Disclaimer: Please refer to the first chapter. I can't think of something new to say with each chapter. I'm just not that creative...

Helping Hand

Sara pulled on her latex gloves, staring at the goop in front of her. She never liked Jell-O, and ballistics gel was just as disgusting. However, Sara was willing to overlook the jiggly, squishy, slimy nature of it because it served a purpose, and most importantly, she was not going to eat it.

Curling her lip slightly, she ripped open packets, dumped them into the large cylinder, and then poured water in on top. Grabbing a large stirring stick, Sara began swirling the mixture together.

While she was staring into the mixture, her hair fell around her face. Sara threw her head back and shook it to get the hair behind her shoulders again. The effort was in vain as she dipped her head back forward again, and the hair fell even more came cascading around her face again.

Using her elbow, Sara struggled to push it back. Grissom stood in the doorway watching her with interest. He smirked as she cursed under her breath when some of the gel sloshed up on her gloves and into her hair.

She looked up hearing a stifled giggle. "Are you laughing at me?" she asked, her displeasure evident in her voice.

His smirk grew wider. "No. I would never do such a thing." His voice most certainly betrayed the statement.

"I hate this crap. Why is it again I have to mix it up?" Sara threw him a mock-glare over the top of the cylinder.

"Someone has to," he replied casually, leaning his body comfortably against the doorframe. Grissom was enjoying her suffering, even if it would cost him later.

"And, by someone, that means anyone but you." Her accusation was pointed and well-founded, but Grissom found it amusing.

"You were late for assignments. I have to appear fair," he explained half-heartedly. He'd already explained that to her when she was picking up the gel packets from storage.

"Appearing fair and being fair need to become one in the same. It wasn't my fault I was late. You should be stirring this. In fact..." Sara pointed the stick at him for emphasis. "You should be the one cleaning the storage room, too." Putting the stick back into the mixture, Sara began mumbling under her breath, "Get my briefcase out of my car, Sara. I'm going to be late for assignments... No, Grissom, I need a cup of coffee... Come on, Sara, it's your fault I forgot it... Damn, men, can't do anything themselves. Useless."

"Stop grumbling," he taunted, pointing at the mixture.

"None of this is my fault, and I'm not exactly Betty Crocker," she groaned.

"Even Betty Crocker's magic wasn't created in a day."

"I think you're confused. Mixing your metaphors?" She teased him in spite of how disturbed she was at her situation.

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Possibly. Does it amuse you?"

"Almost as much as it probably amuses you to watch me stir this." Her hair fell again. "Damn it." Hearing Grissom snicker again, Sara scowled at him. "You could at least be more supportive than to laugh at me."

"Would you like a hand?" he asked sarcastically.

"I would love it," she sighed.

Grissom gave a half-hearted golf clap. At the irritated look on Sara's face, Grissom winked and walked into the room. "How can I help you?"

"Mix this up?" she asked mockingly, contemplating just how much trouble she would get herself in if she dumped the mixture over his head.

"Out of the question, Ms. Sidle. Try again."

After no response, Grissom stood beside her quietly watching. She continued stirring as if he was not even in the room. Grissom reached over and brushed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin a little longer than necessary.

"Looked like you could use a little help with that," he said with a little shrug of his shoulders.

"If you want to be useful, you could get the band out of my pocket and pull my hair back," Sara offered.

"Are you flirting with me?"

"I was merely offering you the chance to redeem yourself from your shameless laughing at my predicament... The rest, well, we'll have to work out later. I'm thinking you're going to be writing up my reports for the next week."

Grissom actually looked stunned at that. "Sara, there's no way I'm going to do that."

"It's only fitting. You hate paperwork, and I hate ballistics gel. You punished me for something that wasn't my fault. I took the punishment because... well, I felt obligated due to our situation... appearances and all. No one has to know you're writing my reports, and we're even." Sara made her attempt at keeping her gaze neutral, staring at the mixture in front of her.

"I was thinking we could keep work out of this," he whispered.

"I'm thinking you can start with getting my hair out of my face, and I'll consider my payment for this and the storage room punishment."

Grissom slipped behind her, far closer than he needed to be for being in the lab. Sara drew in a deep breath, feeling his body lightly brushing hers. When Grissom placed his hands on her hips, Sara shut her eyes and wished they were anywhere but the lab.

"Which pocket is it in?" he whispered in her ear.

"You're torturing me," Sara said as she straightened herself and opened her eyes. Her intent was to start stirring the mixture again. If he wanted to play this game, she decided it was her turn. "I've only got four pockets. Pick one and go from there. It could be fun."

"This isn't about fun. This is purely a professional courtesy," Grissom said in a mock serious voice.

Grissom slid his hands around to her rear pockets as he glanced out in the hallway watching for any onlookers. Sara giggled when his hands deliberately delayed on her back pockets. Every so slowly, Grissom slid his hands around her hips to her front pockets.

"You're getting warmer," Sara purred as Grissom slid each hand into a pocket.

He pulled out an elastic band from her front right pocket and held it up like a trophy. "Eureka."

Very slowly, Grissom ran his hands through her hair, pulling it back to put into the band. All the while, he was enjoying the smell of her shampoo. After pulling her hair up into a pony tail, he stood for a few moments and admired her neck with the eye of a vulcher picking out his next prey.

"Can you help me pour this, or are you going to stand back there and admire the view all day?" Sara said, grinning, as she tipped her head to glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

Standing in DNA, Warrick rubbed his eyes. Somehow, he picked his jaw up off of the floor, still not believing he had witnessed two people, who were known to barely share a word with each other, touching and interacting as if it was second nature.

To Be Continued...