A/N: This is a Fannysmackin' Greg/Sara two-shot I wanted to write after seeing the episode. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Everything was a blur. It was all moving much too quickly for him to comprehend. But before he knew it they were up against the wall- he was against the wall. She was against the wall.

It was supposed to be a harmless dinner. Maybe even Sara's attempt at humoring his schoolboy crush, Greg Sanders wasn't sure. But he and Sara were simply supposed to go out for a quick dinner before he had to go back to his crime-scene. That hadn't stopped him from putting on cologne with a name like Sex Panther. Warrick and Nick had teased him about it, and maybe the name was ridiculous… It didn't matter. All that mattered was that one day when Sara was walking past Greg in one of the labs she had said she liked the smell.

So that had sealed the deal. And with slicked-back hair and a slicked-back Mr. Cool-Guy attitude Greg had walked up to Sara confidently that night and asked her if she wanted to have dinner. Sara was a bit shocked at the invitation- she was wearing dirty blue CSI scrubs and had sweat dripping down her face and the small of her back, but there was something about Greg that always made her feel like the most attractive woman on the face of the earth. Maybe it was because Mr. Sanders thought of Sara Sidle as a goddess; he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever set his eyes on, her skin had been kissed by the lips of the angels and her eyes were a realm to godsend.

Sara had agreed quite flatteringly and Greg almost broke out into song right then and there he was so happy. But like the gentleman he was he left for her to get ready and then later silently danced in victory. Finally Sara accepted his dinner invitation. It wasn't a date though, he had to remind himself. Catherine had once told him that Sara would agree to go on a date with him… if he just didn't tell her it was a date.

The minutes seemed to tick by painstakingly long but when the moment arrived Greg was ecstatic. He was now dressed in his normal work attire of roughed-up grunge jeans, complete with tears and mustard stains from corndogs at those trips to the ball park with Warrick and Nick, a simple t-shirt, CSI vest and sneakers. A great part of him regretted not staying in his suit from the court meeting earlier that day as it did make him look quite ravishing if he did say so himself… but this wasn't a date. This was simply dinner before work.

With the most beautiful woman in the world.

When Sara had emerged from the locker room after taking a five minute shower she was a force to be reckoned with. Boy she cleaned up nice. So after already being infatuated by the scent of her perfume pouring off her body Greg followed Sara out the doors of the lab to his Denali.

They were going to go to a nice restaurant off the Strip by The Bellagio. Most of the tourists wanted more to go to the casino so there wasn't a terrible amount of foot traffic. It was perfect, Greg thought; candlelight dinner, maybe some champagne… Sara…

Sara and Greg knew most of Vegas like the back of their hands since they had to go all over town every night several days of the week, so they had decided to take a shortcut through one of the alleyways to save some time. They didn't want to be rushed during dinner, especially Greg. After ten minutes of driving and halfway through one of Greg's favorite songs, something caught Sara's attention out of her window.

The beatings. They had completely forgotten about the beatings. Between Greg's jokes and Sara's addictive giggle they had completely forgotten.

She had made him stop the car and back up so she could get a better view. She did about three double-takes before she knew it was really happening- they were witnessing it. Greg was starting to feel nervous; he was experienced for the short period of time he had been out in the field as a new CSI but he had never had to do something like this before. It was intimidating. Sara was the senior of the two of them, so he had looked to her for the answer.

She had told him to get out his radio and call Dispatch for back-up. But before the back-up would arrive the person getting pummeled by what looked to be possibly 10 or 12 other people might not have been able to hold on that long. Both Sara and Greg went against their better judgments and decided to act upon instinct. They weren't going to let an innocent person die.

Time skipped. After what seemed like forever there was silence. The headlights of the Denali were blinding. Greg's foot was still trembling on the gas pedal from when he had accelerated so abruptly.

"We need an ambulance," Sara told him, handing him the radio. She had to remain calm for Greg's sake. She was still shaken up but she was the more experienced of the two and she couldn't risk to show it now. Sara opened her door to get out and check on the person they had hit, and Greg would've told her not to but he couldn't speak. His mouth was glued shut. And that was when things went completely downhill.

Glass shattering. That was the one of the only sounds Greg remembered now. He remembered being pulled out of his car but everything after that was just a blur. There were rains of fists and feet and pain, and now he was up against the wall. But Sara, he thought. Where was Sara?

Clinging to the chain link fence with his fists as his attackers pulled, Greg turned his head to the side as best he could to look around for Sara, only to discover her right by his side, clinging to the fence desperately. Trying to move closer to her but failing miserably he watched in horror as she was pried from their only form of protection into the group of hooded monsters.

A kick to the legs buckle and he fell to the ground, looking around wildly for Sara. She was reaching for something and it took Greg a minute but he realized what it was- it was her gun on her holster. Before she could however she was attacked from behind, the gun falling harmlessly to the cold blood-smeared pavement.

Greg couldn't move. His body wouldn't move anymore and he felt numb. His mind was screaming at him to get up and protect her but his body wouldn't allow him to. The constant random slurs of obscenities from their attackers was finally becoming coherent as the attention was temporarily averted to Sara.

"Yeah bitch, how do you like that?" one of them cackled as Sara hit the ground.

"How you gonna cap me now, huh?" another asked, followed by the degrading laughter of their comrades as they watched her struggle to get back on her feet.

That was when Greg lost it. He somehow found the strength to get back up on his feet, and he snapped. Why were they hurting Sara? Why? He realized now it was because she was the one perceived as more of a threat- she had had the gun. But how dare they.

How dare they!

Lunging forward at one of them, Greg was successful in tackling one of them to the ground by their midsections. Just as he was about to get up and get the rest away from Sara he was kicked to the ground where he landed just beside her, his side burning and his head pounding.

Sara made eye-contact with him as the rain of fists and feet continued, trying to send him some sort of signal that it was going to be okay. She didn't know exactly how, but it was going to be okay. She knew he was scared. She was scared.

Finally the rain of blows stopped and Greg and Sara were left alone. Hearing the sound of spit in someone's mouth, Greg reached over and randomly scratched one of their attackers with his fingernails in hopes of directing the final act of degradation at him instead of Sara. She didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve any of this.

"This reminds me of something Papa Olaf used to say…" Greg mumbled. But he was too weak to continue his explanation of what Papa Olaf used to say before unconsciousness took over both his and Sara's bodies. Papa Olaf would have to wait.

With the knowledge that they had collected evidence from their attack they both laid on the dirty Vegas pavement, bloody, broken and bruised.