A/N: Post 9x5. This idea came to me in the shower, and I just wanted to get it down. It's short and unbetaed. My first fic in a couple of years and my very first CSI fic. Also, my first posting here. Thanks for reading.

Riley:

We've decided there's nothing else to be done tonight on this case, and we're all a little bleary-eyed, so Catherine sends us home. Hopefully fresh eyes will help us find the piece we're missing.

Greg and I walk to the locker room together, and I turn to watch him as he takes his coat off the hanger in his locker and searches for his keys. He's not paying any attention to me, like he's forgotten I'm here. I've been here for six months, and in that time Greg has been great to work with. He's brilliant, creative, and has a knack for knowing how to lighten up a scene. But the look on his face now, when he doesn't know I'm watching, is sad.

I act on an impulse. "You want to go grab a beer?"

Looking startled, Greg turns around to face me, and he looks so tired, I almost take it back, but then he says, "Sure, why not," and we're out the door.

I follow him in my car to this dive, definitely a local's joint. We settle into a booth, and Greg looks around, like he's taking stock of the place.

"You come here often," I ask. It sounds cheesy, but I'm not trying to pick him up. I'm trying to get the feel of this new place and these new people. It never hurts to know where your coworkers to go to drink.

"Not until recently," he says. "I needed a new place. We all used to hang out, you know, with Warrick, and I needed a bar without the ghosts. After a beer or two, they're too damn easy to see."

I've never been one to beat around the bush, and he's the one who brought up the ghosts, so I ask the question that's been bothering me for weeks. "Like the ghosts at the lab? There are plenty of them around, and I don't think it's just Warrick Brown."

Greg takes a long pull from his beer, and he looks at me with hard eyes, eyes that don't belong in the face of the carefree guy I thought I was getting to know. I didn't plan on this when I invited him for a beer, but it looks like I'm testing our growing friendship. Have I gone too far, or will he trust me?

"Her name is Sara, and as far as I know she's very much alive. Although, I won't say that I wouldn't kick her ass if she walked in the door right now."

I'm a little shocked. I've heard about Sara Sidle, the CSI who was kidnapped by the Miniature Killer and survived, only to leave the lab a few months later. She dated the boss, I think, although Grissom is so quiet and withdrawn I can't imagine him dating anyone. The voices of my psychologist parents in my head remind me that these people have been through hell, and just because it was six months ago and before I arrived doesn't make it less real. I need to tread very carefully here.

Greg leans back in the booth and stares at a point just over my head.

"Sara . . . she was my mentor. At one time I would have said that she was like a sister, and I still love her that way, but that mentoring relationship was so strong, more important than the friendship we had before." He cracks a very small smile, "You know, back when I used to pull her hair."

"Ah. I knew you were the type."

"Yes. Well, I've improved my game since then. Not that I stood a chance. Sara was always for Grissom. And when she left the first time, I thought it was his fault. And maybe it was, some. But this time, it's her fault. And Grissom, he's . . ." Greg trailed off.

"It's ok," I reassure him. "I don't know Grissom well, but I can see he's a damn fine criminalist. But I also see that you guys are fiercely loyal to him. That kind of loyalty doesn't come without a reason. I might not be part of the family yet, but I'm part of the team. And I'd like to be your friend. You can trust me not to go telling tales out of school."

Greg gives me an unabashedly appraising look. I don't know what he's looking for, but I can feel that this is the moment. We're bonding now, or we won't -- ever.

"He's broken. He's so very broken without her, and now I understand why it had to be him. Because while, years ago, I might have thought I could love her, but I would never have shattered without her. And he has." There's a tremble in Greg's voice, and he takes a deep breath. "I don't know why she can't see that. And it makes me angry to see them hurt over something they could change when there's so much we can't do a damn thing about."

I nod, slightly, to show I understand, but there's nothing to say. What I can say about this man's pain when I don't know anything about him or the people he loves? He cocks his head slightly, gives a little shrug, and comments on the news story from the television above the bar. We're done with the introspection for one night.

But now I know there's more to CSI Greg Sanders than meets the eye. There are people who matter, and you don't always know who they are when you meet them. But I suspect that Greg matters to me, that this burgeoning friendship is one to hang onto.