Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, CBS does. Even if I am pissed at them for axing Nick and Sara - - [insert shameless plug to sign petitions and support George and Jorja]

Summary: Geeky, somewhat OOC carnival fluff to take away the pain of recent CSI news . . .

"I never figured you to be big on carnivals. I mean, hasty assembly, convicts running the rides, illegal displays of disabled sideshows - - I always pictured you as more of a . . . King's Island, Six Flags kind of guy. Disneyland, maybe, though I have trouble seeing you in Mickey Mouse ears."

"And I hope you'll always have that same difficulty," Grissom said. He handed Sara the large paper cone filled with popcorn. "Carnivals have their own advantages over large theme parks."

Sara crunched a kernel between her teeth and grinned. "Like what? The element of danger?"

"Theme parks are commercial. You can't go in without the feeling that you're being sold something, even with your money in your pockets. Carnivals are full of cons, obviously, but they're in the open about it. The atmosphere is more - - social. People laugh more in carnivals."

"And also, they have better food." She offered him some popcorn as they started walking towards the enormous, glittery Tilt-a-Whirl. "I swear, this popcorn isn't just covered in butter, it's composed of it."

"The glory of junk food." He wiped the grease off his fingertips and onto the side of the cone. "So unhealthy, and yet, so undeniably attractive."

"The same thing could be said about a lot of people," Sara said playfully.

She deftly stole her popcorn back from him, and tucked it under her arm.

"You know, I used to work in a carnival."

Grissom looked at her, eyebrows raised. He somehow couldn't picture Sara immersed in the day-to-day grime of the carnival. Even now, with her hair pulled back in a casual ponytail and her jeans and shirt casual, she looked untouchable to the rest of the world. Of course, he carried around a pair of rose-colored glasses when it came to seeing Sara, but her story was still hard to swallow.

She smiled at him, picking up on his thoughts. "My parents knew some barkers, right? And so they got me a summer job when I was seventeen - - encouraged me to see the world, experience life. Well, as much of life and the world that you could experience when you couldn't leave the city and only worked there for a week. Still - - a . . . broadening experience."

"Life-affirming," he supplied, taking her popcorn again.

"Life affirms itself. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

"Princess Bride. Well, the latter half."

"The first half was Sara Sidle," she said, "but since she's never been in Bartlett's, I'll let you slide on that one. Just remember it for next time."

"I'll make a note of it."

The line for the Tilt-a-Whirl drifted all the way back past the Tunnel of Love. He couldn't help but notice the way Sara's eyes drifted over the swan boats as they curved gracefully into the blackness, cutting through the shallow, dirty water. She smiled wistfully, and then turned back to him.

"Swan fixation?"

"I was picturing you inside one of those," she said. "Going through the dark with all of those weird lights, while you told me the chemical compounds of the water and how likely the boat was to sink."

"It's a Tunnel of Love," Grissom said, trying to sound dignified. "I don't think there would have to be that much talking involved in our journey through it."

She tucked her hand inside his. "I'll have to save the image of you in a swan for a rainy day," she said. "I can always get a good laugh out of that. Don't worry, I'll only subject you to the Ferris Wheel."

They moved up with the line, and Grissom paid for the tickets after a minor scuffle with Sara's money trying to make its way into his hands. He finally got the right bills to the amused young man, who gave Sara an openly flirtatious glance before sliding up the bar and letting them on the ride.

"He was staring at you," Grissom said.

"He was staring at my money."

"Only if you keep your money tucked inside your bra."

"There's only one way for you to find that out, Grissom," she said sweetly. "And I think you might have to save that for the Ferris Wheel. Cycling around on a neon wheel doesn't get me in the mood."

"As long as you don't have motion sickness," he said, as he fussed with the straps holding her in and finally checked his own just as the ride began to creak into a spin. "Although, it might not be a problem if you aimed for your friend at the podium."

Her laugh turned into a scream as the ride picked up speed. He normally liked to watch the swirl of colors form on the gathering spiral at the base of the Tilt-a-Whirl, but he found himself watching Sara, instead - - the way her face glowed pink as the fresh, warm air rolled over them, the way her sparkling dark eyes found his across the chaos of the spin and held his gaze, and the way her hair blew out in a halo around her head with the wind. He almost didn't even notice that the ride was coming to a halt until her hair fell back around her shoulders.

"Dizzy?" she asked as he reached out towards her as they descended from the platform.

"A little," he said. "But not really from the ride."

"The scientist has a silver tongue."

"The scientist has been bewitched," Grissom said. "And therefore, no longer accountable for his actions, let alone his inner ear difficulty."

She smiled at him. "The first part of that was romantic."

"And the second part?"

Her smile didn't falter, and she didn't answer him. Grissom decided that no answer was probably a better solution, anyway, and checked his wallet. They still had enough left for more rides, and more concessions. Carnivals made him hungry - - probably, he evaluated, from the rush of fried food all around him. As is, he was already starving again. He told Sara as much.

"I don't believe you. We just had popcorn."

"You just had popcorn. I purchased it, but was in no way responsible for its consumption."

"Picky, picky. You want a funnel cake? I'll pay."

She took off before he could either give her the money or see if she would tempt him by reaching for her neckline to get some of her own. Grissom shook his head, and shouted, "I'll find a table!" at her retreating back. She waved over her shoulder, and he looked around at the throng of people - - all of whom, apparently, were concentrated on the scattered picnic tables, greedily sucking up space with their hot dogs and gallons of lemonade.

Table? Easier said than done.

He wove through the throng, shuffling aside seven-year-olds with chocolate ice cream smeared all over their chubby faces, shedding passerby like snake-skin, and practically racing some hotshot and his girlfriend to a single available blot of empty space. It was taken just as he was a few feet away. The little girl grinned at him and sucked sprinkles off her brownie, lips pursed, as if to say, Tough luck again, Grissom.

"Damn," he said aloud.

The girl looked at him quizzically.

He shrugged, and entered the fight again. The smell of hamburgers, Coney dogs, and grease lingered in the air. He began to redefine the word "mob".

Finally, after several minutes of stalking, a couple stood from the table, crumpling up their buttery slices of foil around their corncobs. Grissom moved through the crowd like a shark, headed directly for the now available space, grinning at the prospect of finally sitting down - -

Oh. Ow.

The middle-aged woman glared at him, retracting her elbow from his groin as she and her two children dropped like waiting vultures into the empty seat.

"This is our spot," the little boy said unnecessarily.

Both children and their mother stared at him, as if daring him to protest. Grissom was in too much pain to say anything. He nodded, and hobbled off into the clear area outside the picnic clearing. To top everything off, Sara had secured the snacks and was strolling towards him with a large smile, holding the Coke and funnel cake up like trophies.

"I thought you said you were going to get a table."

"I was," he agreed.

"And?"

"And I gave up trying after a housewife gave me a vasectomy with her elbow. I thought you might prefer me to be in working order."

She laughed as he ate standing up, licking powdered sugar off his fingers.

"Should I find this lady?" Sara asked, smiling. "Maybe have a talk with her about abusing my boyfriend? Tell her to leave you alone?"

"I'm scared of her," Grissom said. "I'm not going back."

"The courageous crime scene investigator is terrified of a plump, middle-aged housewife?"

"You didn't see her," Grissom said defensively. "She wasn't plump. She was muscular. She was one of those housewives that eats chocolate cake all day but hardens her muscles by working out during soap operas. She was frightening."

"I'll protect you," Sara said. She took a sip of his Coke.

"If you keep eating all of my food, I'll have to make you go get more." Grissom neatly snatched the cup away from her and chewed at an ice cube.

"And if I have to go get more, you'll be alone and defenseless against the merciless housewives."

He held up his hands. "Sara, threats aren't healthy for a relationship."

"How about kissing on the Ferris Wheel?"