Title: Geekscapades
Author: Alison Nixon
Rating: PG-13, for some profanity
Category: Humor, Angst, UST
Spoilers: References to BoP and PNN.
Summary: What if the famous beauty line didn't go exactly as planned?
Disclaimers: The usual. None of the characters are mine. They belong to Anthony Zuiker, Atlantic-Alliance, CBS, et al. Bless you, Z-man!
Feedback: Of course! Let me know what you think.
Archival: I'd be flattered, but just ask me first please. I'm sure to say yes, but I'd like to get a heads-up beforehand. My email: anixon72@hotmail.com
Notes: In a world where black becomes white, love becomes hate…ah well, you get the picture. A cock-eyed look at Primum Non Nocere. Heh. Thanks to Devanie for bugging me to get this done…
*****
"Since when have you cared about beauty?"
"Since I met you."
He could not have planned it better if he tried. Finally, he had found something to blow her mind. And if her stunned silence were any indication, it would remain blown for some time. After feeling utterly at her mercy since she said she was leaving, his relief at having regained the psychological advantage was profound. Thank God. Grissom expelled a grateful breath into the chilly air before turning to look at the face he loved.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
She might as well have punched him. He stared as if transfixed. It was difficult to say what shocked him more: the naked hostility in her voice, or the fact that she felt she still had one. The line he had just laid on her was one most men could not come up with on their best day; he was pretty sure that meant she was supposed to accept it in blushing silence, like a good little girl. Why were words even coming out her mouth? It boggled the mind.
Unsure of what had just occurred, he decided to go with the innocent geek boy look that, after years of practice, disarmed nearly everyone. "I beg your pardon?"
He would have sworn that she actually snorted.
"Oh please. Spare me the Little Boy Blue look, OK? Maybe that crap works with other women, but don't you dare try to shovel it on me." She leaned forward and thrust her face into his. "I want to know what the hell you think you just said. I'm sure the meaning sparkles with crystal clarity in the attic of your mind, but it entirely escapes me."
Of all the unmitigated gall… "Sara," he said as politely as he could manage, given that his hands itched to strangle her, "are you sure you went to Harvard? If you did, one would assume that you could figure it out."
"On the basis of what?" she snapped.
"On the basis of your having more than two brain cells to rub together, that's what!" His voice had risen close to a shout. "But you know what, forget it. As far as I'm concerned, the words never left my mouth. In fact, I take it back."
Her mouth dropped open. "You take it back? What the fu—"
Grissom jumped up before she could finish. "If I hear one more curse word out of you…" he warned. "I'm not some damn lab tech. You better think twice about pissing off your supervisor."
"Right now I'm thinking of pissing on my supervisor, so stick that in your pipe and smoke it," she growled.
How could a voice so low still sound like nails on a chalkboard, he wondered. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Now, if you can get beyond your own female concerns, we have a crime scene to process."
As he listened to the strange wheezing noises coming from her general direction, he amused himself by calculating how long a woman of her weight and height would need to hyperventilate before she passed out. Longer than he would like, no doubt, but at least it would shut her up.
"Female…" she sputtered between gasps. "You …"
"Stop your whining and come on. We have work to do."
He started down the steps, speeding away on his wishbone legs like an angry beetle. I hope you fall, you little freak, she swore silently. Just wait until I can breathe again, and you're toast. She grabbed her evidence case and stomped after him. Grissom had a head start, but her long legs gave her the advantage. She caught up to him in no time at all, taking delight in clipping the back of his heels with her boots as she did so.
"Goddamnit! Watch where you're going!"
"Ooh, what's your pulse at now, huh?"
He gave her the nastiest look he could muster through the pain, and pushed her aside as he resumed his descent. Women, can't live with them, can't kill them. Leave it to Sara to make him start quoting Schwarzenegger movies instead of Shakespeare.
They traveled the rest of the way down to the ice in stony silence. Grissom gestured brusquely to indicate where Sara should begin working, and then quickly retreated to the opposite end of the rink. It was all Sara could do not to scream her frustration, especially when she noticed that Grissom had taken the end where the crime occurred for himself and relegated her to the evidentiary dead zone. The man was a child, apparently.
Grissom, for his part, patted himself on the back for disposing of his female trouble. He had pinned her ears back but good, and now she had the shit end of the crime scene too, just for being such a brat. That would teach her about talking back to him. He smiled grimly as he bent down to assess what clues the ice contained. If anyone had pointed out to him that continuing to repeat "What the fuck does that mean?" in a girlish falsetto probably indicated that he had disposed of nothing, he would have denied it to the bitter end.
There was little of value in the area Sara was working, so it didn't take her long to arrive at center ice. She put her hands her hips and glared over at Grissom. He had barely moved from the goal area where he had started, it seemed. She could see him on his hands and knees, crawling from one piece of evidence to the next, lost in his own world. Tears began to prick at her eyes, but she fought them off. She walked towards him so that she could speak without shouting.
"You said we would work our way towards center ice. Didn't you see me standing there?"
He didn't even bother to look up. "Well, good for you, Sara. I'm impressed. Given that you seem to have so much trouble processing what I say these days, it's a wonder you figured out what direction to work in at all." The thought of Sara bumping her watch-capped head against the baseboards of the rink almost made him smile.
Her eyes glittered dangerously.
"Gee, maybe I wouldn't be such a dim bulb if you ever said anything worth processing these days," she said tartly. " 'From Grissom' – yeah, that really gives me something to chew over, huh? Really broke out the thesaurus on that one. Oh, and I guess I was supposed to blown away by that beauty crap. Give me a break."
I give her a compliment; she turns it to crap. The woman was a wonder. He shook his head in amazement as his angry eyes met her own.
"I bet you I know what your favorite fairy tale was as a kid."
She huffed, clenching the hands on either hip into fists. "What are you talking about?"
"Goldilocks. You barge into someone's hear—" he caught himself in time, "home, and bitch about everything in sight. The porridge is too hot; the porridge is too cold. The bed is too hard; the bed is too soft. You're never satisfied! The only difference is that for you, it's the plant that was too easy, and the sentiment that was too short. Now the beauty line was too damn obscure." He threw up his hands like a man sorely tried. "I can never get it 'just right,' " he finished resentfully. "So…whatever, Sara, all right? Whatever."
Unable to look away from his accusing stare during this tirade, it had taken all of her strength not to cry. She blinked several times; proud as she was, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. But it was harder to keep the waver out of her voice.
"Yeah. Whatever, Grissom. My sentiments exactly." Drawing herself up to her full height, she walked stiffly to the area that he had not yet searched. She snapped the rolled rubber edge of her already snug gloves unnecessarily, turned her back to him, and got back to work.
There was little he could do but watch her walk away. He had picked a fine time to make himself clear. After a long, deflating moment, he dropped his eyes to the unforgiving surface and the evidence before him.
Although she was now at the "live" end of the rink, Sara was still surprised by the scantiness of what she had found. If it were not for the dark blood garishly splashed near the goal, and a few splinters of wood, it would be hard to tell that anything other than a hockey game had occurred here. And while she would not put it past Grissom to churlishly refuse to share whatever he found with her, it seemed clear from his body language and facial expression that his luck had been no better. Worn out, she stood up and began peeling off her gloves. The brutal silence that had settled upon them since she last spoke felt impenetrable.
"I don't know about you, but it seems like nothing I've found here tells us very much. Maybe…" she said quietly, hoping he wouldn't argue, "we need to look off the ice."
She was right, of course. He had been thinking the same thing just before she spoke. He opened his mouth to tell her what they should do when he saw her dark hair fan out beneath her cap as she turned to look at something behind her. He heard a light roaring noise. A Zamboni.
As she watched it glide slowly across the ice, doggedly smoothing over the hard surface and scraping away any debris, Sara felt some of the tightness in her throat give way. There was something hypnotic about the machine's movements and the insistent, hive-like humming noise it made, which sounded like some kind of ambient white noise. In the middle of this daydream, she wondered where all those ice shavings went when the Zamboni's work was done. She angled her body towards Grissom, who was still standing about ten feet away. When he met her eyes in silent communication, they both started walking toward the driver of the gentle beast.
*******
Seen up close and at rest in the storage area, the tractor-like machines seemed even more impressive. The one Sara and Grissom were currently admiring was dark blue, with a single red racing stripe girding its middle. It had to be at least 12 feet tall, and perhaps 10 feet wide. Sara, fascinated, suppressed the urge to give the thing an appreciative pat on its snout…pure whimsy, of course, but a welcome change after the grim scenes with the man beside her. Simpler pleasures, she thought with a sigh. It was a soft, yielding sound that Grissom just barely caught.
She was still the only person he knew who would get it.
"There are three things in life that people like to stare at: a rippling stream, a fire in a fireplace, and a Zamboni going round and round."
"Charlie Brown," she answered, unsurprised that he could pull a zamboni quote out of thin air. Her tone was wistful. "I love a Zamboni."
"We all do."
They stood in silence until she spoke.
"I bet you I know who your favorite Peanuts character was as a kid."
He waited.
"Had to be Linus."
"All the philosophizing and problem solving," he agreed, lowering his chin in a small nod.
"The security blanket."
When he turned, her profile stood out in the dark room like an ivory cameo.
"I just haven't figured out what it is yet,'' she said slowly. Her eyes had not ceased their scan of the formidable machine in front of her.
"Haven't you?"
She felt his stare, but she shook her head.
"Nope. But I have figured out something else. Goldilocks is a fine girl."
She crossed her arms. "You know, astronomers are always trying to understand why some worlds flourish into Earth-like planets and some don't," she explained. "It's like the holy grail of space study, part of the speculation on the existence of life in the universe. We already knew that you need a specific combination of carbon, oxygen, and silicon to create a terrestrial planet. But what we're finding out now is that either too much or too little of those same elements actually inhibits Earth formation. Too much, and little Earths-in-waiting are smashed by the orbits of the huge, extrasolar planets that tend to cluster around the most gas-rich stars. Too little, and no Earths form at all…They call it the Goldilocks effect."
She shrugged in the way that he himself often did, as if the words she expressed meant hardly anything at all.
"So it's Goldilocks, the greedy and never satisfied, or Goldilocks, measure of the vitality of worlds." She blinked. "Eye of the beholder, I guess…"
As her voice trailed away, he turned back to the zamboni. She squared her shoulders and prepared to examine the undercarriage; it was the next logical step. But before she could move, his eyes were on her again, holding her in place as securely as his hand would have done. She swiveled her head towards him. The smile even reached his eyes.
*****
After more than an hour of waiting for the tooth, the whole tooth and nothing but the tooth to emerge from a melting pile of ice, they packed up their cases and walked back the way they had come.
"We can walk through the stands, down by the first row of seats," Grissom directed.
"But the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. We should just cut across the ice."
He gave her a look. She shrugged. "Harvard."
He bit his lip, but put his hand on her elbow and guided her onto the ice. They moved carefully over its slickness, mirroring each other's footsteps.
"Ever play sports in school?"
He squinted. "What do you think?"
"Yeah," she laughed. "I didn't think so."
"Why? Did you?"
"Actually, yeah. I played volleyball in college, club league, since I wasn't good enough to play varsity. It was a lot of fun. Not mindlessly violent like this."
He wasn't really surprised to hear she had played something. Anyone with her energy level needed a physical outlet of some sort. "Volleyball's an odd sport, physiologically speaking. Despite the constant vertical jumps and diving for balls, it's still an anaerobic activity. Does nothing for your cardiovascular system, really." His eyes traveled downward. "But it does wonders for muscle tone, especially in the lower limbs."
"My teammates did have great legs," she agreed.
Just then his feet slipped a little. She stopped to steady him. "Are you OK?"
"I'm fine, just lost my footing a little."
"Oh. You mean like this?" She bumped her slender right hip neatly against his, and sent him skidding. He just managed to right himself in time.
"Sara!"
"Yes?"
"Very funny, but don't do that again. Falls on the ice can be very dangerous, you know that."
She grinned, but didn't argue. "Sorry, couldn't resist." She approached and offered her arm. He rolled his eyes at this bit of gallantry, but he still placed his hand on her arm, close to the elbow.
They made reasonable progress in this fashion, walking in relaxed silence. As they neared center ice, Grissom slid his hand around her arm until it fitted neatly in his palm. Slender and small boned as she was, it was easy to establish a firm hold, thumb on one side and fingers on the other. Sara pretended she hadn't noticed.
"You know, I never thanked you for the plant."
He glanced at her quickly, before returning to the critical inspection of his shoes. "So you liked it?"
She smiled, watching the nervousness play across his face. "Of course I liked it. I love orchids."
"Good, good," he murmured. "That's good."
"The one you sent is pretty amazing. You don't often find orchids that nice outside of nurseries. I wanted to ask you where you got it, because I'm thinking of getting another one, something like a Garnet Heart. That's one of the 'white with red lip' species of Phalaenopsis. Funny though…it's the heart of the flower where you find the red, but they still call a 'white with red lip.' The heart is the lip, the lip is the heart…" She drifted off for a second, her eyes far away. "Anyway, it'll totally set off the purple of the Brother Oconee you gave me, so I think I should go for it."
"Can I just…get it for you instead?"
Her smile brightened considerably, warming his cheek before he even searched her dark eyes with his. "Garnet Heart?"
She nodded.
Silent or not, he decided, blushes suited her. His tongue moved in his mouth; he squeezed her arm gently.
"Well," she stammered, trying to distract him from his close inspection of her pinkish face, "there's only one problem. Are you sure you can handle another sentiment? The last one was a real brain buster."
"Only for some of us, child."
She nearly choked. After coughing several times, she swallowed and caught her breath.
"The bigger they are, the harder they fall…"
"Sara…"
Later, he would recall the sweetness of her expression just before she drove her arm into his side. If it had not held on to her like a terrified child, he would have gone down like a bowling pin.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
"Testing you. Think of it as a physical challenge--whoever stays upright, wins."
It sounded like a diversionary tactic, but he was still curious. "Wins what?"
She cocked her head. "Who knows?"
His expression, mildly speculative at first, turned downright crafty. Oh, it won't be that easy, old man. This time, her laughter spilled out in spite of herself.
As he busied himself calculating the odds of her actually honoring the wager if he chose the stakes he had in mind, Grissom unconsciously loosened his hold. It was all she needed. This time she plowed into him like a truck. He skidded forward, then back; his feet might as well have belonged to another person, given how little good they did him. He flailed about, and then figured that if he was going down, he was taking her with him. He reached out, grappling for her other arm. Before she knew it, he had her locked in and facing him, his hands under both of her elbows. She twisted, trying to angle herself away; he twisted in the opposite direction. He pulled. She pushed. All the while, her footing was becoming as uncertain as his. Anyone watching from the stands would have sworn they were dancing. Of course, the infectious sound of her giggling might also have tipped them off.
"Let go of me! Can't you go down like a man?"
He applied more torque to his grip, and whipped them around in a crazy circle.
"Given the way you're all over me, I don't see how I could go down at all."
She gasped as he forced her backward and her feet lost more traction. "I wonder if this is what you're like at scary movies, clutching on to a man for dear life," he muttered.
She suddenly dropped her arms and wiggled them to throw him off balance. Grissom teetered forward in spite of himself, and she piled into him again. He glared; she grinned. "You'll never know."
Trying to stop his slide, he pivoted his feet sideways, in the way that skiers skid to a stop on the slopes. It didn't do much. He was able to catch his breath long enough to taunt her again, though.
"Yeah right, Sara. You know you're dying for me to ask you out."
She scissored her feet forwards and back several times in an attempt to build momentum. Then she held his eyes, and curved her lips slowly. "I think you've got that backwards, my friend. You're dying for me to ask you to take it out."
He saw the look on her face, and finally gave in. It wasn't a sound she heard often, and at first, it startled her. But she soon caught on and began to laugh with him. Unfortunately for Grissom, the laughter worked against his interests; his body went slack and his muscles relaxed. The minute it did, Sara pounced and moved to put him down for the count. One last energetic shove initiated his final death slide, albeit with his hands still gripping her arms tightly. Before either of them could even cry aloud, they were on the ice, Grissom flat on his back and Sara sprawled on top of him.
Although they both had the wind knocked out of them, they were still laughing between gasps for air. Sara could feel the rumbling vibrations born of his laughter reverberate from his body to hers, just as he could feel the same strange echo travel from her to him. Who knew shared mirth could produce such a curious sensation, he thought. He put his arms around her waist to steady them.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah," she smiled mischievously, "I'm fine. I landed on you."
"Yes, funny that." He looked thoughtful. "You've got me pinned to the ground. I'm sure the employee handbook cites that as some form of sexual harassment."
He felt the vibrations again as she tipped her head back to let out a big belly laugh. "Oh, right. I'm harassing you. I tell you what, boss, next time you feel the urge to tell Nicky or Warrick that they've sparked your interest in beauty, page me so I can listen in, OK? Because until you do that, what you said to me was sexual harassment." By now, she had put her hands on the ice on either side of his head and was staring deep into his eyes. He had the good grace to flush slightly, and try to look away. It was a wasted movement; she was still eyeing him like a cheetah eyes her dinner in the bush.
"Ah…perhaps we should get up," he offered feebly.
"Perhaps not."
He was back where he had started. She was getting just a little too good at this. His eyes darted from side to side as he groped at an idea, any idea.
"I tell you what. I'll tell you what I meant if you let me up."
She gave him a pitying look. "I already figured out what you meant, remember?"
"No," he said coolly. "You didn't."
Several thoughts skittered across her face as she considered this. She frowned, and pursed her lips a little. He would have teased her for pouting, but she might have really punched him for that. He returned her direct gaze calmly, revealing nothing. She growled for the second time that night, and scrambled to her feet. Grissom congratulated himself, and made a show of ignoring the hand she extended to help him up. Feeling marvelous about being back on his feet, he dusted himself off. Much better.
"So, what did you mean?" She tried to sound unconcerned, but it didn't quite work.
"Come here, and I'll tell you."
Something in his manner made her wonder. Is that why she suddenly felt so nervous? He was giving her that…look. Way too predatory for Little Boy Blue.
She hesitated, but somehow her feet made the decision for her. They stopped moving only when her jacket brushed against his. He watched her, a ghost of a smile on his face. Then he bent his head towards hers slowly, coming within a half-inch of her lips and nearly touching her cheekbone on his way to her ear. She closed her eyes. He let his breath warm her skin for several moments, and then said, "Beauty is truth, but age is wisdom. Age before beauty, my dear."
It was the last thing she heard before her butt hit the ice. Sara struggled to prop herself up on her elbows, and watched in amazement. Appallingly, the man could laugh for a long time without pausing to catch his breath.
"Of course, you do realize this means war."
"Bugs Bunny," he noted appreciatively. "Of course."
He held out his hand. Sara looked at it, and then at him. She placed her fingers in his. Just as she began to tug him downward, he slid his hand along her arm and yanked her to her feet.
"I don't think I could handle another spill with you," he explained. His eyes were twinkling.
"Smart man," she noted, brushing her clothes with her hands. He put a hand on her back and urged her forward. "Of course, UCLA was my safety school, so that's not saying much."
Her raucous giggles filled the air as she slipped away just before he could grab her and send her back down. When she was safely out of his reach, she turned back and smiled.
He could only shake his head. It really was a beautiful game.
(Fin.)