Chapter 51
When Grissom returned to his living room, he found Sara stretched out facedown on his couch, wearing her shorts but no shirt or bra. "Is this the beginning of a striptease?" he asked in amusement as he tossed the icepack from hand to hand trying to avoid the chill.
"No, it's the beginning of 'I couldn't figure out how to keep my shirt from sliding back down over the bruise so I took it off'. Anyway, you'll need to wrap the icepack in something and my shirt – well, your shirt – will do well." She twisted up to a half-sitting position. "Now, ice, please?"
"Yes dear," he sighed in a henpecked voice. Wrapping the ice as directed, he laid it gently on her back. Lifting her legs up a few inches, he slipped under them, settling himself against the arm of the couch. "So – what book?" Without speaking, she held up the book, cover side toward him. "Firestarter? Isn't that one of the ones with that evil government agency?"
Her voice, somewhat muffled, floated back to him. "Yep. I love reading about all those top-secret organizations that exploit children's talents. The Shop versus the CIA, you know?"
"I'd have never pegged you as a conspiracy theorist," he commented, resting a hand on her leg. "But hey, as long as you're entertained."
"Oh come on, Grissom," she teased. "You know how much I like to do my own thing and rebel against authority figures. Like you."
"Like me what? I'm a rebel or I'm an authority figure?"
She thought about that for a second. "Well now that I think about it, both. But I meant the second one. You know, that stern 'I'm the Boss' persona you have at work."
He raised his eyebrows at her back. "So I'm only tough and authoritative at work, huh?" One of the things he loved about being with Sara, he reflected, was the artful way she could back him into a meaningful conversation without either of them realizing it.
"Well, yeah. You think you're being stern right now? Look at us." She waved her hand over her shoulder, indicating their current positions. "I definitely don't hear a lecture about chasing rabbits or anything." Shaking her head, she added, "Sorry Gris, but your secret's out. Just like Fluffy, you're a big pussycat once I get you alone."
"Meow."
Her shoulders started to shake with what he assumed was laughter. "Too bad I'm allergic to cats," she told him over her shoulder. "Petting them too much makes me break out in welts, you know," she deadpanned, grinning into the pillow she was resting her head on.
"Oh, so is that how this got here?" He reached out and traced the red mark her bra had left on her back. "You allergic to bra-snappings too?"
Heaving a disgusted breath, Sara turned over, holding the ice in place with one hand. "Oh just quit it, smartass. Some of us are trying to read here." Leaning over to give his hair a quick tousle, she said, "Now, shoo! I want to get up to the part where Charlie starts setting controlled fires again before I fall asleep."
Grissom tore his eyes away from her body and snorted. "Right, you falling asleep with something not done. Like that's gonna happen . . . oof!" he exclaimed as the icepack hit him squarely in the chest.
"Yeah, so I hear. If you need someone to stay up for three days straight, I'm your girl, right?"
He placed the ice back where it belonged and tried to look stern. "You've been talking to Warrick."
"Yeah, that tends to happen when you work with someone. You start talking. Besides, I'm not really insulted." She sighed. "Well ok, I am a little bit, but that's over and done with. Besides, I've just lately discovered a new way to cure my insomnia." She gave him a leer.
Rubbing his chest where the icepack had hit its mark, he grinned. "Yeah, I just bet you did." He slid out from under her and stood up, yet again trying to keep his eyes on her face. "But that remedy'll have to wait, 'cause I'm going to go read the paper. Call me if you need anything for your poor, mutilated back." Giving her butt a playful pat, he turned and headed for the kitchen.
Sara shouted after him, "I said 'damaged,' not 'mutilated'!"
