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Arrival
By Dream Descends
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"Sara!"
The news of his return had been hovering over the lab like a persistent mosquito, and it seemed wherever she looked someone was scratching the proverbial itch. Learning indirectly that he had been 'spotted' was hard enough to swallow; Greg's text message, a frenzied bouquet of exclamation marks that had remarkably frequent spelling errors for only two words, had arrived earlier that afternoon, while she was up to her elbows in a plastic bag of someone else's three day old leftovers.
Understandably, the report that 'Griso1m' was 'bakc' (!!11!) did not stir up any urge to actively rejoice. She had leaned back in the seat of her truck and mulled over the fact that the only correspondence she had received was, essentially, the exoskeleton of an embryonic insect. Grissom was a great guy, really. But he was so damn—Grissom.
Warrick was still at the prostitute's apartment when she got back to the lab. Nick and Catherine were heading back from the hotel room, and Keppler—was somewhere else, pissing someone else off, undoubtedly. She seemed to be the only one that he hadn't grown on since that 'reverse forensics' incident. Any attempt to replace Grissom implied, in her mind, that the man himself might not come back.
She liked to pretend that didn't worry her.
She just really, really didn't like Keppler.
And if Grissom was, in fact, back, she would let him know in no uncertain terms what she thought of his insec—
"Sara!"
A flare of energy spiralled from her weakened knees up to the hub of her ribcage, pounding so vigorously her body momentarily trembled.
He had a beard.
"Hey," she produced out of nowhere, the engine driving all sensible thoughts having temporarily stalled. "You're back."
The beard smiled.
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FIN
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Author's Note: Something I wrote ages ago and forgot to post.Yay Grissom and his magic facial hair!