Just an Airport

…

They had teetered on this fence long enough, and Sara could only hope they had tumbled onto the right side.

…

Sara Sidle sat tiredly down on a vacant bench facing Gate 47 at McCarran Airport, soon to be home of Delta Flight 687, Atlanta to Las Vegas. She took a sip of the scalding hot coffee in her hand, draping a leg casually over her knee, settling in to wait for a plane to arrive at the terminal. Sara found the task of being grumpy and discontented about her current location becoming more and more impossible as the minutes ticked by.

On the one hand, she hated airports. They were a compilation of people going everywhere and people going nowhere, and they were loud, and sterile, and the benches were hard and it was always so cold. Children were always running amok, and the perpetual state of confusion and the tension of the heightened security measures put everyone on edge.

On the other hand, Greg was coming home.

She had realized just how much she depended on him in his fairly lengthy absence from the lab. He had been invited rather eloquently to speak at a forensics conference in Atlanta, and Ecklie had insisted he accept, despite his current employment as a level one. When she had inquired as to why Ecklie had made such a big deal about the invite, pulling him off their case, sending him packing his bags immediately, he had only thrown her a disappointed grin, and mumbled something about a person's talents not always falling directly inline with their passions.

Later she found out he wasn't just attending, he had been invited as the principle speaker, thanks to his expertise in the field of forensic DNA analysis. She understood why he didn't want to talk about it.

She took another sip of coffee, pleased that it had started to cool a bit. The PA system blared to life, the message catching her attention as it concerned Greg's plane. A glance at the monitor confirmed what the announcement was blandly stating. Flight 687 would be arriving on time. Twenty minutes.

Suppressing a grin born out of anticipation and excitement, Sara tried to rationalize her feelings. She had felt a surge of anxiety, enthusiasm turning to agitation, making her fidget like a twelve year old. Greg would be home in twenty minutes. She pursed her lips before taking another sip of coffee, masking her impatience. She had gone almost a week without seeing him, why was twenty minutes so difficult? Sara frowned, wiping a drop of coffee off the white lid of her cup.

Did she have any mints?

Halfway through searching her purse, she stopped herself. This was ridiculous. It was just Greg, for Christ's Sake. She was just picking him up from the airport. There wasn't even anything going on between them. They were friends. Colleagues. She had been the one to wrap her case early, hence she was the one to pick him up.

And since when did she have feelings for Greg Sanders?

Oh God.

Sara watched as what she assumed to be Flight 687 pulled up to the gate, on the other side of the heavy glass window a few yards in front of her.

Did she actually have feelings for Greg?

Real feelings?

"This is ridiculous." She mumbled to herself.

Passengers began to file out of the gate, most with expressions of varying degrees of bewilderment. Tourists on vacation. Apathy from a few businessmen, smiles on the faces of a few recognizing relatives and loved ones. What she estimated was about half the plane had spilled out of the gate when she spotted a familiar mop of wild curls, and a faded Stanford hoodie.

Greg.

She stood, shoving her hands casually into the pockets of her jeans, watching him as he scanned the crowd with an investigator's eye, breaking into a grin when he spotted her across the terminal. He pulled the white buds of his iPod out of his ears as he made his way through the scattering crowd.

"Hey, how was-" Greg cut her off mid sentence, dropping his backpack at her feet and pulling her into a thick, deliberate kiss, cradling her gently with a hand in her hair, holding her against him. Her hands instinctively snaked around his shoulders, and he caught her with an arm around her waist as her knees gave way from the sheer intensity from which he had turned her on.

In the middle of the airport.

Oh God.

She broke away only just, and he loosened his grip on her, flashing her an apologetic smile. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged, the sparkle in his eye catching the light before he offered his explanation.

"I missed you."

She laughed softly as he kissed her again, gentler, lighter. They had teetered on this fence long enough, and Sara could only hope they had tumbled onto the right side. She hugged him tightly, shivering as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, like they'd been together for years. Physical contact with Greg came so easily, she vaguely wondered why she had pushed him away for so long.

"I have the night off." She grinned somewhat mischievously as he bent to pick up his backpack, pleased to see the shock at her boldness mixed in with his lopsided smile.

"Let's go."

………

A/N: Spent a lot of time in airports this past week. This one wouldn't leave me alone. Hope you enjoyed.