A/N: This is in response to a challenge issued to me by Leslie. The elements include: a lime, G S discussing a Cosmo quiz, a string of icicle lights, a can of Guinness, and a baseball.
I loved her elements, and I had the thing written in my head almost as soon as she spat them out at me. It just took me a day or so to actually get it written down.
Nuttin' but love for you, Leslie Baby (pardon me, I meant, "Passion Flower")! You get a shout-out both in the title of this little piece (one of your favorite phrases!) and in…well, just read the story. It's not like you'll miss the second one. Thanks for putting up with nonstop pregnancy talk, babe! And sorry, this started out okay and then went totally south on the Fluff Train. Forgive.
Spoilers: Dude. Everything's fair game.
Grissom juggled the heavy paper sacks between arms in an attempt to free a hand to knock on Sara's door. As he approached it, his eyebrows furrowed—it was slightly cracked. Fear gripped him for an instant before he came to the rational—and much more likely—conclusion that she had probably left it ajar for him. "Sara?" he called cautiously, tapping the door inward with his foot.
"Yeah, Griss—come on in! I'm on the balcony!" her cheerful voice called.
Grissom mentally rolled his eyes at himself as he walked into her apartment and headed into her kitchen. Depositing the grocery bags on the counter, he stepped toward the open door that led out onto Sara's small balcony. He laughed as he saw her, wrapped in a snowflake-patterned fleece blanket amidst a winter wonderland. "Icicle lights?" he asked, smiling.
His heart skipped a beat as she flashed the grin she reserved only for him. "Yeah," she said shyly. "Sometimes I miss Boston—the winters and all. Just because it gets cold as hell at night here doesn't mean anything. I miss snow," she shrugged. "So I decided to create my own little winter scene here. Cheesy?"
He squeezed her shoulder as he plopped down beside her. "Nah. It's cute." A monumental admission. Her silent, raised eyebrow confirmed that she was aware of this, but she wisely said nothing. She didn't want to jinx this new, comfortable rapport they had developed over the last couple of weeks.
Her remark about choosing "men who are emotionally unavailable" had cut him, she could tell. But it wasn't until later, when she had cried herself out, that he brought it up again. He asked her, stumbling and hesitating, if the possibility existed to heal old wounds. Confused, she gave him her trademark raised eyebrow.
"Er…what I mean is…I know, um, that I've hurt you in the past. If I tried to become more, uh, emotionally available, as you put it…not just to you, but to everyone…would that…help any?"
She remembered staring at him through swollen eyes, fully astounded. By God, he was actually going to make an effort—and for seemingly no other reason than to right the hurt he had caused her.
Her astonishment was further compounded when he proceeded to show up at her apartment either before or after shift every single day of her suspension. He usually brought dinner, and sometimes he mixed it up a little and brought beer and a movie. That simple gesture possibly meant more to her than all the other things combined. It implied that he trusted her.
And it wasn't as if they had simply jumped into a heated romantic relationship. The progression had been almost painfully slow—a glance here, a light touch there. No kissing, no snuggling, not even any hand-holding. But she was content. He was making an effort, and that was enough for now.
And now, two weeks later, on a rare joint night off, they sat on her balcony, admiring the lights of the Strip three miles away. To Sara, the entire scene was surreal—twinkling lights all around, a fleecy blanket, and a dear friend to her left. Grissom broke the silence. "What are you reading?" His gaze was directed toward the magazine in her lap.
Sara gave a hearty laugh. This was too good to be true. "Just the latest Cosmo quiz," she said lightly, waiting for him to take the bait.
"Really. And may I ask what this month's quiz is about?"
Sara gave him a look of disbelief. "Grissom, I find it incredibly difficult to believe that you even know what Cosmo is, much less that there's some random quiz in it every month."
"Catherine's addicted to those things," he mumbled.
Sara laughed again. "Ahh. That explains it."
"So what's the quiz?"
"I doubt you'd be interested."
"Try me."
"Fine," she acquiesced. She held up the magazine, which was opened to the first page of the quiz. "Is Your Man Emotionally Unavailable?"
Sara Sidle would have paid good money for a camera to capture the look on Grissom's face.
Figuring she'd let him stew on that one for awhile, she changed the subject. "So what'd you bring?"
Grissom's jaw worked for a moment, attempting to recover, before he spluttered out, "Salad. French bread. Homemade veggie lasagna, banana pudding, beer, and a movie—a classic, at that," he finished, having recovered admirably.
"Did you just say homemade veggie lasagna?"
"I did."
"This I've got to see," Sara said, rising from her chair.
Grissom rose as well, shocking Sara by saying, "And don't forget your Cosmo. I think we've got to do that quiz."
-
"Hey, I need a knife for this lime," Grissom mumbled as he dug through a grocery bag.
"Why do you have a lime?" Sara asked, confused.
"For my Corona," Grissom answered, as if that was the only possible reason one could need a lime. On cue, he pulled out a six pack of bottled Coronas. He took the knife Sara offered and began to slice the lime into small wedges as she watched. When he was done, he twisted the top off of one of the bottles, squeezed the juice of the lime in, and stuck the spent rind down the neck of the bottle. Sara watched in amusement until she could stand it no longer.
"Damn, Griss, when did you become a big yuppie? Corona? Corona with limes? That stuff's ridiculously expensive." With that, she strode to her fridge and pulled out a can of Guinness.
He tried to stifle his laughter at the absurdity of her statement as he gave her his best attempt at a withering stare. With all the dignity he could muster, he said, "First of all, Sara, I think I'm a bit out of the yuppie age range. Second of all, you just pulled out a can of Guinness. Guinness, for the love of God! If you'd waltzed over there and grabbed a Bud Light, okay, maybe I could take you seriously, but Guinness? Who's the yuppie here, my dear?" he needled.
Sara gave him a throaty laugh that sent tingles down his back. "Okay, okay," she held up her hands in surrender. Changing the subject, the asked, "So what 'classic' movie did you bring?"
Grissom shot her a grin. "When Harry Met Sally. I'm a big fan of the orgasm scene," he deadpanned, pulling a casserole dish from the bag. "Yow!" he cried as Sara tossed her magazine at his head. He turned her oven on and placed the casserole dish inside. He reached back into the bag and emerged with a large Saran-wrap covered salad bowl. Placing it on the counter, he bent down and picked up the magazine, tossing it back to Sara. "Read while I toss."
And so Sara sat perched atop her counter, legs crossed Indian-style, holding the magazine in her lap as she quizzed him. It was a terribly domestic moment, and she wanted to kick herself for the flutter that ran through her heart as she contemplated the simple beauty of it.
It was decided that Grissom had made large strides in becoming "emotionally available" during the last two weeks, and because of this, Sara ended up drawing a large red circle around "Your man needs a few sessions with Dr. Phil," rather than "Your man is as sensitive as a dead fish."
"Hmm," Grissom contemplated. "I guess that's progress, huh?"
Sara smirked. "Speaking of which, how was your 'date' with Sofia?"
Grissom gave an uncharacteristic, "Ugh," and rolled his eyes.
"That fabulous, huh?"
"Oh, come on, Sara!" Grissom whined. "I know you wanted me to be more available to my coworkers, but that was too much. She's okay to work with, but why on earth did I have to take her to dinner as consolation for being crapped on by Ecklie? She flirts incessantly, and it just gets…old, after awhile."
Sara shrugged. "I know. But it means a lot for your supervisor to be there for you when you're having problems," she said pointedly, but not unkindly.
Grissom placed a gentle hand at her elbow. "I know."
-
Grissom and Sara moved into her living room to watch the movie. As Sara stood in front of her DVD player, Grissom perused the contents of her tall bookshelf.
"Hey, what's this?" he asked curiously. "Wade Boggs?"
Sara turned to see him holding a baseball with a messy scribble across it. She smiled. "One of the first good memories of my adult life," she explained. "My first roommate at Harvard was from Everett, Massachusetts—just outside of Boston—and she took it upon herself to show me the ropes of the city. She took me to a Red Sox game the first weekend I was there. I snagged a foul ball and waited around for two hours after the game to have it signed by the guy who hit it. His name was Wade Boggs," she shrugged. "I've always kept it to remind me of good times."
Grissom gave a small smile and reverently placed the baseball back on the shelf. "How 'bout that movie?" he asked brightly.
-
Grissom was surprised at the level of comfort Sara was displaying with him. He was sitting upright on her couch, and she was leaning back against the arm on the other end, her bare feet perched against hisright leg. For some odd reason, he couldn't stop sneaking peeks at her toes. They were painted flawlessly, a bright pink color. Her feet were graceful and delicate, and he resisted the urge to reach down and caress them.
The famous orgasm scene came and went, and they both laughed, only after Sara turned pink, proclaiming, "Meg Ryan is the bravest woman I can think of for managing to make it through that scene without crawling under that booth!"
Grissom thought to himself, 'Nope. I know a braver woman.'
Grissom and Sara both shifted positions several times in an effort to get comfortable, and by the time the final scene rolled around, with Billy Crystal running madly through the deserted streets of Manhattan on New Year's Eve, Grissom had managed to snuggle up against Sara. Her head rested softly against his right shoulder in what was the boldest move either of them had made thus far in their relationship. His fingers were gently stroking her hair as Billy Crystal made his final, exasperated proclamation: "…when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."
Grissom looked down at Sara's face and saw a silly little smile and a single tear making its way toward her mouth. Without thinking, he brought his left hand up to gently brush her tear away. She looked up at him, startled, and he leaned down and gently kissed her mouth. Light, chaste, with a promise of more to come.
When he broke this kiss, large brown eyes met his own. She reached up and stroked his beard as she asked him a simple question. "You know what this is? Right here?"
"What?" he said softly.
"Good times."