Author's Note: On account of I posted this last Wednesday, I was going to update weekly (on Wednesdays). But I was feeling generous, and in honor of the extra hour the West Coast gained today, I decided to post early. Enjoy chapter two. And for those unfamiliar with my work and posting habits, I tend to post regularly either daily, every other day, or weekly. This will probably be bi-weekly postings.

Chapter Two: Whiskey and Whine

By the time they had finished work, every decent bar was closed. Insisting they needed to go to a place where alcohol was available and refusing to go to a casino, Greg suggested that they retire to his apartment.

Greg poured Wendy a glass of chardonnay and she thanked him. "So, why Portland?"

"Vegas won't put me in the field," Wendy replied. "You know that."

Greg fell onto his couch, holding his glass out to the side. "What's the matter with Ecklie, huh? It's not like I turned out badly, did I?"

"No, you're great!" Wendy agreed, sitting next to Greg on his couch. "That's exactly why I don't get it. He let you do it, and you turned into this brilliant CSI, but then he goes around and says, 'Sorry, Wendy, we aren't doing that anymore.'"

"And it's not like we don't need an extra hand," Greg added. "Riley left a spot wide open. You could totally take that."

"I know, right?" Wendy exclaimed. "Jesus, the idiots that run this lab."

"Clowns running the circus," Greg agreed with a nod. "But you still didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"Why Portland?"

She shrugged. "I like it up there, it's a great city. I have family there, their lab has a good reputation…"

"Yeah, but so does the Reno lab," Greg put in. "And that's ten times closer. You wouldn't be so far away from… us."

Wendy looked down at her knees. "Reno lab has a horrible reputation and you know it."

"But it's still in Nevada," Greg said.

"You think I want to leave?" she asked. "I don't. Ideally, I could stay right here and become a CSI and I wouldn't have to leave… everyone behind."

"Who's everyone?" Greg asked.

"You, Henry, Mandy… Everyone."

"Hodges?"

She looked sharply away. "And Hodges…"

"What's going on with you two, anyway?" Greg asked. "Catherine said you had a pretty intense conversation right in front of her about that arson case."

"God, is nothing safe from the rumor mill?" Wendy asked with a laugh.

"If you want something juicy, I think I might have walked in on Sara having phone sex with Grissom in one of the layout rooms," Greg said with a smirk.

Wendy let out a barking laugh and Greg joined in. As their laughter died down, she nodded. "Hodges and I will never happen."

"Why not?"

"Because he's too stubborn," Wendy explained. "And I can't wait forever. And I'm leaving."

"You don't have to leave," Greg said.

"Please, don't start," Wendy begged. "I wasn't even going to tell you, but then you turned around and said what you did, and it just… guilted me into it."

"Were you going to tell anyone you were leaving, or just vanish?" Greg asked.

"I've been talking to Henry about it," Wendy said. "A little. It's in its very preliminary stages, so… But Hodges can never know."

"Why not?"

"Because just like you, he'll give me his big puppy-dog eyes and beg me to stay," Wendy explained. "And unlike you, he will never drop it. I can't stay, Greg. I can't sacrifice my career for a relationship that's going nowhere."

"Maybe you have the right idea," Greg said. "Maybe I should get out of Vegas, too."

"And why would you do a stupid thing like that?" Wendy cried, appalled at the very suggestion of it. "You are golden here. You have everything. You're a CSI, like you wanted, and you help out in the lab but only when you feel like it. The team loves you, Henry worships you, even Hodges has begrudgingly begun to admit that you're an OK guy. I even heard that Catherine may or may not have been talking to Nick about promoting a certain someone." At the mention of Nick's name, Greg cringed. Wendy frowned. "OK, Greg, what's the matter?"

"You're right, of course," Greg conceded, "in that I have it pretty good here. And I like working with Catherine and Sara and Ray, but…"

Wendy was just as astute as Greg was when she'd neglected to list the name of her chief problem. "Is this about Nick?"

"No," Greg said, pouring himself more wine. "Yes. Absolutely. It's always about Nick."

"How can you be mad at Nick?" Wendy asked, sounding genuinely baffled. "He's a sweetheart. I bet if you talked to him—"

"No, Wendy, this all started because I talked to him," Greg said. "I think I screwed everything up." He held up the bottle and she held her glass out for a refill.

"I don't follow," she said as he poured the wine. She took a sip.

"I told him I was in love with him."

Wendy choked but disguised it with a cough. Her eyes were twice their normal size, but then, she shrugged and smiled. "Well then…" She downed her wine in one gulp. "I think we're ready for some whiskey."

So the wine turned into whiskey, and commiserating turned into teasing, and before either of them knew it, they were laughing.

"I just… I'm sorry…" Wendy was saying, shaking her head. "It just makes… so much sense."

"Indubitab-bubbly," Greg said, nodding emphatically. This just made Wendy laugh harder.

"No, really," Wendy insisted, as if Greg had said he hadn't believed her. "You're far too hot to be straight, and far too much of a flirt to be gay. So you're both. So that… that makes sense."
"That's what I've been saying, I mean, I mean, with Nick, right, he looks at me like this is something… weird, or something he's never thought of before. But Wendy, see, Wendy, I know for a fact, see, Wendy, that he has picked up on my – watchyoucallit – flirting – and he, I swear, see, Wendy, he's played along. Flirted back. It's all in the innuendo, Enzo."

"Who is Enzo?" Wendy exclaimed, tossing her head back.

"Your new nickname," Greg said.

She hit him. "You call me that, and I, I think I'll do… something…" She tried to stop grinning but couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing.

"Ya, so, like, this concept of a healthy, normal, bisexual man seems to baffle him, but Wendy…" And now, Greg got really serious. "I've seen, Wendy, how he looks at me when I walk away. I bet you solid money that man is not straight." He threw his hands up in the air and leaned backwards. "And there, I said it."

Wendy snorted. "And how could he say no to you? Oh my God, Greg, you and Nick, you and Nick would be the perfect couple. Just the thought of it makes me feel all warm and squishy."

"Oh, I see," Greg said with a smirk. "That sort of thing turns you on, does it? You're one of those women."

Wendy's jaw dropped. "I meant happy that two great people like you guys got together. Warm and squishy like it's such an adorable romantic comedy movie thing, that's all."

"I'm sure that's exactly what you meant," Greg said.

She gestured at him with her whiskey glass, spilling some of it on the couch. "The fact that it's an attractive picture has nothing to do with me wanting you two to hook up. You deserve each other."

"Well you don't deserve, Hodges," Greg said. "He's beneath you, totally. Why, I'll bet you'll find some hot CSI out there in Portland. Maybe even pull a Griss and Sara and run off together to Jamaica or wherever. But you deserve better than Hodges. Like, a lot better. What kind of name is that anyway, it sounds like hodgepodge. Podgy Hodges." He said the name a few more times, wrinkling his nose.

"Oh yeah, better than Hodges, huh?" Wendy said. "Tell me, who in this lab, in this state, in this universe, is better than him?"

"Well, me, obviously," Greg said with a snort.

"But you're unavailable," Wendy said. "You left your heart in Nick Stokes'… locker, or something."

"Hey…" Greg said, an idea striking him. "Hey, wait. You and me, we're mad because there are people out there who just don't deserve us, but we're in love with them anyway."

"No, you deserve Nick," Wendy insisted. "He's a sweetie buddy teddy bear. C'mon, Angelina Jolie deserves Nick Stokes, you'd be lucky to—"

"The point is!" Greg interrupted, loudly. "The point is that there are, Wendy, there are people out there that we can't help being in love with, even if they can't love us back, whether we deserve each other or not."

"Right," Wendy agreed.

"So here's what I – and listen closely, Wendy – here's what I think."

Wendy waited. Greg paused, his index finger up in the air, his mouth half open. For a moment, Wendy thought he'd frozen that way. "What do you think?"

"I'm getting to it!" Greg snapped. "So what I think, Wendy, what I think is that, is that… Wendy. OK, so, we're good people, right?"

"The best," Wendy reminded him, pointedly.

"Right, so, we're the best. We're young—"

"Not too young," Wendy said.

"Not old," Greg elaborated. "We're not old and attractive and good people and you look really pretty tonight so I was having a thought, and—"

"You think I'm pretty?" Wendy asked, her eyes alight.

"Yes," Greg said, "and I was thinking that, Wendy, if it was OK with you, then maybe, um, maybe we should—"

But where Greg was a man of words, Wendy had always been a woman of action, and before Greg could even finish his thought, she silenced him with a kiss, her hands on his cheeks. The silence that fell across the room in the absence of Greg's monologue intoxicated her more than the alcohol. She inhaled through her nose as Greg's fingers twisted themselves in her hair, his other hand on her back, pulling her deeper into the kiss and closer to him.

When they broke, Greg smacked his lips, his eyes wide. "I was gonna say we should go out to a club and pick up strangers, but I think your idea is better."

She pushed his shoulder back then straddled him, one knee on either hip. She slid her hands back into his hair as he looked up at her adoringly, his jaw slightly slack.

"You really are beautiful," he told her.

"Stop talking."

"OK—"

But the last sound was muffled as once again, her lips stole his words and his arms encircled her, crawling up her back. She pressed herself into him, her hands traveling down his neck and his back, her fingertips reading the muscles and scars beneath his shirt like Braille until she reached the hem of his shirt and seized it, pulling it up over his head. He hooked his arms beneath her knees and swiftly twisted her so that she was on her back on the couch and he was on top of her. Their lips explored each other's skin and their hands tugged at each other's clothes, and soon enough, they crossed the point of no return, and there was no coming back from that.