A/N: Response to the weekly Improv challenge at Unbound. As always, the first and last lines are given and we get to fill in the rest.
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Grissom approached the tomato warily. In anticipation of reliving the same stench he'd suffered from the jar of strained beets, he wrinkled his nose. Relieved, he sat back. "This one's not so bad."
"Who would feed their baby Slimfants tomatoes, anyway?" Sara asked in disgust.
"It bothers you?"
"Of course. Slimfants? Our culture's weight-obsession is out of control. Babies need dietary fats for neuronal maturation, but if you believe this advertising, you'd better cut all fat out of his diet now or he'll be hopelessly obese. I can't believe the AAP hasn't put the kibosh on this!"
Grissom tilted his head slightly. Research for their current case had led them suspect that the baby food may be the culprit, and of course, they couldn't leave anything to chance. An experiment was definitely in order. "I don't think I've ever seen strained tomatoes before," he mused.
Sara arched an eyebrow mischievously. "And when was the last time you wandered down the baby aisle at the supermarket?"
"I've been in that aisle a time or two," he countered. "How often do you go down that aisle?"
Sara coughed, blushing lightly. "It's, um, the same aisle as the…feminine hygiene products. It's that way in nearly every grocery store I've ever been in. Kind of a curious juxtaposition, I've always thought. Maxi pads here, diapers there. If you don't need this," she gestured dramatically from one side of an imaginary aisle to the other, "then perhaps you need this."
Grissom furrowed his brow. "The condoms are in that aisle, too."
"Yes," Sara grinned. "Right next to the home pregnancy tests. Why Dr. Grissom, you have been down that aisle."
"A time or two," he conceded.
"All in the name of science, I'm sure," she teased. "You're lucky you don't have a wife who sends you out to pick up a box of tampons."
"Women actually do that to their husbands?"
"I wouldn't, but I know some who do. Of course, some men don't really mind. The more scientific-minded ones realize that it's all just part of human physiology."
Grissom stared at her for a moment, contemplating her words. Then he decided his safest bet was to get back to business. "If O'Brian put the drug in the jar of banana surprise, or any other jar for that matter, theoretically it would have made the flavor very bitter."
"But our boys were drunk, right? They were frat hazing. If you get enough alcohol on board, you can tolerate almost anything. They would have just gulped the baby food down as ordered and not noticed the flavor." Sara grimaced. "Anything to fit in."
They studied the jars in silence for a minute or so, then Sara excused herself to go to the restroom.
"Ah, Boss," Hodges walked up to Grissom, waving a report in his hand. "I have the baby food analysis for you."
"Sara's the primary, Hodges."
"Oh, well, I looked everywhere for her."
"She's been right here with me for the past two hours," Grissom retorted, his anger beginning to rise.
Hodges glanced quickly from left to right, and not seeing Sara, assumed Grissom had finally gone senile. "I hate slow nights around here. Dawson's playing with the phones, Sanders is bouncing a ball…anyway, you were right. There are traces of fentanyl all throughout the sample. It appears to be enough for an overdose, but—"
"Thank you," Grissom snapped the paper from the tech's hand. Hodges beat a hasty retreat.
Sara made her way back to the table. "I'm going to check with Hodges on that analysis."
"No need," Grissom said as he handed the report to her.
She quickly scanned the document. "Fentanyl? I thought that was a surgical anesthetic."
Grissom nodded. "Or a sedative used for ventilated patients."
"And now a drug of abuse and a murder weapon." Sara shook her head sadly. "Why the teething toast?"
"We don't know if our victims ate the baby food directly from the jar, or spread it on the toast, like this." He carefully coated the toast with strained tomatoes. "Care to try it?"
"Uh, no." Sara declined firmly. "You're the one who's always tasting the evidence."
She barely finished her sentence before disaster struck. A large neon orange rubber ball careened wildly through the doorway and bounced, as balls are wont to do, right into the middle of the baby food experiment. Tomato covered crackers shattered, sending bits of gooey bread in every direction. Grissom's face and lab coat happened to be directly in the line of fire. "Greg!" he bellowed, knowing full well that the spiky-haired man was not going to appear.
"So," Sara fought back her laughter, "how is it?"
With a serious expression, he licked his lips. "Let's just say that if I should ever have to assume responsibility for an infant, I won't feed him this."
She chuckled as picked debris from his beard.
End