Sara's feeling unaccountably sociable when Greg drops into the chair opposite her with a giant mug of coffee. "Hey."

"She talks!" He clutches his chest melodramatically, then grins at her over the rim of his mug.

Sara shakes her head and smiles back. "I've been pretty miserable company lately, haven't I?"

"I wasn't going to say anything, but...yes. Yes, you have. Absolutely miserable. Soul-destroying, in point of fact."

"I'm sorry."

"The dead bodies were more cheerful than you. Even that decapitated hit-and-run victim."

"Getting less sorry, though."

"I have that effect on people, I've found. To what do I owe the honor of your conversation?"

She wants to say something flippant, but something stops her, and she finds herself telling the truth. "Just sick of feeling lousy all the time, I guess."

"I'll drink to that." He raises his coffee mug and she clinks her own against it.

"On that note, Catherine and I are going out for a few drinks after her shift's up."

Greg raises his eyebrows. She's been feuding with Catherine about overtime for the past week, and it looks as though word's gotten around. The thought makes her feel guilty. Immature. The fact that she's capable of feeling immature in front of Greg, who hides his porn magazines where she's bound to find them when she goes looking for swabs to re-stock her kit, is pretty sad. "That sounds like fun," he says at last, in a tone that suggests the exact opposite.

"Yeah. You want to come with, run interference?"

"Ah, Sara." He sighs, dramatically. "Much as it pains me to shatter your hopes, I must inform you that my heart--and my evening--belong to another."

"Wouldn't it be more like late morning?"

Greg waves a hand. "Semantics."

"I'm just wondering who you got to go on a date in the middle of a workday. Unless she works the night shift--Greg, do you have a girlfriend?"

He grins, sips his coffee. "I have no comment. I am comment-less."

"You do. And it's someone from the labs, isn't it? Look at you, you're blushing," because he is, blushing and grinning smugly. She laughs, a real laugh for the first time in ages. "Come on, spill. Who is she?"

"My lips are sealed."

"If only that were true," Nick remarks, coming into the room. He rummages around in the fridge for a minute before withdrawing in disgust. "I thought we agreed that Grissom wasn't allowed to put his experiments in here anymore."

"Nick," Sara says."Greg has a girlfriend."

He turns, leans against the counter with a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "That so?"

"Sara's taking her romantic frustrations out on me," Greg says with great dignity.

"That's not very nice."

"He won't tell me who she is." Sara decides to let the 'romantic frustrations' comment slide. For now.

For some reason, that makes Nick's faint smile curve into a wide grin. "No?"

"No. Do you know?"

He shakes his head, and she can tell that he's suppressing laughter.

"I think she's jealous," Greg says in a stage whisper.

And that's Nick's cue to say something lighthearted and rude, but he doesn't speak. The rhythm of the conversation is thrown off, and Sara looks up. They're staring at each other, Greg flushed and grinning like he knows a brilliant secret. Nick's still smiling, but it's warmer now. Intimate.

Intimate.

Sara can almost feel her mind stutter as this new reality slides into place. This reality of Nick and Greg standing in the break room and looking at each other like they're in bed together. Jesus. Not a girlfriend.

And then Nick cocks his head and tells Greg that he's projecting, and the banter is on again. Sara's not really listening. She laughs and nods and interjects snide comments at the appropriate moments, but it feels like her skin is stinging with sudden knowledge, both bitter and sweet.