A/N: First-thank you for all the sweet messages! Enjoy! Remember-this is a short story!

What's More Fun than a Kiss Under the Mistletoe?

Chapter 2

Warrick Brown's grasp of the science and art of evidence collection was a pleasure to watch, thought Gil Grissom. But it was his easy, companionable silence that brought an added level to working side-by-side with him. Not that he disliked working with anyone on his team; he enjoyed Catherine's constant banter—most of the time. Nick was as reliable as the sun rise and Sara—his thoughts caused a smile—Sara was the most complex and most intelligent person in the lab.

His mouth formed a smile as he processed a blood pool. Sara. The person he loved more than he had ever thought possible; the person who knew what he was thinking before he did. And the thought of spending time with her made him lightheaded with anticipation.

The two men had worked around the kitchen and dining room. They had walked in to see two bodies on the floor, blood smears and spatter on every surface. Blood pooled in several places including around the bashed head of one of the men. The other, the one with multiple knife wounds, had moved around before collapsing in a heap.

Dave Phillips had already removed both bodies; their job collecting evidence from a physical fight that had turned deadly was fairly straight-forward. The wife of one of the dead men had walked in and found both dead men on the floor.

From across the room, Warrick stood and stretched. "You know, Gris, all this blood—and it's a mix of both—was serious fighting but the knife came from this drawer."

Grissom stood and did a similar stretch, saying, "The skillet came from that hanging rack. Doc is going to have his work cut out for him."

Warrick's soft chuckle came as he took another photograph. "Doc is out for a week—these two get the holiday sub. They were angry about something." Leaning over the sink, his eyes caught sight of the edge of a paper and he lifted a soggy rectangle caught in the rubber ring of the disposal. As he spread it out, he frowned, took another photo, and reached for a paper towel.

"Look at this—crammed into the garbage disposal." His tweezers turned the paper over to reveal a photograph. "Which guy was the husband?" He used a paper towel to wipe and dry to surface.

"Blue shirt and khaki pants."

"Then why does this photo have jeans and tee-shirt guy with the wife—and neither one wearing much clothing?" Warrick wiped the photo again. "We may not determine who started this, but think this is the reason."

Grissom walked over and looked at the photograph. He said, "The wife was very upset—the boyfriend shows up—or was he already here—when husband walks in?" He shook his head, took his flashlight and pointed it into the disposal. "I'd say several photos went down this thing but this one got stuck." He leaned over the photograph again. "The edge is torn away—maybe by the disposal?"

Warrick wiped the photo with a fresh towel. His gloved finger traced the figures as he said, "Look at this—here's the woman—and one hand is here on her arm. Another hand is on her shoulder."

Pulling a small magnifying glass from his jacket pocket, Grissom brought the images into an enlarged focus. He made a soft whistle and handed the glass to Warrick saying, "There's a third person's arm in the photo."

A moment later Warrick said, "On her leg—do you think—is it a threesome?"

Softly, Grissom said, "Or a ménage-a-trois."

The two men stood together for a few seconds before Warrick asked, "Aren't they the same thing?"

"No, not really. A threesome is when three people have sex with each other. A ménage-a-trois is technically a 'household of three' who are having a sexual affair."

Warrick laughed, shaking his head. "Do I want to ask how you know that?"

Giving him a quirky grin, Grissom answered, "I read—a lot."

Making a grunting sound, the younger man said, "Grissom, do you ever have a real date? Just for fun? I got a few friends—smart ladies—who'd enjoy a nice dinner with someone who reads."

Grissom, taking the magnifying glass from Warrick, bent over the photograph again. "I am satisfied with my life just as it is. And I don't do casual dating."

Warrick wasn't sure Gil Grissom dated, casual, serious, double-dating, or any kind of dating.

After finishing their work in the kitchen, they walked through the house, finding evidence of a third person living in the house.

"The grieving widow has some answers to provide—she claimed not to know the other guy," Warrick said.

Grissom sighed. "We're short-handed for the next two-three days and she's with her mother. I'm going to suggest we wait a few days to interview her. She's not going anywhere—probably shoved the photos down the disposal before calling 9-1-1."

Eventually, they gathered evidence bags and kits and headed back to the lab.

On the drive, Grissom asked Warrick his plans for the holidays knowing he was taking time off for two days.

"I'm seeing a nice girl, Tina. We're driving out to the Grand Canyon for two nights. Got reservations a few weeks ago because she knows someone who knows someone—you know how that works." He chuckled. "It should be fun—away from the city, away from the crowds." He made a laughing groan. "I may be back early."

"Ahh—you'll have fun. Different kind of beauty in the winter."

The rest of the drive was a comfortable silence between the two men and on arrival, they stored evidence bags, downloaded crime scene photographs, and replenished their kits before Grissom sent Warrick on his way.

Walking to his office, Grissom was aware of the unusual silence in the lab. Most people had left for the holiday; even the front lobby was dimmed and doors locked. Rounding a corner, he glanced into one of the work rooms and saw Sara, head bent over the table, hair damp from the shower.

"Hey," he said as he stopped in the doorway. "I—I thought you'd be gone by now." He pointed to his hair, saying, "Dead deer smell?"

At the sight of her smile, everything within him suddenly urged him toward her. His exhaustion, his fatigue displaced with desire if he could take her into his arms, caress her cheek and search out the softness of her lips. He was almost to the table before his mind warned him of their agreement—no intimacy during work—and he stopped.

She seemed to read his mind as her smile became one of teasing, her dark eyes flashed with mischievousness. She came around the table and said, "I have a better idea."

Following her, they walked to the deserted and darkened lobby where she pushed open the door. For a few hours each night shift, no one entered the laboratory lobby. Even the holiday lights were off.

Sara pointed above her head to a bunch of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Quietly, she said, "I've been avoiding this all week." She took his arm and pulled him into a hug.

"Sara." He whispered her name lest he broke this spell and the quietness shattered around them.

Quickly, their lips met in a heated, passionate kiss, arms encircled, hands searched and pressed against each other. After several long moments, they broke apart.

Grissom was first to speak, saying, "Go home, dear. I'll be there as soon as I can."

She started to protest but he shushed her with his fingers. "I promise to wake you with something more fun than a kiss under the mistletoe."

They hugged again, Sara's head on his shoulder, his mouth pressed against her curling hair; neither noticed the quick shadow at the closed door.

Greg Saunders, on his way to the airport, remembered he'd left a small gift for his mother in his locker. Quickly, he asked the taxi driver to return, directing him to the employee entrance near the parking garage. He was in and out of the building in less than five minutes; he would have been quicker except for the few seconds he'd spent staring through the glass door into the lobby at the couple kissing—obviously, not for the first time—underneath the mistletoe.

A/N: They kissed at work-and Greg saw them! More to come! Thank you for your comments! We appreciate all of your messages.