Title: Candy Canes and Cockroaches
Author: Grissom "mailto:dragonrulerofwhs@yahoo.com"
Summary: Grissom invites Sara to spend the holidays with him and his family.
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, sadly. I also make no money off of writing this, but I think you already know that. I also do not own the songs listed in the story. They all belong to their respected performers.
Archiving: If you really want to, just drop an e-mail to let me know where!
And special thanks to Grissomgal71 for her awesome beta job!
The chorus of 'Jingle Bell Rock' could be heard all through the lab, lifting the spirits of the graveyard shift. Three days until Christmas, and they were all stuck on one case or another.
Grissom couldn't help but hum along to the music as he made his way to the source, Greg Sanders. The young lab technician, dressed in a Santa hat and a Christmas M&M's t-shirt under his lab coat, was bobbing his head to the music as he bustled around the lab. He was just pulling some liquid out of a tube when he noticed the supervisor standing at the door, his face unreadable.
Instinctively, he reached over and switched the music off, awaiting the reprimand for the volume.
But Grissom didn't say anything about the music. Instead he stepped inside and leaned against the counter. "Please tell me you got something back on the McEwart case."
Greg grinned, reaching for a folder that lay near the fume hood. He picked it up, handing it to Grissom with a bow of his head. "Someone should be spending Christmas at the county prison."
Grissom took the file, giving Greg a curious expression. He flipped it open, looked over the contents, then looked back up at Greg with a small smile on his face. "This is very good, Greg."
Greg beamed. That was high praise coming from Grissom. He leaned back in his chair. "Well, thank you sir. Now, about my Christmas bonus…"
Grissom raised an eyebrow at him. "We'll see, Greg." He closed the file then headed towards the door. He paused at the CD player, then surprised Greg by turning it back on, letting the music fill the halls once again.
On his way back to his office to call Brass, Grissom passed by many lab technicians, all talking excitedly about their Christmas plans as they headed home. Grissom shook his head, then continued his trek to his office. He finally reached it, surprised to see that the door was slightly ajar. He distinctly remembered closing it before heading off to see Greg.
Curious, he pushed it completely open. He was surprised to see a decent pile of gifts stacked up on his desk. Frowning to himself, he picked up one, reading the card.
For all you've shown me over the years to help make me a great CSI -Nick.
He smirked, then carefully tore the shoddily wrapped paper from the box. He shook his head when he had revealed what was underneath: a Chem Lab 600. He made a mental note to thank Nick and then stick him on another odd case as 'punishment' for the joke. He was still smiling as he picked up the next box.
From me and Linds. She loved the ladybug sweatshirt you got her. Merry Christmas! ~Catherine.
Grissom smiled at this, remembering the purple ladybug sweatshirt he had given to Lindsey earlier that week. The girl had obviously been expecting something odd or scientific, and was genuinely pleased with his gift. He tore the wrapping from this one, revealing a UPS box underneath. He found some scissors within a desk drawer, then cut the tape. He took out the contents of the box and grinned.
It was a small box of fly eggs, perfect for his maggot farm. And right behind it was a box of chocolate-covered grasshoppers. He laughed to himself, shaking his head. It seemed that only he would ever get those for gifts and actually be happy about it. He set the box of eggs carefully on a corner of his desk, then placed the grasshoppers in his mini-fridge. He picked up the next gift, which was really just an envelope.
It was, to Grissom's amusement, a singing Christmas card. He couldn't open the thing without having to listen to 'Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer'. Hoping that no one would walk by his office, he quickly read the note inside.
Saw the card, figured you'd love it since you're the 'holiday joy' kind of guy. Have a happy Christmas ~Warrick Brown.
Grissom shook his head, pulling out the piece of paper inside the card as he quickly shut it, glad to be rid of the insistent tone. He glanced at the paper, seeing that it was a fifty-dollar gift certificate to a local restaurant. He smirked, realizing that besides bugs and science stuff, none of his team had a clue what he liked. Warrick had obviously been at a loss, so he'd gone with the ever-safe gift certificate and comical card.
He was still trying to think of what he could do to Warrick in return as he looked over the rest of the gifts. Most were from various lab technicians, wanting to get on the boss's good side. Most of those also consisted of gift certificates, but thankfully none of the cards sang.
He piled up the gift certificates and cards, moving to put them in a desk drawer. He glanced at his phone, mentally kicking himself when he remembered that he was supposed to call Brass. Sighing, he shut the drawer and picked up the phone.
* * * * * *
Sara sighed as she pulled her jacket from her locker. Two days until Christmas. She should have been happy, but instead felt as if there were a huge weight on her shoulders. She was supposed to be visiting her cousins in California, but her Yukon had chosen this time to break down, stranding her without a vehicle. Either Catherine or Nick had been giving her rides to and from work, but she knew asking them to give her a lift to Cali was being a little extreme. They may love her to death, but she couldn't expect them to voluntarily take a long trip to and from Marina Del Rey.
She was pulling her jacket on when a small, brightly colored package in her locker caught her eye. She shook her head, remembering what it was. It was the Christmas gift she'd gotten Grissom. While she'd already given out everyone else's gifts, she'd held back on his for some reason. She knew that she'd spent far too much on it, but also knew that wasn't the reason for her hesitation.
She'd bought it for him almost on a whim, not even thinking of how he may feel about her at that point. He seemed to ignore her most of the time, giving her the impression that he just wanted her to disappear and be gone from his life. How would she feel if he tried to refuse the gift? She also knew that he had already given gifts to the rest of the team. But for some reason or another, hadn't given her one.
Sara shook her head, still staring at the box. She was so entranced in it she didn't realize anyone else had walked into the locker room until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped slightly, then turned to look into a pair of bright, blue eyes.
"You ok?" Grissom asked her, his voice showing genuine concern.
Sara nodded, quickly looking away from him. "Yeah, fine. Holiday blues, you know?"
He smiled, completely understanding. "Look on the bright side. Violent crimes usually drop a bit during the Christmas season."
She gave him a tentative smile in return. "Yeah."
He patted her shoulder once, then went to his own locker, pulling out his jacket. "Got a DNA match from the McEwart case. Our suspect's DNA matches the blood we found on Victor McEwart's hands. Put that together with the gun and the blood on the suspect's clothing, and we got our case solved," he said, almost conversationally.
Sara sighed in relief. When all else fails, turn to work, she thought to herself. "That's great, Grissom. Another case off of our table." She glanced at the gift once more, then shut her locker, deciding that it wouldn't be appropriate to give it to him. "I'll see you later, I guess," she said, heading towards the door.
"Oh, Sara," he called, causing her to stop and turn back to him. She watched as he dug through his locker for a moment, pulling out a snowman bag. He handed it to her, smiling sheepishly. "I tried to give this to you earlier, but you were on the scene with Vega."
She took the bag, staring at it as if it were a block of solid gold. After a moment, she realized that he was still watching her, obviously wanting to see her expression when she saw what it was. She smiled at him politely, then opened the bag, pulling out the green and red tissue paper.
Her eyes widened slightly when she finally pulled out the gift. It was actually a set; a matching pair of gloves, a scarf, and a cap. They were a dark blue, with intricately embroidered butterflies on them. Looking closer at the beautiful designs, she could see that great pains had been taken to make the insects as accurate as possible. She looked up at Grissom, lost for words.
He noticed her dilemma and smiled. "Don't worry about it."
"Thank you, Grissom," she finally managed to say, glancing at the small card.
Merry Christmas. From Grissom.
She smiled, looking over the items once again. "These are beautiful. Where on earth did you get them?"
He shrugged. "My mother makes them. She gets a little bored sometimes, so she started knitting and sewing. I asked her a few months ago to make these for me. I thought you'd like them," he added, suddenly fearing that she might not really like them.
But she was already pulling them on, still admiring the butterflies. "I love them, and they fit perfectly!" A thought suddenly hit her. He asked his mother to make these a few months ago? But, he hasn't talked to me in months. She smiled to herself. "Thank you," she repeated, giving him a full-fledged Sara Sidle smile. "And tell your mother that these are beautiful."
He tilted his head, pulling his jacket on. "I'll do that." He made his way to the door, after grabbing his battered briefcase and shutting the locker. "I hope you have a good Christmas, Sara. I really do."
"You not coming in tomorrow?" she asked, putting a hand on her locker.
He shook his head. "No. I'm going to visit my mother for Christmas. I took all week off." He fixed his eyes on her. "What are you doing for Christmas?"
"Well, I was going to visit my cousins in California, but my Yukon died. So now I guess I'm stranded here. Guess I'll just come into work."
Grissom glanced down at the floor, as if trying to decide something. "How long were you going to stay?"
"Until the twenty-eighth."
Grissom thought to himself for a moment. He was going to stay with his mother until the twenty-eighth as well, giving him enough time to drive back to Vegas and be at work on the Monday after Christmas. He shifted his feet for a moment. "Do you…you want a lift? I mean, my mother lives in Marina Del Rey, runs an art gallery there. I could drop you off at your cousins then pick you up on the twenty-eighth."
Sara stared at him as if he had sprouted another arm. Had he just offered to spend 4 and a half hours with her in a car? Driving her to her cousins? She worked her mouth for a moment, unsure of what to say. "Grissom…I…" she trailed off, unable to think of something intelligent to say.
He caught her hesitation and nodded, thinking that he wouldn't want to spend the day in a car with himself either. "I understand. Don't worry about it." He gave her a small, shy smile, then turned to leave.
Sara took a step towards him, touching his arm to stop him. He halted, looking down at her hand idly. "Grissom…" she began. Then she sighed, letting her hand fall from his arm. "I'd appreciate it. I really would," she said, unsure of how to accept his offer.
But he seemed to have gotten the message. He smiled at her. "Good. Pick you up tomorrow?" he asked, tucking a hand in his pocket to prevent her from seeing them shake. He was shocked by his own boldness. Whatever had possessed him, making him offer her a ride to California. As much as he wanted to be alone with Sara, he wasn't sure that she was up to the same thing.
She smiled back, similar thoughts running through her own head. "Sure. Meet you here." He nodded, then turned again to leave, but she called him back again, opening her locker to pull out the decorative box. She grinned shyly, handing it to him. "Merry Christmas," she said, then walked past him to catch Nick for a ride.
He watched her retreating form for a moment before turning to study the gift in his hands. He turned the card over, a smile blossoming over his face as he read the chicken-scratch handwriting. How ironic, he thought to himself.
From Sara