All the things Gil Grissom had learned the hard way about what not to do on a date, went completely out the window where Sara Sidle was concerned. Because Sara was unlike any woman he'd ever dated before.
She didn't walk out on him for taking a phone call in the middle of dinner.
She didn't get mad at him for being late, cutting a date short, or canceling altogether due to circumstances beyond his control.
She didn't seem to get bored or uncomfortable with long silences when he ran out of things to say, and she didn't act offended if his words accidentally came out wrong.
She didn't shush him when he talked during a movie, nor give him a dirty look for eating more than his half of the popcorn.
She didn't lose her appetite or leave the table in disgust if the conversation turned toward things not considered socially acceptable for mealtimes. Sometimes, she was even the one to instigate the 'gruesome' topics while eating.
She would probably even enjoy watching The Wizard of Oz synched with Pink Floyd's 'Dark Side of the Moon' album. And even if she didn't, he knew it wouldn't be the last date he would ever have with her.
His Sara was one-of-a-kind.
And she hadn't been joking when she told Grissom he would have to earn it if he wanted more than just kissing with her.
For all of the opportunities she'd given him before...now that he was actively pursuing her in return, all of a sudden she seemed to be playing hard-to-get.
In the twelve days that had passed since their first date, they'd enjoyed a lot of kissing — and a bit of touching — but aside from being stranded overnight in his car that one time, the only 'spending the night together' that they'd done so far was working side-by-side at crime scenes and in the lab on the graveyard shift.
Grissom hoped to change that soon.
He also hoped to get his shirt back soon.
He hadn't asked for the garment back yet, and Sara hadn't volunteered it. She still had it, more than a week and a half after he'd loaned it to her to ward off the desert's cool night air right before they'd become stranded on the highway.
He knew he'd scored a few points with that shirt-giving move, though that wasn't the reason why he'd done it. He just didn't want her to be cold.
He'd been cold to her himself so many times in the past, and he admitted to himself that maybe his offering her some physical warmth was a subconscious and metaphorical show of repentance.
Lucky for Grissom, Sara was a forgiving person. And lucky for Sara, Grissom was a patient man.
Fresh from the dryer, Sara pulled her new boyfriend's indigo-blue button-down shirt.
Boyfriend.
Such a strange word to describe Grissom. It sounded foreign in her head, and felt even more awkward on her tongue.
But what else was she supposed to call the guy she'd spent nearly two whole weeks locking lips with? Technically he wasn't her lover, because they hadn't actually slept together yet.
Maybe it was time they did.
She'd held off despite his new-found interest because she wanted to make sure that Grissom was truly serious about his intentions before she jumped into bed with him.
If he was still interested in her after two weeks of no real physical intimacy, then she knew he wasn't just looking for a one-time roll in the figurative hay.
He didn't seem to be that type anyway, but one never really knew until after they'd crossed that line.
Sara gently folded the laundered shirt, intending to finally return it to Grissom.
She felt a little silly for having kept it this long. And a little embarrassed to admit to herself that she'd enjoyed sleeping in it a couple of times. And pretending the scent was from him laying beside her. And imagining that the long sleeves were his arms around her.
Too bad the shirt didn't hold onto his scent for very long before hers began to cover it.
Just as well, Sara sighed. How could she appreciate looking at Grissom in his nice blue shirt if he didn't have it to wear anymore?
She dropped the shirt on the coffee table next to her car keys, to remind herself to bring it with her when she reported for shift that night.
But as she looked at the shirt again, a grin spread across her face as a much better idea popped into her head.
Unfolding the shirt, she laid it out flat on the coffee table and rolled the sleeves up evenly to where she liked them. Then she slipped it on over her tank top and fastened all but the collar and second button.
It was way too big on her, but she didn't care at all about that. In her mind she tried to picture Grissom's potential reaction to seeing her in his shirt again, but all she could actually come up with was his carefully-honed poker face.
She was taunting him. She had to be, wearing his shirt like that for all to see.
Of course, nobody else knew that it was his shirt. Unless for some reason they remembered his wearing it on previous occasions.
That was the lesser problem. The bigger problem was how much he enjoyed seeing her wear something of his. It didn't stimulate him physically like her kisses did at times, but it was a definite visual distraction.
A very sexy distraction.
She sat there so casually in his shirt with the top two buttons open — not revealing anything to be considered inappropriate work attire, since she was modestly covered in front by the second shirt she wore beneath — but just suggestive enough to make him have to pause for a second to gather his thoughts in order to properly hand out case assignments.
Grissom swallowed the dryness in his throat. He had to get Sara to take off that shirt, or he would risk being distracted by it for the entire work shift.
Silently weighing his two options, he chose the former.
He'd already paired Sara with himself for the night, and now he waited until everyone else filed out of the room before he addressed her.
"I'd almost given up on getting that shirt back," he hinted in a low volume as Sara stood to join him.
"Oh, you want this back?" she asked all-too-innocently.
"I do," Grissom answered. "It's my best one."
"Yes, it is," Sara agreed pleasantly. "You should buy more."
"I only need the one," Grissom replied logically, stubbornly holding her gaze.
Sara looked back at him with a sparkle in her eye.
But instead of taking off the shirt and handing it to him as he'd expected, she threw him a flirtatious challenge. "Well, then...if you want it back, I guess you're gonna have to get me out of it first."
Damn her. Now he was going to have that fantasy in his head all night.
With a saucy quirk of her eyebrow, Sara glided past him and out the door.
"So..." Grissom ventured as he drove them to their crime scene. "What does it take to get you out of it?"
"That's a good question."
"And the answer is...?"
Sara grinned unhelpfully. "For me to know, and you to find out."
Grissom gave her a mildly exasperated look. "I knew you were going to be trouble the moment I met you."
"Is that so?"
"That's so."
"And yet you stuck around," Sara countered with a smile. "So to speak."
Grissom returned her smile. "What choice did I have? I was already hooked."
"You know what? That, right there, just earned you a button." And to illustrate, Sara undid the first fastened button near the top of the shirt where it peeked out from beneath her official black CSI vest.
Aha, so that was her game.
Well, Grissom could try to sweet-talk all the buttons open and the shirt off within a few minutes...or he could play along and enjoy the game all night instead.
This time, he chose the latter.
Heading back to the car with field kits full of collected evidence, Grissom, on a whim, paused and bent to pluck a wildflower from the knee-high vegetation growing along the road — at a safe enough distance from their crime scene, of course, so as not to potentially compromise any part of the scene.
Though technically considered a weed, it was still a rather cute-looking blossom with a soft purplish hue to its delicate petals.
Impulsively Grissom poked its thin stem into Sara's hair, the blossom head resting above the top of her ear.
The sweet gesture surprised Sara, and she accepted it with a little smile.
"Does that earn me another button?" Grissom queried, taking note of the girlish delight in Sara's eyes and filing it away in his memory bank.
Sara chuckled, and glanced down the front of her clothes to find a second button to undo. "Um, well..."
But the rest of them were currently hidden beneath her field vest. Even the buttons at the very bottom of the shirt were inaccessible, having been tucked in at the waistband of her jeans.
"I'll have to owe it to you," she promised, moving to the passenger side of the SUV and opening the door to get in.
Back at the lab again, Sara put the cute little wildflower in a cup of water and left it on a shelf in Grissom's office where it wouldn't wilt as fast as it might if closed up in her locker.
Replacing her field vest with an open lab coat, she untucked the now wrinkly bottom of the shirt and deliberately neglected to undo that second button she'd promised Grissom.
She wanted to see if he was keeping track, and whether he would mention it if he thought she wasn't.
Of course Grissom noticed it. He noticed everything.
"I believe you still owe me that second button," he reminded her lightly, three seconds after she appeared by his side in the layout room.
"Do I?" she echoed smoothly, making no move to oblige.
Grissom saw the impish defiance in her gaze, and he held the stare with an amused twitch of his own lips.
He glanced past her to make sure nobody else was looking their direction, and quick as a wink his hand darted to the front of the shirt and his fingers flicked open the next button down.
With a smile of satisfaction, he turned his attention fully to the case at hand.
At his side, Sara grinned to herself. He was obviously enjoying this game already as much as she was.
And if he was that nimble one-handedly with a shirt button, he should fare quite well with a bra's hook too.
The third time Sara rewarded Grissom with an unfastened button, she didn't attempt to hold it hostage again.
It didn't take much to earn it, either — just one fleeting compliment from his lips that drew a genuine smile to hers.
Sara wasn't vain. But she was female. And what female didn't appreciate a compliment?
Grissom was feeling almost cocky after having gotten Sara to undo three buttons in only four hours. That was nearly a button per hour...loosely averaged.
And then he made the mistake of scolding Greg just a little too sharply with Sara in the room.
The professional reprimand was necessary, but the angry, berating tone wasn't.
Nobody else paid the least bit of attention to the movement, but Grissom understood completely the significance when Sara nonchalantly re-fastened not just one, but two buttons on the shirt.
Well, that wasn't fair.
It hadn't occurred to him that she might re-fasten any of the buttons. And at the very most, it should have been one, not two.
But Sara had always been a bit protective of Greg.
Grissom would have to tread more carefully if he didn't want that shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck.
"Greg?"
The younger man looked at him nervously. "Yeah?"
"You're doing fine, otherwise."
From beside Greg, Sara flashed Grissom a smile of approval.
And she re-opened one button.
He finally got the other button unfastened again two hours later by bringing her a delicious late lunch and enjoying it with her in the breakroom.
Their bodies kept a respectable distance from each other above the table. Under the table, however, was a different matter.
Sara hadn't played 'footsies' since junior high, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy resting the toe of her booted foot intimately against the side of Grissom's shoe.
Grissom felt the subtle contact through his shoe, and he moved his own foot a couple of inches closer to Sara's boot to connect more solidly with hers.
It was their inconspicuous, public version of holding hands.
Grissom's eyes lingered on the happiness of the moment radiating on Sara's face.
She wore her heart on her sleeve. Always so honest and free with her emotions, like he sometimes wished he was able to be.
Maybe they should play strip poker sometime. With her open expressiveness and his finely-crafted poker face, he'd have her naked in no time at all.
Grissom hid his sudden grin by taking another bite of his food.
She hadn't touched a button in almost three hours.
At least she hadn't re-fastened any of them again either, but still...progress had slowed considerably.
They were just finishing up their second field trip of evidence collection when Grissom's hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.
"Hang on a second," he said in complete seriousness, his gaze focused intently on the bottom of her vest.
Sara froze in place. "Is there evidence on me?"
With the steadiness of a surgeon, Grissom reached two gloved hands toward the bottom hem of the shirt where a single button peeked out a few inches below her vest.
He popped the button open. "That's better."
Realizing she'd fallen for a ruse, Sara scoffed a laugh at him. "I don't believe you! Copping a freebie? Thief."
Grissom simply smirked and stepped past her, almost daring her to button it back up.
Sara joined him in the viewing deck as Detective Brass interviewed their suspect in the adjoining room.
She wore neither field vest nor lab coat this time, and smugly Grissom observed that she still hadn't buttoned back up the one freebie he'd stolen earlier.
He wouldn't get away with snatching another. Of that, he was certain.
He and Sara both were far too professional and dedicated to allow distraction from the interview with any personal conversation or physical contact.
But after the interview was finished and before they left the room, Grissom's hand surreptitiously caught hers for a few seconds and gave it a brief squeeze of affection.
Sara squeezed back with a little smile.
And she finally unfastened a fifth button.
Despite his best efforts, at the end of the day Sara had still only undone five of the eight buttons running down the front of the shirt.
Grissom wondered if she'd leave it that way to continue their game tomorrow, or if she'd wickedly make him start over completely at the beginning again.
She'd probably even button the collar too, just to be obstinate.
Sara was still wearing the shirt when he knocked on her apartment door after work, and he was pleased to see that she hadn't re-buttoned any part of it yet.
"Well, you almost got your shirt back today," Sara teased, letting him in and shutting the door behind him.
"The day is not over, my dear."
She raised an eyebrow at him in contradiction. "You're still three buttons shy. I wouldn't call that a victory quite yet."
"The only thing you said was that I had to get you out of the shirt," Grissom reminded her. "You failed to specify by what means, or give any timeline."
Sara grinned at him. The man wasn't wrong. "And what exactly do you have in mind, then?"
But rather than giving a verbal answer, he stepped closer and gave in to what he'd been wanting to do all day.
In two seconds flat his fingers triumphantly conquered the final three buttons of the shirt. Then both of his arms slid around her as his lips crashed against hers.
Sara's whole body tingled with delicious anticipation as Grissom's hands wadded up the loose fabric at the back of the garment to get it out of his way so he could find her bare skin beneath his shirt and her tank top.
Losing herself in the passion of the kiss, she pressed her body invitingly against his.
Grissom's body warmly RSVP'd her invitation, and he was glad he'd had the forethought to bring along a few condoms, just in case.
Sara thought the shirt would be the first thing to hit the floor.
But Grissom surprised her. Instead, his hands came back to rest briefly at the sides of her waist before they migrated to the front of her low-rise jeans waistband.
She didn't stop him, so he unfastened the single metal button. And when she still didn't stop him, he coaxed the short zipper down.
Sara tried to return the favor on his pants, but Grissom grasped her hands gently, whispering against her lips, "Patience."
One more hungry kiss, and then his mouth tore from hers. And like he'd done on their first date, he knelt before her.
Face flushed, lips swollen, and breaths coming out in soft puffs, Sara watched in rapt fascination as Grissom untied the laces of both of her boots.
She allowed him to lift her right foot, the one she'd twisted two weeks ago. Removing the boot and then the sock, one of his thumbs skimmed over the flesh of her all-healed-up ankle.
Sara grabbed at his shoulder for balance, standing awkwardly on one foot. She was not a flamingo.
Grissom set her foot down and picked up the left one, also removing both boot and sock. This time his thumb explored the flower tattooed there at the top of her ankle.
"Got a foot fetish?" Sara quipped.
"Only for your feet," Grissom replied easily, grinning up at her. "And your legs. And everything else, of course."
To punctuate his statement, he tugged at the legs of her unfastened jeans until they slid down. He helped her out of them, and tossed them aside.
Then he indulged in playing out that fantasy he had of running his hands up Sara's whole body, starting at her naked ankles.
Sara detangled herself from Grissom and slid out of bed just long enough to visit the bathroom. On her way, she scooped up the discarded indigo-blue shirt off the floor and slipped into it again, buttoning all but the collar.
When she returned to the bed and to Grissom's warm embrace, he immediately noticed the re-introduction of the garment to her otherwise nude body.
"You're wearing my shirt again."
Sara grinned suggestively, snuggling into him once more. "Round two."
"You're going to be the death of me," he swore lightly.
She laughed at him, rolling onto her other side and pressing her back against him so he couldn't reach the buttons.
But Grissom turned over too and spooned her back against his chest, his arms trapping her and his fingers easily finding the row of buttons running down the front of the shirt.
He popped one button open. Then another. And then another, until there were no more buttons in his way.
Grissom didn't care if he never got his shirt back. Taking it off of Sara over and over again would be a much more enjoyable use for it.
The End