This fic was inspired by an advance case of Sam Summer that I stumbled upon at my local liquor store. (Blanchards, hollah!)

Thanks to Kate for the beta!

The brown paper bag crinkled annoyingly as Sara attempted to make her way through the door. Between her gym bag, her laptop case, the two plastic bags and the brown liquor store sack, it was a wonder she was still standing.

"No, no," she muttered, kicking the door shut as she flung herself across the room and dropped most of the bags on the floor. "Don't help."

Grissom waved at her distractedly; his shoes were off and his feet were up on the arm on the chair, legs crossed at the ankles. Clad in loose-fitting flannel pajama pants and a faded, dingy, NYPD tee-shirt, he was slung across the couch, the picture of relaxation, perusing ESPN magazine.

Rolling her eyes, Sara moved to the small hallway off to the right and toed off her sneakers, moving a hand up to massage her sore shoulder. "Dinner?"

Grissom tipped his head back, glancing at her. "Pasta?" He was tired, and so was she, but that didn't stop a fissure of anger from threading through her for a moment. Grissom never purposefully shirked domestic responsibilities, and she knew he wasn't doing it now, but she knew she wasn't going to make him get up and help. Sara hated to admit it, but she enjoyed taking care of him, enjoyed making him happy and her acquiescence to domestic duties angered her.

After a soft sigh, she moved to unload the shopping bags that were already spilling out onto the floor. "I'll help you in a minute," his voice was a million miles away. "Let me just... finish... this..."

Unable to help the smile that slid upon her lips, she took the beer from the brown paper and hastily slipped it into the refrigerator. Spinning around, she grabbed two pint glasses and slipped them into the freezer, sparing him a glance to make sure he hadn't seen. It was only beer, true, but it was a surprise. This particular brew came but once a year and she knew, though they hadn't been together at this time last year, that it was his favorite beverage of the season.

Somehow, Lee's Liquors had managed to get a shipment two months before the seasonal ale typically went on the market. Luckily, Sara had seen someone exiting the liquor mart as she was stopped at a red light, with a case. Gleefully, she had flicked on her blinker and moments later has secured for herself the last six pack in the cooler.

Lingering at the refrigerator for a moment, Sara chose a few vegetables and placed them on the counter. "I'm turning on music," she told him, rather than asked, and after another lackadaisical wave of his hand, Sara picked up the remote and brought the electronic to life. As Pete Yorke's voice sprang forth, Sara smiled and moved to chop up the produce she had chosen.

Every so often, she shimmied her hips and began humming along, but kept her voice low as not to disturb Grissom from finishing his article. By the time Sara had transferred the mixed veggies into the pan, he was up off the couch, moving towards her. With a hiss, the cold peppers and onions hit the pan and he smiled at her, a hand snaking out to knead at her hip. "Sorry," he apologized and dropped a quick kiss on her lips which she graciously received. "What can I help you with?"

Wanting to stave off her surprise for a bit longer, Sara suggested he get the pasta down and begin boiling the water. "Want me to make a salad?" came his gracious offer.

"I uh, I'll make it." A brow lifted as he paused at the sink. "I hate how you cut the tomatoes."

With a chuckle, he turned on the tap, "Too true."

Once the burner was on and the water was heating, he moved around her to the left and hip checked her playfully out of the way. "I'll take over here."

Sara shook her head. "Uh, uh."

A brief look of indignance passed over his face. "What, now I can't saute vegetables properly?"

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," Sara poked, and hip-checked him right back. "You had a longer day than I did, let me finish up in here."

Reluctantly, he left the kitchen and returned to the couch and his magazine, but this time he remained upright, sparing her a glance every now and then. And every now and then she would spare him a glance and a smile over her shoulder. Is was moments like those, the quiet moments with nothing to speak, but eyes filled with words that recited volumes. Sara almost believed they shared more during the times like that than they ever did out loud.

But still, she loved his voice and loved to hear him speak to her, so she would never tell him she thought that.

Sara stirred the pasta into the boiling water and turned the egg timer until the little red arrow pointed at the nine. "It'll be about ten minutes." And suddenly, she was excited. More excited than she really should have been. It was only beer. Well, his favorite beer but...

And she had to admit, it was delicious...

With a sense of anticipation, she opened the refrigerator, but not before calling out, "Can I getcha something to drink?"

Falling against the back of the couch, he sifted a hand through his hair from the back of his head to the front, Grissom stretched his arms over his head. "Grab me a beer?"

Face breaking into a grin, Sara retrieved the pints from the freezer and two bottle of beer from the fridge. "Sure." Artfully popping the tops, she poured each into its own glass and carefully carried them to him at the couch.

"A toast," she suggested, and raised her glass. "To summer."

Amused confusion passed over his face, but he clinked his glass against hers anyway and took a hearty sip. Sara gave him a moment and smiled with pleasant surprise seized his features. "It's out!?" He asked with glee, taking another sip. "Ohhh yes."

"I know, I was shocked, myself."

Grissom licked his lips and stood to kiss her, "But it's only April, and the White's still out."

She shrugged and took another swallow of her own beer. "I guess they realized that there's honestly nothing better than Sam Summer."