"Jesus Christ," Sara said in a loud gasp as she stared at his…thing.

Holy crap! her inner voice echoed in a shriek. It's gigantic!

Her eyes wide with amazement, she looked up to Grissom's face. "It's huge!"

His smile was a little smug. "She is quite big," he admitted modestly.

"And long!"

Grissom nodded his head and looked down with evident pride. "She measures eleven inches from the tip, here," he said pointing, "to there."

Sara inched her head closer to take a better look. "It's hairy too," she remarked with admiration. "Is it hard?"

"Well," he swayed his head in ambivalence, "I'd say more soft than hard."

Sara pursed her face, nodding to his words, and brought a hesitant hand nearer.

"Do you hand to touch her?" he asked excitedly.

Hell, no, girl! We ain't touching that thing.

Sara shook her head briskly, jerking her hand away. "I dunno."

"She's totally harmless, you know."

Sara couldn't take her eyes off Charlotte. "Still."

"This specimen's the biggest one kept in captivity in the States," Grissom stated rather proudly.

Sara observed the speciman with narrowed eyes and opened her hand, spreading her fingers wide. "It's as big as my hand."

"She, Sara, she's a she, a female Theraphosa Blondi and she is just perfect for your hand."

Sara looked up, meeting his gaze before smiling mischievously at his innuendo. "I've never touched one before, let alone held one," she enthused. "What do you feed her?"

"Mice and small rodents but she's been known to snatch small birds from their nests."

Yeah, right. Pull the other one. Sara narrowed her gaze at him in disbelief. "Really," she said, her voice laced with scepticism.

Grissom shrugged easily in a 'don't believe me if you want but I'm telling the truth' kind of way. "She prefers insects and other arthropods though," he continued enthusiastically. "And females of that specie are known to eat their males when they are mating hence the life expectancy of a male is five times shorter than that of a female."

Sara's brow was arched as she eyed the tarantula with renewed admiration. "Ah."

"She's a Goliath Birdeater," Grissom added by way of explanation.

Sara nodded. "It figures."

"Would you like to hold her?" he asked softly.

Sara moved back from the tank with alarm. "Me?"

"Why not?" His smile was soft, tender and inviting.

Sara considered his offer for a moment before asking, "She won't try any funny business or anything, will she?"

Grissom opened the tank and cupped the tarantula into his big hands, bringing it out. "She's very gentle, I promise you, and totally harmless. You won't even feel her."

Sara stared intently into Grissom's eyes and when she saw the truth of his words in them, slowly nodded her head at him. "All right, I trust you," she said, smiling shyly and opening out her hands to the tarantula.

Grissom returned the loving smile and opened out his hands so that Charlotte could scuttle into Sara's.

"You're right," she said with surprise, her face lit up with enchantment. "I can hardly feel her. She doesn't bite?"

"No," Grissom replied simply. "Well, they can do but only if they feel threatened. But their bite is comparable to that of wasps." He paused. "You're good with her, Sara; she likes you."

Sensing his eyes on her face, Sara looked round and returned his tender smile before quickly averting her eyes to the tarantula which was crawling her way up her arm.

"And she is hungry," he added. "Do you want to feed her?"

Sara looked around the room, catching sight of a small tank full of live crickets and grasshoppers, locusts and other creepy-crawlies, and turned wide eyes toward Grissom.

"They're her favourite," he said as if it was no bid deal at all. "Put her back in her tank and I'll show you."

Sara gently lowered the spider back into the tank and watched as Grissom cupped a grasshopper in his hands.

Passing it to Sara, he said, "Just put it in."

Sara stared at him in hesitation and then fed the grasshopper to the spider. "Whatever happened to your cockroach?" she asked, turning toward him. "The one you used to race. A Madagascan hissing cockroach, was it?"

Watching with pleasure Sara feed the tarantula, Grissom pursed his face in slight exasperation. "She ate him," he replied with exaggerated sadness.

Sara pinched her lips together to stifle her laughter at his discomfited face.

"I must have…" he shrugged, heaving a great sigh, "…accidentally left Charlotte's lid slightly ajar; the little fellow never stood a chance."

"It's tragic," said Sara, a giggle escaping.

"It took me a week to find her," he continued nonplussed by her mockery. "She was hiding behind the washing machine."

Sara frowned worriedly at his words and made sure the lid to Charlotte's tank was well and truly secure.

"Anyway," Grissom was now saying, "since he couldn't race anymore, I decided to branch out."

"You race spiders?"

Grissom was looking a little unsure by the tone of Sara's remark. "You find this…weird?"

"A little," Sara replied instinctively, "but I guess it's…very much you."

"What do you mean it's me?"

"It's who you are." She smiled warmly. "You race roaches –

"Raced," he amended softly.

"Raced roaches," Sara repeated. "You keep pigs in jars; you eat chocolate-covered…" she let her sentence trail, her eyes broadening as she turned her head toward the tank full of insects and small arthropods. "Do you two share snacks?"

Grissom chuckled softly. "No," he replied categorically.

She pursed her face as she considered whether to believe him or not, all the while watching as Charlotte hungrily scuttled around the grasshopper. "How does the whole spider racing work?" she asked. "Don't they scuttle all over the place?"

"They use their spider sense to get to the finishing line," Grissom deadpanned.

Sara playfully narrowed her gaze at him but didn't take the bait and continued to watch as the tarantula encircled the grasshopper. "Does her size make her go faster or slower?"

"She's a free spirit, Sara, just like you," Grissom said in a long sigh. "I don't seem to be able to train her."

Sara's face lit up at his words. "Maybe you should just let her run free," she said, lifting her gaze to him and smiling cheekily when she found him watching her.

Grissom's grin was mischievous. "Just not around the house, hey?"

I didn't like his look, Sara's inner voice whispered. Just then when he said that.

Me neither, she thought as she returned her gaze on the tarantula.

"Come on, Sara," Grissom was now saying, taking her by the hand, "let's leave her alone. She doesn't like an audience when she eats."

"You want something to drink…or eat?" he asked as they got to the kitchen.

"No, thanks," Sara replied, stifling a yawn. "I'm still full from breakfast."

He nodded. "Me too. You tired?" he then asked. Sara couldn't help noticing the slight hesitation in his voice and the worry in his eyes. "You ready for bed?"

This is it, Sara. He's made a move.

Sara smiled, hiding her nervousness. "I'm okay. You?"

Coward!

"I'm okay," he replied. "You want to watch a little television?"

"Sure."

They moved to the lounge and Grissom switched the TV on, remarking. "You never played your next move."

Sara followed his gaze to the chess game, and smiled. "I left in kind of a hurry."

"Pammie's call?"

Sara didn't reply, her mind already trying to figure out a way to get her queen out of check.

"What do you want to watch?" she heard him say.

"I don't mind. You pick."

She heard his quick channel surfing and then an excited, "They're showing North by Northwest. I love this movie!"

"I've never seen it," Sara replied distractedly.

"Never?"

Sara played her next move and straightened herself up, frowning with confusion at his words.

"You've never watched North by Northwest?" he repeated with disbelief. To which, Sara shook her head. "Well, we're going to remedy that," he said enthusiastically, "and I've got the perfect accompaniment."

He jumped to his feet and disappeared down the steps to the kitchen. While he was gone, Sara made herself as comfortable as she could on the wretched couch and was soon so completely engrossed in the film that she didn't hear him return. Grissom plopped himself in front of her and cleared his throat, causing her to slowly look up toward him.

"Shift over," he told her, nodding toward the couch.

Sara moved over, smiling as she caught sight of his goodies. "What are these?" she asked.

"What do they look like?" he quipped back uncertainly as he sat down next to her.

Sara pursed her face good-humouredly. "Popsicles?" she hazarded.

He held one out to her. "Tell me what you think; they're not your usual made-with-water types. These are more ice-cream on a stick. I've been perfecting the recipe for some time," he stated casually.

"You made these?" Sara asked with astonishment.

"Huh-huh," he mumbled as he casually began sucking on his popsicle, his eyes fixed on the television screen.

Giant bugs and popsicles, Sara mused, looking at her treat with a little distrust. Just when I thought I knew everything about him.

"So?" he asked a moment later. "You don't like it?"

Sara hesitantly brought the popsicle to her mouth and darted a quick tongue over the top, her face pursing favourably at the taste. Not bad, she thought with surprise as she licked at it a little more. And then a little more, until she sucked at it with enthusiasm. "It's unlike anything I've ever tasted," she mused. "It's a rather unusual flavour for an ice-cream."

Visibly tensing at her words, Grissom turned a fearful gaze toward her. "You don't have to eat it, you know…if you don't like it."

"No. I like it. It's just…different," she said contemplatively as she broke a small corner off with her teeth and chomped on it.

Grissom nodded, wincing slightly in hesitation. "Please, don't freak out-"

Giant bugs and popsicles! Sara's head shot round toward him as realisation dawned. "Grissom!" she cried out, swallowing painfully before punching him on the arm. "I can't believe I fell for that! Which one of the poor defenceless creatures did you murder to make these, huh?" She repressed a shiver at the thought.

"Locustella Naevia," he replied, his grin wide and pleasurable. "It's good though, isn't it?"

Sara grudgingly agreed with a shrug of the shoulder and dipped the popsicle back into her mouth, returning her attention on the movie before inconspicuously shuffling a little closer on the couch toward him. She felt him stretch his right arm over the back of the couch and slowly ease it down over her shoulder. Sara couldn't help the wide grin on her face anymore that the feeling of sheer pleasure that suddenly coursed through her or the quickening of her heartbeat. She wriggled herself down into the couch, burrowing herself deeper into the crook of his arm.

Chancing a backward look toward him, she found him watching her, a tender smile on his lips, and she couldn't help the sigh of pleasure that escaped her mouth. You see, this couch isn't so bad after all, she told her inner voice as she returned his warm smile and reached up to kiss him on the corner of the mouth.

"Thank you, Grissom," she said, looking into his eyes, "for sharing this with me."

He winked and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose, averting his gaze back to the TV screen. "I've just thought of our first rule," he mused as she resettled herself into his arms to watch the film.

"Yeah?" she replied distractedly. "What's that?"

"I want you to call me Gil, Sara. No more Grissom."

Sara turned a questioning face toward him. "No more Grissom?" she repeated with surprise. He shook his head. "Griss?"

"No more Griss either. Not when we're alone together like this, at home. It makes me feel like your boss and-" He sighed the rest of his sentence off.

Sara nodded her understanding. "You sure?" His nod was all the reassurance she needed. She smiled, turning away. "Gil…" she tried. "Gil. I like it."

"Me too, honey," he murmured, his lips on her hair. "Me too."

A/N: Just in case you didn't know, North by Northwest is a 1959 American suspense film directed by Alfred Hitchcock, starring Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint, and sadly isn't mine.