Gil walked over to the bed as he finished buttoning up his loose, white cotton shirt. He smiled at the image of Sara snuggled into the pillows, her face serene with the peace of slumber. Brushing her hair aside he gently kissed her forehead and murmured in her ear.
"Wake up Sara," he urged gently. His wife simply sighed softly and curled up tighter. "Come on honey," he cajoled, "wake up." This time he got no reaction at all, and so he shifted slightly and fastened his lips over hers; kissing her into a tender wakefulness.
"Hey," she whispered blissfully, as she stretched her arms and legs.
"Good morning dear, sleep well?"
"Mmm," she hummed, closing her eyes as she yawned. "It's not even seven," she groaned upon seeing the alarm clock. "Why are you waking me up at such a disgusting hour?"
"I have a surprise for you," he laughed, "and if you don't get up you'll miss it." With a sigh Sara tossed the covers away from her and sat up. "I'm going downstairs to get breakfast while you get dressed." Sara blinked sleepiness away from her eyes as she watched him walk out the door. Yawning deeply she staggered into the bathroom and turned on the cold tap, thrusting a wash cloth under the icy flow. The brisk water on her face made her yelp, but it did the trick; forcing away the remaining fogginess of her dreams. Feeling solidly back in the land of the living she reached for her deodorant and noticed Gil had left clothing out for her. Intrigued, she slipped into investigator mode. Green, three quarter length pants that were comfortable in the heat because of their lightweight fabric. On top of them was a loose, white shirt and a tank top, upon which rested a tube of high factor sunscreen. On the floor, in front of the cabinet were her sneakers. Lips pursed she started getting ready, applying the sunscreen first. Obviously they were going outside in the sun; hence the sensible shoes. He knew she would be comfortable in the pants and shirts for hours, and the tank top was there because he knew she liked layers when wearing shirts with buttons. Her mind pondering the possibilities she slipped into socks and her underwear, and then her preselected clothes. After brushing her teeth and combing out the wild tangles last night's shower had left her hair in, she carried her shoes to the edge of the bed and perched their while she put them on and fastened the laces. With a soft sigh she remembered the days when she used to balance on one leg while lacing up. Then the baby kicked her and she smiled softly, running a hand over her stomach. Moving to make the bed, she discovered another stash of items from her husband. His straw hat, and her matching fabric one, along with their sunglasses and her camera, complete with recharged battery and a spare, empty, memory card.
'Where is he taking me,' she mused. Just then the door opened and the organiser in question entered with cups of tea, bran muffins and fruit.
As he set his burden down Sara wandered over and slipped her arms around his neck, kissing him softly as his hands lingered over her back.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, reaching for an orange.
"Not telling," he grinned. Sara pursed her lips, watching him stand there in blue shorts, sneakers and his own white shirt, looking, in her eyes, sexy as hell.
"Oh, come on Bugman," she begged, taking a sip of tea.
"Nope," he shook his head, a taunting grin on his face, "it wouldn't be a surprise then." Sara sighed.
"Can't you just give me a clue then?"
"No way, you're too smart for that. You'll see soon enough." Smirking openly, he handed her a muffin.
...
When Gil parked at the harbour Sara looked around with interest as he steered her in the right direction.
"Here we are," he said as they stopped by a small stand.
"Whale watching?" asked Sara, thrilled.
"Yes," he grinned, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "I checked that it's safe for you and baby girl. We leave in about twenty minutes." Sara turned into his arms, hugging him tightly.
"I love you," she whispered into his ear.
"I love you too," he returned.
...
"Gil, look!" gasped Sara, pointing out to the side of them as the boat motored along. He followed her finger as a massive blue whale breached the surface in a spray of diamond water droplets. Simultaneously Gil raised a pair of binoculars and Sara her camera, viewing and capturing the perfect moment. Moving to the bow they saw a pod of dolphins swimming alongside, jumping in and out of the water in the wake of the boat. Sara watched as Gil held her from behind, peering over her shoulder.
"This is beautiful," she sighed, "thank you for surprising me."
"You're welcome," he returned, nuzzling her neck softly.
...
That evening they decided to eat dinner in the restaurant dining hall, rather than venture out on foot somewhere after they had returned the car, given the early start they had in the morning. As they ate Gil pointed out various people he knew that Sara hadn't met in the last few years. They were just finishing up when Clyde Jones, a Welsh entomologist at Stanford who had befriended Gil over a decade ago, snatched a chair from the empty table next to Sara and promptly sat himself down with them.
"Hi Clyde," smiled Sara before taking a sip of her water. "How are you?" On cue, the man launched into a rolling, never-ending and highly entertaining monologue covering everything from himself, his family and life in Stanford, to the weather, the latest in the world of entomology and even politics in the United Kingdom. Sitting back in her chair Sara watched her husband's face as he laughed along with his friend. When the talk eventually turned to a discussion of a new species of ant discovered the Brazilian rainforest earlier in the year, Gil began to enthusiastically inform Clyde of everything he had managed learn thus far. Sara, having heard all the information and seen the photographs over several evenings discussion not long after the discovery, opted not to stay and listen a second time when she was exhausted from the day's activities. After assuring him she was fine and that he could stay as long as he liked without worrying about her, she excused herself and went upstairs to bed, grinning as she saw him take up the discussion again like an overzealous school boy.
...
At breakfast they were joined again by Clyde, his equally over talkative friend Hans Schwarz and Nikko, a relatively new member of the entomology world that Hans had taken under his wing, and who seemed perpetually stuck in a state of adolescence, despite being twenty-seven and working under Hans at Gil's alma mater, Chicago. When Clyde asked him to pass the water pitcher he fumbled the pass over and dropped it, spilling the entire contents over the table. Nikko blushed scarlet right to the roots of his brilliant red hair, giving him the appearance of a sunburnt radish.
"At least I won't need a shower later," quipped the soaked Clyde, "not after this bath anyway." As he left the table to change Nikko sank back into his seat, resting his head in his hands. Unfortunately he put his elbow in the butter dish in the process, which made his arm slide out from under him; his whole body lurched to the side and he tumbled out of his seat, dragging half the table cloth with him. Hans stood, hauling the humiliated younger man to his feet.
"Please forgive us, I don't let him out very often," smiled Hans, his lips twitching with amusement as the pair went to exchange their food, coffee and water soaked clothing. On the opposite side of the table, clear of the blast radius, Sara and Gil made eye contact and lost their battle to keep their laughter in check. A waitress arrived to clear the mess while they were still trying to compose themselves. As the attendant piled cutlery and crockery onto a trolley, the smell of strong black coffee reached Sara's nose. Gagging, she clamped a hand to her mouth and bolted for the restrooms. With a sigh, Gil picked up her purse, his folder and their untouched blueberry muffins and went to stand outside the ladies room.
...
Following the opening speeches and formalities of the conference, which they both agreed was nowhere near as much fun as watching a print casting dry, the floor was open until lunchtime for attendees to mingle, meet with presenters and prepare any last minute details, which was equally as dull. It was only when they settled next to each other to listen to the first series of lectures that they finally felt interested. Sara took various notes in her own personal shorthand that Gil had given up trying to understand years ago, while he scrawled a few questions he wanted to follow up on. When the final talk rolled around Gil pulled out his notes and flash drive, heading to the podium. Sitting back in her chair, Sara grinned as Gil slipped into his teaching mode. Feeling as though she was back at Berkeley, she flipped to a clean page in her notebook and began to scribble copious notes. When he finished, and the lectures ended for the day, she met him by the door.
"Excuse me, Professor Grissom, I have a few questions if you have time." Smirking at her reference he followed her out of the hall and slipped an arm around her waist as they headed for the elevator.
"Did you enjoy that?" he asked.
"Yes, I did, and I do actually have a question about something the second guy said, but not right now," she said as they arrived at their door.
"No?" he asked, as they stepped inside and the door closed behind them.
"No," she said firmly, before kissing him passionately. When they pulled apart breathless, Sara rasped out, "Oh I wanted this yesterday but I was too tired. I'm sorry," she groaned as he pushed her gently against the wall and began kissing her again.
"Don't be," he gasped, as he pulled her sweater off. She tugged him closer and feverishly worked on the buttons of his shirt; pushing it aside, she let her hands trail over his chest, and then to his belt, button and zipper. They made it to the bed, breathless and sans clothing, as she curled around him and his hands wound into her hair. His kissed, licked and tasted his way across her neck, his lips gravitating toward her breasts while his hands caressed her belly before moving lower. Moaning at her increased sensitivity to his ministrations, Sara pulled him back to her lips, desperate to feel his kiss. Unable to wait any longer they collided frenetically, releasing all of their pent up energy and passion into a blistering climax. Curled together they lay gasping and flushed with the intensity of their experience. Sara gently pressed her lips to his shoulder as his arm slid further around her waist.
"I think I need to come to your lectures more often," she remarked seriously. Gil nodded in agreement.
"Absolutely. We both know an experiment is invalid unless it can be duplicated. And I would be more than happy to duplicate that intensity again."
"When's your next lecture?"
...
Dinner was relatively quiet after the excitement of breakfast, with the exception of Nikko dropping his entire dinner plate on the way back from the buffet tables.
"If you're going to keep nailing me with you food kid, I'm afraid I'll have to move to a different table," joked Clyde as he used a napkin to wipe pasta sauce of his leather shoes. Turning scarlet once again, Nikko sighed and scraped up the mess before returning the buffet for take two. Swallowing a bite of wild mushroom quiche Sara looked up from the jar of roaches in front of her that she had been keeping an eye on.
"Can you remind me of the rules honey?" she asked. Grissom grinned at her, still buzzing from their earlier encounter.
"Sure! Every competitor gets to enter six roaches in the preliminaries and keep one wild card. Ten roaches per race and the top three get through to the next round. No one has more than one roach in each preliminary. The wild card gets to replace any of the first three to lose by automatically advancing to the next level." Sara frowned over his last sentence.
"Why, that makes no sense." Gil shrugged in reply.
"No idea, that's just the rules." Clyde leaned over from Gils other side.
"Joe Lesco invented the rules years ago. He wanted to make sure he got another chance when his first three went out. He never did win the trophy though." Laughing Clyde returned to his dinner and his conversation with Nikko.
"Who's our wild card then?" asked Sara, peering at their roaches again, before glancing over at the jar in front of Clyde.
"Freud." Hans appeared next to them, handing out sheets of paper.
"Thanks," said Sara, taking the racing order for the night and studying it carefully. "We're in heats one, three, four, seven, nine and ten," she showed Gil.
"What order do you think we should run them in?" he asked, pulling the jar closer.
"Well, Frost, Emerson and Blake are definitely the strongest contenders, but these are preliminaries, does it really matter who goes where? It is random draw right? So even those who make it through aren't going to be racing the same roaches in the next round."
"Sounds plausible. So, alphabetically or by author preference?"
"We don't agree on preference, so it had better be alphabetically."
"You know," said Clyde casually, "Everyone here is a geek, it's a required part of the membership; you two take it to a whole new level though. Talk about a match made in heaven." Snickering to himself he took his roaches and went to get ready. Gil and Sara looked at each other, their amused expressions mirroring each other.
"You ready?" asked Gil, getting to his feet.
"Definitely," grinned Sara, picking up her camera as Gil lifted the roaches.
...
Gil and Sara stood next to Clyde, waiting to release Blake while Clyde introduced them to his first racer, Weed.
"Why is his name Weed?" asked Sara. Holding up his jar, Clyde pointed out the others.
"Meet Grass, Skunk, MJ, Herb, Snowflake, AK-47 and Blueberry. I brought a couple of extras just in case." Seeing Gil and Sara staring at him, shocked over his choice of roach names he grinned. "The seventies were very good to me guys, unbelievably good!"
...
Grinning like an idiot Sara stood at the finish line taking pictures as Wordsworth trundled over the line in third place. Laughing at their success Gil scooped up his roach and deposited him back in the jar and led Sara over to the leader board. Thanks to Frost and Emerson taking first place in their heats, Blake taking second and Keats and Wordsworth placing third they had five roaches through to the next stage the following evening. Longfellow was the only one not to finish in the top three after a false start and then a slow wander down the track to take sixth place.
"We're in second place," said Sara, finding their scores, "we have fifty points." She glanced at the jar in her husband's hands. "Well done guys." Clyde came shuffling over with a sigh.
"Twenty-four points," he grumbled. "I only got Weed, Herb and Grass through, and they each got third place."
"It's not the seventies anymore," said Gil and Sara simultaneously, before bursting into laughter.
"Too bad, it might have given them a little incentive to run faster," grouched Clyde as he strolled off.
...
...
Ooohhh, I've always wanted to write a roach racing scene; I hope it didn't disapoint! I needed a little levity after the serious tone of the week, so please let me know what you think.