"Splendor in the Grass"
By Midnight Caller
Disclaimer: Thank you for flying CSI Airlines. Today's pilot doesn't own any of her CSI passengers, or the plane, and is merely chartering the flight to the inner space of her mind. Keep your UST and rubber gloves in their upright and locked position, and enjoy the ride.
Summary: Catherine throws a party. Too bad it sucks.
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Alrighty
**
He hated parties. He gripped his now warm beer and forced another smile. Catherine's friends didn't share his wry sense of humor, and the dirty jokes were starting to wear thin. His collar felt tight, and he loosened his tie.
"You alright there, Grissom?" One of the joke-tellers slapped him on the back. "You need another drink!"
"Good idea," he smiled politely, and slipped out of the circle, pushing his way through the crowd. Catherine had too many friends, and most of them were in his path to another beer. When he finally reached the fridge he yanked open the door and pulled out a longneck. He popped the cap and took a long gulp. Oh, the sweet nectar of forced social situations.
"Having that good of a time, Gil?" Catherine suddenly appeared next to the fridge. Grissom swallowed hard, wiping his mouth.
"I'm having a great time," he offered a closed-mouth smile.
She patted him on the shoulder. "Well, if you need anything, just find me." And with that she was pulled into another conversation.
Grissom glanced around the kitchen and caught his reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall. He stared at himself for a few seconds before toasting to his likeness and taking another sip.
He took a visual survey. Nick and Warrick were in the midst of a large circle of younger people, laughing. Greg was schmoozing a girl near the mantel. Brass sat with some other men, downing whiskey. Looked like football talk. Sara hadn't shown up at all. Smiling faces. Sporadic guffaws. Glasses clinking. Another dirty joke. It was suddenly very hot in the room. Air. He needed air.
Catherine's backyard was a dark, vacant refuge from the living room. As Grissom took in a deep breath of night air the sounds of the party wafted out from the back door and he gazed toward the house. What was wrong with him, anyway? Was he supposed to tolerate the bad puns and the obligatory compliments and the "what do you do's" and the "where are you from's"? It was like being at a grown-up frat party, only less amusing.
He squatted before eventually sitting on the cool grass of the lawn, and rested his elbows on his knees. Another deep breath. At least he showed up. That was something.
He didn't know how long he'd been there when he heard a slight rustling behind him. Grissom turned his head, and had to reign in the enormous grin that wanted to spread across his face.
Sara joined him on the grass, and they enjoyed a few silent moments. Finally she spoke. "I didn't much care for it in there, either. Too loud."
"Too fake."
"Too hot."
"Too crowded."
"All of the above." She smiled over at him.
"I really ... don't do very well at these... things," he remarked, pointing his thumb back toward the house.
Her smile became a laugh, and Grissom couldn't help but mirror her. Their eyes met for a moment and her smile faded. He swallowed, hard, and then finally remembered to breathe.
The awkward moment was broken by an especially loud chuckle from the party. Sara cleared her throat, and Grissom gazed at the grass, slightly embarrassed.
She reached over and held the neck of his beer bottle. "Can I have a sip?"
He nodded and let go. "Just wipe off the cooties."
"You don't have cooties," she smirked, and took a huge gulp.
"I meant yours," he slipped in, and she stopped her gulp early to smack him lightly on the arm. When she handed him back the beer he covered her hand with his. They both looked at the bottle, then at each other.
She slowly slipped her fingers out from beneath his, slightly grazing his palm with her nails. His eyes never left her, even when she finally broke the mutual gaze to observe the night sky.
"I love desert skies," she mused. "You can see everything."
Grissom watched her as she talked. The curve of her neck, the way she licked her lips before starting another sentence. How the corners of her mouth went up when she talked about something that interested her.
"I used to hate looking up at the stars... made me feel so small." She leaned back onto her hands. "And now that I understand the universe better, it's almost like it's worse. I almost feel even smaller because I know the measurements, the numbers..." she drifted off, dropping her head back. "You know what really picks my brain about space?"
"What's that?"
"How integrated time is in everything. You look a light year into space, and you're looking a year back into time. You look ... 65 million light years away ... and you're looking back as far as the dinosaurs. It's so amazing."
Grissom shifted down next to her, leaning on one elbow, his head in his hand, watching her.
"I'll never forget something I read about in this class I took at Harvard." She laughed, and then continued, "Stars, Galaxies, and the Universe. It was this 200-level fluff course for Physics majors, but I was totally into it. Anyway, I read that years ago, Radio astronomers were perplexed by this problem, this interference in their readings. They kept getting this certain frequency of x-ray feedback no matter where they pointed their scopes at the sky. It was almost like they were seeing a wall, a storm of x-rays, and they couldn't see anything beyond it."
She lowered herself onto her elbows. "Some scientists believed that this x-ray interference was leftover radiation from the Big Bang."
She paused for a moment. "That just ... blows my mind ... that we can see literally to the beginning of time. I can't help it, when I look up there I have to ponder those meta questions of why we're here, where we came from. I mean, I'm not sure if anyone will ever know the answers..."
"... But you need to ask the questions ..." he finished for her.
With that, Sara looked down at him and smiled.
He continued, "Sometimes I don't think we're meant to know all the answers. They'd probably scare us half to death."
"That's fresh, coming from a scientist." He gave her a look, and she continued, "I'd just like to think there's some kind of ... I don't know, synergy to everything."
Grissom suddenly felt something crawling on his leg, and with his free hand reached down to pick up a beetle. "I don't know ... You. Me. This little guy. A little carbon here and there ... it's all the same in the end. If that's all the synergy I can count on, I guess I'll have to take it." He let the beetle go and gave Sara a little smile.
She turned onto her side to face him, laying her head in her hand. "I guess I'll take it, too."
They were caught in each other's stares, neither one sure of what to do with the physical energy pulsating in the very close space between them.
Suddenly Sara was very close to him, and he could feel her breath on his lips.
At first she merely brushed her lips against his, just to get the smallest taste, but the warmth of his mouth was too inviting. As she moved in to deepen the kiss--
"Hey, come on, guys!"
Catherine.
Grissom dropped his head slightly and chuckled. Sara tipped her head back to look at her more than slightly intoxicated supervisor.
Sara looked over at Grissom, who raised his eyebrows in an amusing mixture of disappointment and defeat. He slowly got to his feet, and then held out his hand for Sara, who wiped the loose grass from her skirt.
As the light from the house fell onto her at another angle, he realized he hadn't even noticed her skirt and sleeveless blouse. In return, Sara eyed his suit, and brushed a piece of grass off his lapel. The mirrored smiles once again made an appearance. He removed a piece of pretend grass from her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear.
"Hey, come on! The party's in here!"
Another vanquished moment, courtesy of Catherine and her friend Jack Daniels.
Grissom cocked his head toward the house. "I guess we'd better..."
"Yeah ..." She smiled awkwardly, biting her lip.
"Are you guys going to stand out there all night?? Come on!" Catherine had a way with words. And people.
They couldn't help but laugh at this point.
"Shall we?" Grissom asked, holding his arms out. Sara grinned and walked past him, and then waited for him to catch up.
He lightly put his hand on her back, and she gave him one last glance as they walked back to the party.
(Fin.)
By Midnight Caller
Disclaimer: Thank you for flying CSI Airlines. Today's pilot doesn't own any of her CSI passengers, or the plane, and is merely chartering the flight to the inner space of her mind. Keep your UST and rubber gloves in their upright and locked position, and enjoy the ride.
Summary: Catherine throws a party. Too bad it sucks.
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Alrighty
**
He hated parties. He gripped his now warm beer and forced another smile. Catherine's friends didn't share his wry sense of humor, and the dirty jokes were starting to wear thin. His collar felt tight, and he loosened his tie.
"You alright there, Grissom?" One of the joke-tellers slapped him on the back. "You need another drink!"
"Good idea," he smiled politely, and slipped out of the circle, pushing his way through the crowd. Catherine had too many friends, and most of them were in his path to another beer. When he finally reached the fridge he yanked open the door and pulled out a longneck. He popped the cap and took a long gulp. Oh, the sweet nectar of forced social situations.
"Having that good of a time, Gil?" Catherine suddenly appeared next to the fridge. Grissom swallowed hard, wiping his mouth.
"I'm having a great time," he offered a closed-mouth smile.
She patted him on the shoulder. "Well, if you need anything, just find me." And with that she was pulled into another conversation.
Grissom glanced around the kitchen and caught his reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall. He stared at himself for a few seconds before toasting to his likeness and taking another sip.
He took a visual survey. Nick and Warrick were in the midst of a large circle of younger people, laughing. Greg was schmoozing a girl near the mantel. Brass sat with some other men, downing whiskey. Looked like football talk. Sara hadn't shown up at all. Smiling faces. Sporadic guffaws. Glasses clinking. Another dirty joke. It was suddenly very hot in the room. Air. He needed air.
Catherine's backyard was a dark, vacant refuge from the living room. As Grissom took in a deep breath of night air the sounds of the party wafted out from the back door and he gazed toward the house. What was wrong with him, anyway? Was he supposed to tolerate the bad puns and the obligatory compliments and the "what do you do's" and the "where are you from's"? It was like being at a grown-up frat party, only less amusing.
He squatted before eventually sitting on the cool grass of the lawn, and rested his elbows on his knees. Another deep breath. At least he showed up. That was something.
He didn't know how long he'd been there when he heard a slight rustling behind him. Grissom turned his head, and had to reign in the enormous grin that wanted to spread across his face.
Sara joined him on the grass, and they enjoyed a few silent moments. Finally she spoke. "I didn't much care for it in there, either. Too loud."
"Too fake."
"Too hot."
"Too crowded."
"All of the above." She smiled over at him.
"I really ... don't do very well at these... things," he remarked, pointing his thumb back toward the house.
Her smile became a laugh, and Grissom couldn't help but mirror her. Their eyes met for a moment and her smile faded. He swallowed, hard, and then finally remembered to breathe.
The awkward moment was broken by an especially loud chuckle from the party. Sara cleared her throat, and Grissom gazed at the grass, slightly embarrassed.
She reached over and held the neck of his beer bottle. "Can I have a sip?"
He nodded and let go. "Just wipe off the cooties."
"You don't have cooties," she smirked, and took a huge gulp.
"I meant yours," he slipped in, and she stopped her gulp early to smack him lightly on the arm. When she handed him back the beer he covered her hand with his. They both looked at the bottle, then at each other.
She slowly slipped her fingers out from beneath his, slightly grazing his palm with her nails. His eyes never left her, even when she finally broke the mutual gaze to observe the night sky.
"I love desert skies," she mused. "You can see everything."
Grissom watched her as she talked. The curve of her neck, the way she licked her lips before starting another sentence. How the corners of her mouth went up when she talked about something that interested her.
"I used to hate looking up at the stars... made me feel so small." She leaned back onto her hands. "And now that I understand the universe better, it's almost like it's worse. I almost feel even smaller because I know the measurements, the numbers..." she drifted off, dropping her head back. "You know what really picks my brain about space?"
"What's that?"
"How integrated time is in everything. You look a light year into space, and you're looking a year back into time. You look ... 65 million light years away ... and you're looking back as far as the dinosaurs. It's so amazing."
Grissom shifted down next to her, leaning on one elbow, his head in his hand, watching her.
"I'll never forget something I read about in this class I took at Harvard." She laughed, and then continued, "Stars, Galaxies, and the Universe. It was this 200-level fluff course for Physics majors, but I was totally into it. Anyway, I read that years ago, Radio astronomers were perplexed by this problem, this interference in their readings. They kept getting this certain frequency of x-ray feedback no matter where they pointed their scopes at the sky. It was almost like they were seeing a wall, a storm of x-rays, and they couldn't see anything beyond it."
She lowered herself onto her elbows. "Some scientists believed that this x-ray interference was leftover radiation from the Big Bang."
She paused for a moment. "That just ... blows my mind ... that we can see literally to the beginning of time. I can't help it, when I look up there I have to ponder those meta questions of why we're here, where we came from. I mean, I'm not sure if anyone will ever know the answers..."
"... But you need to ask the questions ..." he finished for her.
With that, Sara looked down at him and smiled.
He continued, "Sometimes I don't think we're meant to know all the answers. They'd probably scare us half to death."
"That's fresh, coming from a scientist." He gave her a look, and she continued, "I'd just like to think there's some kind of ... I don't know, synergy to everything."
Grissom suddenly felt something crawling on his leg, and with his free hand reached down to pick up a beetle. "I don't know ... You. Me. This little guy. A little carbon here and there ... it's all the same in the end. If that's all the synergy I can count on, I guess I'll have to take it." He let the beetle go and gave Sara a little smile.
She turned onto her side to face him, laying her head in her hand. "I guess I'll take it, too."
They were caught in each other's stares, neither one sure of what to do with the physical energy pulsating in the very close space between them.
Suddenly Sara was very close to him, and he could feel her breath on his lips.
At first she merely brushed her lips against his, just to get the smallest taste, but the warmth of his mouth was too inviting. As she moved in to deepen the kiss--
"Hey, come on, guys!"
Catherine.
Grissom dropped his head slightly and chuckled. Sara tipped her head back to look at her more than slightly intoxicated supervisor.
Sara looked over at Grissom, who raised his eyebrows in an amusing mixture of disappointment and defeat. He slowly got to his feet, and then held out his hand for Sara, who wiped the loose grass from her skirt.
As the light from the house fell onto her at another angle, he realized he hadn't even noticed her skirt and sleeveless blouse. In return, Sara eyed his suit, and brushed a piece of grass off his lapel. The mirrored smiles once again made an appearance. He removed a piece of pretend grass from her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear.
"Hey, come on! The party's in here!"
Another vanquished moment, courtesy of Catherine and her friend Jack Daniels.
Grissom cocked his head toward the house. "I guess we'd better..."
"Yeah ..." She smiled awkwardly, biting her lip.
"Are you guys going to stand out there all night?? Come on!" Catherine had a way with words. And people.
They couldn't help but laugh at this point.
"Shall we?" Grissom asked, holding his arms out. Sara grinned and walked past him, and then waited for him to catch up.
He lightly put his hand on her back, and she gave him one last glance as they walked back to the party.
(Fin.)