Food for Thought
Summary: Recent events cause Grissom to ponder, and Sara debates trying something unpleasant to make him happy.
A/N: Response to a challenge using the following prompts: blowfish, vegan chili and donut holes. Thanks to VR Trakowski for the beta. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Possible spoilers for this season's premiere.
Pairing: GSR
Genre: Good question. A bit of angst, some romance, a dash of humor and a pinch of semi-smut all blended together.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't believe anyone actually reads these things, so why do I bother?

As she approached the door, Grissom's choice in music was the first warning Sara had that something was off. Her second clue came when she went inside and the aroma reached her. He had said he was going to stop at the store on the way home from the lab, but this was a fruity, spicy and syrupy mouthwatering scent that she didn't associate with dinner.

"Hi," she said, spotting him at work in the sunken kitchen. When he held up an orange juice container questioningly, she nodded and quickly unleashed Hank. A smile lit up her face as he hurried down the steps and made impatient little noises while Grissom poured her juice.

"You're back early. You didn't go for a very long run," he said, setting her glass on the table and then bending over to rub Hank's belly, grinning at the excited yips of joy their ritual always produced.

"Someone was anxious to see you," she replied with a careful lightness, not adding that she was referring to herself. Grissom hadn't been himself lately, and it looked like it was going to be another unusual day.

While he'd been supportive of her going to San Francisco and he had welcomed her home, Sara feared that it had hurt him and had played into his earlier insecurities. At times, he appeared a little nervous around her, but that might have been her own guilt coloring her perceptions. She was certain, however, that he held onto her a little tighter as they drifted off to sleep, and she hoped her departure hadn't caused any long-term complications.

Worse was the reason for her return. Warrick's death had hit everyone hard, but Grissom was taking it especially badly. They had all dealt with death countless times, but nothing prepared you to hold a dying friend. Warrick had been more than a teammate or a protégé to him, and the experience had changed Grissom. She wasn't sure what was the best way to help him since she was having trouble getting a handle on his reactions.

It wasn't that he was having mood swings – Sara doubted there was anything that could cause that massive a personality change – but she was never sure what mood to expect from him. He kept such a tight control over his emotions that it made it hard to know what he was feeling, and some had mistakenly taken his reserve as disinterest. But she'd learned long ago that he did feel as deeply as others, even if he kept it to himself.

Since finding Warrick's body, though, Grissom seemed to be re-evaluating this approach, of keeping people at an emotional distance. Maybe he regretted never letting Warrick know how much he meant to him or how proud he was of his accomplishments. Whatever the cause, he was letting himself be more expressive, at least around her. While it made it easier to know what he was thinking, she couldn't help worrying that something deeper was going on since his moods were sometimes unexpected.

Sipping her juice and munching on donut holes, she found some comfort in the unabashed joy he got from playing with Hank. It was almost enough to put her at ease, but he was listening to Christmas music and fixing some holiday treat. That wouldn't be a problem except December was months away and Johnny Mathis wasn't one of his normal listening choices.

After wiping his hands, he came over to her side, and she noticed the playful look in his eyes. That helped her relax; teasing-Grissom was an easy mood to deal with. When he leaned over to kiss her, shock kept her still for a second. She was expecting their typical welcoming peck, not a full-out French kiss. She responded quickly, though, with her free hand reaching around to pull him closer.

Horny-Grissom was always a pleasure.

"Just one of you was eager to see me?" he asked between kisses.

She chuckled into his neck as she started to nuzzle the flesh, willing to overlook the unseasonal Christmas music for now. This was definitely something she'd missed while she was away, and letting Grissom know it was always a safe bet. Eventually she managed to get the juice glass on the counter, and her fingers found their way to his beard.

Sara gave a little jump when his hand slid into the back of her running shorts, rubbing and exploring between her cheeks. He started kissing her jaw line as his fingers continued to probe, and Sara let out a soft, albeit startled, moan. His actions were definitely getting a reaction, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant. There were few areas they'd left unmapped in their sex life, but she wasn't sure this was one she wanted to explore.

Besides, she stank after her run in the desert heat. Giving him a final kiss, she caressed his face and tried to step back.

"I need a shower," she said, resting her hands against his chest. At his confounded stare, she added, "Gil, I'm all sweaty and sticky."

"So? That's how you're going to end up anyway."

Pushing gently against his chest, she kissed him and then grinned salaciously as he leaned back. "You're awful cocky."

Grissom gave her a mock-hurt look. "What's awful about it? I thought you liked my cocky."

Laughing, she gave him a promising wink as he withdrew his hand. Things couldn't be too bad if he was making horrible puns. "I'll show you later. Besides, you have something cooking," she said, nodding towards the stove.

"I could turn it off," he said with a devilish pout. "It'll be fine sitting there for a while."

"Just wash your hands before doing anything else," she chuckled, leaning against the counter and taking a calming drink of juice. He obeyed, still sulking playfully, and she planted a short kiss on his neck as she put her empty glass in the sink.

"So, what's with the Christmas music?" she asked, the mystery not willing to wait until after her shower and their romp.

"It seemed appropriate." Grissom pointed to the gently bubbling mass in the pot. "It was one of my mother's traditional recipes."

"It smells delicious. What is it?" Sara asked, leaning in for a deeper whiff.

"Mince pie filling."

She pulled back quickly, her face scrunching up in disgust. "Oh, gross!"

"At least try it first," he urged. "You don't have to finish it if you don't like it."

"You are out of your friggin' mind," she said, hoping it was just a figure of speech. Her mouth opened as he cocked his head quizzically. "I'm a vegetarian."

"I know."

She felt her annoyance start to build. "And you want me to eat mincemeat?"

"No," Grissom said slowly, and Sara frowned at the mirthful twinkle in his eyes. "I want you to try mince."

"And the difference is?"

"No meat."

"Ugh. No way."

Grissom let out a sigh. "Just a second ago, you said it was delicious."

"That's before I knew what it was," she said, fidgeting as he raised an eyebrow.

"And what exactly is in it?"

Sara tried to give him a scowl, but it wasn't very convincing. She knew he had a point, but did anyone outside a Dickens' novel actually eat the stuff? "Mince has a reputation for a reason."

"I happen to know that you love apple pie with raisins in it," he said encouragingly. "Just think of this as a spicy apple pie with raisins, some citrus and lots of alcohol added to it. What's not to like?"

"It's all black." Sara rolled her eyes at her own petulant tone.

"That's because it's sweetened with brown sugar and molasses."

She spied the faded sheet of paper with the recipe beside the stove and gave him a harsh look. "It calls for suet, Gil. Don't tell me that's vegetarian."

"It's not, and my mother never used it. She could never find it in the stores. She used lard. And I didn't," he injected quickly. "I was going to use butter, but I can put in margarine if you prefer."

"Don't worry about me. I'm not touching that stuff."

Grissom's amused expression helped ease the embarrassment that he was talking to her like she was a stubborn child. "You'll never know if you like it until you try it."

"I can live with that uncertainty."

"I could make it worth your while," he said in a husky tone.

"You always make it worthwhile. That's not much of a bribe." Especially considering what he was interested in earlier, she added to herself.

"Sara," he said slowly. "It won't hurt you. It's just a type of apple pie."

"Why are you making it now?" she asked, unwilling to commit to trying the bubbling concoction. She loved the man and was willing to do a lot for him. She'd gone to the opera, dressed up to eat frilly sandwiches at a tea house, watched endless variations of Godzilla movies, but mince pie was the culinary equivalent to chemical warfare in Sara's mind. "It's nowhere near Christmas."

"Because it needs to age. It improves the flavor."

"You mean you let it rot first. Oh, that sounds good."

"There's no rotting involved. Mince developed as a way of preserving food. Trust me, between the sugar and alcohol, this doesn't go bad," Grissom said patiently. "The flavors mellow and blend over time. I'm going to freeze this batch for Christmas dinner."

"Basically it's a sausage pie?" she said, smirking as he shook his head.

"It's a fruit pie."

"Well, I hope you enjoy it." He gave it another stir and turned to face her. At least he seemed amused by her refusal. "I never thought you'd be afraid of an apple pie."

"Mince. And I'm not afraid," she insisted. "I just don't want to try it."

"Afraid of a minced apple pie. I even bought organic apples for you," he said teasingly. "You know how expensive those are."

"It's worth it," she said, ignoring his expression. He didn't share her preference for organic produce, and they often joked about it.

"Organic doesn't mean it's safer," he said, his voice still playful. "It just means it's natural. So are arsenic and plutonium."

"No one uses those in agriculture," she said, frowning when he raised an eyebrow. "No way!"

"Arsenic was commonly used until a few decades ago. Besides, all the deadliest poisons are completely natural. Tetrodotoxin is organic."

"At the price of fugu, I don't think anyone's going to waste blowfish by tossing them into an orchard," she teased back.

"Actually, the toxins are in the blowfish parts that aren't eaten." He paused for a beat. "At least in theory."

"Have you tried fugu? You're the one who's all for challenges."

"From what I've heard, fugu is overrated. It's not the taste of the blowfish that's the attraction, but the risk of dying."

"Unlike mince," she smirked.

"Mother's mince can't kill you, and stop trying to change the subject. I did buy organic fruit for you. That was an unnecessary expense."

"I just like things that are natural and not over-processed."

Grissom snorted amusedly and walked over to the table. Picking up a container of textured vegetable protein, he tossed it to her with a grin. "There's your extruded thermoplastic mechanically-defatted soybean flour for tonight's vegan chili."

"Sounds better than mince." She set the container back down next to the other ingredients waiting beside the crockpot. Grissom returned to stirring the mince as she grabbed a last donut hole and started to head toward the shower.

"I'd wish you'd at least try it."

The faintest hint of sadness in his voice made her turn back immediately. "Why?"

He watched the bubbling brew silently for a long moment before glancing over his shoulder. "Christmas wasn't a great time when I was growing up. Mom kept getting gifts for Dad after he died, and she acted like he had opened them."

"Oh," she said, wincing in sympathy for him. He'd been so young when he'd lost his father, and it had been such a defining moment in his life. "How long did she keep that up?"

"As far as I know, until she died."

"Oh," she repeated, stepping to his side and resting a hand on his shoulder. "That had to have been rough."

"It ruined the holidays for me," he said, turning around and resting his hands on her hips. "I never appreciated all the things she did. All the traditions she tried to create for the two of us."

"We never had any traditions in my family. Nothing I'd want to continue, anyway."

His head bobbed in sad acknowledgment. "I always knew the importance of traditions, but I never made time for them. There were a lot of things I never made time for, and I can never change that now."

"Warrick knew you cared for him, Gil. He wouldn't have felt so strongly about you if he had any doubts."

"I can't always express what I feel, but that doesn't mean that I don't feel it," he said, glancing at her meaningfully before dropping his head.

"I know, babe." She reached out and lifted his chin so he faced her, letting her fingers play in his beard lightly. "I do know that."

Closing his eyes, he leaned into her touch. "I never shared this with her while I had the chance. I thought, well, I thought we could share this, even if she's gone."

Before she could answer, he let go of her and turned the stove off. "It's not a big deal if you don't want to try it."

Sara's shoulders dropped as she watched him gather dirty dishes into the sink and put away spice containers. For all his joking, this was important to him. He was trying to connect more to the world, but there was no easy way to make that big of a change. She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Leaning against his body, she nuzzled his neck and inhaled his scent.

"I'll try your mince at Christmas. I think I can eat a slice of pie for tradition's sake." When he looked over his shoulder, she gave him a grin. "Who knows, maybe we can extend the tradition for at least one more generation."

He stared at her for a moment, and then his eyes widened as her words sank in.

"I'm going to get my shower now. Met me in the bedroom when you're ready," she said in a low voice, smiling to herself as she sauntered out of the room.

The End

A/N II: Mince is a much maligned pie, and unfairly so. It's actually very good. See my LJ for "Mother Grissom's" recipe.

A/N III: The "awful cocky" line was inspired in part by Wobbear's delightful story, "The Awful Tower." When I saw the title, I wondered what a tower had to do to be called awful. My mind wandered from that point.