Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm making no money. But my birthday's coming up.

Originally posted for the Last Fanfic Author Standing challenge over at Live Journal. This is unbetaed and kind of sucks.

The muffled groan of pain that emanated from the other side of the bed caused Grissom to toss his latest issue of Discover magazine on to the nightstand. "Did you take anything?"

Her misery soaked voice came over her shoulder. "About an hour ago. I took the maximum dose; I can't take any more for three hours."

Moving slowly, so as not to jostle the mattress, he scooted over to where she rested on her side, curled in on herself, heating pad against her back. "Mmm," he hummed sympathetically, gently easing the heating pad around to her stomach. He raised the hem of her pumpkin colored tank top and began to knead the skin of her lower back with his thick fingers. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

Sara grunted but moved back slightly into his hand. "I forgot how miserable this can be."

He continued to press with gentle but firm pressure. "You could always go back on the pill." Grissom strived to keep his tone neutral.

"Uh, I don't think so." She craned her neck to look at him over her shoulder. "It's better to be uncomfortable one or two days out of the month than sad and half crazy most of the days of the month."

He bit his lip as he continued to compress her flesh. "I'm sorry, honey. I should have thought about the hormones contributing to the depression."

Sighing, she turned away and rested her head on her arm. "Not your fault, babe." He pressed a little harder and she grunted again before continuing, "I didn't think of it either and really, let's face it, that was probably one of the smaller contributing factors."

Wordlessly, he kissed the curve of her freckled shoulder and continued his massage. After a moment, he felt her tense under what he assumed was a rather painful cramp as she hunched further into herself and he felt the muscles under his hand tighten. He paused his kneading and moved his large hand over the entire area of her back in wide, soothing strokes until he felt her stiffness ease a bit. Carefully, he resumed manipulating the skin and muscles of her lower back.

"Stupid Eve," she grumbled. "Stupid curse, stupid apple."

He smirked silently, not daring to laugh aloud. "How can an agnostic scientist blame Christian myth for a biological function?"

She snorted. "It's either blame Eve and the apple or find a way to blame you. Which would you prefer?"

Deciding a conversational distraction might be called for, he assumed his best instructor's voice. "Actually, the apple has been convicted without a fair trial."

A snicker drifted back to him. "What would that be? A jury of its pears?"

He chuckled, both at the pun and the fact that she was feeling comfortable enough to make a joke. "The Bible doesn't specifically say Eve ate an apple; she ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good an evil."

Sighing, she relaxed a little more as he continued rubbing. "I never understood how one apple could have so much significance."

"You mean how one bad apple could spoil the whole bunch?"

Playfully, she moved her elbow back to lightly poke him in the belly. "Continue with my lesson, please, Professor Grissom." She switched the heating pad off and tossed it away from her.

"Well," he planted a quick, tender kiss on the back of her neck, "it more than likely wasn't an apple. Apple trees generally don't do well in the Middle East; it's too hot."

Scooting back, she reached behind her and stilled his hand, bringing it around her waist as she snuggled back into his large, comforting body. "Why do we think it's an apple, then?"

"Both art and language. Malum is Latin for both apple and evil." His exhale stirred a curl resting against her neck and his inhale brought the scent of her vanilla shampoo into his nose. "During the Renaissance a lot of European artists painted it as an apple because that was one of the most common fruits in Europe at the time; though Michelangelo painted it as a fig on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel."

"Well, a fig is very sensual." Her fingers stroked across the arm that was draped over her stomach. "And we know they had fig leaves."

"Other options considered have been the pomegranate, citron, carob and the olive." He felt her sinking into him, drowsy and finally comfortable. He smiled silently into her hair; he wouldn't trade these quiet moments of domestic peace for anything.

"The olive of good and evil really doesn't have the same ring to it," she responded lightly and he could hear the humor in her voice, making him smile.

"Well, olive you."

She giggled as she patted his arm. "Thank you."

Pressing a kiss to her ear, he asked, "For what?"

"For massaging my back, for distracting me, for holding me." She turned in his arms so they were face to face. "For waiting on me to get my act together and being here when I came home." She placed a kiss on the tip of his nose. "For having feelings for me of the martini garnish variety."

He looked into her espresso colored eyes, still astounded and overjoyed by the way his feelings for her could rise up inside him in a tide of elation and bliss. "You know, the Bible does specifically mention the apple in several places. My favorite is from Psalm 17."

"Hmm?" She nestled her cheek against his shoulder, pressing a sweet kiss against the slightly salty skin of his neck.

His love shone through his gaze, naked, vibrant, unapologetic. "Keep me as the apple of thy eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings."

"Nice," she exhaled against him, her warm breath caressing his skin. "My favorite isn't from the Bible, it's from Mother Theresa. Love is a fruit in season at all times and within reach of every hand." She pulled his head down for a chaste press of lips. "I will always be grateful your love was within my reach. Thank you, babe."