Title: Lions, Tigers and Bears
Summary: [Reconciling "Butterflied" and "Suckers"] When Grissom's Valentine's Date cancels, he calls a long lost friend to save the day. Now it's just them, dinner…and the mating rituals of lions, tigers and bears. Oh my! [G/S]
Pairings: Grissom/Sara
Rating: PG
Category: Humour/Romance
Archives/Links: I'd be honoured, and you'd be insane. Just ask!
Author's Notes: This is a three piece story, the final piece being up within two days from now. But don't hold your breath.
Disclaimer: All rights to CSI belong to those lucky SOB's that make their living off of it.
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"You're out of milk again Gil," Catherine scolded, her head buried deep in his fridge.
"And you promised to stay out of my fridge."
"Sorry, I was thirsty," she grabbed a can of store brand cola and popped open the lid. "How do you live with it?"
He shrugged. "I pick up anything I need on the way home. It would just go to waste otherwise."
The blonde shook her head in disgust. Men.
Taking a gulp, she looked around Grissom's townhouse. The last time she had been there, a collection of rare butterflies had adorned the window wall. The only trace left was the less worn wallpaper, a darker square of cream. The reason for his removal of such a treasure rose like bile in her throat.
Debbie Marlin.
Sara Sidle.
Dr. Lurie.
Himself.
She couldn't deny that his pain was his own doing- it was plain enough that Sara would have forgiven any stupid action on his part. Grissom walked into his living room, pressing the Play button on his answering machine.
"You have One new message."
The machine's tone was replaced by a female voice.
"Gil, it's Amelia. I'm really sorry, but I can't make the dinner on Saturday. My sister's coming to town, and I can't miss her. I'll call you sometime. Bye."
The machine clicked to a stop, and Grissom hit the erase button.
"Saturday? As in Valentine's Day Saturday? Did I miss something?" Catherine queried, dumbfounded that even after years of knowing the enigma referred to as Grissom he could still surprise her.
"It wasn't a big deal. I just had tickets to a lecture fundraiser."
Not a big deal, my ass, she thought. Grissom may not date often, but he didn't date casually either. His face looked older, more lined.
"Don't you dare start moping. You aren't the only one going solo. And I can think of a few ways to dispose of your extra ticket."
He grinned at her.
"I don't suppose you'll come with me?"
"Not a chance. Lindsey and I are having a Girl's Night."
"I know you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."
"Tall. Brunette. Seems to think you hate her."
Catherine ticked each criterion off on a finger.
"It would be unprofessional. Unethical," he argued.
"And asking me wasn't?"
He grimaced.
"Yes…no...I…different…"
As they talked, Grissom moved into his bedroom, grabbing a book off his shelf.
"One sentence at a time there Shakespeare," Catherine cajoled. "Just phone her. The worst that can happen is she stops following you around with her eyes- As if we don't notice. And at best, you two manage to have a civil conversation- you were friends once, as I recall."
Grissom shook his head.
"Different time, different place," he disputed, handing her the book he had picked up. With what he thought was under his breath, he added, "Different people."
Catherine glanced at the book in her hands. It was well below Grissom's reading level, and she didn't ask how he came into a copy of A Child's View of Insects.
She grabbed her bag from the back of his couch and headed for the door.
"Lindsey will love this. Or as much as she can love a school assignment with creepie crawlies."
"Mildly tolerate?" he suggested.
"At best," Catherine granted. How that man could be so in tune with others at times and so out of touch with reality at others never failed to amaze her. She opened the door, saying her goodbyes. The last thing he heard before the quiet click of a lock sliding into place was two words with so many meanings.
"Phone her."
Sara was probably asleep right now. Or not at home. Phoning would just cause problems, confusion. Opening the proverbial can of worms to all sorts of messes. And wouldn't it be presumptuous to assume she had nothing to do on Valentine's of all days? Especially one that fell on a Saturday?
How the receiver came to be cradled in his hand was a question he did not wish to pursue. It rang three times on the other end, then her familiar voice.
"Sidle."
"Sara, it's Grissom. I know this is short notice, but I have an extra lecture ticket for Saturday night, before work…"
……
Criticism always welcome.