It was really, always, all or nothing.
They wanted it all.
Greg Sanders had become an extremely serious, dedicated CSI. He had grown up right before Sara's eyes, morphing from the wild child of the DNA lab to the sleek, professional, dare she say, handsome prodigy currently standing inches away from her, gazing over her shoulder at the case file in front of her.
"Did you hear me, Sidle?" Greg turned to face her, not moving from his close proximity. She took the opportunity to lean back in her chair, her shoulder coming in contact with his chest.
"Sorry. I'm paying attention. What?" She focused her eyes on the bloody photos in front of her, trying with all her might to focus on the layout table and not on Greg's profile mere inches from her face, reading the file over her shoulder. She felt a wave of heat surge through her body. She was going mad.
Then she felt, as well as heard, him chuckle a quiet, deep, throaty laugh she had never really heard before. It echoed through her, settling with an odd pressure below her waist. Oh god, she recognized that feeling. Greg Sanders had turned her on, and he hadn't even touched her. Images of being snugly caught between the table and Greg's body flashed through her mind.
"You were definitely not listening to me just there." His breath tickled her neck lightly, sending more heat to that spot. She needed to get a grip. He had never affected her like this before. He had never stood this close to her before either. No, he had. Grissom had never affected her like this. She felt feverish. She was going to die.
"I was." More hoarse laughter. Oh God.
"Then what did I say?"
"What's the matter with you, Sara?"
"Umm. I, well."
"Sara." She could do this.
"What?" She turned toward him, bent on being professional. Professional like Greg's lips capturing hers, and in one swift movement, his hand had left the back of her chair, and had woven themselves into her coppery brown curls, applying the faintest hint of pressure, holding her to him. Greg moved in slow motion, gently caressing each atom of her mouth in a tantalizing ritual reminiscent of a devout worshipper at a Sunday service.
Oh god, she was going to come right there in the layout room.
He pulled away gently, resting his forehead against hers. When she raised her eyes to meet his gaze, she found that lopsided grin plastered on his face, and a playful sparkle in his eyes. Behind the sparkle, however, she saw a brand of love and affection that she had really only read about in trashy romance novels.
"I, umm." Now it was Greg's turn to misplace his vocabulary. "I just, well, you, and then, I felt, so I, umm." He shifted his weight nervously, and flashed her a smile.
"I hope that wasn't too forward of me." He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak, when the shrill ring of the cell phone at his hip bleared through the room. He stood up, flipping the offending abject open, raising it to his ear, eyes never leaving hers.
"Sanders." Suddenly his eyes brightened from the cocoa pigmentation they had adapted a few minutes ago to their usual chestnut. "Whoa, no way." He grinned wider, taking no notice that Sara was still recovering from the mind blowing revelation in their relationship. "I'll be right there." He shut the phone and replaced it on her hip.
"That was Brass. He and Sofia just brought in our suspect, get this, pulled him over for speeding, found our dead body in the back seat, tag still on the toe, as blue as when he left the morgue." He was at the door, practically prancing. "Are you coming or am I interrogating by my onesies?" He sobered as he realized she hadn't moved. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his, this time, across the distance of the layout room. "Sara?"
"Umm. Yeah, you do the talking. You're ready." She tried in vain to return to a normal body heat, a normal pulse rate, to relieve the redness from her cheeks. She stopped short at the door, coming face to face once again with Greg Sanders. "Well? Are you going to go?" She backed up a half step, making breathing space between them.
"Of course, this is awesome. Are you going to come with, or are you going to finish off." Her eyes widened and he cracked a smile. "With the lab work."
She smacked him playfully with the case file, and followed him out into the hall.
"This is neither the time nor the place, Mr. Sanders, you'd have to buy me dinner first, but even then I don't 'finish off' on a first date." She grinned.
"You asking me out, Miss Sidle? Or should we just skip the first date and move on to the second?" His voice had dropped to the husky quality it had in the layout room.
"Mmm. Let's start with coffee, ok?" She smiled at him as he grinned like the wild child lab rat he was when she met him.
"The sludge in the break room count?"