Set probably sometime in season 7.
I own nothing.. but I do own a bag of lemons!
For my friend C, because she just GETS IT.
What the hell are you looking at, Lady?
For fuck's sake, I'm going to kill that man when I get home. I glance over and the grey haired women with atrocious purple eyeshadow presses her thin lips together and glares.
Oh my GOD, I get it, I stink. You don't need to give me that look.
This lady behind me in the checkout is driving me nuts. Her little lopsided barret looks like it's about to fall of her wrinkly old face, and that stupid embroidered hanker-chief she's holding up to her nose is so dramatic.
I can sympathize with her that I don't exactly smell pleasant, but she should consider herself lucky she didn't have to experience it first hand.
Honestly, I'm going to murder him and hide his body. I know how to do it and not get caught. Freaking Gilbert.
The day started out great. We had spend the morning in bed eating leftover pasta from the night before because dinner for breakfast is kind of our thing.. almost 10 years of graveyard shift will do that to you. We were watching reruns of Frasier and enjoying pesto and pepper pasta when his pager went off. Then Gil's phone rang. It was supposed to be my night off but everyone else was out at their own scenes, and Grissom, being on call, agreed to come in and told Brass he'd "give me a call and ask me to come in for backup.' He shot me an apologetic smile from his side of the bed as he continued his conversation with, and I rolled my eyes.
419 found washed up in an old oil barrel out at Lake Mead. It was putrid. I'm pretty used to decomps by now, but the enclosed space ones... man, that's something else. I don't understand why these idiots bother stuffing their victims in bags and bins anyways. It's as if they're trying to get caught by sealing all of the evidence into one small space and hand delivering it to us. If it were me, I'd... well, nevermind.
Anyways, the poor guy was rancid. Doc and Gil didn't seem phased of course, and I really tried to keep a neutral face when they dumped him out onto the slab but there's only so much I can manage. I almost brought up my pasta. Gil gave me a little wink from across the slab.. I think he saw the colour drain from my face. I know Doc caught that look Gil shot me. I figured Al had put two and two together by now anyways.. and I was more concerned with trying not to contaminate the body with my own vomit.
We got what we needed from Doc, there wasn't much left of the guy so we weren't in the morgue long, but in that short time the vic's stench had soaked deep into both of our pores.
You see.. Gil and I have this rule, when it comes to decomps. If we're out of lemons at home, we flip a coin to see who gets the lovely privilege of heading to the store to buy more.. which leads me to now. We're out of lemons. And I lost the coin toss. Again.
Gil's face when that stupid quarter landed heads up... idiot. That quirky little boyish smile I usually love is the bane of my existence right now. Especially with this old lady clearing her throat and continuing to give me the dirtiest look I've seen in a long time... not to mention the poor unsuspecting shoppers in the produce aisle. I tried to be quick, I really did.
It's a good thing I love the man, because this is humiliating. This lady probably thinks I have the worst personal hygiene on the planet. I'm half tempted to scar her for life and tell her what I do for a living and what exactly it is she's smelling.. but I suppose I've already ruined her evening by just being 6 feet in front of her.
I watch the man ahead of me pay and take his bags with him, and I walk quickly up to the cashier, placing the four bags of lemons and a pack of gum on the conveyor. I do not want to run the risk of running out of them and having to come back here.
"Find everything ok, ma'am?" The young pimple faced kid asks.
"Yes, thanks." I reply quickly. I literally just have lemons kid, you really think I had a hard time finding the big yellow balls in the citrus aisle?
"Great," I watch his nose scrunch up as my apparent foul odour hits him. He instantly loses all colour in his face as he looks up at me with wide, horrified eyes.
I watch the kid as he scans the last bag of lemons, and he mumbles my total, to which I bitterly tell him I'm paying with debit. I have Gil's card with me, because while we share everything now anyways, including bills, the spite in me thinks it's only fair for "him" to pay for these stupid lemons if I'm the one who has to come out for them.
I couldn't get out of here faster if I tried.
Fucking Gil.
Now I can never come back to this grocery store again. They're probably going to print out my photo from the security camera footage and post it on their staff bulletin board as a warning: Do Not Let This Woman Shop Here.
This kid honestly looks like he's about to throw up all over the register as he hands me my receipt.
Trust me, I know the feeling Connor.
I mumble a thankyou, as well as a half hearted apology, but not before I shoot that miserable old woman a dirty look. I know I'm better than that, but I'm tired, my day off was ruined with a putrid and bloated corpse, and I've effectively scarred half a dozen living human beings in this store because I smell like a dead one.
I grab my bag and immediately speed walk towards the door, for once I'm thankful for my long legs.
I catch a few other shoppers turn towards me in shock on my way out and roll my eyes.
You're welcome. I'm just a humble civil servant solving the crimes you morons decide to commit in your free time. Don't like the smell of rotting flesh and liquefying organs? Maybe you shouldn't go murdering your neighbours because they play their music too loud on a Wednesday night.
Man, I'm in a foul mood.
I make my way back to our townhouse and as I pull up I see his Mercedes in the driveway and roll my eyes. He's probably already in the steaming hot shower, waiting for me and my special citrus delivery.
Sure enough as I unlock the door, I'm greeted with a wave of warm steam trailing out from our bedroom ensuite and the happy tip tap of Hank's paws on the hardwood.
"Hey buddy." I mumble as I pat his head tiredly.
Whenever we have particularly bad decomps, we undress at the door and throw our offensive clothes into the garage immediately so the scent doesn't permeate out little sanctuary.. so as soon as my shoes are off, so are my clothes.
Fuck. This was a nice bra. John Doe, if you've ruined my new bra I'm going to be even more pissed than I already am.
Once my clothes are off, I throw them in the garage and head towards the kitchen to grab a small pairing knife, and then make my way towards our bedroom.
As I enter our room the cloud of steam thickens as it trails out from the ensuite and I can smell his musky body wash immediately.
Don't smile, Sara. You're pissed, remember? This is the third time in a row you've had to do this stupid lemon run because of a freaking coin toss.
"You officially get to get the lemons next time. No more coin toss." I say curtly as I enter our bathroom. I hear him chuckle from behind the fogged up glass.
"Fair enough." He replies, annoyingly chipper.
"Some stupid old lady gave me the shittiest look in the checkout line because I smell like 3 month old human soup, and the cashier, some kid named Connor, almost puked on my bag." I grumble as I slide the glass door open and step inside.
"She should consider herself special, the vast majority of the human population don't get to experience the smell of decomp." Grissom retorted as he turned around to face me with a bright smile.
"I'm not exactly sure there's anything special about this." I grimace as I sniff my hair briefly, and then hand him a lemon and the knife. "Not everyone gets the same morbid enjoyment out of decomposition that you do, Gil."
"Thankyou, dear." He quirks his lips as he takes the lemon from me, and then leans down to kiss my lips gently. "You stink."
"I know." I growl, and shoot him a playful, dirty look.
"I'll make it up to you." Gil smiles seductively as he inches closer to me, and places a hand on my right hip. In a slow motion he turns us around so my body is under the shower head, and the hot water falls onto my scalp.
He doesn't remove his hand, instead he caresses my hip bone with his thumb for a moment.
Damn you, Gilbert. I'm still angry with you....
"I'm still angry." I grumble, as I lean into his touch and close my eyes in enjoyment.
"I know."
"Are you going to cut up those lemons or what?" I open one eye to look at his cheeky grin. God damn, I love this stupid man.
"Yes dear." He nods as he squeezes my hip one last time before removing it to halve the first lemon.
Gently, he reaches his arms up and squeezes the juice into my hair. He uses as much concentration with this simple task as he would with important evidence. He is always so thorough when it comes to intimate moments.. even when they are as revolting as this one.
He repeats the cutting and squeezing several times, and gently massages the juice into my hair and scalp, and I let out an involuntary moan as his fingertips reach the base of my skull. He knows exactly what he's doing, dammit.
After he's finished his ministrations with my hair, he moves on to my back and arms and chest.
I can tell, from his body's response, that he's enjoying this more than he should. I let out a quick chuckle. Only a forensic scientist like Grissom would find a post decomp lemon shower to be erotic.
He hears my chuckle and looks at me, with a curious raised eyebrow. I know that look. I laugh again and smack his arm playfully, and shoot him a frown. Reminding him I'm not happy.
He rolls his eyes humorously, and then kisses my cheek.
"Get dried off. I'll be out in a minute. I'll make you ginger tea." Gil smiles tenderly.
He knows that after particularly gruesome or emotional cases I don't have much of an appetite.. my stomach is usually unsettled, and eating is the last thing on my mind. He gave up trying to feed me after the first few months of our relationship. Now he always makes me ginger tea, with honey and lemon and brings it to me in bed.
I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a fresh, soft white towel, and wrap my hair up in a smaller one. I make my way back to our room and find an oversized shirt from Gil's drawer and a pair of cotton underwear and slip into our bed with an exhausted sigh.
Several minutes later I hear the shower turn off, and hear Gil clear his throat as he too steps out and dries himself off. I can't see, but I know that he is probably brushing his hair back and enveloping himself in his soft, bulky grey bath robe.
Sure enough he steps out of the bathroom in his robe a minute later and heads to the kitchen to start the kettle.
When he comes back in with our tea, he makes some kind of comment about the old Audrey Hepburn movie I'm watching on cable, and joins me under the covers.
We sip our teas, and enjoy the silence together until the credits roll, and as he turns out his bedside light, takes off his glasses and lays down on his pillow, he laughs.
"What's so funny?" I quip, trying to maintain my unimpressed facade as I lay down try to get comfortable.
I feel his warm body inch closer to mine, his bare chest flush against my back, the only barrier between us is the thin fabric of his old collage shirt. He sneaks his right hand over my hip, and underneath the shirt as his fingertips begin to caress my sensitive flesh in circular motions. He laughs again, the vibrations rumble through my upper back as he places a kiss on my shoulder and lays his head down.
"I love you." He whispers quietly into the crook of my neck. "Even when you smell like death."
My heart swelled in my chest and remembered Greg's words from a few years ago.
A real man wouldn't mind, you know.
"I love you too, Gil." I smile happily, probably for the first time since breakfast. I decide to give up being pissy.
He gives my body a soft squeeze, as he exhales, and I hear his breathing begin to deepen as exhaustion overtakes him.
I feel myself sleeping into a perfect lemon scented slumber, and before I surrender to it, I mumble:
"You still get to do the lemon runs from now on."
I hope you enjoyed this little story. It came to my head when my friend C and I were gushing over our girlfriend Sara Sidle. We share her. Don't worry about the logistics of it. ;)
Please review! Xo