The Porch
Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to CSI.
Please do not repost this story anywhere without my permission.
Thanks, enjoy.
Geekfiction has the Summer Sizzler '06 Fic-A-Thon going on right now, and I am posting this story based upon the prompt of watermelon.
Leaning against the back porch sliding door always seemed to be a good place to sit: shaded from the taunting morning sun, straying from the stark air conditioning, left to lounge before inevitably having to relinquish leisure and return to responsibilities. The small enclosed area also served as a haven to try to relax and take the time to decompress to separate the evils of work from the peace of home. Try was a high expectation sometimes; those were the times he'd find her still outside, dragging out her solitude for a few extra minutes on the wood floor until the heat or mental berating became unbearable.
Though the sliding door rattled open behind her, shaking in its track, letting some of the cool air escape, she kept her eyes trained on the vicinity of the bottom step and took another sip of her sweat-soaked beer. "Are you coming inside?" Grissom asked, shifting the bottles of water he carried to the crook of his arm so he could shut the door behind him.
Sara shrugged and set her bottle down to retrieve the plate of watermelon grasped between his thumb and forefinger. He slid the water bottles back to his hands, set the unneeded one next to his slowly deteriorating lawn chair angled into the corner adjacent to the door, and eased himself into it. After shoving his bottle of water between his leg and the chair, he reached to take the plate of watermelon back from Sara, minus the slice she had quickly become occupied with nibbling. Leaving the plate in his lap, he took the remaining slice and began eating it while covertly shifting his attention between Sara and the slight land beyond the porch. Dark shadows beneath the near-corners of her eyes left him no doubt she was tired, and within the marked slump of her shoulders lay a ghost of disappointment that had yet to wane. She always carried the same demeanor on the porch, quiet and withdrawn, until the demon of the moment had been abated and she was ready to return to things productive. Should she need assistance in that venture, he liked to be available. "It's supposed to get to 105 today," Grissom stated, setting down his watermelon in favor for a drink of water.
"Well, that's summer for you," she replied, matter-of-factly, "but it's early, and not that hot now, so I'd like to just sit for a bit, relax my mind."
Grissom returned to his watermelon and bit off another piece, compressing it to the roof of his mouth to squeeze the juice from the fruit. "You ever spit the seeds from this when you were a kid?" Sara asked, looking at her own watermelon.
"There aren't any seeds in this."
"I know; it's a new kind, but –"
"It's not that new." The quick, annoyed glare Sara shot him drew the corner of his mouth into a smirk and led him to continue. "When my mother would scope out a new place to paint, she'd bring a blanket along so she could sit and work on a clipboard of sorts. After letting me go for a while to chase whatever I could find, she'd call me back for lunch. It was usually only a sandwich and a drink, but whenever we had watermelon, she'd let those seeds fly. She'd always egg me on to try to beat her."
Turning toward him, a hint of a smile graced her lips, and she reached forward to set her remaining rind on the edge of the plate. "Did you?"
"No, by the time I was old enough, she wasn't much up to it anymore, and I had discovered other things."
Detecting the hint of melancholy in his tone, Sara directed conversation to what she knew held a positive memory. "And what other things were those?"
Grissom cocked an eyebrow, having already shared the intimate knowledge, realizing her intention to keep conversation light. "Conducting experiments and leaving books open all over the house. Bringing insects back to the house, studying them."
"Having the occasional one get loose," Sara remarked, briefly returning his eyebrow gesture, recalling instances of beetles gnawing out of plastic-covered jars and spiders disappearing.
Grissom smiled, returning his teeth-impressed rind to the plate and setting it on the railing that flanked the brief porch. "C'mere," he motioned, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as she drifted closer and settled in front of him, leaning against his shins, knees slightly bent to leave her feet to the top step, kissed by the encroaching sun.
"I tried a couple of times, shooting them at a flowerpot mostly. I'd sit at the back step and try to land them inside."
Grissom reached forward to drag his fingers through her hair, brushing it behind her ears only to repeat the process again. "It was fun," she added, further relaxing through his touch.
He drifted his hands to the base of her neck and massaged there. "With seeds next time?" he suggested.
Contentedly smiling, she bobbed her head. "Yeah."
Sweeping his hands across her upper back, neck, and shoulders in massage, he felt the tension in her tight muscles recede. After a few minutes of companionable silence, his hands came to rest at her shoulders, exerting faint pressure. "You ready to come inside?"
In assent, Sara rose to her feet and offered her hand, helping him from his chair. The plate and bottles were quickly collected, leaving them to return to the comfortable reality of their home.
The End