Pink Sox

TEASER: Grissom, Sara, Chicago, and the Sox times 2. Response to the 10-2-05 Unbound Improv Challenge and sequel to "Scarlet Fever".

RATING: T for consistency's sake, though it could probably be K+.

SPOILERS: Set between Season 6 "Room Service" and "Shooting Stars", though spoilers are general for Season 6.

DISCLAIMERS: Not mine. No matter how hard I wish or pray, they never will be. So I'm just playing with them for fun without profit. All of that goes to Bruckheimer, et al.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: You'll get more from this story if you read the others in the series first. Reviews appreciated, archived at my site, and that little black thing on my arm with the cute red booties is my official Red Sox Nation mourning band (right with you, Scully). First and last lines given, 1000 word limit for the story itself; according to MS Word 2003, I made it with 13 words to spare.

CSI CSI CSI

"Bowchicawowwow!" she yelled. Sara studied Grissom's laptop screen for several seconds before she turned to him with a big grin. "Michael will knock their socks off."

Grissom smiled back at her and waved at her laptop. "Marjorie's not so bad for a 40-something blonde, either."

Sara had made his mystery lover a blonde of around Catherine's age and build on purpose. She suspected that Grissom had made her mystery lover look like Nick on purpose, too. "What do you think of her bona fides?"

He nudged touch pad to scroll over on the page. "MIT is top notch for material science, so I suppose she's intelligent enough. She's not you, but then that's rather the point, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Nicky's not going to like me dating an Aggie, though."

Grissom grinned at her, telling her that his choice was intentional for exactly that purpose. "Do you mind that he's in the Marine Reserves?"

"Not since you made him an intelligence officer. We're able to talk about work comfortably because there are overlapping areas of expertise and frustrations. And being a professor of political science, he likes to lecture like someone else I know." She stuck her tongue out at Grissom before she looked at Michael's picture again. Sara heaved a sigh of relief that her mystery lover's eyes were green rather than blue, and not green in any way like Warrick's.

"I think you did a good job on that with us, too. As a building inspector, she would be looking for problems before they happen. Funny, that."

"What?"

Grissom pursed his lips and set his chin in his hand. "We made up people for each other whose job is to anticipate crime rather than solve crime."

"Yin and Yang, Gil."

"Good point." He waved again at the screen. "So how do we do this?"

"Your friend in Chicago has a consult, right?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. The funny thing is, he's got something totally legitimate. And Conrad owes him big time for a presentation at the Director's Symposium this summer."

"Sweet! Did he score playoff tickets?"

"First row on the third base line right beside the visitor's dugout."

Sara gave him her widest smile yet in the day. "Maybe I'll get Johnny Damon to throw a ball my way."

Grissom rolled his eyes. He was a Cubs fan, but she knew he owned a White Sox jersey, too, and would be rooting for the home team. Meanwhile, she'd pulled all of her ancient, pre-overcome-the-Yankees-to-win-the-World-Series Red Sox gear out of storage and washed it to get rid of the stale cardboard smell. Her old Roger Clemens jersey would mark her as one of the long-suffering faithful citizens of Red Sox Nation.

"Idiots."

"Yup. We answered each other's phones by accident while we were in Chicago and talked with Michael and Marjorie. Wouldn't it be natural to share pictures once we got back? Where do we see each other except the lab?"

He laughed. "You, my dear, are devious, and I love you for it." He reached out to pull her into his arms.

Later, at the start of shift, Catherine made several snide remarks about Michael and Marjorie.

Sara pushed herself to rise to the defense of a man who didn't exist. Grissom, however, reacted to Catherine's teasing the way Sara always hoped he would if someone were defaming her.

"Catherine, I'm very sorry that Warrick went and got married to someone else before you could scratch that particular sexual itch. But your disappointment and frustration don't belong in the lab and they most certainly are not to be used to take digs at a woman you've never even met. I have a life now. I'll thank you to butt out of it."

The frosty air between Grissom and Catherine made for an uncomfortable shift, which only got worse when Ecklie held night shift over to cover a multiple fatality accident west of the city. Then the call came from Ecklie commanding her and Grissom to go to Chicago. The daggers in Catherine's glare made Sara shiver even as they worked in the blazing morning sun.

Grissom made an overture Sara didn't expect by allowing Catherine to act as supervisor in his absence.

Catherine obviously didn't expect it either. "Where's the camera?" she growled. "If I show up on 'Hidden Vegas' . . ."

Grissom shook his head. "Catherine, I wasn't entirely serious the other day about who would take over the team when I'm away. I guess I shouldn't have yanked so hard on your chain."

"I guess not." She relaxed. "Is this really a coincidence that you two are going to Chicago now?"

"Completely."

Grissom was a very good liar, Sara noted. Of course, he had been lying to himself for so many years that it had to spill over into real life.

They had plane tickets to Chicago leaving at 1:10 the next morning, but work on the multiple necessitated an early call for the whole team at 9 p.m. instead of 11. When Sara arrived in the break room a few steps ahead of Grissom, she found garlands strung up around the room and a glass encased baseball on the table. None of her co-workers said anything to her, though the smirks on their faces told her the joke had to be on both her and Grissom.

But it was only when Grissom entered and gasped, pointing to the garlands overhead, that she got the joke. "The Bosago Pink Sox. Cute. Very cute," she managed around her own laughter.

Grissom leaned over the table and picked up the ball. "This is my 1953 Dizzy Dean Hall of Fame autographed ball. Do any of you have a clue how much this is worth?"

Greg looked at Grissom and shrugged. "A lot?"

"A lot. And what do I always tell you at crime scenes that applies here?"

They chorused together, "Don't touch what you can't afford!"

--FIN--