A Gingerbread House Can Make a Home
A/N: This is in response to Cincoflex's challenge on YTDaW for a fic where Grissom makes a gingerbread house. This is my first attempt at a humorous fluffy fic and I have never seen a gingerbread house up close and personal in real life, so I hope that I did the process justice and that you enjoy the story. A very special thanks to the last minute on the spot beta by junglemag.
A Gingerbread House Can Make a Home
Three days.
Grissom had exactly three days to turn their home into a fabulous winter wonderland that Santa himself would be jealous of. Sara was coming back to him and he was going to make this holiday one for both of them to remember.
He had a lot to take care of. A lot.
Before Sara came into his life he didn't really decorate much for Christmas. It was not that he was Ebenezer Scrooge (although he did occasionally catch himself bah humbugging while gift shopping), but as you get older you celebrate differently.
When you are young and are out on your own for the first time, you go all out. You get the tree and the lights and the fake snow that doesn't come off until February. But, as the years go by, unless you have someone else to share it with, it just seems like a lot of work for one person. So each year you do a little less, not as many lights on the tree, telling yourself you are going for the minimal look, until there is no tree. And there are no lights around the windows. And then you are only left with a few decorations and maybe the token ceramic snowman with the top of his hat cutout for candy canes.
Looking around the townhouse, the only things that were different from any other day to indicate that there was something special going on was a few hideous pinecone and felt elves that his mother had given him when he first moved out. A start on his own Christmas collection she had told him. Grissom had also put out Sara's only Christmas item that she brought with her. Not to be outdone by his hideous elves, she had a musical carousel of elves pulling on what looked like Rudolph, with glitter and tacky gold tinsel around the edges. Each year, the first thing that she did was wind up the base and listen to the sickly tinny tune of "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" over and over and over.
Sara was coming home.
Over the past few weeks, he knew she was getting closer to finishing her business, saying goodbye and taking one last look around before closing the dark chapters in her life. It was like moving from a city that you never have any intention of ever visiting again. Driving by, looking at all of your favorite spots, trying to burn the images into your brain so you won't forget them. He knew that the tide was turning to his favor when she was calling more, texting and e-mailing less. When she first told him that she needed to go home, it almost broke his heart. Literally. He pictured a little red cartoon heart splitting into two jagged pieces as he listened to her tell him what she needed to do. But then she started to talk about coming home. Home had shifted. California had her parent's house and it was just that, a house. Home was where he was. Home was where Hank would lay his head on her lap and where she wanted to be.
Grissom was going to do his best to make this the perfect Norman Rockwell Christmas. He wanted it to be the kind of Christmas that for the rest of your life, you compare all Christmases to. While they had spent a few together before, this was different. They were going to be married and they were out in the open. They didn't have to hide the fact that they were spending time together. They were looking to buy a house, one with some space from the lights and noise of the city. A place where they could look at the stars - see the constellations in the sky and not Paris Hilton at the Palms.
They had never gone all out for Christmas, since both of them or one of them had to work. There were a few knick-knacks about, and the tree. The tree was a fake one, although beautiful and perfect, it always bothered Sara.
"What do you think about a real tree next year?" Sara asked as Grissom was trying to insert branch A into slot A with out much success.
"Huh?" he huffed, realizing that if he indeed got the branch in his hand into the slot he was trying to jam it into they would have a beautiful Christmas palm tree as opposed to a blue spruce. "Why would you want that? Not only are they dangerous, causing almost 1,600 fires a year, but they are a mess. Dropping needles all over the place, not finding them until you are walking barefoot through the room in the middle of July.' He mumbled shaking his head trying to figure out how to put the damn tree together.
She just grinned at him as he continued to rattle of statistics of home fires and then the challenges posed by keeping the tree fresh and the advantages of sugar water over sprite for the tree.
Walking over to him she grabbed branch A from his hand and put correctly into slot A. Sara then gave him a slow sweet kiss surrounded by a sea of lights and ornaments and tree parts. "I want a real tree because I love them. I love the Charlie Brown tree, something that is imperfect, can lead to something beautiful."
Grissom was hitting every cliché in the books.
Real tree? Check.
Candy Canes, tinsel and blinky twinkle lights on the tree? Check, check and eye-popping check.
He had even bought ribbon candies that always ended up clumped into one massive sugar
sculpture.
Mistletoe. In every doorway. He was not going to miss the opportunity to kiss his fiancé senseless at every opportunity.
Last Christmas, Sara had asked about gingerbread houses.
"Griss, who do you think makes gingerbread houses?"
"Huh?" Grissom grunted while plugging and unplugging an endless amount of lights. How could they all be out? He wondered.
"Gingerbread houses. How do they do it? I mean, do they have schematics or do they just wing it?"
"Huh?" he asked again, more frustrated this time. Grissom had decided that the makers of the Christmas tree lights were in cahoots with the people that keep the number of hot dogs to the number of hot dog buns off kilter.
"Here, give me those," while taking the lights away from him, she went on, "How do they know when to eat them? Or do they? I am not sure I would want to after sitting out all week," Sara said with a grimace, thinking about the sheer number of contaminants that could infect the tasty little house.
Cocking an eyebrow, like he had just found a crucial piece of evidence, "Why all the gingerbread house questions? Were you watching the Food Network again?" he asked.
Playfully slapping him on the back, Sara said, "No, for your information, I do not have time to watch the Food Network. I just always thought that the people that had it together enough to make a friggin house made of cookies and candy were perfect. " Now, fidgeting with the string of lights in her hands, she continued, "Those were what perfect families did. Perfect families, in perfect houses with perfect Christmases. It was just something I never thought I would have," she finished with a sad smile.
It was at that moment that Grissom decided that next year, Sara was going to have a gingerbread house even if he had to pay Mrs. Drayer down the street to make the damn thing.
When he was researching the miniature killer, Grissom recreated in perfect miniature detail his office, cutting out carefully each wall, each window. Buying tiny miniature picture frames for his desk. Putting together a miniature terrarium with a miniature cocoon. If he could do that, then surely he could put together a cookie house.
As soon as he heard from Sara, he started with the plans. He had cut out little poster board pieces to set as a framework. This was going to be a piece of cake, or gingerbread as it were. After all, how hard could this be, just make some cookies and glue them together with frosting. Some more frosting for the snow and roof and then gumdrops along the roofline. Maybe even some Red Hots for shingles.
Easier said than baked. The first set of cookies was terrible. Grissom made a mental note that a teaspoon of baking soda and a tablespoon of baking soda were two entirely different things. After a little trial and error, he mastered the recipe, which left putting the actual structure together as the next challenge.
The staff at Crawford's Bakery had warned him that putting together the first two walls and then the roof were going to be the most difficult parts and that he should go with a basic "A" frame.
Grissom had another idea. He wanted to use a design with a chimney because it looked like a real house. Using a lot of frosting, he "glued" what seemed to be a million red hots to each of the roof pieces. A hell of a lot of frosting. Carefully, like placing the final pieces on a house of cards, he put the roof on. He was a little worried about the weight of the Red Hots, but it seemed to work out fine. However, when he went to attach the chimney, the whole thing came crashing down in a tragic misjudgment of the weight of the frosting, a million Red Hots and the chimney. He then had to go back to the drawing board and redesign a sturdier roof and no chimney. The gingerbread family didn't have a fireplace, so in theory the family did not need a chimney. With a nice sugar buzz going from eating the caved in roof he and Hank started again. If some housewife in Illinois can create an exact replica of Abraham Lincoln's home, he could at least make a little bungalow.
When he finished his new design, it was perfect. Sara would be so proud of him. Hell, he was proud of himself. It was tough going for a bit; gingerbread houses are not quite as easy to build as one would think. The new house had more of a steeple roof with no chance to crash in. He spent hours putting more little Red Hots on the roof. Hank, realizing that he was not going to get any of the gingerbread from this house, was content sleeping at Grissom's feet. Bleary eyed, he finally went to bed thinking of sugarplums and Sara dancing in his head.
Grissom woke up on Christmas morning just as excited as he was when he was a small boy, back to before his father died. You would have thought that Santa had come and left him a new erector set. This Christmas, he only wanted one present, and that was for his Sara to come back to him. As he bounded up out of bed, he thought about what he had left to do before Sara got there. He had to shower and then put a few small gifts in Sara's stocking.
After his shower, as Grissom walked out of the bathroom, something seemed off. He couldn't put his finger on it but something was wrong. Very wrong.
Hank.
Where was Hank? He was usually waiting outside of the bathroom door for whichever poor soul was on the other side of it. Hank figured the best chance to get someone's attention was to nuzzle them with his wet nose as they walked out.
Walking down the hallway, Grissom heard what sounded like Hank chomping on something, maybe his rawhide bone.
Oh. My. God.
Hank was all stretched out on the floor with both front paws in the middle of what was once his beautiful gingerbread house. The scene before him was reminiscent of Godzilla Vs. Megaguirus.
"Hank! What are you doing? Stop!" Grissom screamed, flailing his arms as he ran towards the mess that was once a stunning treasure.
In response, Hank stopped chomping on the corner of what as once a majestically peaked roof to look up at his master.
"Get away! Go!' he continued to yell at the confused dog.
For his trouble, Hank licked his chops and walked the far way around Grissom, leaving a trail of gingerbread crumbs and Red Hots everywhere.
Grissom was panic-stricken. Sara was going to be home in less than an hour and he has nothing to show for it. Except of course a dog that would most assuredly be vomiting gumdrops about the time that she was to walk through the door.
There wasn't enough time to bake another house. He was loudly cursing himself that he didn't have a backup plan like the ladies at the bakery told him about. He didn't have any graham crackers or canned frosting to make another house. He was cursing so loudly while cleaning up the carnage, that he didn't hear the front door open. He didn't hear her put her bags down. He didn't hear her walk up to him.
"What is all of this?"
"Sara! I…I…I tried to decorate the house for you. What do you think?" he asked as he stood up spreading out his arms, with frosting caked to his fingers.
With a giggle, Sara said, "I think, it looks like Santa's workshop blew up in our house." "What happened here?" she asked as she pointed to the mess on the floor.
With a frown, Grissom started," I tried to make a gingerbread house for you. Last year you said that you wanted to have one this year and I…"
Grissom's words were cut short as Sara lips came crashing into his. Whatever had happened before, he knew that they could work it out together.
Maybe this was going to be a merry Christmas after all.
Thanks for reading and happy holidays!