"Generally, people eat when they're hungry."

"Yeah, yeah. Just give me two... more... minutes."

"I never thought I'd meet a worse perfectionist than myself," he teased. "Honey, it's time for a break. Get down from there."

She looked down at him from the stepladder, trying to glare and failing miserably. "If I don't finish this wall it'll drive me crazy. I won't be able to enjoy lunch."

"And after I spent all those hours bent over a hot stove," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "Come down."

"You should be grateful for my enthusiasm," she argued, buying time to continue working. "Not many girlfriends would sacrifice their day off to inhale fumes and get blisters on their palms."

"That's why you're the one I'm dating," he grinned wickedly, stepping closer and reaching up to place his hands at her waist. "I figured you'd be good for some slave labor."

She turned to him but kept calm. A little too calm. He narrowed his eyes and dared to ask, "What?"

Something came from the corner of his vision and before he could react, she had stroked his nose with her paintbrush.

"There," she smiled brightly. "I got the last spot. We can eat now."

He offered a hand for balance as she stepped off the ladder. "Just for that, I'm eating your fortune cookie."

"No sense of humor," she chided, leading the way into the kitchen. Her eyes sparkled as she handed him what he suspected was the last clean hand towel in his townhouse. "Clean up and I'll dish out our food."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure that's safe." She playfully swatted him before reaching for the take-out cartons.

By now she knew from experience where he kept his dishes and silverware, and when he returned their food was neatly served on the kitchen table. He grinned at the sight of two fortune cookies on a saucer next to his sweet and sour pork.

They laughed and talked, very little about work, and neither ate much because they were too distracted.

"I'm glad you decided to renovate this place."

"It seemed time for a change."

"The good news is we have plenty of paint left over, so if you decide to paint another room you'll have a good start." Her eyes lit up in remembrance. "Speaking of which..." She reached into the front pocket of her jeans and pulled out his house key. "I think I'm done making runs to Home Depot today."

"You should hang on to it."

Her paint-speckled eyebrows bunched in confusion. "You won't need anymore supplies today, trust me."

"I do trust you." A small smile played on his lips. "That's the point."

"You're giving me a key to your place?" she asked happily, staring at the metal in her hand. She looked up slyly. "I guess this is a fair enough trade for my day off."

He leaned across the table and kissed her. Their kisses quickly deepened.

"Mmm..." She moaned softly. She pulled away, her eyes trained on his. "We'll have to celebrate later. One of us has two meetings before work."

He stole another kiss before sighing. Suddenly the entire day seemed wasted.

She began to laugh uncontrollably. "This is the closest I've ever seen to you pouting." It was her turn to quickly kiss him. "I know," she smiled gently. "I wish we had more time, too. It's never enough."

Grissom's eyes opened before he could stop himself. The ceiling of his empty bedroom greeted him.

He got up reluctantly, wishing he hadn't woken at all. The heaviness in his eyes told him that once again he hadn't slept long enough.

After finding a bottle of water in the refrigerator he turned to study his living room. It didn't make sense. Things were going well at work. Why was he still dreaming about her?

Grissom knew the answer, of course. He glanced sideways to his table. He could almost hear Sara, her voice full of love.

It's never enough.

- - - - - - - - -

"I miss lazy criminals," Sara sighed.

Grissom glanced over, confused. "Care to elaborate?"

She gestured at the empty road stretching before them. "People make the same mistakes either way. But the determined ones always go above and beyond the call of criminal duty." He allowed a small grin at the term. "I mean, who drives 30 miles to dump evidence but doesn't stay to ensure that it burns up completely?"

Grissom returned his attention to driving and Sara leaned her head back and stared out the window. At night there was little traffic this far out. She watched the trees and telephone poles streaking past and let her eyes slide shut.

He looked at her a few times as they continued down the road. Her peaceful demeanor made him envious, slowly followed by a different kind of unhappiness as he acknowledged that she probably wasn't busy with the sort of dreams he'd been experiencing on and off. Grissom sighed, his shoulders sagging a little.

And then there was a sharp bang and he lost control of the vehicle.

Sara jolted awake, grabbing the dashboard to steady herself. Cursing under his breath, he turned into the spin before they crashed and managed to get the car to the side of the road. He yanked the key out of the ignition before it tried to veer anymore.

She looked around with panicked, uncertain eyes. "What just happened?"

"I think we blew a tire." He got out with further explanation. Sara had the familiar wish that he was just a little more socially apt. When someone wakes up to a near-death experience, reassurance would be nice.

She got out too and walked around to his side of the car, rubbing her arms as the cold nighttime air hit her. He glanced up long enough to see her shiver before examining the limp tire. "Your jacket's in the back."

"Do we have a spare?"

"We better." He stepped around her and opened the back hatch. Pulling up the carpet he pushed a finger into the spare hidden underneath. Even if the dent left by his touch didn't answer her question, his grimace of controlled exasperation did.

"Someone on day shift must have gotten a flat and forgot to replace the temporary."

"No wonder it popped," Sara said. "A temporary tire isn't made for the kind of terrain we've covered tonight."

Grissom gave the tire one last glare before closing the hatch. "Sometimes I wonder if you and I are the only ones with a decent IQ at that lab." Sara smirked good-heartedly.

"We're probably ten miles from the nearest gas station or pay phone."

"I have the number of the towing company the lab uses on my cellphone." He pulled his phone from his pocket. "Why don't you call Catherine and tell her that we'll be late. She's in charge until we get back."

"Sure." Sara gratefully got back into the Tahoe before dialing Catherine.

By the time she and Catherine hung up, Grissom was back in the driver's seat, giving Nick directions over the phone regarding a new case. Sara waited for him to wrap up and then asked, "How long do you think the tow truck will be?"

"At least an hour."

"But it's only a half-hour drive!"

Grissom shrugged. "The joy of bureaucracy – the lowest bid wins out. We should be grateful that they're not busy with any wrecks elsewhere. We could be here 'til dawn."

"Well, the good news is the evidence will be fine." She peeked into the back seat at the box of bagged objects. "We'd have a problem if any of this needed to be refrigerated."

"Nothing to do but wait."

Sara's eyes wandered back out the window to the scenery.

"You can sleep if you're tired," he suggested. "Might as well take advantage of the chance."

"Nah. If Nick or Greg found out that I was napping during office hours I'd never hear the end of it."

"Good point."

She shifted in her seat, her eyes scanning the road and skyline.

"Antsy?"

"It figures that we'd be stuck out here with nothing but char-broiled evidence. Nothing to fingerprint, nothing to touch outside the lab."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. She caught the look. "What?"

"Nothing. Just trying to imagine you bored during vacation."

"Hey, I can sit still," she defended.

"Sleeping doesn't count, Sara."

She was pursing her lips in amusement. He wondered if half the time she wasn't just fighting the urge to stick her tongue out. She kept quiet for only a moment before asking, "So what do you think the accelerant was?"

"Gasoline, probably. Nothing too fancy." He liked this. The others always tried to chat. Emphasis on tried. Alone time with him seemed to freak them out a little. They never knew what to say. With Sara, though, cases were normal chitchat. And work always led to interesting conversations, about old experiments, new studies, cases from other districts.

"You have that analytical look," she recognized. "Considering that we're the only people for a 20-mile radius, it's only fair that you share."

"Nothing useful," he admitted. Uncertainty started to sink in as he realized that he had no idea what to talk to her about, but the ringing of his phone saved him. Grissom silently thanked his supervisory duties before answering.

Sara was quiet while he spoke with Hodges about some odd results. She seemed lost in thought, which, he supposed, explained why she wasn't turning on the radio or making phone calls of her own. After he hung up she was still silent, until she suddenly said with longing, "Pancakes."

"Where?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Very funny." She turned in her seat so that they could comfortably make eye contact. "I was just thinking that pancakes sound amazing right now."

"We can stop somewhere on the way back, if you like."

Her eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "We're already an hour behind with this evidence. You're willing to wait longer?"

"You're not of much use to me if you pass out from low blood-sugar."

"It's my own fault. All I had before work was a cup of coffee."

He frowned his disapproval. "That was five hours ago."

"I thought there would be time to grab something by now." She didn't really seem that upset and Grissom wasn't surprised. They were all accustomed to missing meals.

He reached past her and opened the glove compartment. It took longer than he expected, rifling around, and Sara kept eyeing him strangely, but he finally found the candy bar he had stuck in there the day before. He handed it to her wordlessly and a sweet smile spread unconsciously on her lips.

"Grissom sacrificing his junk food stash. This is new."

"Whatever it takes to keep you in top shape," he said simply.

She shrugged off her own appreciation but smiled again. "Thanks." She eagerly tore open the candy and began eating.

"If my calls were any sign, the others have had a pretty mundane shift. I'm sure you can wrangle them into eating afterwards."

"That would be best," she allowed. "I want to get to work on this evidence as soon as possible." She chewed thoughtfully before venturing to add, "You should come. To breakfast."

"This extra time away means my desk has probably been swallowed up in paperwork."

"Then another hour won't matter much," she countered. "It's not the same unless you're there too, you know."

He studied her for a moment. "Okay."

"Great. Catherine won't believe that I talked you into it." She concentrated on her candy bar once again, leaving Grissom with nothing to do. He glanced back to check on the evidence once again. Her jacket lay to one side and he grabbed it without thinking.

"Here."

She looked at it questioningly. "You were cold before," he explained. "It's just in case." She awarded him with another appreciative glance and stopped eating long enough to slip it on, even though he knew that with the car running and the heat on she was probably fine.

Realizing that there wasn't really anything else to do, Grissom was ready to turn on the radio to fill the silence. But Sara, finishing the candy bar, commented casually, "I heard that Circus Circus opened a new roller coaster."

He watched her, surprised that she would care about something like that and more surprised that she was starting a personal topic. "At the Adventuredome. It's called the Canyon Blaster."

"Have you been on it?"

"Not yet. It doesn't sound that impressive, frankly."

"You've been on too many," she teased. "You're spoiled."

"Probably," he admitted. "Still, the rides here are nothing compared to what you can find in California."

"I haven't been on that many. I guess when you live on the West Coast you don't take advantage of things like a tourist would."

"You're missing out," Grissom scolded. He began to describe the classic roller coasters along the ocean and the newer high-tech ones that a physics buff like Sara would really appreciate.

When the flashing lights of the tow truck appeared, Grissom was surprised that so much time had passed. A glance at the Tahoe's digital clock told him that they had been talking for nearly two hours. At this point they were several topics past roller coasters, comparing their college experiences.

"We'll barely have time to get all of this evidence logged," Sara groaned. Grissom wondered if she was unaware of how unique the past hours had been, or if she was just hiding her satisfaction. And if so, for who's benefit?