Candy

by vigirl

Just another geeky evening in Vegas – G/S

Title:  Candy

Author: Alison Nixon / VIgirl

Rating: PG-13

Category:   Vignette

Spoilers:  No spoilers, no episode references at all, actually.

Summary:  Just another geeky evening in Vegas – G/S

Disclaimers: The usual. None of the characters are mine. They belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS, et al. 

Feedback: Of course!  Please do let me know what you think.

Archival:  www.grissomandsara.com, otherwise please ask first.

Author's Notes:  It's hard to describe this one.  That's why the title is so…odd. G  Basically, it's just a fun scenario that popped into my head.  I wanted to write something fluffy, I guess…Yeah, that's my story and I'm sticking to it… ;-)

******

Even as the small wave of water splashed onto his glasses and most of his face, Grissom counted his blessings.  The water was nice and warm, and somehow, he had clamped his eyes shut just in time.  Laughter tickled at his throat, but he swallowed it as best he could.  The source of the commotion would have interpreted any levity as encouragement, and Grissom was already as moist as he intended to be.  He stared down the culprit as best he could, but by the time the first few beads of water spattered across his lenses started their frantic race downward, rather like sprinters dashing at the sound of a gun, he knew it was no use.  There was no way to know which drop won, but when the world blurred before his eyes, Grissom knew who had lost.  Undone by gravity, he could only sigh, tug the glasses from his face, and reach for the towel that lay nearby. 

When he could see clearly again, he considered his options.  Should he even bother with his face?  The odds of getting splashed again, after all, were not in his favor.  Well at least it smells good, he thought, dropping the towel back to the floor.  Hmmm…I wonder if… His tongue curled up past his teeth as he sampled the liquid dotting his upper lip.  Bubblegum?  Yes, and almost as sweet.  Grissom picked up the bottle of bubble bath sitting on the tub's edge and studied the label intently.  He wasn't at all sure that he liked the thought of sugared bath water.

"I can see that we're going to have to talk to Mama about this."

He pointed the Snoopy-shaped container towards a small boy whose antics ceased only when he saw his father's frown. 

"Mmmph."  Despite several affirmative bounces of his head, the sound the child made probably indicated something less than complete comprehension.

"I mean…you might as well be bathing in candy, Will."

"Can-dy!" 

Grissom ducked, but again, a second too late.  Now the upper part of his shirt was wet, too.  He gave in to the laughter at last, unable to resist his son's glee.   

"Did someone say 'candy'?" 

In an instant, two tiny arms were out of the water and straining forward urgently.  "Mama!!  Mama candy!"

Sara leaned against the doorframe, arms folded.  

"Grissom, what have you been doing in here?  There's water everywhere, he's still soapy, and you look like a soggy spid--" 

She cleared her throat at his dark look.  "And…meanwhile, the kid's calling me 'candy.'"  Her eyes accused her husband.  "Have you been using me in one of those weird word association games with him again?"

She tried not to smile at the look on his face; the man's faith knew no bounds.  He still thought he could pull that blank innocence on her, even after all these years. 

"I can't imagine what you mean, Sara." 

Blue eyes met brown; blue improvised. 

"Anyway…they aren't weird word games.  They're a carefully thought out series of linguistic memory exercises that will have him talking in complex, grammatical sentences within a year."  He took a moment to recalculate.  "Six months, if we're lucky."

As she dislodged herself from the doorway, Sara stepped closer to the tub.  She sank down on her haunches, her bare feet arching gracefully to support her weight. 

"Oh, I see.  And I suppose this has nothing to do with the fact that you can only understand every third word he says right now.  Just like it has nothing to do with you wanting him to hurry up and communicate like a little adult.  You know, so you can…talk tarantula with him."  She gestured with one slender hand, linking father and son.  "Man to man."

"That has nothing to do with it, nothing at all."

Their eyes met again, trading the easy smiles born of long, loving familiarity.

"Mmmph!" 

Although the precise meaning of their toddler's newly coined un-word had yet to be revealed, there was something about his confident delivery they liked.  Eager to decipher his code, the two parents broke away from their gazing and turned their attention back to the small person in the tub.  With any luck, he might deign to make some further pronouncement on the proceedings.

When the child merely lifted his brows in response like a wise man that knows more than he will tell, Sara leaned forward and ran her knuckles against his cheek.  He laughed, beaming in the way he usually did when she touched his face. 

"So are you all clean, little man?"

"Yeah!"

Grissom positioned his head just outside of Sara's peripheral vision and wagged it back and forth.

"Noooo!"

Sara directed her voice over her shoulder. "You know, I question the motives of a man who would confuse his own child just to aggravate his wife."

Her skin tingled when his hands, one wet and one dry, eased their way under the loose edges of her shirt.

"Well, just how….aggravated…are you?"

"You're sick, Grissom."

"Isn't that why you married me?"

She shook her head at her son as his father continued to trace the area just above the waistband of her shorts.  "You know what's sad, Will?  I think it was." 

The boy beamed again, favoring his mother with a miniature version of her smile.  She grinned back, full of solidarity--whatever else might change about his teeth, she knew that the gap was there to stay.  Unless he ends up needing braces for the rest of his teeth… God, I wonder what braces go for these days?  The thought made her wince, but she soon put it into its proper place on her list of parental concerns.  In all likelihood, as long as the kid didn't inherit his father's ragged row of lower teeth, he would be fine.  His orthodontia was important, though--it was amusing for Grissom to leave strange bite patterns on her, but she wasn't terribly enthused about Will doing the same thing to some hapless female years from now.  Actually, she realized with some horror, she wasn't too interested in the idea of her little boy doing anything to any female, ever.  Just the thought was…Sara closed her eyes, unable to repress a shudder. 

Grissom caught the movement as it rippled down her back. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just…I just got a mental image of him…messing around with some girl eventually, and…I know it's really uncool to say this, but it pretty much…grossed me out." 

"Well, but that's natural.  Children don't want to imagine their parents having sex; parents feel the same way about children.  It's instinctive.  Healthy."  He patted her gently.  "Besides, you could never be uncool."

She twisted towards him.  

"Man, you really want it bad, don't you?"

"Yes, wife, I do."  His eyes focused on hers.  "And the sooner you leave me alone with the boy so that I can finish cleaning him, the sooner I can show you what I mean." 

Sara took in the cast of his eyes before sliding down to his mouth.  He had that…look, the one that usually made her catch a bit of her lower lip between her teeth.   Good thing I bought more duct tape…  

"Consider me gone."  She bent down to press her lips to Will's forehead.  "See you, little man.  Sleep tight."

He nodded goodbye amid squeaky munches of the rubber spider bath toy between his teeth.  Sara stood and stretched.  As she turned to leave, she graze her husband's shoulder ever so lightly with one of her bare legs.

"Don't…be too long, okay?" 

Grissom watched her go, eyeing what seemed to be a mile-long expanse of milky skin that ran from her heels to her rear, which motherhood had plumped ever so slightly.  He often wished someone had told him earlier about such delights of family life.  If he had known what awaited him, he might have gotten the procreative process started with her long ago.

When he finally turned back to the tub, the child's eyes were fastened on his face.  Like any man proud of the beautiful thing he has won, he couldn't resist a little self-congratulation. 

"Yeah, Daddy's got it like that, my boy.  Look and learn."

High-pitched and spontaneous, the laugh struck Grissom as a kind of appreciative male applause.  It might have struck a warier man as a prelude to his getting doused again, but fatherhood had softened his instincts.

After the older of the two males in the room had wiped his face for the third time, lesson unlearned, the bath ritual continued.  Will paid scant attention to his father's scrubbing and sudsing; bath time was playtime for him.  He drowned and rescued his favorite toys, sang peculiar songs, splashed his father, and generally had an excellent time.  As Sara had predicted shortly after he arrived in the world, he was indeed a happy baby. 

As he leaned forward to turn on the faucet and cup the rush of warm water in one hand, Grissom watched his child with no small degree of wonder.  What is he up to now?  

Round head bowed, light brown hair plastered slickly to his scalp, Will appeared to be engaged in an intense inspection of his toes, which wiggled freely now that he had contrived to raise his foot out of the water and into the air.  Maintaining this position required a balancing act rather too complicated for his not quite three-year-old body, however, and he soon leaned back into the hand Grissom had brought forward to rinse him. 

"Whoa, what are you up to?" 

Pointing indignantly at the offender as if it had moved of its own accord, Will sputtered.  "Tha's my foot."

"Yes, it is," Grissom agreed.  He considered the appendage.  "May I have it?"

A pair of eyes so very like his seemed to reflect for a moment before they declined.

"Oh, okay.  Well, maybe I can have this?"  Grissom grabbed at the boy's big toe, holding it hostage between his thumb and index finger.

"No-o-o." 

The ear was next.  "What about this?" 

The child laughed again, but still refused. 

"So…what can I have, then?"

Right on cue, Will turned serious.  "You can' have nothin', Daddy.  Mama say no."

"And we always listen to Mama, don't we?"

Two heads, one big and one little, bobbed in unison. 

Smiling, Grissom continued cupping and rinsing until most of the lather had melted away.  He then patted Will's back three times, prompting the boy to plant his hands on either side of the tub and stand up.  He waited as the water began to drain and his father rinsed off the lower half of his body.  Finally, the colorful towel with the Snoopy and Woodstock design, his favorite, was wrapped around him several times as Grissom lifted him out of the tub.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Will balanced his weight with one hand against Grissom's shoulder and began rubbing his feet against the thick bath mat.  He was particular about the drying sequence--his feet had to be thoroughly free of moisture before the rest of his body could be attended to.  Grissom, who knew to look for the tiny frown that was sure to appear on his face as he concentrated on the task, could appreciate this reversal of the usual formula.  As far as bath habits were concerned, it was definitely like mother, like son. 

Once Will signaled that he was satisfied, his father began what all three members of the family liked to call "the rubs."  This aggressive regimen, carefully calibrated to maximize the ticklish feeling of towels against skin, had become part of the boy's bath time ritual.  Grissom, the undisputed expert in the technique, seemed to be in fine form this evening.  After a minute or two of his child's giggles, Grissom shifted his focus to Will's stomach, an area of particular sensitivity.  As he placed his hands on either side of the boy's middle, he rolled the small body back and forth as though it were a fistful of PlayDoh.  Happily, there was plenty to roll, as the stomach in question protruded in the tubby way children's bellies often do.

"Can I have this?"

"No!"

Grissom seemed to scoff.  "Are you sure?  Because I think I already have it." 

"I…" Keeping a firm grasp on his prize, he rolled the little body forward, "…think…"  He whipped him backward. "I…" Now forward again, "have…" and back one last time, "…you."

Cackling now, Will snaked his arms under his father's and dove for a strategic target.  Grissom grunted as two tiny hands grabbed as much of his much larger belly as they could hold.

"Then I wan' this!"

"Oh no, you don't."

"Yes, I do-o-o."

Startled, Grissom reached up to tap his hearing aid.  He would have sworn the boy had just sung that to him.  Nothing about his offspring should have surprised him anymore, but this was a new one.

"But…you have your own belly, Will." 

The scowl came so quickly Grissom had to wonder if the boy practiced his reaction time in the mirror when he was alone.  

"I tell you what.  If you give back mine, I'll give you yours."

Will squinted, his expression one of youthful suspicion.

"Mmmm….'kay."

"On the count of three, then.  When I say three, we both let go, right?" 

The child nodded. 

"Ready?  One…two…three!"

The happy squeals started even before Grissom reneged on the deal.  In one smooth motion, he had wrapped his arms around the boy and stood up.  One twist later and Will's head was dangling down towards his father's feet. 

"You do know what happens to little boys who get turned upside down, don't you?"

Will arched his head upward, his grin growing even wider.

"They go to bed!"

"Yes, they do." 

It's about time, Grissom noted thankfully, losing no time in transporting the boy back to his room.

Mama doesn't like to be kept waiting.

******

As the sounds of childish delight finally subsided into the usual quiet of her home, Sara scanned herself critically in the bathroom mirror.   She knew he liked this look, though she had never quite figured out why.  Sure, black flattered her figure, but Grissom's fascination with seeing her in sleek black strapless bra sets still mystified her.  He had murmured hints of his reasons over the years, sweetly poetic notions about the curve of her neck, the fine lines of her shoulders, the sloping softness that led down to her breasts.  He said a great many things, in fact, but she rarely let him see her taking his tributes to heart.  It was only in her private moments that she replayed every word, recalling his look and his voice as he had praised her.  Like many wise wives, Sara had figured out that half the pleasure of their exchanges came from letting him think she didn't quite believe what she heard.  The more she waved away his romanticism, the more creative he became and in the end, the happier they both were.  It was an ideal arrangement.

"Ah, my favorite."

He had slipped into their room so quietly that he was already in the bathroom doorway before she realized he was there.  Advancing towards her with a sly smile, he positioned himself behind her and claimed her waist. He kissed a spot just below her ear.

"You are much too good to me, Sara."

"Isn't that why you married me?"

She smiled as he applied the evening's first nip to her shoulder. 

"Yes, although you've become much more difficult to deal with since you became a mother."

Her hands covered his and eased them upward.  "Really?  Just this morning you were going on about how I've become so much sexier to sleep with since I became a mother."

"Well, flattery does get me everywhere."

He coughed as she drove a pointy elbow somewhere below his ribs. 

"Come on, woman." 

Wrapping his arms around her, Grissom propelled her slender frame ahead of him.  Once they had crossed back into the bedroom, he released her just long enough to push her hair over her shoulder and give himself easy access to her neck.  He kissed her, working his way from a spot between the shoulder blades up to her hairline.  She made a soft noise in her throat and backed up, pressing her length against his.  They stood that way for a while, making only small, targeted movements, just reveling in the points of contact. By some unspoken agreement, when they were both ready, they moved towards the polished ash of the dresser that sat against the wall a few feet away.  Grissom continued to plant kisses against her neck and shoulders as they approached, so engrossed in his work that he almost didn't hear her speak.

"Grissom?  I've always wondered…how is it that this dresser is exactly the right height?"

"Hmm?"

"You heard me."

They were now standing right in front of the piece, looking at each other in the large oval mirror set into a delicately filigreed frame that hung above it.  Sara had found the mirror on one of their meandering walks through some European city or another.  He couldn't quite remember which—they had explored many quaint, cobbled squares on their honeymoon.  That day, Sara's delight with her treasure and the light in her eyes when he agreed that it was worth the trouble of shipping back to Vegas was all he really remembered.  Indeed, as he often reminded himself when he lay in their bed watching her sleep, it was all he needed to remember. 

"I…it was just a good estimation, really.  I just…eyeballed it," he replied with elaborate casualness as buried his head in her hair.

"You eyeballed it," she repeated, deadpan.

"Yes."

"Well, if you did, they ought to use your eyes instead of the Hubble telescope, or something, honey, because you managed to do what most people couldn't."  She stared into the mirror.  "Without a measuring tape, that is."

Grissom sought refuge in the hypothetical.

"I may have…possibly…measured the length of your legs while you were asleep, once or…twice, just to figure out the distance from hip to knee.  Then I may have…measured the relevant distance of my own legs, and plotted the exact intersection between our…"  He hurried on.  "And after that, I suppose I went on to make my purchase accordingly."  He paused.  "That may have happened."

Her laughter had started long before he stopped speaking.

"You were remarkably hard to fit, too.  I almost had to have it custom made."  He sighed, casting his eyes downward.  "My, what long legs you have, Grandma…"

Sara braced her hands against the edge of the dresser as her gasps made her double over.  He kept his eyes on her, smiling but not remotely embarrassed.  That was another unexpected benefit of married life—very few secrets, and better yet, very little need for them.  She knew and he knew just how much he enjoyed making love to her.  All he had done was devote a tiny bit of research to furthering that end. 

As she tried to catch her breath, Sara put her head in her hands.  "And this is the father of my children?"

He pivoted her around to face him, picked her up by the waist and settled her on top of the dresser.  Her legs locked around his waist.

"Absolutely."

He spoke quietly and almost against her lips as he moved in to kiss her.  His hands took their time trailing up to the clasp of her bra, taking a firm grasp on the fabric as he prepared to undo it.

The sound came faintly, but by now, they would have known it anywhere.  

"Grissom, how could you forget to set it?"

Grissom opted for ignorance.  "Was I supposed to set it?"

Sara used her knees to force him backward.  "Don't play dumb.  Whoever puts him to bed turns on the motion sensor."  She crossed her arms.  "You were the one who wanted it installed, remember?  I can handle my child's…interruptions."

"Sara, please.  It's not like you haven't benefited from it."  His eyes were shrewd.  "I haven't heard you complaining about having my…undivided attention in here."

Her cheeks felt like they were on fire, but she soldiered on.

"Well, well…that's…not even relevant.  Enjoyment of the unasked for effect of an action does not imply approval of the action itself." 

Her husband stared.  "Unasked for?  What bedroom have you been living in?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, vexed by the certainty of his recalling her convoluted logic later, at the most inconvenient time.  Great, now I'll be granting him sexual favors for the next month!

"So are you just going to stand there, or are you going to let him in?"  She tried not to sound defensive as she slid down from the dresser and stepped around him.  "Just wait till I get my clothes on."

Her ears caught him cursing, something about the female of the species being deadlier than-- 

"Hey!" 

He gave her a flinty look but before he could reply, there was another thud, and then one more.  Then came another, the loudest one yet.  Grissom grumbled as he strode to the door.

Will, standing on the other side, continued to whack his head with remarkable consistency, tapping out some mysterious staccato, or maybe just his unique version of Morse code.  In any case, determined to tap out the last signal and complete his message, he stepped backward to give himself some room. He then surged forward.  In the moment that he saw the door finally swing open, it did occur to the boy that he should stop.  In the moment after that, it did occur to the boy's father that he had built up way too much momentum to do anything of the sort.  With no way to avert disaster, Grissom could only fight his urge to laugh aloud at the way Will's awkward little body pitched forward face first.  Still, he had to hand it to him, though.  The kid fell like a bowlegged pro. 

Bending over, Grissom reached down and pulled Will to his feet.  Sara, yanking down the hem of her shirt just in time, rushed over and lifted him into her arms. 

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you, sweetie?"

Even at his tender age, he had seen his father's handiwork often enough to know what to do.  Had he been capable of complex sentences, he would have surely explained to his mother a simple fact of life--no one does blank innocence like a child. 

"Mama, I hit my head."  Will mashed both fists into his eyes.  

"Oh no, sweetie, where did you hit your head?  Where?  Do you want me to kiss it for you?"

His single, pained nod expressed his wishes more eloquently than any words.  Caught up in applying her lips to every inch of her son's forehead, Sara never even noticed the sneaky little smile that crept over his face.  Grissom took in the scene and tipped an invisible hat to a young master of the art.

"All right, I think that's enough attendance to a completely minor head wound."  Grissom approached the two and took his son into his arms over Sara's protests.  "Now, why did you get out of bed?"

Will looked from one to the other, trying desperately to remember.  Sara's warm brown gaze reminded him.

"Mama…Mama didn' tuck me in."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry.  I…I…"  Telltale warmth bloomed on her face.  "Daddy…Daddy distracted me." 

As the child whipped his head around and fixed the "distraction" with a beady glare, Grissom's mouth fell open.  Sara busied herself looking at anything but the man she had married, whose glare in her direction spoke volumes.

Keep it up, Sara.  That'll be two months of favors.  Duct tape will be the least of your problems, trust me.

Choosing the wrong moment to risk eye contact, she looked up and read her punishment.  Damn!   Sara forced herself to take a long, deep breath.  She'd deal with Grissom later.  Right now, there was mothering to be done.

"I tell you what, Will.  How about if I tuck you in right now, okay?"

"'Kay."

The boy practically leapt from Grissom's arms to hers.

"Oh, nice," he muttered.

Like any wise mother, Sara recognized an opportunity to turn her child's gaffe to her marital advantage.  She didn't hesitate to dazzle the boy with her most appealing smile. 

"I think you hurt Daddy's feelings, little man," she said softly.

Will ducked his head, but the smile had already slipped through his defenses. 

"Who gives you the best baths, huh?" 

"Daddy."

"Who gives you the best rubs?"

"Daddy."

"All right then."  Sara stepped close to her husband and leaned forward as Will put his chubby arms up around Grissom's neck.  Wet and sloppy, his kiss left a shiny streak on Grissom's cheek.

"Goodnight, Will."

"'Night, Daddy."

After catching her husband's eye to make sure that he had accepted her gesture, Sara moved towards the door, rebalancing Will's small bulk on her right hip as she did so.  The boy laid his head on her shoulder.  He waved goodbye to Grissom in mid-yawn, perfectly content to go back to bed now that his mission had been accomplished.  

******

Humming softly, Sara stopped and pressed a finger to the small white panel in the hall leading to the bedroom.  A woman's work really is never done.  All the man had to do was turn it on…

"You know, maybe this is just part of the aging process. You know how it starts…forgetting people's names, repeating yourself…failing to turn on a motion sensor before exploring your wife's…aggravation…"  Her smile was a lover's taunt.  "Maybe Alzheimer's isn't as far off for you as we thought, Grissom."

Without lifting his head up from the stack of pillows on which it lay, Grissom opened his eyes just wide enough to dismiss her.

"Go ahead and get your laughs in now."  He smiled enigmatically.  "You'll go demented long before I do, anyway."

"Says who?"

"It's all part of my master plan."

By this point, she had reached the edge of their bed and stood with her hands on her hips.  She knew that he was waiting for her to ask what he meant, but she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.

"You see, if I send you down the Alzheimer's route first, our age difference becomes moot.  You wouldn't even remember how to throw me over for some lab boy by then, even if you wanted to.  So the way I see it, whenever you lose your wits, I win."

Her eyes widened as she considered whether his dementia had, in fact, already set in.  "Grissom.  Alzheimer's doesn't even run in my family."

"Small matter.  I have my ways.  I've even been looking into the latest research, since dementia can be a factor in the psychodynamics of violence among the elderly.  Did you know that neurologists now think that Alzheimer's may be caused by environmental and lifestyle factors, and not just genetics?  Things like the level of intellectual stimulation, physical fitness, maybe even a certain kind of viral--"

"You are totally making that up, and you know it."

He looked at her.  "Am I?" 

She crossed her arms.

"You're already two months in the hole, why not make it three?"

"Dream on." 

She hoped she sounded more brazen than she actually felt.  Truth be told, she wasn't sure she could handle three months of her husband having his way with her—especially now.

"You're not taking me up on it?"  Grissom pulled himself up to a sitting position and leaned back against the smooth wooden curve of their headboard.

"No, I'm not."

He kept his eyes on her face as she climbed in beside him.  She settled herself as close to him as she could and put her head against his shoulder.

"Are you ill?"

She only smiled.

Grissom's eyes narrowed as he began to think back over the day, sifting through what he had seen and heard.  Surely there were clues that would account for this uncharacteristic refusal of his challenge.  But he could find nothing odd about her behavior today—until now.  As he started to probe his recollections for a second time, he decided to work backward.  They'd made their way from the bathroom with his arms around her…the temperature had risen as they began to…do what they do together…she'd asked about the dresser…he'd smiled, listening to her laugh, enjoying the pure sound of it…then she put her head in her hands…

"I believe…" He drew out the words as the thought took shape in his mind.  "I believe your exact words were: 'And this is the father of my children?'"

She said nothing, appearing inordinately interested in her nails suddenly.  It didn't matter.  He knew he had her.

"We have one child, don't we?"

Sara held out her hands in the way women do when they want to admire the color of their nail polish.  Hers were an almost translucent shade of pink.

"Not according to the fine people at Novartis Pharmaceuticals."

She laid one hand on his forearm, positioning her fingers so that the color of her nails caught the light.  She tilted her face up toward his, wanting to remember the look on his face at the exact moment he understood.  Even in marriage, he rarely smiled so broadly that she could say he grinned, but the movement of his mouth as she had just seen came pretty close.

"Already?  But…you just went off the Pill…a month ago, at most."  He tried to puzzle it out, but some things don' t need to be figured out.  As this reminder came to him, he laid his hand low on her belly and massaged the area where he knew his second child was hiding. 

"God, Sara, how fertile are you?"

"You are so…"  She broke into laughter, raising a hand to her head.  "Fertile enough, okay?  At least as much as you, let's put it that way."

"Well of course, Grissom men are very good at that," he noted, as if acknowledging some natural fact.

"Among other things."

He slid his hand even lower, stopping only when she made another soft sound.  He waited for her to turn her eyes back to his. 

"Isn't that why you married me?"

His mouth claimed hers before she could reply, but it didn't matter.  They knew they had each other.

(Fin)