Author's Note: A few things I would like to point out before you read this story.

1) I love English. Seriously, it is an amazing subject, and I've applied to study English and Creative Writing at university. And I am a bit of a grammar geek (just ask my friends and family, it annoys them no end), so I don't hold the view mentioned in this story that grammar and spelling aren't important. They are. That said, as always, if you notice anything wrong with regards to my writing don't hesitate to tell me.

2) In case you're wondering why the title is 'Implicit Meaning' as opposed to 'Implied Meaning' it is because I am referring to 'Implicit' as the opposite of 'Explicit' which would be what is actually said.

3) I thought up the idea for this as I was walking to school for an English exam so I apologise if it is slightly random. My teachers throughout GCSE and A Levels are always telling me that I need to find the 'Implicit Meaning' in language. And it's a very interesting thing to do.

Whoa, that's one long A/N! Longest I've ever written, I think. So without further ado: I hope you enjoy this oneshot!

Implicit Meaning.

To those who had ever had the misfortune to read through one of Greg Sanders’ reports before he had checked it at least twice, the fact that he had never liked English at school was not surprising. He simply didn’t see the importance of completely correct spelling, and perfect grammar. As long as people knew what he was talking about, it was fine.

His 10th Grade teacher had tried to get him interested in the subject. He had told the young Greg that, in fact, all those things didn’t matter. That what really mattered was the way he analysed texts. The way he studied them.

That approach didn’t work very well either, seeing as he never bothered to actually read any of the books that they were set. There was nothing in the subject that could hold his attention for more than a few minutes.

And that, for Greg, was a dangerous position to be in. Because it meant that, no matter how hard he tried, he would inevitably end up in trouble in his English lessons. Usually for distracting the rest of the class. Or simply not working.

Nevertheless, English had not been a complete loss for Greg. In fact, his 10th Grade teacher had taught him a life lesson that had helped him a lot in his job as a CSI.

“People hide behind language all the time,” his teacher would say, “the trick is finding the implicit meaning in their words.”

Greg was sure that he had meant it in regards to the current book that they were meant to be studying, discovering the writer’s true views on patriarchal society. Or something like that anyway. But he had found it useful throughout his life, looking for the difference between what people mean, and what they say.

And now that he was a Crime Scene Investigator, it was proving to be useful in catching the bad guys.

A thing that most people never really realised was that Greg was a very good listener. He had told Sara that once, after her run-in with Ecklie. He had told several people, actually, although Sara was naturally the first to come to mind. Nobody seemed to really believe him that it was true. They didn’t think that the guy who couldn’t keep his mouth shut most of the time could actually listen to anything that anyone else had to say.

But he had learnt long ago that the key to discovering the implicit meaning in someone’s words is to listen very carefully. Very carefully indeed.

Sometimes, when he was bored, he would try to find the implicit meaning in what the people around him were saying, just for fun. If he got bored doing that, or couldn’t find anything interesting, he would simply invent meanings. He had a good imagination.

At other times, if he was still bored, he would wonder what somebody would come up with if they searched for the implicit meaning in what he himself was saying. He didn’t think that many people at the lab actually listened to him very much, so it was a bit pointless, but it gave him something to occupy his brain with. When he had worked in the DNA lab, this past-time had kept him sane.

One person that he really hoped never looked for the implicit meaning in what he said was Sara. Well, half of him hoped that she didn’t. A part of him actually wanted it all out in the open, to see what her reaction would be. But the side most interested in self-preservation always won out. And so he could do nothing but wonder. Did she realise what he was truly trying to say?

Did she know that when he told her that he was a good listener, he actually meant that he would always be there for her, to help her through any problem that she might have?

Did she understand, when he said “you say ‘jump’, I say ‘how high’”, that he was really trying to let her know that he would do anything for her?

Did she really get it that time that he told her he didn’t mind that she told Mia when he lost his virginity? Did she see through his words to the hurt that she had caused him?

When he had asked if he would get a gold star for doing her a favour, did she realise that he was really saying that he didn’t mind doing her a favour for nothing? That he would always help her out, even if she never gave any acknowledgement.

Did she work out what he was really saying when he told her that “a real man wouldn’t mind”? Could she possibly have realised that he had really meant that Hank might never appreciate the state her job left her in sometimes, but that he would?

Greg shook the thoughts from his head and concentrated on the coffee in front of him. It wasn’t good to dwell on questions like that, even if he was bored, and incessantly curious. There was only one direction that this thought process could go in, and it wasn’t a good one. Best just to leave it alone.

He sighed and glanced around the other people in the small coffee shop. An older couple were sitting to his right, three girls chatting away to his left. He was getting a few weird looks from the other customers, and the people behind the counter, but he didn’t really care. So what if he had been sitting here for the last fifteen minutes on his own? Pride was something that he’d learnt to ignore almost from the moment he had first laid eyes on Sara.

He silently cursed his one track mind. A memory, of Sara telling him as much after the case during which Nick’s car (along with all the evidence) had been stolen, brought an unexpected smile to his face. She had been talking about sex, in response to the comment he had made about weddings, in the diner. He had replied “so what if I am?” with the most charming grin he could muster.

But she didn’t realise that he wasn’t talking about the same thing she was. His one track mind was about her. Not sex.

“I’m so sorry, Greg. I completely forgot the time…”

He had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed her come in. He grinned up, noting her windswept hair, and red cheeks, and thought that she looked beautiful. Maybe he was a little biased, though, because he always thought that.

“It’s no problem.” he replied, as she ordered her coffee and sat down opposite him.

She gave him a guilty smile.

“Have you been waiting for me long?”

A lift of the eyebrows, and a flirty grin. Anything to make his comment seem like a throwaway.

“You know I’d wait for you forever, Sara.”

And he meant that in so many more ways than just the surface meaning. He wanted to tell her that he really would wait for her forever. That he would be here no matter how long she needed to sort her heart out.

She gave him a pensive look, and he could feel the slight blush rising in his cheeks.

“I know,” she said softly, “I know you would.”

Maybe there was some hope for him after all. Maybe, just maybe, she would finally understand what he had really been trying to tell her all these years.

Eventually she would realise that he had loved her all along.