Disclaimer: You don't want me to own them after you read this! Okay, maybe you will, but I warn you – I went a little sappy with this one!
This is a response to the improv challenge at YTDaW and my own little cure for the hot summer days here. This hasn't been beta'd and if you knew how good I am at making errors you would understand how risky that is ;)
"I don't want to know," Brass sighed. He plopped down next to Grissom on the love seat and poured himself a glass of scotch. Jim hoped the amber liquid would soon begin its numbing effect – his hand and arm not taking this tedious task well.
Without looking up, Grissom handed him another stack of papers. "Good. I'm not offering an explanation."
Jim's grimace went unnoticed by the determined man beside him. When Gil called that morning after work sayinghe needed help, Jim thought it was about a case.The moment he was handed paper and a hole-puncher and he hadjoked about Gil being a sucker for arts and craftsand if he'd been watching Martha Stewart again. The title of 'sucker' was soon bestowed on himself the second Gil gave his reason. Sara. Damn, he couldn't say no to that.
So here they sat - two grown men punching holes into white and pale blue paper - saving the punched out circles in paper bags. Jim had no clue as to why he had to save the circles or exactly how much was needed, but judging the stacks of paper in front of them, he knew he would be there awhile.
"Can't you just do what the other guys do? You know; flowers, candy, expensive jewelry."
"I said I wasn't talking about this."
"No, you said that you weren't going to explain."
"Jim …" Gil trailed off, his tone a mixture of exasperation and embarrassment.
"Hey, I understand. Really, I do." And that was the truth. When it came to women – women that made strong men weak and their hearts ache …. He envied Gil and his connection with Sara but what he didn't envy was the uncertainty that he was surely going through. Everyone knew Gil was the keeper of Sara's heart but she wasn't the same person anymore.
An hour passed before they spoke again. Only a quarter of the bag was filled and it didn't take a genius to know that this project would span over the next few days.
"It's over-done."
Grissom's statement brought Brass out of his hole-punching trance. "Now you've really lost me."
Sighing, Grissom placed the paper on the table and leaned back. "Flowers and candy. Its cliché and over-done and way too easy. She wouldn't appreciate them."
"Is she going to appreciate this?" Jim asked, gesturing to the small pile of circles. "You know, you can buy confetti at a store."
"This isn't confetti."
"Then what the hell is it and how is it going to win her over?"
"I'm not … I'm just … can you just keep working?"
"There has to be an easier way than this," Jim stated, punch-punch-punching more holes. "Come on, Mr. Wizard, what is it?"
"I'm not going for easy." Grissom grabbed his hole-puncher and resumed his project.
"What are you going for then? Difficult? Messy? Okay, so you don't want to talk about it – I get it. I just think that I have the right to know why my right hand is cramping," Jim paused and pointed his finger at Gil, grinning evilly, "keep thedirtyjokes to yourself."
His attempt at levity fell flat and he was about to give up – on both Gil and the project. It was then that Gil spoke, his voice taking on the same quality it had the day he interrogated the murdering doctor. He was weary – both then and now. At the time Jim thought it was the long hours Gil put in on that case but sitting here he realized that wasn't the entire reason. Gil was tired of himself as well.
"I want to see her smile again – for real. And I want that smile to be because of me."
"And this is going to make her smile? I'm lost, Gil. Can't you just make her smile by – I don't know – admitting your feelings?"
"Maybe. I don't know. It may not be enough." The interval between punches became few and far between until he stopped completely. Resting his elbows on his knees Gil began his confession. "She was talking with Greg and Sophia last night before shift. I have no idea how the conversation started but they were discussing their favorite time of year. Both Greg and Sophia liked summer for almost the same reason. He liked to soak in the sun at the lake and look at women in bikinis and Sophia liked to soak in the sun in her bikini."
Jim smirked, imagining how that conversation went. Knowing Greg, there was probably a playful proposition involved. "I'm sure that went over well."
"She threatened him, but it was all in good fun. They were all having a good time."
"So what did Sara say? What's her favorite season?"
"Winter. She spoke of her time in Boston and how, even though it was way too cold for her, the snow always mesmerized her. There was this place where she would go to; some park where she would sit on this beach and watch the snow. She went on about how beautiful it was and that, if only for a little while, everything was clean. Fresh." Grissom looked over at him then, his eyes searching for understanding from his friend. "She looked so … beautiful, sitting there, recalling that memory. I couldn't help but imagine …" he trailed off, both him and Jim picturing Sara in the snow – light flakes landing on her hair and eyelashes.
Jim suddenly realized what they were doing. "You're making snow for her."
Grissom's response was a slight nod and then he resumed the punching as if the conversation didn't happen.
"Why can't you make real snow? You know they actually have snow making machines."
"Because."
"Gil, this is tedious and unnecessary – she'll love it either way. Besides, this is going to take forever."
"That machine can make snow, but I can't. Even now I need help making paper snow. I can try, but I can't give her the world, Jim. I can only give her what I can, the best that I can, and I want her to know that."
That was probably the most honest, truest statement he ever heard. He wanted to counter it by saying Sara never wanted the world, but he knew in time Gil would figure that out.
"I'll be damned. You just keep surprising people, my friend."
Jim picked up his hole-puncher and joined Gil with renewed determination.
It took some constant persuading to her to come by his home after work later that week. It took even more persuading and a highly inventive excuse as to why she had to dress in her winter apparel. But there they were – she in her stocking cap and scarf and he in his heavy coat in the middle of his living room. They sat side by side in on a yard bench he borrowed from his next door neighbor; the temperature set at a steady fifty-five degrees. She listened as he spoke of love and fear and second chances and she continued to listen to the silence that followed - the kind of sacred silence that simple words would just mar. They kissed for the first time that day and then kissed some more - until her cheeks were rosy and his lips were plump and full.
He reached above them and pulled the cord to release his surprise and his heart ached when her eyes glistened with wonder. For a few precious moments, the paper magically became snow -the light breeze of the ceiling fan prolonging the fall of their winter wonderland.
Laying her head on his shoulder, she grabbed his hand and gave it a firm squeeze before whispering, "Thank you." Smiling, he kissed the top of her head and they watched as the pieces fluttered through the air.