* * * * * *
Sara awoke the next morning to the sound of pots banging in the kitchen. Then she heard something wet splat on the ground and Grissom groan. "Damn," she heard him say softly, though loud enough to carry into her room. *No...not my room*, she thought to herself, *his room*. She sat up, getting herself tangled up in the blankets. She growled and tried to kick them off, but only succeeded in tangling herself up further. Finally, she lay her head back against the pillow, groaning. She took a moment to calm down, then worked her way out of the blankets.
She smiled in triumph, then went over to her suitcase and pulled out some clothes. She changed out of her pajamas quickly, then peered out of the door. She couldn't see the kitchen from where she was, and the sounds had stopped. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she stepped out of the room and headed towards the kitchen.
She found Grissom kneeling down on the floor, staring intently into a cupboard. She grinned and leaned against the wall. "Find something interesting?"
He jumped, banging his head into the top of the shelf. He cursed, then looked up at her slowly, a small smirk on his face. Then he held up the bag he was holding--chocolate chips.
Sara raised an eyebrow. "And you have chocolate chips because...?"
"Pancakes."
"Pancakes?"
His smirk widened as he pulled a few more items out of the cupboard and stood up. "Yeah, you know. Little flat cakes you eat with butter and syrup. We had them yesterday?"
She rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Grissom, for explaining that to me. What would I have done without you?" He shrugged, but offered no reply. Instead, he began pulling out a few bowls as he continued to stare at the boxes. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she moved up behind him to peer at the boxes as well, standing a little closer than necessary. "Flour, sugar, blueberries."
"All the crucial elements to a pancake breakfast," he told her, with the expression he usually got when explaining stuff to the younger CSI's. "Do me a favor? Get the eggs and milk out of the fridge."
"Yes, sir," she said mockingly, turning to the fridge to do as he said. She pulled out the ingredients, then set them on the counter, watching him as he measured out the precise amount of flour. He mixed it in with the concoction of sugar, eggs, and baking soda, then frowned. He turned back to look at the bag of flour.
"Not enough," he said, looking down at the tan mess in the bowl. "Must be a typo in the recipe." He reached for the bag of flour, at the exact same time as Sara. The force of both their hands ramming into the bag caused a cloud of it to shoot into the air. And at such a close proximity, it got all over them. After the coughing subsided, and the cloud had settled, Sara looked up at Gris and laughed. The flour had settled into his hair, making it look almost completely white. She knew that she must not look much better, but the expression on Grissom's face was priceless.
Grissom raised an eyebrow at her laughter, then got a deviant glint in his eye as he put his hand into the bag of flour, lifting out a bit. Sara chewed on the inside of her cheek nervously, giving him a threatening glance. "You wouldn't..."
He raised his hand a bit more, an evil smirk appearing on his lips. "Wouldn't I?"
Sara raised an eyebrow of her own, reaching towards the pancake batter. "You'd better not..."
He laughed aloud, then turned to finish making breakfast. Unfortunately, Sara mistook his movement as him preparing to toss the flour. In an instant, she had scooped up a small handful of pancake batter and thrown it, splatting the mixture against the back of Grissom's shirt. He flinched, then slowly turned to her, his eyes wide. Sara clamped her hands to her mouth when she realized what she had done.
"Gris...I'm so sorry!" She moved forward to try and remove the goop, and he didn't make any movement to stop her. She reached up and began to swipe the gunk off his shirt, then found herself with a face full of flour. She coughed, then looked up at Grissom in shock. He had an evil smirk on his face again, and his hand was still hovering above his shoulder, where he had tossed the flour.
"Grissom!" she shouted, scooping up her own handful of flour and shoving it into his face. After that, pandemonium broke loose. Both Grissom and Sara scrambled to find something else to hit the other with, abandoning the flour for the more interesting pancake batter. Within moments, both CSI's and kitchen were covered in flour, pancake batter, and various other ingredients. Sara went for the rest of the pancake batter, but Grissom grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around hers to keep her from moving.
She struggled for a moment, then froze when she realized that Grissom was making no attempt to move. He was just standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her. If they hadn't been covered with food, she might have found it romantic. She turned her head, seeing that he was studying her intensely, his expression unreadable. It quickly became one of his cryptic smiles, the ones that drove her crazy.
Suddenly, the sound of something falling behind them caught their attention. Grissom released Sara and they both whirled around, seeing a wide-eyed Mrs. Grissom standing in the doorway, studying the mess that had been her kitchen. She looked up at her son. "Gil!" she cried, then began signing in a frenzy. Even Grissom found it a little difficult to decipher everything she was signing, but he got the general idea.
He stepped up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Mother. We'll clean it up."
Mrs. Grissom shook her head furiously, still signing a mile a minute. Grissom just nodded to her, signing back now and again. Finally, Mrs. Grissom sent one exasperated glance Sara's way before stepping out of the kitchen. When Grissom turned back to Sara, he looked like he was trying to decide whether to smile or be stern. Finally, the smile won, and he began laughing.
Sara watched him for a moment as if he had finally lost his mind before joining in his laughter. "What did she say?"
He shook his head, still smiling. "She asked me just how old I thought I was. Then she went on this ramble on how I manage to do something stupid every time I set foot in her kitchen."
"Did you tell that it was partially my fault?"
"Partially?" he asked, his eyebrows cocked playfully. "This whole thing was your fault!" He laughed, then shook his head. "Nah...I told her we'd clean it up." He bent down and fished through the cupboards under the sink, then surprised Sara by throwing a rag at her face, where it stuck comically. "Just work it like a crime scene, Sara. One bit at a time."
She rolled her eyes at him, then went on to her task of cleaning up the batter-splattered kitchen.
* * * * * *
Grissom was sitting on the couch later that day reading a book. They'd spent about three hours cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, and his mother would come in from time to time, pointing out some small bit they'd missed. After they'd had it cleaned enough to avoid the wrath of Grissom's mother, Sara had excused herself to shower and change out of her clothes. Grissom had rinsed the batter out of his hair in the kitchen sink, then pulled on an old UNLV sweatshirt he'd left at his mother's years before.
He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, trying to clear his thoughts. He was trying to read a Sherlock Holmes book, but his thoughts kept drifting to Sara. It seemed that, for years, he had been fighting a losing battle. He'd tried to act like he wasn't interested, even trying toconvince himself that he wasn't interested, that they were only friends. But who was he kidding? He hadn't thought of her as 'just a friend' in a long time.
He sighed and shook his head, turning back to the book, but barely seeing the words at all. He was really just turning pages after a set amount of time. A few minutes later, this monotonous activity was interrupted when Sara came out of the bathroom, plopping next to him on the couch. And he did notice she was sitting much closer to him than one would to a friend. What did that mean? He scrunched his face up in thought.
Sara grinned at the expression on Grissom's face. Leaning her face closer to his, under the pretext of reading the page, she asked, "What'cha reading?"
Grissom's eyes widened a bit when he realized he wasn't even sure which story he was on anymore. Hoping she wouldn't notice, he peered at the top of the page before answering. "'Adventure of the Speckled Band'," he said matter-of-factly.
"Hmm..." she said, not moving her face away from his. "I don't think I've read that one. What's it about?"
"Murder," he said, the corner of his mouth rising in a small grin.
Sara rolled her eyes. "Well...go figure! Really, Gris...what's that one about?"
He sighed, pretending to be annoyed. He was suddenly glad that he'd already read the story, or else he would have had to confess that he hadn't digested a thing he'd read in the last half-hour. "A woman is killed by a snake. End of story."
Sara smacked his arm lightly. "Liar." He smirked, cocking his head slightly to the side. Sara glanced around the house. "Hey, Gris...where's your mom?"
He glanced up from the page. "She went to the gallery. She does that when she gets upset."
"Did we really make her that mad?" Sara asked fearfully.
Grissom smiled. "Don't worry. Her kitchen is like her sanctuary. She doesn't like anyone messing it up." He shrugged. "She'll be happy as a kid in a candy store when she comes home."
Sara pursed her lips and nodded, still seeming a little apprehensive. "Right..."
"Sara, don't worry about it. My mother is a very upbeat kind of person. She's had her share of troubles, but she doesn't let them get to her. A little mess in her kitchen is not going to break her heart."
Sara looked up at him curiously. "What troubles has she had? If you don't mind my asking..."
Grissom thought for a moment. There were so many things he could tell Sara...this was his chance to open up a bit. "Well...her hearing for one thing. Me for another and my father leaving us."
"Your father left you guys? Why?"
Grissom shrugged. "I don't know. I guess he couldn't deal with the thought of being responsible for a family. He just up and left one day. And to tell you the truth, I don't miss him."
Sara gave him a smile, then put an arm around his shoulders, giving him a slight hug. "Sorry, Grissom."
Grissom smirked. "Nothing to be sorry about. I'm not sorry about it, so why should you be?"
Sara smiled again, finally showing Grissom the full, gap-toothed smile that he had missed. "Right." Grissom grinned back, then turned his attention to his book, deciding to actually read the words. Sara watched him for a moment, then snatched the book right out of his hands, laughing at the wide-eyed expression he gave her.
"What?" she asked, scooting over and settling into the corner of the couch, and opening the book.
He raised an eyebrow, unsure if he even wanted to try and figure her out.
"I'm reading. You wouldn't tell me about the story, so I'm going to find out on my own."
"Sara..." he warned, shifting on the couch. She was acting very...childish. In fact, they both were. It seemed just being around her away from work made him feel young again. It was exhilarating. He grinned, then snatched his arm out, trying to grab the book from her. She saw it coming and jerked the novel down, causing him to miss by a mere inch. She laughed aloud, and that was it for him.
He leapt up from his sitting position, diving for the book. It was only after a moment of good-natured scuffling that he realized the position he was in. Sara was still in the corner of the couch, though she'd moved farther down, so that she was almost lying down. Grissom, on the other hand, was practically on top of her, one hand on the book she held in a death grip. He didn't move, shifting his eyes to her face, which was a only inch or two away.
She noticed that he had stopped struggling for the book and turned to him, also seeming surprised at their position. Her eyes met Grissom's and froze there. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Grissom's eyes shifted to take in the rest of her face before recapturing her eyes. Slowly, he moved closer to her, closing the distance between them and capturing her mouth with his.
Time, for Sara, seemed to stand still, and she lost herself in the moment. It came as a shock, feeling Grissom's lips on hers, but she soon felt herself returning the kiss. He pulled back after a moment, his eyes closed. When he finally opened them, she saw that they were filled with fear.
"Sara..." he began to say, shifting to move off her. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to...I shouldn't have done that." He pushed away, moving back to his side of the couch and burying his face in his hands.
Sara studied him for a moment, trying to figure out the cause of his sudden change in demeanor. She scooted closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Grissom," she said, her voice demanding that he look at her. He did, and she smiled. "I'm not sorry. Why should you be?"
He gazed at her for a moment, realizing that she wasn't angry or offended at what he had done, however inappropriate he believed it had been. Instead she seemed...relieved. "I...I'm not sorry."
"Good," she said, smiling before wrapping her arms around him and nestling her head in the crook of his neck.
Sara awoke the next morning to the sound of pots banging in the kitchen. Then she heard something wet splat on the ground and Grissom groan. "Damn," she heard him say softly, though loud enough to carry into her room. *No...not my room*, she thought to herself, *his room*. She sat up, getting herself tangled up in the blankets. She growled and tried to kick them off, but only succeeded in tangling herself up further. Finally, she lay her head back against the pillow, groaning. She took a moment to calm down, then worked her way out of the blankets.
She smiled in triumph, then went over to her suitcase and pulled out some clothes. She changed out of her pajamas quickly, then peered out of the door. She couldn't see the kitchen from where she was, and the sounds had stopped. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she stepped out of the room and headed towards the kitchen.
She found Grissom kneeling down on the floor, staring intently into a cupboard. She grinned and leaned against the wall. "Find something interesting?"
He jumped, banging his head into the top of the shelf. He cursed, then looked up at her slowly, a small smirk on his face. Then he held up the bag he was holding--chocolate chips.
Sara raised an eyebrow. "And you have chocolate chips because...?"
"Pancakes."
"Pancakes?"
His smirk widened as he pulled a few more items out of the cupboard and stood up. "Yeah, you know. Little flat cakes you eat with butter and syrup. We had them yesterday?"
She rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Grissom, for explaining that to me. What would I have done without you?" He shrugged, but offered no reply. Instead, he began pulling out a few bowls as he continued to stare at the boxes. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she moved up behind him to peer at the boxes as well, standing a little closer than necessary. "Flour, sugar, blueberries."
"All the crucial elements to a pancake breakfast," he told her, with the expression he usually got when explaining stuff to the younger CSI's. "Do me a favor? Get the eggs and milk out of the fridge."
"Yes, sir," she said mockingly, turning to the fridge to do as he said. She pulled out the ingredients, then set them on the counter, watching him as he measured out the precise amount of flour. He mixed it in with the concoction of sugar, eggs, and baking soda, then frowned. He turned back to look at the bag of flour.
"Not enough," he said, looking down at the tan mess in the bowl. "Must be a typo in the recipe." He reached for the bag of flour, at the exact same time as Sara. The force of both their hands ramming into the bag caused a cloud of it to shoot into the air. And at such a close proximity, it got all over them. After the coughing subsided, and the cloud had settled, Sara looked up at Gris and laughed. The flour had settled into his hair, making it look almost completely white. She knew that she must not look much better, but the expression on Grissom's face was priceless.
Grissom raised an eyebrow at her laughter, then got a deviant glint in his eye as he put his hand into the bag of flour, lifting out a bit. Sara chewed on the inside of her cheek nervously, giving him a threatening glance. "You wouldn't..."
He raised his hand a bit more, an evil smirk appearing on his lips. "Wouldn't I?"
Sara raised an eyebrow of her own, reaching towards the pancake batter. "You'd better not..."
He laughed aloud, then turned to finish making breakfast. Unfortunately, Sara mistook his movement as him preparing to toss the flour. In an instant, she had scooped up a small handful of pancake batter and thrown it, splatting the mixture against the back of Grissom's shirt. He flinched, then slowly turned to her, his eyes wide. Sara clamped her hands to her mouth when she realized what she had done.
"Gris...I'm so sorry!" She moved forward to try and remove the goop, and he didn't make any movement to stop her. She reached up and began to swipe the gunk off his shirt, then found herself with a face full of flour. She coughed, then looked up at Grissom in shock. He had an evil smirk on his face again, and his hand was still hovering above his shoulder, where he had tossed the flour.
"Grissom!" she shouted, scooping up her own handful of flour and shoving it into his face. After that, pandemonium broke loose. Both Grissom and Sara scrambled to find something else to hit the other with, abandoning the flour for the more interesting pancake batter. Within moments, both CSI's and kitchen were covered in flour, pancake batter, and various other ingredients. Sara went for the rest of the pancake batter, but Grissom grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around hers to keep her from moving.
She struggled for a moment, then froze when she realized that Grissom was making no attempt to move. He was just standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her. If they hadn't been covered with food, she might have found it romantic. She turned her head, seeing that he was studying her intensely, his expression unreadable. It quickly became one of his cryptic smiles, the ones that drove her crazy.
Suddenly, the sound of something falling behind them caught their attention. Grissom released Sara and they both whirled around, seeing a wide-eyed Mrs. Grissom standing in the doorway, studying the mess that had been her kitchen. She looked up at her son. "Gil!" she cried, then began signing in a frenzy. Even Grissom found it a little difficult to decipher everything she was signing, but he got the general idea.
He stepped up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Mother. We'll clean it up."
Mrs. Grissom shook her head furiously, still signing a mile a minute. Grissom just nodded to her, signing back now and again. Finally, Mrs. Grissom sent one exasperated glance Sara's way before stepping out of the kitchen. When Grissom turned back to Sara, he looked like he was trying to decide whether to smile or be stern. Finally, the smile won, and he began laughing.
Sara watched him for a moment as if he had finally lost his mind before joining in his laughter. "What did she say?"
He shook his head, still smiling. "She asked me just how old I thought I was. Then she went on this ramble on how I manage to do something stupid every time I set foot in her kitchen."
"Did you tell that it was partially my fault?"
"Partially?" he asked, his eyebrows cocked playfully. "This whole thing was your fault!" He laughed, then shook his head. "Nah...I told her we'd clean it up." He bent down and fished through the cupboards under the sink, then surprised Sara by throwing a rag at her face, where it stuck comically. "Just work it like a crime scene, Sara. One bit at a time."
She rolled her eyes at him, then went on to her task of cleaning up the batter-splattered kitchen.
* * * * * *
Grissom was sitting on the couch later that day reading a book. They'd spent about three hours cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, and his mother would come in from time to time, pointing out some small bit they'd missed. After they'd had it cleaned enough to avoid the wrath of Grissom's mother, Sara had excused herself to shower and change out of her clothes. Grissom had rinsed the batter out of his hair in the kitchen sink, then pulled on an old UNLV sweatshirt he'd left at his mother's years before.
He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, trying to clear his thoughts. He was trying to read a Sherlock Holmes book, but his thoughts kept drifting to Sara. It seemed that, for years, he had been fighting a losing battle. He'd tried to act like he wasn't interested, even trying toconvince himself that he wasn't interested, that they were only friends. But who was he kidding? He hadn't thought of her as 'just a friend' in a long time.
He sighed and shook his head, turning back to the book, but barely seeing the words at all. He was really just turning pages after a set amount of time. A few minutes later, this monotonous activity was interrupted when Sara came out of the bathroom, plopping next to him on the couch. And he did notice she was sitting much closer to him than one would to a friend. What did that mean? He scrunched his face up in thought.
Sara grinned at the expression on Grissom's face. Leaning her face closer to his, under the pretext of reading the page, she asked, "What'cha reading?"
Grissom's eyes widened a bit when he realized he wasn't even sure which story he was on anymore. Hoping she wouldn't notice, he peered at the top of the page before answering. "'Adventure of the Speckled Band'," he said matter-of-factly.
"Hmm..." she said, not moving her face away from his. "I don't think I've read that one. What's it about?"
"Murder," he said, the corner of his mouth rising in a small grin.
Sara rolled her eyes. "Well...go figure! Really, Gris...what's that one about?"
He sighed, pretending to be annoyed. He was suddenly glad that he'd already read the story, or else he would have had to confess that he hadn't digested a thing he'd read in the last half-hour. "A woman is killed by a snake. End of story."
Sara smacked his arm lightly. "Liar." He smirked, cocking his head slightly to the side. Sara glanced around the house. "Hey, Gris...where's your mom?"
He glanced up from the page. "She went to the gallery. She does that when she gets upset."
"Did we really make her that mad?" Sara asked fearfully.
Grissom smiled. "Don't worry. Her kitchen is like her sanctuary. She doesn't like anyone messing it up." He shrugged. "She'll be happy as a kid in a candy store when she comes home."
Sara pursed her lips and nodded, still seeming a little apprehensive. "Right..."
"Sara, don't worry about it. My mother is a very upbeat kind of person. She's had her share of troubles, but she doesn't let them get to her. A little mess in her kitchen is not going to break her heart."
Sara looked up at him curiously. "What troubles has she had? If you don't mind my asking..."
Grissom thought for a moment. There were so many things he could tell Sara...this was his chance to open up a bit. "Well...her hearing for one thing. Me for another and my father leaving us."
"Your father left you guys? Why?"
Grissom shrugged. "I don't know. I guess he couldn't deal with the thought of being responsible for a family. He just up and left one day. And to tell you the truth, I don't miss him."
Sara gave him a smile, then put an arm around his shoulders, giving him a slight hug. "Sorry, Grissom."
Grissom smirked. "Nothing to be sorry about. I'm not sorry about it, so why should you be?"
Sara smiled again, finally showing Grissom the full, gap-toothed smile that he had missed. "Right." Grissom grinned back, then turned his attention to his book, deciding to actually read the words. Sara watched him for a moment, then snatched the book right out of his hands, laughing at the wide-eyed expression he gave her.
"What?" she asked, scooting over and settling into the corner of the couch, and opening the book.
He raised an eyebrow, unsure if he even wanted to try and figure her out.
"I'm reading. You wouldn't tell me about the story, so I'm going to find out on my own."
"Sara..." he warned, shifting on the couch. She was acting very...childish. In fact, they both were. It seemed just being around her away from work made him feel young again. It was exhilarating. He grinned, then snatched his arm out, trying to grab the book from her. She saw it coming and jerked the novel down, causing him to miss by a mere inch. She laughed aloud, and that was it for him.
He leapt up from his sitting position, diving for the book. It was only after a moment of good-natured scuffling that he realized the position he was in. Sara was still in the corner of the couch, though she'd moved farther down, so that she was almost lying down. Grissom, on the other hand, was practically on top of her, one hand on the book she held in a death grip. He didn't move, shifting his eyes to her face, which was a only inch or two away.
She noticed that he had stopped struggling for the book and turned to him, also seeming surprised at their position. Her eyes met Grissom's and froze there. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Grissom's eyes shifted to take in the rest of her face before recapturing her eyes. Slowly, he moved closer to her, closing the distance between them and capturing her mouth with his.
Time, for Sara, seemed to stand still, and she lost herself in the moment. It came as a shock, feeling Grissom's lips on hers, but she soon felt herself returning the kiss. He pulled back after a moment, his eyes closed. When he finally opened them, she saw that they were filled with fear.
"Sara..." he began to say, shifting to move off her. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to...I shouldn't have done that." He pushed away, moving back to his side of the couch and burying his face in his hands.
Sara studied him for a moment, trying to figure out the cause of his sudden change in demeanor. She scooted closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Grissom," she said, her voice demanding that he look at her. He did, and she smiled. "I'm not sorry. Why should you be?"
He gazed at her for a moment, realizing that she wasn't angry or offended at what he had done, however inappropriate he believed it had been. Instead she seemed...relieved. "I...I'm not sorry."
"Good," she said, smiling before wrapping her arms around him and nestling her head in the crook of his neck.