Into That Good Night

Summary: As one relationship ends—painfully—for Greg, another one blossoms from its ashes.

Author's Note: Posting will occur every Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Hope this prologue whets your appetite.

Prologue

It was nice to hear music in the lab again. Nostalgic, even. Greg had to smile at that fact alone, although the dancing girl in the middle of the room did help. Her back was to him, her ponytail swinging with her hips to the rhythm of the song, completely lost inside the melody. Greg recalled the addictiveness of a good beat, and imagined that she'd gotten suckered into the dance the same way he had in years past. It had probably started with a little head bob as she did her work. And then, she had started mouthing the words. After that, she'd started singing along, probably out of tune. Then her shoulders had gotten involved, and soon, the virus spread quickly through her body, and when it infected her hips, she'd lost herself completely, and it was over.

The music had won.

She had probably let it win, considering she thought she was one of the last people around on her shift, and the new shift hadn't yet started. She probably hadn't expected to be caught. And Greg didn't want her to stop, so he kept quiet as he watched her curves move quietly to classic rock. He watched her until she turned around and faltered, reaching to the stereo immediately and turning it off.

"Sorry…" Riley muttered, red creeping into her cheeks.

"No, no, no, you were brilliant," Greg confessed, giving her a slow clap as he stepped into the break room.

"I thought you'd left," she said, smoothing out her t-shirt.

"I'm glad I didn't," he told her with a wry smirk as he went over to the stereo. He snorted. "Great dancing, Riley, but I have to ask." He turned around and held up a jewel case. "Bryan Adams? Really?"

She rolled her eyes. "I can't help it, OK?"

"It's not even old school Bryan Adams," said Greg. "You were dancing to When You're Gone."

"Call it a guilty pleasure," said Riley.

"You struck me as more of a Pink Floyd kinda gal," Greg commented, leaning back on the table.

"Try Jimmy Buffet," she said.

"Well, if we couldn't laugh, then we'd all go insane," Greg quoted.

"Ah, so you've heard of him."

Greg rolled his eyes at her joke and put the jewel case on the table again, where he saw a white piece of paper with a sketch on it of a young woman sleeping on a bed. "Hey…" he said, picking it up. "Did you do this? It's really good."

"Yeah…" Riley said, shifting. "Sometimes, crime scene photos can't tell you everything. I…draw what I remember. See if my subconscious caught something the camera didn't."

And then, Greg realized the woman in the drawing wasn't sleeping. He gingerly put it down, embarrassed, as if he had disturbed the victim's rest. "Oh." Then his mind processed what she'd just said to him. "Wait, how can you draw something the camera missed?"

She laughed and walked over to him and pointed at the picture. "It's not about evidence, Greg, it's about first impressions." She pulled out a crime scene photo from a file. The woman in the photo was in a completely different position than she was in the drawing. She was contorted, her arms bound to the post, and clearly dead.

"Why did you draw her as if she were sleeping?" Greg asked, his fingers running over the pencil sketch.

"I… don't know…" Riley confessed, squirming a little. "That's just what I… felt. What she might have been doing. Before… Oh, it's stupid." She dismissed it, taking the paper up and folding it twice before shoving it in her pocket. "It's not forensics."

"It's not," Greg agreed. "It's art."

"It's not logical," she returned. "When processing evidence, you have to proceed in a specific manner. We can't afford to postulate or assume anything because—"

"Riley, you don't have to recite the handbook to me," Greg interrupted her.

She frowned. "That's in the handbook?"

Greg laughed. "You don't have to be rational all the time. I, myself, believe in the validity of a gut instinct, or a sixth sense. Nana Olaf says I have a great skill in that area."

"Aha…" said Riley, slowly. She took a step towards him. "And… what does your sixth sense say about me?"

Instinctively, Greg took a step back. "In all honesty my third eye is all cloudy when it comes to you."

She smirked. "Well…" She looked at her watch. "It's late. We're both off shift now. Maybe you'd… be hungry?"

"Starving," Greg confessed, but suddenly remembered something. "Oh, crap…"

She seemed confused. "What's wrong?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't believe that he'd forgotten. "Um… I have a date."

Riley's shoulders slumped. "Oh…" She tried, but was unable to completely mask her disappointment.

And that's when it hit Greg. "Oh my god…" he muttered. "You were asking me out, weren't you?"

She blinked, rapidly, her eyes wide. "What? Me? Oh, no, I was just… hungry, and looking for, you know, someone to eat breakfast with. That's all."

She shrugged, but that same red that had flooded her cheeks when Greg had caught her dancing had returned as she moved swiftly to the table and turned her back on Greg, shuffling through her crime scene photos.

Greg built his lip as he stared guiltily at her back. "Riley, I'm sorry if I made you think that I—"

"No," Riley interrupted quickly. "I mean, I don't even know what you're talking about. But you didn't make me think—" She forced a laugh, tossing her head back, then flashed him a confident smile. "I mean… I didn't think anything. I had no thoughts whatsoever. That's why my dad used to call me a scatterbrain." She forced another laugh and gathered up her file. "Um… I'm just gonna go home, grab some drive-thru on the way and crash."

"I'm seeing somebody," Greg told her as she looked at him.

She nodded rapidly. "Of course you are."

"I probably should have mentioned that a while ago… But it's not really something I talk about much."

"Oh, I'm sure she's lovely," Riley said, her intonations all over the place.

Greg said nothing, he simply shrugged.

"Is it serious?"

Greg smiled. "Yeah, I think so."

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Well then, congratulations." She seemed about to say more, but changed her mind and quickly made her exit.

Greg sighed, then checked his watch again and grimaced. He was late. He should have probably left the lab about a half hour ago, but he'd completely forgotten about the breakfast date.

But it didn't really matter. Neither of them was ever really particular about punctuality. Nonetheless, Greg swung by a gift shop and added a box of chocolates to the Denny's takeaway he'd picked up along the way.

When Greg reached the hospital, he cast a kind hello to Nora, the receptionist, and made his way directly his lover's room. He knocked politely on the door before entering with a grin, making the man in the bed look up and cast Greg a knowing smirk.

"You're late," he observed.

"I know," Greg sighed.

"But you brought chocolate, so it's forgiven." The man in the bed reached his two, skinny arms out, hungrily. "Gimme."

Unable to resist the pleas of the man he loved, Greg handed him the Denny's takeout.

His lover laughed. "Not the breakfast, the chocolate!"

Greg rolled his eyes and exchanged the brown paper bag for the box of chocolates, which his lover opened and sampled like a connoisseur, his eyes closed as he emitted a low moan of satisfaction.

Greg took a seat, his eyes never leaving the blissful expression on his lover's face. "I'm sorry I'm late, Neil."

His lover opened his eyes and winked at Greg. "No problem, Greg. I have all the time in the world."

Note: You thought it was gonna be Nick, didn't you?