"Thirty-five minutes, Sanders." Mozell, leaning in the lab door, held up her hand, back of her wrist toward Greg, and tapped her watch face. "On the dot. You lose."

He ripped the last sheet of results off the printer and shrugged, smiling at her. "So? Even when I lose, I win. Just have to trot these down to Sarah and we'll take off." He walked to the door, stopping in front of her. She crossed her arms, staring at him innocently. "I need to get past."

"Who's stopping you?" He simply pointed at her. She spread a hand on her chest, eyes widening even more. "Moi? And what do you call that?" She indicated the slender space between her side and the doorframe.

Greg was smiling. "I call it an excuse to try for a body slide, and one that is usually only used by obnoxious guys."

"Oh, well, I can deal with being called obnoxious, but the guy bit is too much, so I suppose I ought to give you more room." She turned sideways, so that her back was against the doorframe.

"Hm. Gained a couple of inches at the hips and shoulders, lost them at the bust. Outstanding!" He turned sideways and began to slip through the narrow space. Mozell, smiling sweetly, waited till he was halfway through, then leaned forward, pinning him. He didn't try to force his way through. They just stood there for a moment, torsos pressed together, smiling at each other.

Nick came out of Grissom's office, just down the hall. He was absorbed in a sheet of information, and didn't look up until he was almost even with them. When he did, he came to an abrupt halt. A smile spread over his face. "As much as I'm in favor of congenial staff relations, shouldn't you two go in the supply closet, like everyone else?"

Mozell didn't miss a beat. "Last person I knew who tried that ended up with toner stains on her butt. Wouldn't have been so obvious, but it was pre-Labor Day, and she was wearing white."

Greg offered the test results to Nick. "Can I talk you into hunting down Sarah and giving this to her?"

Nick accepted the paper. "Sure. Anything I need to tell her?"

"Tons," drawled Mozell, "but you probably ought to wait till someone arranges an intervention on Sideboard." She snapped her fingers. "Damn. There I go wasting a perfectly good irritating nickname when she isn't within hearing distance. Oh, well--must make a mental note of that one for later."

"So you are doing it on purpose," said Nick.

She patted his cheek. "Of course I am, dear boy, and having a lot of fun at it, too. Hey, I'm perfectly willing to stop. All she has to do is stop acting like a bug has crawled up her fundament, dragging a stick after himself."

Nick tried to choke back laughter. "I don't think that anyone has ever called Sarah on her attitude before."

"Well, that's probably part of the problem, dont'cha think? Greg, my messy-haired stud muffin, let's go. I'm not looking forward to going into my own little house, and that's pissing me off to the point where I'd like to get it over with."

Greg reached over and repeated Mozell's action of patting Nick's cheek. "Thanks, buddy."

Nick sobered a moment, and said, "Greg, Mozell--I heard about what's going on with the stalker. Are you two sure you don't want to take a couple of the plainclothes with you?"

They exchanged looks, but both shook their head. Mozell said, "Not yet, Nick. I may have to put myself under protective custody at some point, but not until I feel I have to." She made a face. "It's still early days on this. If the back of my neck starts to prickle, believe me--I'll call in the troops. I'm no wimp, but I'm not stupid, either. Greg, hang on a second. I'm going to make a fast trip to the ladies facility." She patted his arm and went down the side hall.

Greg gave Nick a level look. "Don't worry, man. If she waits too long, I'll call them in. Gris will take my recommendation seriously."

Nick nodded, then said, "Greg? What's it like?"

"What's what like? Don't ask me what sex is like with her, because I'm a gentleman, and all I'd be able to do is grin like a fool."

"No. I mean, what's it like getting struck by one of Cupid's thunderbolts?"

Greg frowned good-naturedly. "Cupid uses arrows, Nick. It's Zeus who tosses thunderbolts."

"I know my mythology, Greg, but Mozell hit you a lot harder than an arrow."

Greg smiles slowly. "Yeah, she did."

"So, what's it like?"

"Dizzying. You surf?"

"Um, no. Not one of my sports."

"It's sort of like you're paddling along, enjoying some pretty nice swells. Nothing spectacular, mind you, but not bad. And then you hear a rushing sound, and you turn around, and you see the biggest, most beautiful, most perfect, damn-near-unbelievable wave coming right at you. And you jump up, and you catch it just right, and then you're flying. You're being carried along so fast that the air is being sucked right out of your lungs, and you feel like you might die, and you feel like you're going to live forever, all at once. And you know that you're either going to ride it all the way in to shore, or else it's going to wipe out, but it won't be the wave's fault. It'll just be because you couldn't handle it right. And even if that happens, it's still going to be an experience that you'll remember for the rest of your life, and you'll never let it go, and never regret it." There was a moment of silence, then Greg said, "Shit. When did I get so metaphorical? Look, that had to sound stupid coming from me, and if anyone else ever says it, it'll sound like the height of air head, so don't repeat it to her, okay?"

"Greg," Nick patted his shoulder. "That may be the most meaningful ramble that I've ever heard from you., and it actually made me wish I surfed."

Mozell was coming back around the corner, and caught the tail end of the sentence. "We're talking about surfing?"

"In a theoretical sort of way," said Greg.

"I don't surf. Heck, I don't swim. Make that can't swim." She took Greg's hand, wiggling her eyebrows at him. "I'll volunteer to wax your board for you, though, Dude." He started to open his mouth, and she pointed at him, "And any reference to Sex Wax will bring severe penalties." He saluted, and they headed for the front of the building.

As they drove to her house, Greg said, "Mozell, are you sure you don't want to take a couple of days off--sort of gather yourself together? I'm sure they'd allow it."

"Because I have a feeling that they're going to ask me to take a leave of absence to help set up whatever we end up doing, and I'd prefer to leave the upheaval of my life as long as possible."

"Why do you think they'll want you off the job?"

"So I can be on the job--the other one, I mean. If they want to use me as a lure to pull in the killer, letting him find out I work in a police station wouldn't be too conducive. I theorize that they're going to set me up with a cover job--either that, or make it look like I work from my home."

"Wouldn't this guy be able to figure out that it's a fraud?"

"Well, it all depends on if he's begun really digging into my stats. Like I said before, I haven't bothered to change any of my online info yet. As far as all the cyber stuff I've done personally is concerned, I'm still living back in Texas, going to school, and working in a convenience store. If they jerk my official records at work quick enough, there's no reason why this turkey should realize that my situation has changed. Once we talk, I can put out any information we decide on. I can be the reincarnation of Eleanor Roosevelt, running guns for the CIA, if I so choose."

They'd pulled into the short drive in front of Mozell's house, and Greg shut off the engine. "Okay, tell me what you want and where it is, and do you have a suitcase, or are we going the plastic garbage bag route?"

She opened her door. "If you think I'm letting even you rummage around in my drawers--" she gave him a sly look, "and remember there's a difference between panties and drawers. No, I'll get my stuff myself. It's never a good idea to send a man for women's stuff, not even with a detailed, written list."

Greg got out and followed her to the door. "C'mon, we're not that bad."

"One of the saddest sights in the world is a man, a non-transvestite man, standing in front of a pantyhose display, trying to figure out what sort his wife sent him for."

She was fitting her key into the lock, and Greg put a hand on her wrist. His voice was firm. "You're not going in there first."

She rubbed his arm. "No, I'm not." She unlocked the door, opened it a crack, and reached inside, feeling around. "But you're not going in unarmed, either." She pulled something out and offered it to him. Greg stared. It was a sawed off baseball bat, the hardwood nicked and scuffed, and the handle wrapped in electrician tape. "I keep it by my front door," she explained. "Just in case."

Greg hefted it in his hands. "A person could do some serious damage with this."

She nodded. "That's what my granddad said when he gave it to my aunt. She was the first girl in the family to move out on her own without getting married. I inherited it."

"I'm dying to meet your family. Any hot spots I ought to check first?"

"I wouldn't bother with the hall closet. I'm using it as a catchall till I can rent storage space. No one bigger than Mini Me could fit in there."

He saluted her with the bat. "Off on reconnaissance. Back in a flash."

As he slipped inside, she called, "Get them in the gut first! They bend over, then you can get the head."

His voice floated back to her. "I love you."

She smiled. "Nut." Mozell glanced up at the sky. *You've got a heck of a sense of humor, God. You land me with one of the best things in my life--thank you, by the way--and one of the most terrifying situations at the same time. You sure do make life interesting.*

She listened to Greg moving around the house, opening doors. Finally he came back to the front door. "All clear. You might have saved me the trouble of looking under the bed."

"For all I knew, he could have shoved the boxes out and crawled under it." She entered, saying, "Put the bat there, so I'll know where it is. I won't be but a few minutes."

"No hurry." He spotted her computer. "Mind if I cruise the web for a minute while I wait?"

"Have at it. Password is 'makebelieve'. Night case, night case... Ah!"

Greg turned on the computer and waited a moment while it warmed up. The desktop appeared, and he started to look for the Internet connection icon. Then something about the wallpaper caught his eye, and he looked more closely. His mouth dropped open. "What the fuck?"

"Beg pardon? Just a second, I'm almost done."

"Mozell? Uh... This picture on your desktop."

"Yes? I forgot, which one is it? The Halloween cat or the dish of... Shit!" She hurried into the living room, overnight bag bumping against her leg. "Greg, I can explain."

Greg was studying it carefully. "That's not me. I never had a portrait like that taken. Who is this?"

*My face feels like someone rubbed it with IcyHot.* "His name is Eric Szmanda. He acts in a police television show."

Greg sat back and looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "He looks somehow familiar." She smiled weakly. "Okay, the question is, did you find this before, or after you met me?"

"Which answer gets me in the least amount of trouble?"

He shrugged. "There's no trouble attached to this, Moe. I'm just curious." He cocked his head, looking at the screen. "Wouldn't you be, if you found out you had a doppelganger?"

"I found it just a little while before I went in for my first night at work."

He watched her. "Did you go out with me because," he flicked the glass, "of this?"

Mozell put down the case and went to him. Leaning down, she put her face very close to his. "Greg--that's just a picture. You are warm, living--very living--flesh and blood, wrapped around a personality and a soul that has just reached out and grabbed me. If I was to run into that man I'd have a good laugh with him about how much you two look alike, then I'd walk away from him--straight to you. Okay?"

He smiled. Reaching up, he sank his hand into her hair, then tugged her down gently to kiss her. "More than okay. Let's go back to my place, and we can discuss my forfeit on that bet."

She kissed him back. "One moment. I need to get something from the kitchen."

As she went into the other room, Greg called, "What is it? I'm pretty well stocked."

She came out carrying something, and held it up. It was a bottle of chocolate syrup. "You can't always count on someone having this."

He raised his eyebrows. "We'll need to stop for ice cream."

"No we won't."

"Chocolate milk?" She shook her head. "Then what?" She grinned at him, then popped open the top on the bottle, squeezed a short squiggle out on the back of her hand, and slowly licked it up, keeping eye contact while she did. Greg felt the slow smile splitting his face. "You're going to kill me, but I'll die happy."