in his duffel bag and sipping on a cup of coffee that didn't even come close to matching his Blue Hawaiian for taste.

He had just finished re-reading a particularly enthralling article on mitochondrial DNA when his phone ran. Without thinking, he whipped it out and held it up to his ear, his gaze never leaving the magazine in front of him. "Sanders."

"Greg?"

His breath hitched in his throat as he recognized Sara's voice, but this was not Sara's voice as he recognized it. It was too soft, too gentle, and, if possible for the tenacious woman, more vulnerable than he had ever heard it in his life. His hand gripped his phone like a vice, and he asked softly, "Sara? Where are you? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she answered immediately, the kind of knee-jerk response that was typical of her. "And I'm at the hotel. In my room. I was…" She trailed off, uncertain if she should continue. "I was hoping that we could talk."

"Of course," Greg answered quickly, his voice sounding odd, even to him. He stared ahead, trying to remember how to breath as he formed what he wanted to say. "Talking is good. I'm glad you want to talk." Pausing, he took a deep breath before adding in a low voice, "I am kinda surprised, however, that you're still here."

Sara paused as well, and when she answered, there was a tinge of surprise in her voice as well. "I'm surprised too," she said softly. "I had it all planned. I was going to go and grab my stuff and get out of here. But something made me stay, and I think it was you."

Greg didn't know what to say to that, though it made his heart beat even faster than before. "Whatever the reason," he said, his voice suddenly husky, "I'm really glad that you stayed this time."

There was another long pause before Sara said, so quietly that Greg couldn't be sure if he had heard her right or if she had ever said it at all, "I'm really glad I stayed, too."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

When Sara answered the door of her hotel room, there had been no theatrics like the night before. In fact, there had been nothing out of the ordinary at all. She had let him in without a word, bustling to the kitchenette where a teapot was beginning to whistle. "I made tea," she said, rather unnecessarily. "I hope you don't mind. It calms me down and helps me think."

"I don't mind at all," Greg said, taking a seat on the hard, uncomfortable hotel-provided couch. "In fact, I'll take a mug, if you have enough to spare. It's still a little early for my mind to be functioning at full capacity." He broke off, looking closely at Sara, eyes half questioning and half accusing. "Though I supposed you'll be all adjusted by now, since you left. After all, you don't need to be nocturnal anymore."

Though her back was to him in the kitchen, Greg could see her muscles visibly tense at his words, and as she brought the tea mugs over, he noticed for the first time the deep circles under her eyes and the mask of exhaustion that clung to her features. She only shrugged, however, as she sat in the chair across from him, tucking one leg under her as she sat. "I sleep when I can," she said softly, avoiding his gaze. "I'm not quite on a schedule yet."

Greg was suddenly uncomfortable, and he took a careful sip of the tea, just to have something to do with his hands. After a moment of tense silence, he finally blurted, "Well, what did you want to talk about?"

If she was startled by his outburst, she didn't show it. Instead, she looked almost—embarrassed, a hint of pink flushing her cheeks. "I'm sorry," said Sara softly, tracing the rim of her tea mug with her finger and avoiding Greg's eyes. "I'm sorry about everything I said yesterday. I hope that you know that I didn't mean a word of it."

Greg leaned back in his seat, his eyes coolly appraising her. "I know that you didn't mean it, but I don't understand why you said it," he said calmly.

She looked up then, her eyes searching his. "Don't you understand?" she whispered. "Your very presence here makes me want to go back to Vegas. It makes me miss everything good about that place, and that's not something that I want to think about right now. I can't think about that right now because if I think about it, then I'll want to go back."

Now Greg leaned forward, taking Sara's hand in his. "Look, Sara, I wouldn't be here if I thought this was truly what you wanted," he said eagerly. "Really I wouldn't. In fact, if you look me in my eyes right now and tell me that you're happy, then I will leave, here and now." He paused for impact, then continued in a gentler tone. "But if you're not happy, which I don't think you are, then I'm not going anywhere until we sort this out."

"You're right," said Sara simply, looking down at their entwined hands. "I'm not happy here. But Greg, I'm not happy in Vegas anymore. And as much as Vegas had been my home for the past eight years, it doesn't feel like home anymore. And I don't know what to do about it."

Greg dropped her hand and sat back, his expression sour. "You could still try," he said, not meaning to sound snippy. "You could try to work things out there. You could try to suck it up and wait it out."

Sara's expression was pained, both at his words and the implications that came with them. "Greg, I've been trying and waiting it out and sucking it up for close to a year now," she said softly. "The job got to me. The job's been getting to me. I thought that maybe with Grissom…" She trailed off, even more pain on her face. "But that didn't work out," she finally allowed. "Even with Grissom's help, it was too much. In fact, if it weren't for Grissom—and for you—I would've left a long time ago."

Though Greg was touched by her inclusion of him, he could also sense that he was pushing it a bit too far, and Sara would clam up if he kept pushing. Instead, he changed the subject. "So what have you been doing here in San Francisco? I know you went to go see a coroner friend of yours, right?"

She seem puzzled for a second by the subject change, but her voice warmed as she spoke. "Yeah, Dr. Phillips was the coroner when I worked here. He's a great guy—real quirky, and you can totally tell that he lived through the 1960s, you know?"

She prattled on, her features lighter than Greg had seen in weeks, and so he just sat back and let her talk, reveling in the sound of her voice surrounding him.

They talked like that for hours, sharing stories and studiously avoiding the topic of Las Vegas. Sara had just finished sharing her first experience at a gay bar when Greg noticed the time. "Whoa!" he said, raising an eyebrow. "Is it that late already?"

Sara glanced at the time as well. "Oh, wow, we just chatted the day away."

Greg grinned and was about to point out that she had chatted the day away (and his ear off) when suddenly his stomach did the talking for him, letting out a large, watery growl that made Greg grin and blush at the same time. "Looks like it's time to eat as well," said Greg, standing and offering a hand to Sara. "Why don't we go get some dinner, and then we can keep talking?"

Biting her lip, an inner battle clearly taking place inside her, Sara finally nodded, albeit reluctantly, and took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. "Dinner," she allowed, hands on hips. "But no funny business, ok?"

Though Greg looked mock-wounded at the suggestion that he would be the culprit behind any funny business, his eyes were serious as he responded lightly, "Now I can't make any promises like that, and you know it."

Sara just rolled her eyes. "Let's get out of here," she said, heading to the door. "Before I change my mind."