A/N: I was having a bad week at work a couple of weeks ago which was leading me to decide on whether I should leave my job or not. My good friend and beta, JellybeanChiChi, listened to me gripe about it and let me get some of my frustrations out. But then she went and said it! "You know what you should do? You should take some of your frustrations out on Grissom." For as much as she loves our BugMan you'd think that she would have learned not to say things like that to me. :) What's more, she even co-wrote this one with me. Can you guess who wrote what?
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Grissom's Close Shave
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The chattering of raised voices in conversations annoyed him as much as jazz muzak provided by the cheesy band. The only way a band that bad secured any gig must be because they knew the undersheriff, Grissom thought as he finished his watered down scotch from the bar.
This is more work than actual work, Grissom thought as he slowly made his way from one side of the back of the ballroom to the other. Dressed in his tuxedo, his look crisp, assuming and his beard trimmed just perfect, it seemed a waste that Gil Grissom would waste his dapper appearance on an evening where he would avoid every human possible at this event. He stationed himself as a wallflower once again and surveyed the tables and dance floor.
Catherine had both Nick and Warrick make an appearance for the event during shift, but they left after an hour so that Catherine could continue mingling and make her presence known before she would have to leave for the lab. She made the best of her time looking both attractive and smart as she wound her way through the crowd. She caught a glimpse of Grissom out of the corner of her eye and gave him a nod, which he offered back with a smile.
He admired her for her political savvy, but still thought, better her, than me.
Perhaps that's why he told members of his team that attendance of the annual ball and fundraiser was in no ways, means or form mandatory. This tuxedo-dressed warrior would fall on the sword for them, and he did for two of them. One female decided to attend as well.
She looked elegant in her midnight purple gown; its slit revealed her long legs. Grissom caught several men drinking in her appearance, some even gulping it down. He could just imagine these men fantasizing about the way her curves might look and feel without the gown.
But not Grissom. All he could think of was, I wonder what Sara would look like in that dress?
Standing against the wall he smiled as his own fantasies took root as he stood solitary in a quiet corner. He almost didn't recognize that Sophia, dressed in the purple gown, actually brushed past him a couple of minutes later. But her presence served to break Grissom out of his reverie and wind his way to the appropriate people to say goodnight and head to work.
Although less enthusiastic to go to a shift when Sara had the night off, Grissom still thought getting to the lab more than an hour early was better than hanging out and smoozing. But before he went into the crowd, he caught one last look of the blond bombshell in the midnight purple dress as she exited out of the ballroom doors.
Hey, she looked hot and Grissom is only human.
She paced nervously, but confidently at the same time.
Sophia could do that. It was just one of her... I don't know... it was just her. I was close to her. I knew her. I knew what she did and why she did it. She always looked confident, even when she was a bundle of nerves.
Like she was now.
I should just take her. Take her now. As she is. But before I can, he came out of the men's room. And I stayed where I was, in the shadows out of view but with a clear view of what she and that asshole were doing.
And the tuxedo-wearing, bearded son-of-a-bitch claimed her mouth like he possessed her. His hands wound in her hair, down her arms, up her torso until they rested upon her bosom. And his hands groped her gentle breasts in a rough, anxious and awful way. What was worse was seeing him remove one hand from her breast to cup her pussy like she was an object for him to use for his own perverse sexual pleasure.
Wanton. Goddamn it. My Sophia looked wanton, glazed over with ill-found passion. They finally broke from their kiss, his hands still cradling her most intimate places that I thought I branded as my own.
"Are you going in?"
"I have no choice," she said with a libidinous smile. "My boss is a fucking taskmaster."
"Fucking, huh?" the vulgar son-of-a-bitch said with his own fucking smile on his face. Then he moved down her body, laying kisses upon her until he stilled, crouched in front of her. He moved both hands up her tanned, naked legs, grabbed something and trailed his hands back down her legs. She obliged as he nudged her thong off her legs and then stood in front of her.
Son-of-a-fuckin'-bitch pressed his fucking hard on against her as he drew her to himself.
"If he's a fucking taskmaster, I'm guessing you won't need this." He chuckled, brought the thong to his face, heavily inhaled her scent then put it in his pocket.
"Well, I guess you have to keep it for me," she clearly seemed please. Sophia... why?
"Are you leaving?" she asked.
"I think I better attend to business in the men's room beforehand. Besides I noticed I forgot my glasses..." Before he could finished, she jumped upon him and started devouring him. I couldn't fucking take it...
I moved then. They didn't notice me moving quietly a few paces and enter the men's room myself.
Grissom was glad the hallway in front of the restrooms were deserted. Enough of this evening. Enough of smoozing and wishing for a woman in a purple dress.
He pressed down his tuxedo and entered the men's room. The silence seemed to reverberate off the tiled floor and walls. Looking down the long row of stalls he saw that they all seemed to be empty so he decided he could use the urinal without being watched and moved to the closest one.
Grissom finished his business at the urinal, flushed and moved over to the bank of sinks. He sighed as he squeezed some soap into his hand and moved them under the faucet. The electronic eye caught the movement and warm water cascaded down over his skin.
He hated these formal functions. Especially when my asshole of a boss makes it mandatory! Taking a deep, calming breath he looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head. He looked crisp in his black tuxedo as it flowed evenly down over his shoulders and arms to end at the cuffs. It gently hugged his form as it covered his body and the dark color almost seemed to give him that secretive, Bond look. Gil had to admit that he liked the look even though he would be a lot happier when he could change into more comfortable clothes.
When the door to one of the stalls opened he looked in the mirror again to see a young man step out. He didn't give the man a second thought and looked back down at his hands as he finished rinsing the soap off of them.
Without warning the man grabbed Grissom from behind, wrapping one of his muscular arms around the investigator's throat. Grissom struggled and grabbed at the man's arm as he felt himself being dragged backwards. His mind went into full panic mode when he couldn't loosen himself from the grasp and his head felt like it was beginning to swell.
As Grissom tried to pry the arm from around his throat his attacker spun around and threw him across the room. He lost his footing when his dress shoes slipped on the tiled floor and fell forward. Unable to catch himself, Grissom slammed face first into the urinal he had just used to relieve himself. Pain seared though his face as his cheekbone fractured under the pressure of the blow.
He groaned as he clutched the porcelain sides when his body began to slide to the floor. Somehow, through the haze of pain, he realized that if he fell to the floor it would be the end of him and he tried to pull himself up.
"You meddling son-of-a-bitch!" The man growled as he grabbed Gil by the shoulders of his tux and hauled him to his feet. "You think you can just take her away from me?!"
"Wait!" Gil yelled as he was jerked around to face the man. "What are you talking about?!"
"YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" The man screamed as he drove his fist into the older man's stomach.
Gil doubled over in pain and the man grabbed the back of his head as he drove his knee up into his face. The pain in Grissom's face was almost overwhelming and he struggled to breathe as the man pulled him back up to stand.
"So what, did you think you could just turn her on and take her to bed?" The man demanded. "Then what… HUH?!" He shook Grissom violently as he screamed in his face.
"What are you… talking about?" Grissom struggled to speak through his gasps for breath.
Drawing back his fist the assailant drilled it into Grissom's mouth as hard as he could. Gil's head snapped back and hit the tiled wall before the younger man grabbed the lapels of his coat and threw him back across the room. Grissom slammed hard against the bank of sinks and his upper body only stopped when the top of his head slammed into the mirror, causing it to shatter. The shards of glass cut gashes in his scalp, and others fell upon one side of his body.
"Well you can't make your date with her looking like this." The man said evenly as he stepped up behind his victim.
He used his lower body to pin Grissom to the counter and keep him from sliding to the floor as he grabbed a bottle of complimentary cologne from the marble-topped counter. After taking off the top he grabbed the back of Grissom's coat with one hand, holding him down, and poured the liquid contents over his lacerated scalp with the other.
Grissom screamed in pain as the cologne found every raw opening on his head and drizzled down over his face. It was in his eyes, nose and mouth before he could tell himself to shut off those openings. It felt like his head was on fire and he struggled against his attacker.
"Oh, that's right," the man said with mock apology. "The cologne goes on after your shower. Well let's fix that, shall we?"
Grissom panted for air as the man grabbed his jacket again and dragged him to one of the many open stalls. He pushed the investigator into the stall where he crashed to his knees and slammed into the front of the toilet.
A loud bang resonated in the empty restroom as the assailant threw the toilet seat up and it hit the wall. Grissom had no time to react as the man grabbed the hair at the back of his head in a strong grip and pushed his face into the clear water.
Gil struggled against the man and tried to push his head out of the water. But as he thrashed about water made every surface slippery and he couldn't gain a grip to save his life. Then without warning his head was pulled out of the toilet bowl and he gasped for breath.
"You think you can put your animal hands on her like she's a cheap piece of meat!"
Grissom tried to speak as his head was pushed down into the water again but couldn't find his voice. His hands slipped as he struggled to grip the edges of the toilet and his arms flailed about as he struggled to reach back and grab his attacker's hand only to have his own hands roughly slapped away.
When Grissom could hold out no longer and thought for sure he would drown in a high society, public toilet his head was pulled out of the bowl again. As he gasped for breath he felt hands plunging into his pockets.
"Where the fuck is it, you pervert?!" The man demanded as he checked all of Grissom's pockets again.
"Wh… what? It's in my inside jacket pocket," Grissom said.
The man grabbed Grissom by the lapels and threw him against the wall. He opened the jacket and took out a hankerchief and Grissom's wallet.
Neither were what he sought. "What the fuck is this?"
"My wallet." Grissom could barely register what this guy was doing. "Take it."
"I don't want your fucking wallet. I want the fucking..." Pulling Grissom to his feet the man spun him around until they faced each other and his hands went to the waist of Grissom's pants. Gil felt the fog that engulfed him lift when his attacker's hand plunged into his pants. He groped his victim and when he couldn't find what he was looking for he pushed his hand inside Grissom's underwear.
Gil's mind went into red alert and he grabbed the man's wrist. "What are you doing?!" He panicked.
"Shut up!" The man yelled as he punched Gil in the mouth.
Gil slipped on the wet floor and crashed to the hard surface. The man slapped him hard across the face and Grissom's head bounced off the wall of the stall.
"What the fuck did you do with it?!" He demanded as he grabbed Gil's hair and slammed his head back against the wall.
"Wi-With what?" Grissom stammered.
"HER THONG, ASSHOLE!"
"Wh-What?" Gil was confused. "Who's thong?"
"You know who! Sophia's!"
"Wait a minute, please!" The investigator pleaded, causing the man to stop his search and look at him. "Sophia who?"
"You don't even know her full name?" The man shook his head. "You're something else, you know that? Sophia Curtis!"
"Why the hell would I have Sophia's thong?!"
"I saw you take it earlier, when you felt her up, you bastard!" He yelled as he grabbed the front of Grissom's jacket and shook him hard.
Gil put his hands up in surrender, causing the man to stop. "Sophia and I... are colleagues and friends... we're not lovers. I swear. I have no interest in Sophia... as anything more... than a friend and colleague."
The man looked at him skeptically and demanded. "What, you don't think she's good enough for you?"
"No, no," Gil was much too exhausted to plead with the man. "Sophia is a good woman and she would make any man happy but…" Despite the pain Gil was able to think somewhat clearly and knew that he desperately needed to do whatever it would take to get out of this situation. "I'm gay."
Grissom had no idea what had prompted him to say such an untrue and uncharacteristic thing but it seemed to have worked.
The man narrowed his eyes and began to feel unsure of the situation he had gotten himself into. "But I saw you just outside. You took her thong off and slipped it into your pocket."
"I don't know who you saw, but it wasn't me."
The man thought hard for a long moment and realized that with the lack of evidence that he was sure this man had, he had the wrong man. "Shit." The man let go of Grissom. "SHIT!"
A little unsure of what exactly he should do he looked down at the man he had injured and sighed. His face was bruised and blood had run down from the cuts on his head. He panted for each breath and looked about ready to pass out. Despite the fact that the tuxedo the older man was wearing was thoroughly ruffled he had to admit the man looked damn good in that suit.
"You know what, James Bond, you have a fucking body double here tonight."
"Really?"
"Yeah. A fucking body double who has Sophia's thong."
Somehow, things clicked in the CSI's mind. The last person Grissom saw before he entered the restroom was Detective Philip Beck. The two men said hello to each other as they went into different directions, and Grissom noticed two things about Beck: He looked like the cat that ate the canary and he recently grew a beard. "Well, I'm not sure who that could be, but... um... So, I'm going to leave..."
"Alright," the man sighed as he reached down and carefully pulled Grissom to his feet. "Come on, buddy."
Grissom tried to get out of the man's grasp, but it wasn't happening. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Look, I'll just leave," Grissom felt the grip get tighter and more painful.
"You want me to rip your arm off?"
"Did you wash your hands?" the question even caught Grissom off guard, yet it came out of his mouth.
"What?!"
"Well, you did have them down my pants..."
Before Grissom could finish his sentence or better yet, stop himself, the man did that for him with a strong punch to the jaw. He then picked Grissom up. "Come on. Let's go. I'll take you somewhere. Where do you want me to take you?"
"How about the hospital?" Grissom groaned his reply.
"Sorry, but if I take you there I'll be arrested for assault."
"Obviously," Grissom immediately regretted it. But apparently his attacker felt a little gracious and simply walked out of the bathroom with Grissom.
Moving back into the now silent corridor the man slung one of Grissom's arms over his shoulders and put one of his own arms around the investigator's waist. He carefully searched up and down the corridor, making sure that no one was in sight, and moved down the hall until he came to the stairwell. He half carried the injured man down the four flights of stairs until they reached the parking garage.
Stepping into the underground garage the man carefully made sure that no one was around before carrying Grissom to a car. Easing the scientist in the passenger seat, the man shut the door and climbed into the driver's side. He looked at him as he drove down the road and watched Grissom who looked dazed and out of it after his long walk. "Hey!"
Grissom turned his head to the man. "Huh?"
"I'm asking again: Where to?"
Grissom couldn't remember answering that question the first time. "The hospital?"
The man no longer felt gracious. The comment earned Grissom a quick and hard punch to the face. "Tried to be nice, smart ass." The man took out Grissom's wallet and looked inside. He found a scrap of paper with an address on it. "I'm driving you to this place."
Before he knew it, Grissom was being driven in the direction of Sara Sidle's apartment.
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Grissom hated that they headed toward Sara's place. The man found the address in Grissom's wallet, but her name was not attached to the address. And Grissom was pretty sure that Sara's apartment number wasn't listed on that slip of paper. He had that number committed to memory.
He didn't know what the man planned on doing or what he would do in reaction to the man's actions, but Grissom knew one thing: There was no way this guy would find out exactly where Sara lived.
So when the car stopped in front of the address, Grissom was just ready to jump out. But the man quickly grabbed him. "Don't move."
Grissom didn't. "Look, thanks for the ride. I'll just get out here."
The fist connected with his face solidly, swiftly and painfully. "So who lives here? Boyfriend?"
"Just a guy I know. I can walk up..."
Silenced by another punch, Grissom wondered if his face was bruising the guy's knuckles. Judging by the man's comment, apparently no. "Look. I could do this all night. You going to tell me exactly where we are going?"
Just say a number, any number but hers, Grissom, he thought. "5G."
The guy nodded, got out of the car, opened Grissom's door and dragged him out.
The last few punches took a toll on Grissom who leaned extensively upon the man as they walked into the building. They saw some people coming out of the lobby just as they got to the door. The group of four men looked with critical eyes upon Grissom and the man he leaned upon.
The man noticed. "Let me tell you, guys. Ex's and weddings don't mix. Hell of a night for this guy."
The men laughed, nodded their heads and held the door open for the man, who was happy he didn't have to contend with being buzzed in the building. "Well, that worked well. Good thing you wore a tux tonight," the man said, as he practically dragged Grissom down to the elevators. "So which one of those dudes did you find hot?"
Grissom rolled his eyes. He was really starting to hate this guy. This wasn't the Dating Game. "All of them. I find all of those men hot."
The man laughed and pressed the up button. "HA! You're a fucking horn dog."
The duo trudged their way to 5G, and all Grissom hoped for was the man would just leave him on the doorstep. Apparently that was one thing that would go his way this evening.
"Well, buddy, I'll leave you with your love muffin. I got stuff to do." The man dumped Grissom upon the door frame and rang the doorbell. Before leaving, he gave Grissom one last punch across the face and ran off.
The force of the last punch caused Grissom to loose balance, so when a brunette answered the door, Grissom practically fell on top of her. He quickly raised himself off of the woman, who was dressed in a low cut, purple blouse, that was left slightly askew.
Grissom tried to apologize as quickly as possible for the intrusion, but he wasn't quick enough for the guy behind the brunette.
"Who the fuck is this guy, Lorraine? Huh?" said the very large man whose size and muscular structure was a cross between an NFL lineman and a very angry sumo wrestler. He grabbed Grissom by the top of the shirt with one hand and pulled up the CSI as if he was a scrawny teenager. "Is this shithead one of your sugar daddies?"
Grissom put up his hands in surrender. "Sorry!" He could hear his own words slurring thanks to the beating to his face. "6C! 6C!"
"Sexy? You think my woman is sexy? You stupid mother fucker."
Grissom dropped from the man's grip with a loud thud and he tried his best to cover himself as the man twice his size started pounding on him.
"I have. The wrong. Apartment. I need. 6," the last word was pronounced as best as possible with a fat lip. "C."
Lorraine, who had yet to fix her top, spoke up. "JUDD! STOP! He's saying something!" Judd did as he was told and she bent over Grissom, "OK, what were you saying, sweetie?"
Oh God, Grissom thought and cringed, please don't say that to me with Judd ready to pummel me again. "I ... ah... 6C. Sara. Sidle."
"OH! Yeah!" Lorraine stood up and faced Judd. "Teddy bear, I know that chick. She's lives in 6C. He just found the wrong place."
The teddy bear softened a bit. A big, soft scary-as-hell teddy bear. "What are you? Stupid?"
"I think he's been beat up," Lorraine said.
"So, what are you? Stupid and beat up?"
Grissom lifted his head slowly and panted, "Bad night."
"Juddy, baby, just take him to that that girl's apartment."
"But honey," Judd said, his voice changing dramatically and getting softer. "You and me were supposed to play a little game and have fun time."
This is hell, Grissom thought. Hell resides in 5G.
"Juddy, just take him up there and come back down, and you'll get an extra special treat for doing a good deed."
With that, Judd swiftly picked up Grissom and tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. Grissom let out a pained groan as he was settled upon the man's broad shoulders. As Grissom faced the front door, he could hear Judd and Lorraine kissing each goodbye, an exchange that obviously held promise for a libidinous future exercise. But all Grissom could do was hang and wait.
For 10 minutes.
Finally, Judd broke away, nuzzled his nose against Lorraine's, and turned around so that he faced the door and Grissom faced Lorraine. She flashed a quick smile to the tuxedoed intruder before turning her heels to go to the bedroom.
That's when Grissom caught sight of Lorraine's backside, to which her low cut jeans exposed a thong.
This time Grissom couldn't contain his chuckle.
"What the hell you laughing at, jackass?"
Perhaps it was the punches that were making Grissom punchy, but at any rate, he spoke uncensored. "You really should put that thing in your pocket."
"What thing?" Judd asked as he turned around and saw nothing, since Lorraine had already left for the bedroom. "OH, you mean my keys. Yeah. You're right."
Judd got his keys and went out the door, knocking Grissom purposely against the wall as he did so. "Now shut up."
Hell. Grissom thought. Hell is 5G.
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Sara looked through her peephole when she heard a knock at her door. It was a little late to have visitors. The image of a big man filled her view, but she recognized him as Judd, the burly boyfriend of one of her nicer neighbors.
She opened her door to Judd, but was surprised when the man flung someone off his back. "This came to our place. He yours?"
"Grissom!" Sara said going to his side. "What happened?"
"I'll take that as a yes," Judd said as he released his hold on Grissom. "Later."
Sara bent down and helped Grissom, who had fallen on his ass, into her apartment. She looked Grissom over who's crumpled tuxedo was intact, and seemed to be the only thing holding the poor man together. "What did that guy do to you?"
"You mean Juddy? He helped me."
"That was helpful?"
"In the context of the evening? Yes." After Sara closed the door, Grissom immediately made a request. "I've got to call Sophia."
"Oh really," Sara's voice and posture changed from concerned to pissy.
"No, Sara. You don't understand."
"I think I do."
"No, you don't. She and whoever has her thong is in danger." He said the statement in all seriousness, but suddenly, he couldn't stop laughing at its absurdity.
Sara, on the other hand, couldn't believe she heard that come from Grissom's mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about, but you need to sit down."
"No, really," Grissom said, his sides aching from his laughter. "I've never seen the thong or remotely wanted to, and look what happened to me."
Grissom continued to laugh as Sara looked perplexed at him. But then his mood changed. "God, I'm hurting."
Sara went to him again, and prompted him to sit down. "Griss, come on. Sit. I'm sorry. Who do you want me to call?"
"Sophia. Tell her someone watched her when she was... intimate... with someone at the ball. And she and her friend... Did you know that Detective Beck grew a beard? You think I look like him?"
Grissom made less and less sense, which made Sara more and more nervous. Here was a chunk of gossip about a woman she really didn't care for, and as a bonus, did he just say he wasn't remotely interested in Sophia?
But more important than those two things: what happened to him and why was he in her apartment instead of the hospital?
She grabbed the cordless phone and looked at him again. Grissom started rubbing his arm and then started picking at it. He pulled out a large shard of glass, possibly from a mirror, from his arm, which left the wound bleeding profoundly.
"OK, Griss," Sara said, putting down the phone and coming to Grissom with the first thing she could find, a towel hanging off a chair. She wrapped up his arm with it. "You need to stop doing that, babe. This is a new couch."
"Oh, sorry," he sat completely dazed. "Hey, have you talked to Sophia lately?"
"I'm doing that now." This time she picked up her cell phone and dialed. As she waited for an answer, she tried to gently usher Grissom to stand up. "You know what? Let's go to my car and get you to the hospital while I make the calls."
"I was going to suggest that, but I don't need to get punched again."
"What?"
"You know what I love about you?" Grissom said. "Well, lots of things. But you aren't wearing purple. I don't like the color purple."
Although she wanted clarification, Sophia had answered the other side of the call. "Yeah, Sophia. This is Sara. Don't know how to explain this but Grissom's pretty sure you are in danger." Sara tried her best to relay what Grissom had told her. And much to her surprise, Sophia kind of understood. She talked as she led Grissom to her car and drove him to the hospital.
Sara noticed Grissom would nod off every once in a while during most of the drive. She hung up her call and placed a hand upon Grissom's thigh. "Warrick and Brass are meeting us at the hospital. Don't worry about anything for now, OK?"
"It was a good movie though," Grissom said. "The Color Purple. It was a good movie. Terrible color though."
Sara started to speed up. She thought it might be best if she kept him talking. "What color do you like, Grissom?"
"I don't know," he groaned as he tried to get comfortable in his seat. "Whatever color you're wearing."
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After being in a blur between being conscious and not, Grissom finally felt like he was awake. Unfortunately, he also felt like he had been run over by a truck. His whole body ached and his mouth felt nasty, dry, coppery and slightly mildewy all at the same time.
He wasn't sure where he was, what time it was or even what day it was. But two things were certain: he was no longer wearing a tux, and somebody was at his side smiling at him.
"Hi there," Sara said to him as he laid in a bed at Desert Palm Hospital. "How are you feeling?"
Despite his physical ailments, Grissom smiled. "Did I meet someone named Juddy recently?"
Sara chuckled. "Yeah, you did."
"Is he a fireman or a football player or a bouncer or something?" Grissom asked.
"He's a florist," Sara said, offering Grissom a cup of water with a bendy straw. Grissom took three sips, and Sara put the cup down. "He's a very scary-looking florist who does amazing things with chrysanthemums. I've been to a couple of wedding's he's done -- really beautiful."
"I'll remember that," Grissom said quietly. Sara looked at him, wanting to say something, but didn't. But her reaction was enough to make him blush. "So... ah... how long have I been here?"
"About 21 hours," she replied as she gave him more water.
Grissom stopped mid sip and coughed a bit. "You haven't been here the whole time, have you?"
Sara stood up and stretched. "No. Not the whole time. There was this whole business with my supervisor getting assaulted and he was a little... incoherent with details."
She smiled at Grissom, who smiled back. "Not that it was his fault. He does have a concussion and needed stitches for cuts on his arms and face and staples for the lacerations on his head."
Grissom frowned, not only because of what she said, but because Sara turned her back to him and took a few steps towards the door. Please don't leave, he thought.
But then she retrieved something from a bag in the corner and returned to his bedside. She gently put her hand on his arm, causing him to feel warmer than he thought possible in a sterile, cold hospital bed. "I brought you this," she said handing him his wallet. "We found it in Alex Smith's car."
Grissom opened his billfold. "Who's Alex Smith?"
"One of Sophia's ex-boyfriend's. Her first guess when I called her from my house and gave her scant details of what happened to you. She described this guy as having stalker tendencies but he never following through, before now."
Grissom scoffed. "He probably needs glasses, too, if he confused me for Detective Beck," Grissom looked up and gestured for Sara to sit down. "I think she's in a relationship of some sort with Beck and..."
"He might have been in possession of her thong?"
"Did I mention that to you?
"In a very, round-about, confusing and cryptic way."
"So in my usual way," he said, a twinkle returning to his eyes.
Sara let out a laugh. Inside she breathed a sigh of relief that he was OK. "Exactly."
"So the thong thing is..."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom," Sara said in a mock authoritative voice. "That's part of an ongoing investigation..."
"You loved questioning her about that, didn't you?"
Sara smiled and ever-so-lightly slapped Grissom's shoulder, and then kept her hand there, rubbing gentle circles. Grissom held her gaze with a look that might have seemed tired, considering his condition, but Sara solely recognized his gentle nature at that moment. It was a feeling she reciprocated with her own soft look.
He closed his eyes, and she continued to rub his shoulder, morphing her moments to stroke his arm. She caught site of the still open wallet on his chest, a piece of paper with his familiar scrawl on it. "Grissom? Is that my address?"
Grissom opened his eyes slowly and realized quickly what she was referring to. "Oh. Yeah."
"Why do you have that in your wallet?"
"You know, just in case I needed to order you take out because I know you hadn't eaten all day and thought you weren't going to feed yourself at home," Grissom said honestly. "Or if I did some dumbass thing and needed to send you flowers or a gift."
Again, they exchanged soft smiles. But Sara picked up the paper. "Griss... it has no apartment number."
"I remember that," and he demonstrated by saying quickly, "Sara Sidle is 6C."
"I'm 6-C?" Sara repeated, with a challenging look on her face.
Grissom blushed again and shrugged. "Did the doctor say when I could leave?"
"Not sure. But she might be around for rounds in the next few hours."
"I don't know how I'll get home... or what I'll wear."
"What? No tuxedo?"
Grissom's laugh sounded low and a little labored. "Not exactly a lucky piece of clothing for me."
"It's too bad," Sara said. "You don't look half bad in that thing."
"Sara, you saw me in it when I looked like I just got out of a boxing ring with an angry kangaroo..."
"Exactly. Half bad. Not all good, but with potential," Sara said, the mood effectively lightened. "Next time you arrive at my door in a tux, I hope you look a little less..."
"Abused?"
"OK, that's a start."
They continued to converse for some time, enjoying each others' company and secure in knowing Grissom would be just fine.
------------
Several days later, Sara heard four knocks on her front door. It wasn't too late for visitors, but she still looked through the keyhole. You never can guess what's on the other side.
And she wouldn't have guessed in a million years what she saw.
She opened the door to Grissom, who still had some bruising along his face from his attack, but definitely looked sharp and crisp in his tuxedo. Dressed to the nines from his perfectly fitting, perfectly pressed slacks, to his shined shoes, to the starched and form-fitting dress shirt and his tailored jacket.
"I should have on the tie, but my neck is still tender," he apologized.
Sara took in his appearance. All Sara could think of was a whole lot of "D's." Debonnaire. Dashing. And DAMN hot. "Grissom, you look great. What are you doing here?"
He presented her with a large and beautiful bouquet of flowers. "I wanted to say thank you for taking care of me."
"My God, Griss... this is beautiful. Too much."
Standing with his hands behind his back, Grissom shrugged one shoulder. "I know a guy..."
Sara rewarded with with a wide smile. "Come in."
She closed the door behind her after he entered. Both seemed to have their nerves reverberating about their bodies. "Um... .. Sara... would you like to have dinner with me?"
She seemed speechless for a moment. Not many men dressed up in a tux and then asked for a date. But this was Grissom. "Do you have a place in mind?" she asked.
"I do."
"So... should I match my apparel to yours?"
"If you like. Personally, I find you more lovely in a dress rather than a tuxedo."
"You're hilarious."
"Thank you."
"Why don't I surprise you."
"I'd love that."
"You mind waiting?"
Grissom took two steps forward and grasped both of her hands into his. "For you?" He brought her hands to his mouth and kissed them. His beard tickled her fingertips, but his lips caused goosebumps to crawl up her arms. "I would wait as long as you let me."
The gentleness that held their gaze as they sat in the hospital room had now evolved into a deep passion as they now stood in Sara's apartment. Sara took a step back and cleared her throat. "I'll be back in 20 minutes."
"Wonderful," Grissom said, his voice as deep, settling and sexy as his blue eyes.
Sara turned on her heels and went to her bedroom. While she debated about the dress she would wear, she knew two things were certain: she was going to wear a thong and in no way was she wearing the color purple.
THE END
So, can you guess who wrote what??? Be careful, she's written some gruesome stuff. Hopefully when I get these smaller stories out of the way I can finish the bigger ones that are on my plate. Including a certain sequel. ;) Hope you enjoyed.