Dream A Little Dream...

Chapter One: You Clicked Your Heels and Wished For Me

Riley Adams liked to think of herself as a relatively sane person, with a good nature and an open mind. Her parents had both been psychiatrists, which was unusual, but she'd survived the ocean of Freudian quotations and had come out the other side, amazingly average.

Smart, easy going, messy, sarcastic, not really the domestic type. Her old-fashioned aunt Helen had wanted her to get a decent education, a simple part-time job and a fantastic husband, who just had to posses at least five of the following attributes: intelligent, strong, quiet, manly, could cook and clean, well-built, with smouldering good looks, preferably brunette with blue eyes, whom she could look after and who would keep her happy and in a style with which she could always, and with ease, acquire the things she wanted. The kind of man you could only dream about.

That was how her aunt Helen had done it. Now she was sitting pretty over in Florida, no husband but a million material things were now her companions. It was not Riley's cup of tea, but Helen was content.

But Riley hadn't exactly kept to the path that would surely lead her to this astoundingly perfect creature and . In fact, as a long-time non-conformist, she'd made sure she stayed that way, on the crooked side of the street.

She had worked incredibly hard at school, college and constantly made sure that she never made one mistake whenever she was on the job. As a result, her social life had become somewhat stunted. Numerous people asked her out, all of whom turned out to be either intimidated by her line of work or who had only set her aside her for one thing.

When it came to men, she was fussy, and vaguely pessimistic. Never mind the strong silent type, blue-eyed brunette or not, she just wanted someone who understood her and wouldn't judge her, rather than a stereotypical Mr. Perfect with a wallet the size of America. And anyway, who actually needed a relationship? Who needed a set of arms and lips to come home to at night, who could wipe away tears and hold a conversation? It would only be an inconvenience.

Instead, Riley settled for an extremely fancy DVD player, double chocolate chip ice-cream and her pillow to keep her company.

When she'd heard that there was an opening for a job at CSI, she'd jumped at it, absolutely. The hours were long, but the work was, on the whole, satisfying. Plus she had an opportunity to work with a new, fresh team. Gil Grissom, supervisor for the grave shift, was eccentric, but wonderful. Nick Stokes and Catherine Willows were quiet, but Riley had been told that they were both especially close to Warrick Brown, the man, the colleague, she had ruthlessly replaced without haste, or question. She hadn't expected the receive the cold shoulder for the first few days as a criminalist. This was not the case with Nick and Catherine.

But then, out of the darkness, Greg Sanders, AKA The Complete Polar Opposite of the Ideal Future Mr. Riley Adams had caught her attention. He was skinny as a rake, talkative, energetic, a dirty blonde with dark - ebony, almost -, mischievous eyes that had obviously seen far too much over the past few years. More than he had wanted. Riley had heard things, and from what she had gathered, she couldn't - and would never - blame him. He had saved a life, but taken another in doing so. Some said that he had lost himself in that time, but was slowly getting a grip on life again. His sense of humour returned, his unbruisable ability to make others around him laugh and generally feel at ease with themselves. Comfortable and content, despite their situation. He had a fantastic aura, Riley had often thought, carrying himself with a constant breeze of confidence.

That was what first drew him to Riley. She'd had a bad case and then he'd come into the locker room and offered her some of his Blue Hawaiian coffee and a friendly ear. Since then, they had come to enjoy one another's company, just friends, co-workers. He had been the first to welcome her to the team, to actually talk to her, make her feel like a person, rather than an infiltrator. His goal was to get to know her. Once, they'd ended up at her house watching a movie. He learned her interests, and he wasted no time in introducing her to his now-closeted world of knowledge regarding heavy metal, fast cars, Norwegian culture, bad jokes and, oddly, his coin collection. He liked to boast that he had a high IQ, and that he was partially psychic. She couldn't help but be fascinated and, she was ashamed to admit, slightly in awe of him and all his weird Gregness. Greg had opened up to her, and she'd kept her walls - no matter how thin they happened to be - up. This was a crush; it meant nothing and would eventually fizzle out. She'd experienced this before, once or twice. It wasn't serious, she told herself. That feeling of exultation that she experienced in the depths of her stomach when she knew they were working a case together was just a phase.

But then the dreams started. Riley had gone home, took her hair down from it's tight pony-tail, switched on the tiny TV in her bedroom, changed into her baby blue pyjamas - laden with cartoon sheep -, curled up under the blanket, let out the deep breath she hadn't known she was holding and soon found herself deep in the land of nod. After pulling a double shift, she welcomed the rest, the silence and the peace.


Riley and Greg were lying on the double bed, gazing intently at the TV screen. Riley was trying desperately to focus on the sound of gun-fire and disaster on the screen. She found that she no longer cared about heists, or whether the ransom was paid or not. Her mind wasn't on the case that night. She sighed and rolled over onto her back, her soft, blonde curtain of hair now splayed over the duvet. Greg glanced down at her, still lying on his front. He flashed her a smile and returned to the screen. She studied him, as she had so many other times. He didn't look strong, but she was certain that he could manage well just the way he was. His sandy-blonde hair was tousled up and messy. Riley was always intrigued by his face; his dark eyes, always twinkling with some sort of mischievous glint. His broad, perfectly-straight-when-in-profile nose that she spent far too long thinking about. She spent far too much time thinking about all of his features...one of those being his mouth. It in itself was a perfect enigma; it curved up lopsidedly into a cheesy grin that just made her melt directly onto the ground, unable to speak, to think, to form a coherent sentence. And the freckles on the side of his face, the way he'd started wearing the first three buttons of his shirts undone, the pale path from neck to chest now miraculously uninterrupted ...dear, God, why did he have to be made like that? And what exactly was so special about his DNA that turned him from a regular, everyday dude to this object of Riley's absolute, whole-hearted affections, like God's specific gift to her. Her and nobody else. She let out a long, slow sigh, one last-ditch attempt to get him to notice her. He did. He turned his head towards her and smiled again, obviously oblivious to her thoughts. She was glad of that, and she was also glad of his company. Reluctantly, she placed her hand on his shoulder. He furrowed his brow in a flash of a second, seemingly confused about her touch. She shifted closer to him, her shoulder touching his arm, and let her hand move upwards to his face.

"Am I too close?" She whispered, trailing the nail of her index finger down his cheek. He swallowed, his chocolate irises focused right on her face, boring holes into her soul. He shook his head, his hand making it's way onto her hip. He shifted over, half on the bed, half on top of Riley and finally blinked.

"Nuh-uh." He leant down and pressed a single, intensely incredible, passion-filled, leg-tingling kiss on her lips. The world seemed to stop at that one second, and so did Riley's mind, and all of her functions. As he was about to pull away, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, as if that were at all possible. He buried one hand under her back, exploring all the skin around there, while his other hand set to work on the buttons of her navy blouse. In a split second, the garment was removed and flung onto the floor. Greg's mouth trailed down her neck, onto her torso, while his hands made light work of the sides of her waist. He glanced up, smiling wickedly and winked at her, just about ready to remove those ridiculously tight jeans-

Riley shot up in her bed, shocked to the core. The room was eerily dark, and quiet. She could hear the swirl of blood rushing through her brain. She glanced down at herself. She was on fire. Not literally, of course, but it sure felt that way. She swallowed, trying to remove that dream from her thought-pattern, pushed the duvet out of her way and swivelled out of the bed, clumsily making her way to the kitchen sink. Once she got there, she took out a glass from the drawer and poured some of the funky tap water into it, with no intentions of taking a sip. Instead, she pressed the glass to her forehead and sighed.

That was the single most, disturbingly-real dream she'd ever experienced. She really did feel as though Greg had been there, doing those things to her, and it really annoyed her. She didn't like the fact that she wanted to let Greg do those things to her, and she hated herself for even so much as thinking about him like that. Thoughts were zooming through her mind at a hundred miles an hour; How dare she have the gall to consider such things...how dare she have the stupidity...he was a co-worker! At least ninety percent of all office relationships ended badly. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This would surely lead to heartbreak.

She gazed into the water for another few moments before setting it on the counter and returning back to the darkened bedroom.


A/N: Hola!

Right, I've had a wee notion on me to write a Greg/Riley - G'n'R! - fic for a few weeks now, and then this popped into my head last night. I have NO clue where it's going, but I know it's a bit too long to be a one-shot, but it won't be a proper, full-length story. Or maybe it will...depending on reviews, of course :D I promise it'll get better.

Ooh, and I've only seen a few episodes with Riley in it, so if anything comes out OOC or I've gotten anything wrong, I am UBERLY sorry! Oh, and there will be dialogue - and more Greg - in the next chapter, LOL!

So...have a great day and please leave a review if you can :D I do NOT appreciate flames.


Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, or any of it's characters...I do own Gary the janitor, though. And Aunt Helen.