Later that night, Grissom was at home, studying all the butterflies he had on his walls. They made him think of a certain case, and of Sara. Thinking of Sara made his Super Sara-sense tingle. He went and splashed some water on his face. He hoped he wasn't too dressed up. He was wearing a tuxedo complete with bowtie (clip-on, but it looked nice) He wondered where Greg was taking them, or if he would even come; he wanted Sara to himself, that was obvious.
A siren went off in Grissom's mind whenever Sara was within 20 yards of him. Greg and Sara were there. Grissom peeked out the window to see Sara driving the Tahoe and Greg riding shotgun. Damn! He'd have to ride in the backseat. Grissom also noticed that Greg was wearing a t-shirt. Grissom raced upstairs, sliding on the hardwood, and stripped as fast as he could. He threw on trousers and a Navy button-up before slipping on some loafers. He narrowly avoided tumbling down the stairs and screeched outside the door.
He slipped into the Tahoe with "Hi, Sara" on his lips only to stop, when he saw Greg and Sara laughing and each tugging on one end of Sara's lipstick.
Sara threw a, "Hey, Griss," over her shoulder and smacked Greg's wrist. Greg looked surprised and snatched his hand away.
"Rawrr! Feisty!" Greg said.
Sara smiled satisfiedly and applied the lipstick. When she was finished, she looked in the rearview mirror and noticed Grissom staring blankly at her lips. She smiled and looked at Greg evily. "Greg, backseat," she ordered, barely stifling a giggle.
"What?" Greg asked incredulously.
"That's where the kids have to ride," she explained. Maybe this will go better than I originally expected, Grissom thought with a smile.
