Disclaimer: If it's in CSI, we don't own it.

Notes: Another fic by witchbsword and I. Hope you all like...even if you don't, feel free to drop us a line by reviewing. We can make this a one-shot, or we can continue - it's all up to you people. If you think we should go on, please review and let us know...

In the meantime, on with the fic!

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The sky was painted a dusky reddish-purple as the sun showed up to bring dawn over the city of Las Vegas, Nevada. The neighborhood was silent still, though in one or two houses a few people had already started to stir, stumbling out of their beds to face the new day.

Greg Sanders yawned to himself as he trudged down the crazy paving driveway that led to his front door. He'd just pulled an all-nighter at the lab, on top of working overtime on a triple homicide case that had tons of lovely little blood samples for him to process. He could have sworn he'd seen enough blood to keep the blood bank filled for several years, and if it weren't an almost daily occurrence in his job, Greg wouldn't really mind if he never saw a drop of blood again.

Fumbling in his trouser pocket for his keys, Greg stopped at his front door, squinting as he blearily tried to fit the key correctly into the lock. His foot brushed up against something, and he blinked, looking down fuzzily.

Something that looked amazingly like a furry light brown towel was pushed up between the door and his foot. Greg blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes.

When had he brought a towel outside? And why was it warm? And why was it furry? Greg was partial to the thick cloth ones, he had no use for a furry towel. It didn't feel as nice on his sensitive epidermis.

To top everything off, it was in his way. Moving his foot, Greg attempted to nudge the towel aside, so that he could step forward.

The towel moved! Greg froze, and a chill shot down his spine as it emitted a little growl.

A growling towel? A GROWLING towel?

Why was it growling at him? It had been in his way!

"Move, towel," Greg growled back, not thinking about how odd it looked for a grown man to be talking to a towel. An inanimate object.

It was right about then that a tiny realization made its presence known in Greg's tired, fuzzy mind.

Towels don't growl.

The conclusion didn't take much longer to download after that.

Maybe, just maybe, this thing on his porch wasn't a towel.

Maybe it was a blanket instead.

Tired as he was, even Greg had to admit his mind probably wasn't correct about that last conclusion. Bending over, he tried picking up the towel – and finally figured out what the "towel" actually was when it turned around and bit him on the hand.

It wasn't a towel, and it wasn't a blanket, and it wasn't something out of Harry Potter. Greg could've smacked himself.

"Call yourself a CSI wannabe, Sanders," he muttered to himself as he pried the creature off his hand – it hadn't broken the skin, thankfully.

"This ain't a shag rug – it's a puppy."

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"Well, I'll be damned. A little puppy on my front doorstep." The "live blanket" gave a tiny yip.

The poor, scraggly thing couldn't have been more than a year old. The skin folded over itself as if the doggie tailor shop didn't make suits for puppies and the pup had to wear an adult sized suit.

Deep brown eyes peered up at Greg as if saying, "OI! What the hell do you think you're doing? I was here first! Find your own front door!" He… She… It started whining.

"Well, you just bit me, so there's no way I'm letting you in my place." Greg told the dog. 'Wait. Since when do I talk to dogs?' He really needed sleep.

Greg finally found the right key and unlocked the door. Sidestepping the pooch, he went in, closed the door and proceeded to the kitchen. About a minute later, the whining started up again. Oh, no…don't you dare... Ignore it… ignore it… ig-' Just then flitting images of "Turner and Hooch" entered his mind. One of Tom Hanks' finest. Greg grimaced and opened the door to let his new roommate in.

The puppy stumbled in and headed straight for the couch, clambering up and onto a cushion as though it owned the place. Greg half-glared at it, too tired to care that the mutt was getting fur all over his comfortable – and expensive – cushions.

"Well, make yourself at home," he muttered, heading for his bedroom. He could deal with the unwanted guest later, but if he didn't get some sleep in now, he never would…and sleep was a cherished treasure in his line of work.

It took Greg ten minutes to find the perfect position, snuggled down in his bed with his pillow. With a blissful sigh, he closed his eyes…and then sat up again with a start as he remembered why his mother had always told him to keep his bedroom door closed.

Someone might just decide to come in and join you in bed.

A wet pink tongue licked at Greg's chin and the little shaggy "towel" made itself comfortable on Greg's pillow. The lab tech groaned.

"No. NO. Absolutely not…"

Eight hours later, Greg woke up on the hard, cold, couch, and knew he had to do something about the furry little monster who vaguely resembled a puppy.

As whining started up again in his bedroom, Greg closed his eyes and started entertaining thoughts of sending the creature to the dry cleaners in the hope that they would lose the "blanket" the way they so frequently lost his clothes.

With a sigh, Greg got up and stretched to get rid of the kinks in his body. Never again would he spend another night on the couch. He padded over to the kitchen to brew a cup of his infamous Blue Hawaiian coffee and pondered over what to do with his houseguest. He couldn't get away with his original plan with the cleaners. If there were any witnesses he'd be fried on the six o'clock news. He couldn't take him to work, either. Would the mutt be okay in the house? He knew lots of people left their dogs at home alone, but this was a puppy...

As the coffee brewed, he walked towards the bedroom and opened the door.

He took one glance and passed out.

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Greg didn't know whether it was the slobber or bad breath that woke him up first. Groaning, he pushed the dog away and pulled himself up to his feet. He did remember why he'd lost consciousness, though. It was a culmination of the sights and smells emanating from the bedroom.

Ripped pillows spewed feathers and they littered the floor like a light snow. Bed sheets spread out everywhere in tatters. The bedside lamp lay in pieces while the alarm clock hung precariously from the table by its cord. And placed in strategic spots on the floor and bed were piles of doggie-do and yellow puddles.

"Boy, you better start praying to the doggie gods, because you're going to be joining them shortly!" Greg screeched as he chased the terrified dog around the house.

Down the hallway, to the kitchen, around the table, knocking around the chairs ("OW! My shin!"), to the living room, jumping on the couch ("Don't you dare!) and landing on the side table, adding another lamp to the casualty list (CRASH!), and back down the hallway before Greg finally jumped on the pooch and nabbed him ("Gotcha, ya miserable lump of fur!").

The pooch stuggled, but Greg kept a firm grip as he entered the bathroom and grabbed the strap from his robe. He tied one end around the neck and the other end around the base of the toilet. "What you don't know, you little son of a bitch – literal son of bitch, but anyway – what you don't know, is that I am a former Boy Scout. In Boy Scouts, one skill you learn is how to tie very special knots. Special knots that don't give little troublemakers like you the chance to escape!"

With that, Greg left the bathroom, firmly closing the door.

Within an hour Greg had cleaned up most of the house. The feces, bed sheets, and lamps were in an outside dumpster and he straightened up the rest of the house. He also made a note to himself to buy a new set of lamps and bed sheets and some carpet cleaner. Within another half hour he got ready for work. Amazingly, the dog had not moved an inch when in the bathroom. Greg knew it was probably a mistake to leave him there for the day, but what other choice did he have?

During the night, while Greg was asleep, the dog had managed to cause all this trouble. Now Greg was late, he had a whole lot of stuff to buy, and he hadn't had his cup of coffee yet. (He'd forgotten about the first brew and was forced to throw it out. Overheated coffee was treacherous.) Greg left the apartment, locked the door, and headed out to face more blood and Grissom's wrath.

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"Greg, where the hell have you been!" shouted a voice behind him.

Damn. Greg cringed. So much for sneaking in unnoticed. Forcing a bright smile onto his face, he turned.

"Good night to you too, Ecklie," he said.

Ecklie gave him a glare that said he didn't think it was a very good night.

"You're late, Sanders," he said, as though he thought Greg couldn't tell the time. "If my Math is correct, you missed clock-in time by an hour."

'Gee, Ecklie, I'm glad you got such high scores for Math in school,' Greg thought to himself. 'Okay, just smile and wave, Sanders. Just smile and wave.'

"Sorry," he apologized. "Uh, I really should be getting to the DNA lab now, Ecklie, so unless you're going to spank me, I'll be heading along there right now."

Before Ecklie could say anything more, the lab tech quickly darted away to the safety of the DNA lab, where Grissom was waiting with several DNA samples for Greg's attention.

After yet another long shift, Greg dragged himself home. Unlocking the front door, he suddenly remembered the puppy and froze, uncertain what to expect, but feeling positive that his house would now resemble a war zone.

Covering his eyes with one hand, Greg shuddered and opened the door. Stepping inside gingerly, he slowly – slowly – brought his hand down and opened his eyes.

"No," he whispered in shock. "It can't be!"

But it was. His house was…immaculate. Exactly the way he had left it before leaving for work last night. Greg stood stunned for a moment, then darted to the bathroom.

Another pleasant surprise greeted him – the puppy had not moved at all from where Greg had tied him, and at the sight of the lab tech, the pooch got to its feet and yipped happily, wagging its tail. Its baggy skin fell over its eyes as it whined, pawing at the strap that bound it to the toilet.

Greg sighed. Moving forward, he gingerly reached down to pat the furry head.

"Okay," he told the puppy. "You win. You can stay."

The tail wagged, thumping against Greg's leg as he untied the pup.

"You need a name," Greg noted. Taking one look at the dog, he knew almost instantly what he would name his new pet. Picking the pooch up, he said, "Well, Blanket, let's go see the vet before we get you some stuff you'll be needing, eh?"

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Greg had taken the day off since there weren't too many vets that ran a 24-hour practice. A Dr. Mark Harrison came recommended to him by a friend and since he was close by, Greg bundled up Blanket and they headed off.

Upon arriving, they sat in the waiting room while Greg filled out some forms. Luckily, there weren't that many patients before him. A cranky pitbull began barking fiercely when they sat down and a cat across the room spat and glared.

"Well, you may be messy, but at least you're quiet." Greg whispered. Blanket yipped in reply. Squeaky dog toys were scattered around the floor and in a corner a TV was tuned to Animal Planet.

Fifteen minutes later, the door leading to the examination rooms opened and the vet's assistant came out, her eyes glued to a chart.

"Um, Mrs. Sanders and Blanket?"

Greg hopped up. "MR. Sanders and Blanket, that's us."

"Oh goodness, sorry about that!" The blonde blushed in embarrassment. "Come with me."

They entered a brightly lit room, where Greg immediately recognized the scents of the different chemicals that had been used for sterilizing the table and tools. He thanked his lucky stars that he was used to the smell. The fumes would've made any other person dizzy – even Blanket was starting to whine in Greg's arms.

"Let's take a gander at little Blanket here." Amy grunted as she picked up the dog. "Oof. You're not so little as I thought!" she added with a chuckle. As she began examining him, Greg explained to her how he came to his apartment and the fiasco the day before. The two began laughing like crazy at Blanket's expense. Greg began wondering what her DNA would look like under the scope at his lab. He could hear Nick and Warrick's taunts, but this girl was worth it!

One hour later, Greg walked out with ownership forms, a rather expensive bill, an address to a nearby PetSmart, and Amy's home number. Blanket, on the other hand, walked out limping from all the new shots, and Greg was just glad he had no need to worry about fleas or distemper…

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Blanket and Greg traveled down the aisles of the PetSmart, soaking in the sights. Shampoo, collars, leashes, toys, food bowls, food bags and treats were everywhere. There were high-rise podiums and hammocks for cats, and luxury dog baskets and every brand of dog treats in the market. Blanket looked like he had died and gone to heaven! There was a cacophony of sounds as well. People brought their pets, and pets were adopted in PetSmarts everywhere. Dogs, cats, birds, hamsters, and other animals of any species made a ruckus that rivaled many of the rock concerts Greg attended.

"Hi, and welcome to Petsmart! My name is Andy! Who's your little friend?"

Greg whipped around to find one of the sales attendants smiling at him while petting Blanket. "Man, wait until Nick and Warrick hear this. One dog and the chicks come flocking!" Greg smiled, and began, "This is Blanket and let me tell you, he is one crazy puppy…"

Oh yeah, maybe having a dog wasn't such bad news after all….and if the doggie gods did exist, maybe…well, maybe they were pretty happy about Blanket being with him too.

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Well? L:ike it? Hate it? Either way, please press the purple button down there and review!

And here's a pic of Blanket, by the way(copy and paste the link into your browser and get rid of the spaces...):

http / img . photobucket . com / albums / v30 / SynergeticWolf / Misc / Blanket . jpg

Thanks to all who actually took time to read!

RK9 and witch.