Nick surveyed the rooms he was facing, trying to pin down what was missing in Grissom's house.
The counter separating the kitchen and the living room was well-fortified with food, soft drinks, and alcohol; he had set that area up himself after careful deliberation and planning. A small bowl of egg salad sat on the corner of the setup, more for humor than consumption, though he did hope that Sara would no longer vomit at the smell of it.
Further down the counter, Greg was artfully arranging a circular platter of vegetables and dip. Sara's favorites, green beans and carrots, covered the lion's share of the tray in neat slices, while the rest of the assortment, comprising such things as celery, mushrooms, and broccoli, were in a messier semicircle on the other side of the platter. In the center of the arrangement sat a hollowed-out bowl of dark bread that was waiting to be filled with the spinach dip that Nick had just finished mixing up.
Catherine was supervising the decoration of the living room, which seemed to consist mainly of shouting directions to Warrick, who was doing the actual work in that room. Already the walls held a large, printed banner, a cluster of balloons, and a new, framed insect. Warrick was currently struggling with another, smaller banner with an assortment of mathematical and chemical symbols covering it.
Susan and Brass were closeted in the room that had formerly been known as Grissom's office. The group in the kitchen and living room could occasionally hear their raised voices as the mismatched pair argued about where to put this decoration or that baby toy. Nick idly wondered how in the world Brass had ended up on interior design detail; he just hoped that the baby's room wouldn't come out looking like a tweed suitcoat, which seemed to be the height of the captain's style as far as anyone could tell.
Then it hit him; he knew what was missing: this was the first time in a year or more that anyone had been in Sara's old apartment or her current home with Grissom without hearing a heated argument, about Sara's eating habits or anything else. "Man," he said to Greg, "it's too quiet in here with no one fighting."
As if on cue, Catherine's voice rose above the dull roar Nick had gotten used to. "No, War. Over THERE! Up, up . . . more, Warrick. Geez, is every single man in the world born without a sense of symmetry? Can we at least attempt to have the top of the banner level, please?"
"Well sor-ry," Warrick shot back at her. "Why don't you go get a three-foot high chair to stand on so you can do this job? Oh, wait, no such thing," he added tartly. "Too bad, looks like you're going to have to deal with my incompetent work."
Ahhh, Nick thought – this was more like it. Having the entire team – or nearly – together outside of work without at least one fight breaking out had been making him nervous. Speaking of fighting . . . it was suspiciously quiet in the baby's room. He sighed and headed down the hallway to make sure they hadn't killed each other.
"Listen, Jim," Susan's voice rang out as he reached the doorway. "You can't put the blanket in there like that. Where have you been for the last twenty years? It's unsafe to have voluminous covers in an infant's crib!"
"Listen, young lady," Brass retorted, "I have a daughter older than you, so don't tell me I don't know how to care for a baby!"
Oh, no.
"Anything I can help with?" Nick asked with forced cheer, popping his head into the room, hoping there would be no bloodshed. Good, no overt signs of battle. The room looked snug, actually. The crib was against the east wall, perpendicular to a window that was covered with curtains bearing a detailed map of the stars; against the wall opposite the crib were three bookshelves and a child-sized dresser, and the top of each wall bore a wallpaper border with images of the planets, to scale. Yep, this was a room for a child being born to geeks.
Brass and Susan had moved on from the blanket argument, and were now carrying on a heated discussion on the merits of the room's color scheme, which, like everything on the walls, had been applied somewhat inexpertly by Grissom. "Well I just happen to think it's a little too dark," Brass was saying.
"What, you thought Grissom and Sara would decide to decorate their child's room in pink fluffy bunnies or something?"
Brass frowned, knowing he was caught. "Well, no, but . . ."
"Hah!" Susan crowed. "I win!" She grinned at the policeman and turned to survey the results of their work on the room. "You know," she said, feeling charitable now that she'd won the argument, "you and I make a good team. Next time Sara has a baby, I think we should campaign to have control of room decorating from the beginning."
Brass groaned. "God help us all if we do!" Despite his gruff tone, though, his face betrayed the affection he was beginning to feel for the young woman who resembled Ellie.
"Catherine!" Warrick's voice roared through the house, making the trio in the bedroom jump. "I know how to hang things! I know how to use a level! But geez, it's a welcome-home banner, not an Egyptian pyramid or something!"
Catherine's answer came in the form of a snort. Something crashed to the floor, then Nick heard a high-pitched sound that he didn't think had come from Catherine. Uh-oh, she had Warrick screaming again. Before he reached the front of the house again, Warrick's screams had morphed into weak squeals from Catherine; yep, all was well with those two.
He reached the end of the hallway and again surveyed the results of everyone's efforts. Greg had finished the vegetable platter and neatened up the counter some more, adding his contribution to the celebration: a four-layer fudge cake that he swore any woman would die for.
Despite the raised voices it had caused, Nick thought the living room looked wonderful. The banners both looked even to him, and their custom-printed messages would make everyone smile.
"Hey Greg!" he called over his shoulder. "Time check?"
"T-minus thirteen minutes," the younger man chirped. "Or, if you prefer, ETA is now twelve minutes thirty."
Warrick met Nick's eyes and shook his head with a laugh.
