Holy shit, Sara thought as she sunk back into her couch. Her mouth was agape in a half-genuine-smile, half-smirk. I can't believe that just happened. Sara exhaled slowly, deciding that trying to figure out the variables that set this incredible event in motion would be futile.
I might as well just go with the flow, she thought, pulling herself off the couch and heading into her bedroom to find something to wear to a "nice" dinner. A "nice" dinner with the man she was utterly and totally in love with. No pressure. Oh, and by the way, he's your boss. No pressure at all.
While Sara was rummaging through her closet, Grissom had returned to his desk only to be struck with fear. What did I do? How did I do that? Why?
Grissom tried to focus on something – anything – as this dialogue raged in his head. Scanning the room, his eyes rested on the fetal pig. His distinguished face broke into a warm smile as he remembered the Kaye Shelton case, and his evening with Sara and Porky, the decomposing pig. He was freezing in the nighttime desert cold when he heard footsteps. Glancing up he found a smiling Sara, who handed him some much needed hot coffee, draped a warm blanket around his shoulders, then proceeded to spend the night with him – and the pig.
That's why, was his answer.
It was a decidedly un-Grissomian thing to do, but the scientist decided for once to go with his gut instead of logic, heart instead of head. As plain as the pickled pig in front of him were the facts, at least this fact: I love her.
Grissom nearly jolted like a kid who slept through his alarm to wake and realize how late he is. Where am I taking her to dinner?
Smirking, Grissom left the paperwork, rose from his desk and headed out the door in his characteristic shuffle to figure out the answer to that riddle.