At last! My computer has returned to life! So sorry for the wait. To make up for it, I've made this chapter a bit longer than some of the others. Very fluffy too!
Sara saw Grissom step out of the bathroom, fully dressed with his hair still wet. He smiled at her, then picked up something off the coffee table. He held them up, and Sara saw that they were envelopes, evidently the ones he had taken out of the mailbox before their little 'battle'. She also noticed that a few drops of water fell from them as he lifted them up.
"Hopefully none of the ink will run," he said, carefully squeezing out some of the water with two fingers. He managed to get most of the wetness out, then set them on the kitchen counter to dry.
Sara smiled. "Sorry about that. I hope they don't get ruined."
He shook his head, an impish smile on his own face. "Don't worry about it. Probably just credit cards and coupons for two free issues of Sports Illustrated. Junk, you know?"
"I think Nick would disagree."
Grissom shrugged. "Oh well." He gave her a typical tilt of the head as he turned the corner, headed back into the living room. She followed, and found him as he was folding up the blanket they'd sat under the previous night. He tossed it over the back of the couch, then rearranged the pillows, making it almost seem as if no one had been there.
Sara turned when she felt someone tap on her shoulder. It was Grissom's mother, gesturing towards the kitchen. Sara frowned, then turned to Grissom, who shrugged.
"She wants you to help with breakfast."
Sara's jaw dropped slightly. "You know, I'm doing more cooking here in a few days than I do at my house in a month."
Grissom smirked, then pointed to the kitchen, where his mother had disappeared around the corner. "You're the cook-in-training. I'm just the errand boy." He shook his head as his mother came out of the kitchen, handing him a piece of paper. He glanced at it, then looked up at Sara, an amused expression on his face. "What did I tell you?"
"What's that?"
"A grocery list."
"But we just went shopping," Sara said, the idea of going to the grocery store more than once a week blowing her mind.
He smiled, then went to grab his coat. "I'll be back in a few. Try not to blow up the kitchen," he said as he slipped out the door.
"I believe that's your department!" Sara shouted after him, smiling. Then she sighed, letting her arms fall to her sides. She turned to look back at the kitchen. "Time to go pretend I know what I'm doing!" she said to herself, then stepped into the kitchen.
Mrs. Grissom was leaning against the counter, focusing on a cookbook. Sara smiled at the look of concentration on her face; Grissom got the same expression when studying his bugs. She leaned against the counter a few feet away from the older woman, but the movement made her look up. Mrs. Grissom gave her a small smile, then shrugged. She put a finger on the page, pointing at the list of ingredients.
"Don't have them," she said. "Gil's gone to the store."
Sara nodded, then tried to take a peek at the cookbook, but, coincidentally, Mrs. Grissom shut it. She smiled at Sara, then stepped out of the kitchen into the living room. Sara sighed, then made her way out into the living room as well.
Mrs. Grissom was staring out of the window, studying her plants. She shook her head, seeing that they were being buried in the 'miracle' snow. She then turned to Sara, seeing the younger woman studying a bookcase filled with old books. Grinning, she stepped over and pulled a large, leather-bound book out. She sat on the couch, giving Sara a pointed stare that told her to sit as well.
Sara did, studying the bland cover of the book intently. The book was obviously quite old, though still in wonderful condition. In one corner, someone had carefully written '1953-1968' in dark ink.
Mrs. Grissom pulled the book open, revealing a photo album, much like the one Sara and Grissom had been looking at the previous night. This page was filled with black and white photos of a young man unknown to Sara, though he looked very familiar. Then it hit her, and she glanced back towards the doorway. That was Grissom's father.
Mrs. Grissom pointed to one photo of the man. "That's William. Gil's father." She stared at the photo a moment, then quickly turned the page. The next few pages were casual photos of young Mrs. Grissom and William Grissom, both smiling and obviously in love. Then came the wedding pictures, the woman looking stunning in her dress.
The next pages, however, were the ones that made Sara smile. Positioned in the center of the page was an 8 X 10 photo of a baby Gil Grissom, staring curiously at the camera.
Sara grinned. "He was so cute!" she said, forgetting that the older woman couldn't hear her. Other pictures showed Grissom as he slept, and in one he was reaching for the camera, a huge smile on his face.
Sara watched as Grissom grew, page by page. In each one, especially family pictures, he seemed very happy. He was always smiling, sitting on his father's shoulders at the beach, opening a train set in front of a Christmas tree, or posing with a baseball bat.
Then they reached a page where he no longer smiled. He seemed about five, simply staring at the camera. Mrs. Grissom sighed. "That was when I started losing my hearing," she said slowly, making a genuine effort to make it understandable.
The next few pages also saw a change in the photos: William Grissom was no longer present. Mrs. Grissom also seemed to fade from the pictures, probably choosing to be behind the camera.
Grissom, on the next page, seemed to jump from age six to twelve. He was no longer the small boy with a happy face. Instead, Sara could see the somber seriousness that she knew all too well developing in his class photo. She glanced at the year stamped in the corner. 1968.
She leaned closer, trying to study it better. His hair a curly mess, he had also begun to adopt the dark wardrobe. But still his eyes stared intently at the camera, almost as if daring the photographer to take any longer than necessary.
Sara shook her head. "He really changed, didn't he?" she asked, waiting until Mrs. Grissom was looking at her to speak.
The older woman nodded. "Yes. When his father left, Gil changed. He smiled less, he stopped begging to go to friend's houses. It was hard for him."
Sara nodded, shifting her eyes to the door. Suddenly, she felt as if she understood the enigmatic Gil Grissom even more. Possibly more than he ever wanted her to.
* * * * * *
Sara closed her eyes as she sank onto the couch, feeling as if she would burst. Grissom had returned with the breakfast supplies a few minutes after she and Mrs. Grissom had finished looking at the 1978-1982 album. Mrs. Grissom made pancakes with fruit, insisting on piling them high on everyone's plate. Even Grissom was unable to finish his portion, though he made a valiant effort.
Her eyes suddenly shot open, feeling as if she were being watched. And sure enough, she saw Grissom studying her from where he leaned against the doorjamb. "Yeah?" she asked, wishing he weren't so quiet. God knows how long he had been standing there.
He stepped behind the couch, leaning his arms against it. "Richard and Mary will be over soon."
Sara rolled her eyes. "Whoop-de-doo. No offense, Gris, but your cousin is an ass."
Grissom smiled. "Tell me something I don't know." He leaned over, so that he was closer to her and able to see her face. "I was wondering, unless you'd rather sit here with them, if you wanted to come with me."
Sara shifted on the couch, turning to look straight at Grissom. "Where are you going?"
He shrugged. "For a walk."
"Where?"
He smirked. "Around. Does it really matter where? I just thought I'd wander aimlessly around Marina del Rey." He gave her a characteristic head tilt as he turned to walk away. "But, I guess you'd rather sit around here."
Predictably, Sara jumped up from the couch. "Alright! I'll go!" She glanced at the lightly snow-covered ground. "But no more snowballs!"
He held up his hands. "No snowballs. I promise."
"And no shoving snow into clothing."
"Promise. But that goes for you, too."
She grinned. "Darn. I was planning on shoving snow down your pants."
He raised an eyebrow at her, but chose not to comment. Instead, he turned and made his way out of the living room, disappearing around a corner. Sara went into 'her' room, grabbing her boots, jacket, and the butterfly ensemble Grissom had given her.
She put everything on, then stepped outside to wait for Grissom. She kept herself busy by writing in the snow with her boot, though everything came out illegible. Grissom stepped out a few minutes later, looking rather warm in a black leather jacket, his hands shoved in his pockets.
He started down the driveway without a word, Sara falling into the natural groove of walking beside him. Neither of them spoke, instead deciding to take in the surreal scene around them. Kids rushed out of the house to engage in snow wars, much like Grissom and Sara had earlier. A few children attempted to make a snowman, though there wasn't quite enough snow. Parents also took part in the snow activities, though most just sat on the porch, watching as the kids froze themselves.
Sara saw Grissom smile as they passed a playground. "What?" she asked, giving him a small smile in return, encouraging him to open up.
He shrugged. "I used to play there when I was little. Found my first dead animal there too," he said seriously.
Sara raised an eyebrow at him. "Your first dead animal? And that's memorable to you because…?"
He laughed, breaking some of the tension that seemed to have settled over them. "No, it's not that memorable. I was only four, and it was a squirrel. I remember that I kept poking it with a stick until my father came and took me away from it."
Sara smirked, the image of a young Grissom prodding a dead squirrel filling her mind. They fell back into silence again, though this time it wasn't uncomfortable. Suddenly, Grissom felt Sara grasp his arm. "Gris, let's go ice skating!"
He frowned, unsure if the cold had possibly frozen part of her mind. "Sara, we're in California. I know it snowed, but where are we going to find a place to ice skate? On Christmas day, nonetheless."
She smiled, pointing towards what looked like a renovated warehouse. On a large sign were the words "Indoor Ice Rink. Open December 15-January 25". Grissom rolled his eyes and gave Sara an exasperated look.
"Well?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.
He lifted his hands in surrender. "Figures…Alright! Let's go!"
* * * * * *
Fifteen minutes later, Grissom and Sara were sitting on a bench inside of the ice rink, pulling on their skates. They were almost the only people there, save for a young couple and an employee.
Sara grimaced as she pulled on her skates. "I hate the color."
Grissom smirked, glancing at her pink skates. "Why? Brings out your eyes."
Sara rolled her eyes, sighing. "Whatever, Grissom. Why couldn't I get a boring color like you?"
Grissom didn't answer, he just gave her a small smile and finished pulling his black skates on. He finally had them tied and stood up shakily, unaccustomed to the blades. He moved his arms in a windmill motion for a moment, finally resorting to grabbing the wall to keep his balance.
Sara laughed, then grasped his arm to help him get to the ice. She stepped onto it easily, having learned to skate during her Harvard years. She did a figure-eight, then stopped in front of Grissom, who had yet to set a blade on the ice.
"Come on, Grissom. It's not that hard."
He gave her a sarcastic smile. "I can barely walk on ice with regular shoes on. What makes you think I can skate? I'm a little too flatfooted for that!"
"Stop whining. You're starting to sound like Nick," she commented, grabbing his arm again. She practically pulled him onto the ice, trying to support him as he wobbled. "Good, now you're on the ice," she said, much as a kindergarten teacher would. "Now we're going to move our feet. Then we can go forward!"
He shook his head, biting his tongue. With her help, he managed to make it halfway around the rink. Then she released him, letting him try on his own. He couldn't go very fast, but he was able to avoid a face-plant.
Sara slowed her pace, staying beside him. She did notice the young couple giving them funny looks, and couldn't really blame them. She knew they must look very funny, with Grissom taking small baby steps on the skates.
"You've never ice skated before?" she asked, watching Grissom as she skated backwards.
He shook his head. "Can't say that I have in recent history. And I don't think running onto a frozen lake really counts."
"A frozen lake? Wait, go back. That sounds like a good story."
He shrugged, even that small movement almost sending him to the floor. "I was at a cousin's house once, up in Colorado. We were playing catch, and he threw the ball a little too far. I didn't realize it was a lake, so I ran out after the ball. Fell flat on my face."
Sara smiled, moving back to skate beside him. He was doing a lot better now, even getting a little form and grace to his skating.
She slipped once, and his hand quickly reached out to help steady her, grasping her wrist. She regained her balance, but he did not release her. Instead, he moved his hand down to hers. She looked down at their entwined hands for a second, then looked ahead of her again, a small smile on her face.
A few minutes and half a lap later, Grissom sighed. "This is nice."
Sara glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He had his usual stoic expression on his face, seeming to be lost in thought. "What?" she finally asked, realizing he would volunteer no more information.
"Just…being here. Skating…with you. No work. Just…you and me."
Sara fought the blush that tried to invade her face, turning to glance at the other couple to hide it from him. Suddenly she heard a scrape, and a large weight pulled down on her hand, bringing her down on the ice.
For the second time that day, she found herself lying on top of Gil Grissom. Evidently, he had finally lost his footing and fallen, taking her down with him. For a moment, he simply lay there, flat on his back, laughing silently.
After a stunned moment, Sara began to laugh with him, turning so she could see his face. Their eyes met, and his laughter slowly stopped, finding himself lost in her eyes. She shifted, half to get off his stomach, and half to get closer to him.
"Hey, are you guys all right?" a voice suddenly said, startling them both.
Sara's head whipped around to peer at whoever had broken their moment. It was the other couple, the man staring at them curiously.
Sara cleared her throat, moving to stand up. "Yeah. We're fine. He," she said, gesturing to Grissom, "has just never been ice skating before."
The man laughed. "I know that feeling!" He looked pointedly at his girl. "She taught me how to skate a few years ago. Can't say I didn't bust my butt a good few times before I got the hang of it."
Grissom groaned as he slowly stood, leaning into the wall. "And what did you do to get back at her?" he asked.
The man shrugged. "Taught her the rules of football and how to throw." He grinned. "Payback sucks."
Grissom looked at Sara, a small smile on his face. "Sure does."
Sara saw Grissom step out of the bathroom, fully dressed with his hair still wet. He smiled at her, then picked up something off the coffee table. He held them up, and Sara saw that they were envelopes, evidently the ones he had taken out of the mailbox before their little 'battle'. She also noticed that a few drops of water fell from them as he lifted them up.
"Hopefully none of the ink will run," he said, carefully squeezing out some of the water with two fingers. He managed to get most of the wetness out, then set them on the kitchen counter to dry.
Sara smiled. "Sorry about that. I hope they don't get ruined."
He shook his head, an impish smile on his own face. "Don't worry about it. Probably just credit cards and coupons for two free issues of Sports Illustrated. Junk, you know?"
"I think Nick would disagree."
Grissom shrugged. "Oh well." He gave her a typical tilt of the head as he turned the corner, headed back into the living room. She followed, and found him as he was folding up the blanket they'd sat under the previous night. He tossed it over the back of the couch, then rearranged the pillows, making it almost seem as if no one had been there.
Sara turned when she felt someone tap on her shoulder. It was Grissom's mother, gesturing towards the kitchen. Sara frowned, then turned to Grissom, who shrugged.
"She wants you to help with breakfast."
Sara's jaw dropped slightly. "You know, I'm doing more cooking here in a few days than I do at my house in a month."
Grissom smirked, then pointed to the kitchen, where his mother had disappeared around the corner. "You're the cook-in-training. I'm just the errand boy." He shook his head as his mother came out of the kitchen, handing him a piece of paper. He glanced at it, then looked up at Sara, an amused expression on his face. "What did I tell you?"
"What's that?"
"A grocery list."
"But we just went shopping," Sara said, the idea of going to the grocery store more than once a week blowing her mind.
He smiled, then went to grab his coat. "I'll be back in a few. Try not to blow up the kitchen," he said as he slipped out the door.
"I believe that's your department!" Sara shouted after him, smiling. Then she sighed, letting her arms fall to her sides. She turned to look back at the kitchen. "Time to go pretend I know what I'm doing!" she said to herself, then stepped into the kitchen.
Mrs. Grissom was leaning against the counter, focusing on a cookbook. Sara smiled at the look of concentration on her face; Grissom got the same expression when studying his bugs. She leaned against the counter a few feet away from the older woman, but the movement made her look up. Mrs. Grissom gave her a small smile, then shrugged. She put a finger on the page, pointing at the list of ingredients.
"Don't have them," she said. "Gil's gone to the store."
Sara nodded, then tried to take a peek at the cookbook, but, coincidentally, Mrs. Grissom shut it. She smiled at Sara, then stepped out of the kitchen into the living room. Sara sighed, then made her way out into the living room as well.
Mrs. Grissom was staring out of the window, studying her plants. She shook her head, seeing that they were being buried in the 'miracle' snow. She then turned to Sara, seeing the younger woman studying a bookcase filled with old books. Grinning, she stepped over and pulled a large, leather-bound book out. She sat on the couch, giving Sara a pointed stare that told her to sit as well.
Sara did, studying the bland cover of the book intently. The book was obviously quite old, though still in wonderful condition. In one corner, someone had carefully written '1953-1968' in dark ink.
Mrs. Grissom pulled the book open, revealing a photo album, much like the one Sara and Grissom had been looking at the previous night. This page was filled with black and white photos of a young man unknown to Sara, though he looked very familiar. Then it hit her, and she glanced back towards the doorway. That was Grissom's father.
Mrs. Grissom pointed to one photo of the man. "That's William. Gil's father." She stared at the photo a moment, then quickly turned the page. The next few pages were casual photos of young Mrs. Grissom and William Grissom, both smiling and obviously in love. Then came the wedding pictures, the woman looking stunning in her dress.
The next pages, however, were the ones that made Sara smile. Positioned in the center of the page was an 8 X 10 photo of a baby Gil Grissom, staring curiously at the camera.
Sara grinned. "He was so cute!" she said, forgetting that the older woman couldn't hear her. Other pictures showed Grissom as he slept, and in one he was reaching for the camera, a huge smile on his face.
Sara watched as Grissom grew, page by page. In each one, especially family pictures, he seemed very happy. He was always smiling, sitting on his father's shoulders at the beach, opening a train set in front of a Christmas tree, or posing with a baseball bat.
Then they reached a page where he no longer smiled. He seemed about five, simply staring at the camera. Mrs. Grissom sighed. "That was when I started losing my hearing," she said slowly, making a genuine effort to make it understandable.
The next few pages also saw a change in the photos: William Grissom was no longer present. Mrs. Grissom also seemed to fade from the pictures, probably choosing to be behind the camera.
Grissom, on the next page, seemed to jump from age six to twelve. He was no longer the small boy with a happy face. Instead, Sara could see the somber seriousness that she knew all too well developing in his class photo. She glanced at the year stamped in the corner. 1968.
She leaned closer, trying to study it better. His hair a curly mess, he had also begun to adopt the dark wardrobe. But still his eyes stared intently at the camera, almost as if daring the photographer to take any longer than necessary.
Sara shook her head. "He really changed, didn't he?" she asked, waiting until Mrs. Grissom was looking at her to speak.
The older woman nodded. "Yes. When his father left, Gil changed. He smiled less, he stopped begging to go to friend's houses. It was hard for him."
Sara nodded, shifting her eyes to the door. Suddenly, she felt as if she understood the enigmatic Gil Grissom even more. Possibly more than he ever wanted her to.
* * * * * *
Sara closed her eyes as she sank onto the couch, feeling as if she would burst. Grissom had returned with the breakfast supplies a few minutes after she and Mrs. Grissom had finished looking at the 1978-1982 album. Mrs. Grissom made pancakes with fruit, insisting on piling them high on everyone's plate. Even Grissom was unable to finish his portion, though he made a valiant effort.
Her eyes suddenly shot open, feeling as if she were being watched. And sure enough, she saw Grissom studying her from where he leaned against the doorjamb. "Yeah?" she asked, wishing he weren't so quiet. God knows how long he had been standing there.
He stepped behind the couch, leaning his arms against it. "Richard and Mary will be over soon."
Sara rolled her eyes. "Whoop-de-doo. No offense, Gris, but your cousin is an ass."
Grissom smiled. "Tell me something I don't know." He leaned over, so that he was closer to her and able to see her face. "I was wondering, unless you'd rather sit here with them, if you wanted to come with me."
Sara shifted on the couch, turning to look straight at Grissom. "Where are you going?"
He shrugged. "For a walk."
"Where?"
He smirked. "Around. Does it really matter where? I just thought I'd wander aimlessly around Marina del Rey." He gave her a characteristic head tilt as he turned to walk away. "But, I guess you'd rather sit around here."
Predictably, Sara jumped up from the couch. "Alright! I'll go!" She glanced at the lightly snow-covered ground. "But no more snowballs!"
He held up his hands. "No snowballs. I promise."
"And no shoving snow into clothing."
"Promise. But that goes for you, too."
She grinned. "Darn. I was planning on shoving snow down your pants."
He raised an eyebrow at her, but chose not to comment. Instead, he turned and made his way out of the living room, disappearing around a corner. Sara went into 'her' room, grabbing her boots, jacket, and the butterfly ensemble Grissom had given her.
She put everything on, then stepped outside to wait for Grissom. She kept herself busy by writing in the snow with her boot, though everything came out illegible. Grissom stepped out a few minutes later, looking rather warm in a black leather jacket, his hands shoved in his pockets.
He started down the driveway without a word, Sara falling into the natural groove of walking beside him. Neither of them spoke, instead deciding to take in the surreal scene around them. Kids rushed out of the house to engage in snow wars, much like Grissom and Sara had earlier. A few children attempted to make a snowman, though there wasn't quite enough snow. Parents also took part in the snow activities, though most just sat on the porch, watching as the kids froze themselves.
Sara saw Grissom smile as they passed a playground. "What?" she asked, giving him a small smile in return, encouraging him to open up.
He shrugged. "I used to play there when I was little. Found my first dead animal there too," he said seriously.
Sara raised an eyebrow at him. "Your first dead animal? And that's memorable to you because…?"
He laughed, breaking some of the tension that seemed to have settled over them. "No, it's not that memorable. I was only four, and it was a squirrel. I remember that I kept poking it with a stick until my father came and took me away from it."
Sara smirked, the image of a young Grissom prodding a dead squirrel filling her mind. They fell back into silence again, though this time it wasn't uncomfortable. Suddenly, Grissom felt Sara grasp his arm. "Gris, let's go ice skating!"
He frowned, unsure if the cold had possibly frozen part of her mind. "Sara, we're in California. I know it snowed, but where are we going to find a place to ice skate? On Christmas day, nonetheless."
She smiled, pointing towards what looked like a renovated warehouse. On a large sign were the words "Indoor Ice Rink. Open December 15-January 25". Grissom rolled his eyes and gave Sara an exasperated look.
"Well?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.
He lifted his hands in surrender. "Figures…Alright! Let's go!"
* * * * * *
Fifteen minutes later, Grissom and Sara were sitting on a bench inside of the ice rink, pulling on their skates. They were almost the only people there, save for a young couple and an employee.
Sara grimaced as she pulled on her skates. "I hate the color."
Grissom smirked, glancing at her pink skates. "Why? Brings out your eyes."
Sara rolled her eyes, sighing. "Whatever, Grissom. Why couldn't I get a boring color like you?"
Grissom didn't answer, he just gave her a small smile and finished pulling his black skates on. He finally had them tied and stood up shakily, unaccustomed to the blades. He moved his arms in a windmill motion for a moment, finally resorting to grabbing the wall to keep his balance.
Sara laughed, then grasped his arm to help him get to the ice. She stepped onto it easily, having learned to skate during her Harvard years. She did a figure-eight, then stopped in front of Grissom, who had yet to set a blade on the ice.
"Come on, Grissom. It's not that hard."
He gave her a sarcastic smile. "I can barely walk on ice with regular shoes on. What makes you think I can skate? I'm a little too flatfooted for that!"
"Stop whining. You're starting to sound like Nick," she commented, grabbing his arm again. She practically pulled him onto the ice, trying to support him as he wobbled. "Good, now you're on the ice," she said, much as a kindergarten teacher would. "Now we're going to move our feet. Then we can go forward!"
He shook his head, biting his tongue. With her help, he managed to make it halfway around the rink. Then she released him, letting him try on his own. He couldn't go very fast, but he was able to avoid a face-plant.
Sara slowed her pace, staying beside him. She did notice the young couple giving them funny looks, and couldn't really blame them. She knew they must look very funny, with Grissom taking small baby steps on the skates.
"You've never ice skated before?" she asked, watching Grissom as she skated backwards.
He shook his head. "Can't say that I have in recent history. And I don't think running onto a frozen lake really counts."
"A frozen lake? Wait, go back. That sounds like a good story."
He shrugged, even that small movement almost sending him to the floor. "I was at a cousin's house once, up in Colorado. We were playing catch, and he threw the ball a little too far. I didn't realize it was a lake, so I ran out after the ball. Fell flat on my face."
Sara smiled, moving back to skate beside him. He was doing a lot better now, even getting a little form and grace to his skating.
She slipped once, and his hand quickly reached out to help steady her, grasping her wrist. She regained her balance, but he did not release her. Instead, he moved his hand down to hers. She looked down at their entwined hands for a second, then looked ahead of her again, a small smile on her face.
A few minutes and half a lap later, Grissom sighed. "This is nice."
Sara glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He had his usual stoic expression on his face, seeming to be lost in thought. "What?" she finally asked, realizing he would volunteer no more information.
"Just…being here. Skating…with you. No work. Just…you and me."
Sara fought the blush that tried to invade her face, turning to glance at the other couple to hide it from him. Suddenly she heard a scrape, and a large weight pulled down on her hand, bringing her down on the ice.
For the second time that day, she found herself lying on top of Gil Grissom. Evidently, he had finally lost his footing and fallen, taking her down with him. For a moment, he simply lay there, flat on his back, laughing silently.
After a stunned moment, Sara began to laugh with him, turning so she could see his face. Their eyes met, and his laughter slowly stopped, finding himself lost in her eyes. She shifted, half to get off his stomach, and half to get closer to him.
"Hey, are you guys all right?" a voice suddenly said, startling them both.
Sara's head whipped around to peer at whoever had broken their moment. It was the other couple, the man staring at them curiously.
Sara cleared her throat, moving to stand up. "Yeah. We're fine. He," she said, gesturing to Grissom, "has just never been ice skating before."
The man laughed. "I know that feeling!" He looked pointedly at his girl. "She taught me how to skate a few years ago. Can't say I didn't bust my butt a good few times before I got the hang of it."
Grissom groaned as he slowly stood, leaning into the wall. "And what did you do to get back at her?" he asked.
The man shrugged. "Taught her the rules of football and how to throw." He grinned. "Payback sucks."
Grissom looked at Sara, a small smile on his face. "Sure does."