Disclaimer: I don’t own them. Wish I did. They all belong to what’s his face and CBS.

A/N: This is my first CSI story, so please read and review. I could do with some concrit. I don’t know if I’m going to add onto it or not, so feedback about that is appreciated as well.

"Do you ever dance?"

Grissom felt relatively comfortable that he could simply blame this question on the wine tomorrow. He hated Christmas parties, especially when they were thrown by the city. They always seemed overly formal and he never felt much like socializing. He had long run out of comfortable topics to use as ammunition while mingling amidst the crowds in the ballroom at the nameless Vegas hotel and casino that had been rented, and he had settled down to a pleasant yet standardized meal with his companions from the nightshift. That is, until the music started, and everyone else trailed off, chasing skirts, or in Catherine's case, chasing bowties. He'd been left with Sara. She was the last person he wanted to see on Christmas, especially when he felt drunk, vulnerable, and aggravated from the forced mass socialization.

"No," Sara replied tersely, "Can I have your rice?"

Grissom pushed his plate over to Sara in a smooth movement, not taking his eyes off his glass of wine, which was slowly disappearing. He understood why Sara wanted his food, there had been no vegetarian plate, and she had been forced to make a meal around the giant slab of meat on her own plate.

"It's nice to see that the city has as much respect for your eating habits as I do," Grissom intoned.

It was meant to be a joke but Sara just looked at him uncomfortably. He didn't have to look up to know, he could always feel it when her eyes where on him, and he suddenly felt equally uncomfortable.

"So, do you hate Christmas, or just formal balls?" Sara finally asked, after she had scraped the rice off of Grissom's plate.

"A little bit of both."

They remained silent as Grissom helped himself to more wine. He was never much of a drinker, but for some reason he had the irresistible urge to just get drunk tonight, and having not drank regularly since college, it was a lot easier than he remembered. It was silly for him to let himself get so emotional over a holiday, and he knew he would regret it in the morning, but he found himself enjoying the giddy numbing sensation that was washing over him.

"You're drunk," Sara noted carefully, trying not to sound to judgmental.

"How ironic that I get a lecture from you," Grissom mumbled bitterly, vaguely enjoying the reaction that his scathing comments warranted.

They sat in silence, Sara's eyes burning into the table, her fingers digging into the table cloth, making little darkened indentations with her fingernails. Grissom had never noticed how nice she kept her fingernails. They were short, but they were clean and neat, and she had even put a coat of polish on them for this occasion. It was a deep red, and there were slight bits of sparkles in it that caught the light whenever she moved her fingers. He was hypnotized for a moment, and all he could think of was how ugly his fingernails were, bitten and caked in dirt. He suddenly felt quite silly.

"I'm sorry," he tried, "I-I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry Sara."

Sara looked up and he finally lifted his head and looked into her eyes. He found often that he couldn't look at her face for long without being distracted, and today was no different. He smiled broadly, half from giddiness, but also because he enjoyed looking at Sara, especially her eyes.

He really didn't know what else to say, he was always terrible with apologies. He wasn't even sure at the moment what he was apologizing for. He thought for a moment that he might be apologizing for his very existence in Sara's life. For anything and everything he'd ever done to her. It'd be better if she had never met him, she'd probably be a rich and famous physicist with a charming and equally talented husband. He stared into her eyes and made up a little scenario in which Sara had a perfect life which had nothing to do with him. In his fantasy he gave her a kid, and a car, and he even included a dog because he remembered that Sara liked animals. He gave her a little league game to drive her son to, and a charming dinner party to attend with her husband, but he froze in his little fantasy, struggling to create a perfect husband for her.

All he managed to do was put himself in her fantasy, to his own dismay.

"I hate these parties too you know. I hate people sometimes. Drunken people. Happy people. The way they behave. I can't even stand myself sometimes if you must know the truth," Sara sighed, and sipped her own glass of wine, "It's all a sensory overload, all very unpleasant, isn't it Grissom? Although, I'm sure someone on that dance floor is talking about how unpleasant we are. How very unsocial. How very un...un-'people like' we behave."

Grissom laughed. He felt the same, and in some way they were so perfect for each other.

"Do you want to dance?"

It was the wine again. He cursed its quality to weaken inhibitions and logic, while simultaneously reveling in the brief enchantments it provided. The duality of the wine reminded him of Sara. It could baffle and confuse him and make him feel giddy and weak or it could make him violently ill and in pain.

"Ok."

Sara was smiling, and he took her hand gently and led her away from the table.

It was wrong to get drunk, but sometimes it was tempting.

There was some light classical music playing softly, but no one was really dancing, they were just swaying and clinging to each other. It reminded him vaguely of a junior high dance. Holidays played with the emotions, making a person desirous for comfort both physical and mental.

The room was spinning lightly from the wine.

They were dancing much to close, victims of the same emotions that had taken over the other couples. Sara was nuzzling his neck, and he found that he was stroking the small of her back very gently. He could explain away his reaction, but he wasn’t accountable for hers. She was much more sober than he was, she should stop this.

His vision was slightly blurred, and his dance was more of a rhythmic stagger. Damn the wine.

He found that he was kissing her ear, lightly enticing her earlobe with his tongue. Her hair smelt good. The swaying was all very comforting, but it also made him sweat as his tux was too thick and Sara was quite warm. If it wasn't all so pleasant, it would have been revolting, sickening with the motion and the heat.

He was having trouble focusing, and found the only thing he could really process was touch. This was as much Sara as the wine; as Sara was now planting light kisses on his cheek. He forgot that people where watching and he pulled up slightly, taking the opportunity to brush his own lips lightly with Sara's.

He was drunk. And yet, he found himself attempting to kiss Sara, their lips barely touching, but the meaning of their actions obvious to both of them.

"Grissom?" her lips moved against his, causing a pleasant sensation to which Grissom only responded with a grunt, "Ok, you're making me feel guilty, Grissom. Clearly you're not coherent and I'm taking advantage of that."

She had suddenly become aware of there actions, of the stares from fellow colleagues. Sara broke off from him, and slowly led him away from the dance floor. She was surprisingly gentle, guiding Grissom back to the table and gathering her things.

"I'm taking you home, Grissom."

"I don't want to go home. I want to stay here forever," he said whimsically.

Sara merely gave him a strange look and led him off gently, taking his arm and guiding him outside of the ball room in the fancy casino and into the cold night air.

"Chilly," Grissom commented breathlessly as he adjusted to the cold.

Sara was amazed at how good a drunk he was. He seemed relatively normal, except for a slight instability in his gait and a strange look in his eyes. Of course his strange behavior in the ballroom also evidenced his intoxication.

"Do you know how many people saw you kiss me?" Sara asked, pausing as she removed her keys from her purse to look at him. He was loosening his tie and collar and looking at her as he leaned against the car. He looked positively suave and it disarmed her.

"I prefer not to think right now," Grissom answered simply, his gaze steadfast and almost overwhelming.

Sara shook off the feeling she got from looking into his eyes and opened her car, and Grissom walked around to the other side, getting into the passenger seat.

"I'm just drunk Sara, don't look at me like I'm dieing," Grissom growled, noticing her eyes flickering towards him at regular intervals as she drove.

"You just seem...so different. It's a little...scary."

"Don't mind me," Grissom spat bitterly, "I'll just be your little safe normal...thing. I don't know what I am to you."

Sara found him very erratic when he was drunk, more than even when he was sober. She had never thought that possible. He was angry too. She pulled up to his house and sat for a few seconds in the car, hoping he wouldn't want her to walk him up.

"I don't think I can make it up there," Grissom finally admitted, with a sigh, and then he turned to Sara, "I feel like I need to talk to you, because if I don't do it now I never will. I'm sorry for what I do. Everything that hurts you, all of it. You deserve better than me, you deserve better than this, and I have to tell you because I don't think I'll ever be drunk enough or brave enough again to tell you...to tell you anything. I love you. I do, and that's why I can never touch you. I'm just protecting you from...from this. I can't always stop myself, but...I don't know. I'm not making a lot of sense."

Sara was frozen. He sounded very clear, and he was speaking very neatly and calmly, but his eyes were unfocused, and he was rambling and near incoherence. All that she really had heard was the three most painful words of that speech. She doubted he would remember that he had said it tomorrow, but she knew she would always remember. She reached out a hand and stroked his face, and before she could stop herself they were kissing. She pulled back quickly, shaking a little, and grew angry at her own weakness. She had been weak all night, when he'd asked her to dance, while they danced, and now this.

She sat back fully in the driver's seat, staring straight ahead of her, knowing full well he’d never make it to his townhouse on his own but still hoping that he would simply disappear.

“Come into my apartment,” Grissom offered, and then noticing her shocked look he added, “Take me into my apartment. I’ll never manage alone. I suppose I could sleep in the bushes, but it really is a cold night and I won’t be much use at work tomorrow if I’m a Popsicle.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’ll be much use at work tomorrow anyway,” Sara sighed, getting out of the car and going around to his side, allowing him to drape himself against her as she tried to move him towards his home.

She was beginning to amend her decision about how good a drunk Grissom was. He could barely stand now, and it was like dragging along a petulant child as he kept tripping and whining about something that he hurt from his drunken movements.

They finally made it to his door where Grissom fumbled with his keys for a full five minutes before Sara angrily snatched them out of his hands, and after a few tries to figure out which key was the right one, she opened the door. She led Grissom in, and then sort of threw him onto the couch. She suddenly became incredibly nervous about the situation at hand and they stood there looking at each other, before Grissom pulled her onto the couch with him by her wrist.

“Grissom,” she protested, attempting to squirm out of his grasp, but he seemed to have a vice grip on her wrist, “Grissom, you’re going to regret this in the morning.”

“What? Having you sit with me on my couch? Yeah, I can see it now, I’ll go postal.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” She squirmed again, she was almost draped across him, and she wanted to move.

Grissom gently moved her face so that she was looking him directly in the eyes and they sat like that for what seemed like forever. Sara became uncomfortable under his gaze and it seemed to her that they were moving closer to each other.

“You don’t want to do this,” she warned him.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

And he kissed her. Not the gentle brushing of lips that had happened in the ballroom earlier, but a passionate kiss in which he used his tongue to explore her mouth, his hands slipping to her hips as he pushed her closer to him. They stayed that way, there mouths and bodies entwined, rolling around on his couch until Sara finally pulled back, brushing at the tiny curls of hair on the back of his neck.

“You aren’t going to remember any of this, are you? You told me you loved me, and then you made out with me on your couch. It’s like a crazy dream, except that it’s probably the worst thing that could possibly happen, especially since you’re drunk and I’m taking advantage of you.”

“I do have to talk to you, Sara.”

“You know, I think I might need liquor for this myself, what do you have?” Sara asked, as she pushed herself up from the couch, heading towards his kitchen. She found a bottle of bourbon in one of his cabinets and after a small search, she poured it into a glass she found, knocking it back quickly, before refilling the glass and coming to sit down next to Grissom.

“It’s all my father’s fault,” Grissom said.

Sara merely stared at him with a baffled look on her face. She was afraid to ask him what he was talking about because this might make him stop talking, but on the other hand, she didn’t know if what he was saying was even sensible enough to be worth knowing.

“He left when I was 5,” Grissom said thickly, “He gave me twenty dollars for every birthday right up until he died. I was a thirty-year-old man receiving a twenty dollar bill in the mail from my father. I guess that meant something because he didn’t have a lot of money, but it didn’t mean much. I only saw him in person twice after he left my mother. I spent a whole Christmas with him when I was 17. He gave me socks. Said it was because he didn’t have the money for anything else, and also because he didn’t know what I liked. I burnt them with a cigarette lighter when he passed out from the drinking. He was always drunk. The funny thing is I’m just like him. That’s what that Christmas taught me. We don’t get people. We just run from our problems. And we hurt people.”

Sara felt this sick feeling in her stomach as Grissom rattled on. Moisture was welling up in his blue eyes and his voice was cracking. She felt odd sitting here on his couch, watching Grissom spill out his soul to her, when he’d never said more than a few words about his life before he’d met her.

“7 out of 13 markers,” Grissom croaked.

“What?” The bourbon was beginning to take effect and Sara was finding it hard to concentrate.

“DNA”

“Oh, right.”

“He’s half of me, and I hate him for it.”

Sara sighed, she felt miserable again, and no amount of bourbon was going to change that fact.

“This isn’t how I imagined this,” she said, blaming his miserable confessions of love and confusion for not being perfect as in her fantasies.

“I still love you though,” he murmured pathetically.

She turned to look over at him, his head lolling back on the couch, his eyes cloudy. He looked near exhaustion, the alcohol taking its toll on his body. She felt like she had to protect him, he looked so helpless and weak as he lay there, physically and mentally exhausted. He squirmed under her gaze, he always felt awkward when she looked at him, always feeling as though she could pick out all of his inadequacies with just a glance.

“What about the other half of you?” Sara asked as she gazed into his listless blue eyes.

“What?”

“Biologically speaking, you’re half your father but half your mother as well. Judging by how you turned out, I’m sure she’s a wonderful person Grissom. You’re a wonderful person.”

“You think I’m wonderful?” Grissom questioned a definite note of whimsy in his voice.

Sara didn’t answer but merely shifted on the couch, stretching her aching muscles. It felt like she’d been sitting there for hours, when it had probably been less than thirty minutes.

“That’s all I really had to say, Sara,” he said suddenly, “Just that I love you, but that you deserve better. Deserve more than me.”

Sara made a low growling noise deep in her throat. She was very frustrated. Talking to a drunken Grissom was like talking to a wall. Hell, talking to a sober Grissom was similar, except the wall was very well educated.

“Don’t you know that only you can make me happy?” Sara whispered, immediately regretting the words as they escaped her mouth. It wasn’t like he’d remember it tomorrow, but the fact that a secret she had held so dear to her heart had just been put out in the open was a bit daunting and terrifying.

She stood up, grabbed her purse, grabbed her keys, and accessed whether or not she was still sober enough to drive. Felling reasonably content with her sanity, she turned back to face Grissom, to try to summon the right combination of words and support that would mean something to a drunken love-struck lunatic.

“I’m going home, call me if you…I don’t know, call me if you remember what I said.”

She walked out before he had the opportunity to reply. He felt intensely foolish; she was always doing that, running off before he had the opportunity to reply, to summon up his thoughts. He kicked his shoes off and lay back on his couch, staring up at the ceiling until he blacked out.

---

“Willows.”

”Catherine? I’m not coming into work today,” Grissom croaked into his cell phone, “You’re in charge. I know I promised you Christmas, but you’ll have to cover.”

“Funny, Sara’s not coming in today either. Just what the hell happened at that party? Everyone saw you on the dance floor you know.”

Grissom made a grunt into the phone, “I don’t know. I was drunk. I assure you what happened last night between us was a lot less erotic then whatever fantasies are playing in your head.”

“Yeah. Because we all know the thought of you and Sara rolling around in bed is just like Viagra for me.”

“Shut up. She took me home and I think I talked about how I hated my father.”

Catherine made a snorting sound, “Warrick lost his bet. He swore you two were gonna rock the cash bar.”

“I was drunk Catherine. Awfully drunk. The kind of drunk you see on TV and you laugh at, because the actor is clearly overacting. It was miserable; I made a fool of myself.”

Catherine made a slight clicking tongue in cheek noise and both fell silent for a moment.

“I know you don’t want to hear this Gil, but you guys are right for each other. I guess this is strike one, Gil. How many more chances do you think you’ll get before you’re out? You aren’t getting any younger.”

“I noticed,” Grissom crowed, looking at himself in the mirror of his bathroom, the same bathroom he’d just spent the last hour and a half in, vomiting his stomach contents from the past 30 odd years.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do---“

“Yes, you are.”

”But, I think you should do something. I know you love her. Hell, we all know you love each other, it’s painfully obvious. That kind of thing doesn’t come along every day, and I don’t know your reasons for holding back, but nothing is worth denying the love of another human being.”

“Mmm,” Grissom said.

Catherine heard the click as he hung up, and she sighed. She was pissed, working on Christmas. Didn’t the man have any compassion?

---

He was fumbling miserably with the cell phone in his hands, bloody Mary sitting untouched on his kitchen table as he sat on an uncomfortable kitchen stool, desperately trying to gather up the confidence to call Sara. It would only take a few buttons, she was on speed dial, but it was amazing how hard it seemed to be for him to press those few buttons. His head was pounding and he felt utterly disoriented by the whole situation. He took a deep breathe and finally managed to call Sara.

Sara’s voice broke in midway through the third ring.

“I’m not coming to work Grissom. I told Catherine that, and I meant it. I’m a little bit hung over if you must know and---,” Sara rambled, not even bothering to say ‘Hello’ as she had clearly just glanced at her caller ID and assumed the worst.

“I know, I’m not going to work either,” Grissom interrupted.

“Oh,” she fell silent, and he could tell from the soft muffled sounds that she was actually squirming.

“Did I humiliate myself last night? I only remember bits and pieces…I-I think I might have…um…”

“Yeah,” Sara whispered softly.

“I’m sorry.”

”Don’t be, it’s ok.”

“So we kissed, huh?”

”It was more than just a kiss,” Sara mumbled, her voice turning embarrassingly husky.

“I was really drunk,” Grissom said, but he knew that that wasn’t a worthy excuse. He really had no excuse. He had thought about doing what he did last night, even when he was sober.

“Yes. It’s ok, really it is.”

“I babbled at you about my father, and I think I told you I loved you.”

“Do you?” She was merciless, enunciating the words, letting them dig into him like a knife.

There was a silence as they both set on either end of the line.

“Yes,” Grissom breathed, in fact it was even less than a breath, and the words could have been so easily lost in the traditional phone static, except that Sara felt them seared into her soul.

Sara made a little rattling coughing sound and neither of them said anything for a long while, afraid to speak, to break the unspoken magic between them.

“Don’t do this to me Grissom,” Sara growled finally, “Don’t do this to me again. Don’t tell me I’m beautiful, and don’t walk away and talk about stupid zambonis. I can’t do this anymore.”

She bit her lip, to keep from talking, to keep from digging into both of them until they were both emotionally drained and miserable. She tasted copper, her lip was bleeding.

“I meant it.” There was ferocity to his voice, a power, an emotion that Sara had never heard before.

“I’m sure you do,” Sara snapped, “and then tomorrow we’ll both go back to work and you’ll ignore me for two months. Maybe I’ll get another plant if I’m lucky.”

“You hurt me Sara. Like no one else can. Nearly 50 years in my life and I never let anyone close enough to me to cause me emotional pain, but with just a huff of displeasure from you and my whole chest tightens up and I feel miserable, in my own personal agony. That’s love Sara. The way someone can make you feel worthless or priceless with just one little glance.”

Sara was breathless by his show of emotion. She had always imagined that he was emotionless, and now within forty-eight hours not only had he shown her emotions, he had shown her incredibly powerful emotions. It’s like he was a faucet, a hot and a cold tap only, no in between. She felt the same way too, but it was absurd the way he was just talking at her.

“Are you still drunk?” Sara queried.

“No.”

“So you mean this.”

”Yes Sara. I may be a foolish old man, but every once in a while I do lift my head out of the microscope.”

“It’s Christmas,” she changed the subject evasively.

”I hadn’t noticed,” he lied easily, staring at the old fake and pathetic tree that stood miserably in the corner of his townhouse, “What do you do for Christmas?”

“I have a few beers and watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.”

“That’s a good movie.”

“You’re familiar?”

“I don’t live in a hole Sara. I just act like I do sometimes.”

“Do you remember what you gave me for Christmas last year?”

”Yes. What would you like this year, by the way?”

“What do you have to offer?”

“Considering all the stores are closed, not much. I could give you my heart and soul though.”

“I’d like that. That’s more than enough,” Sara said, her smile audible over the phone line.

“Hey, I’m the only one who can make you happy,” Grissom joked.

Sara bristled, stunned.

“WH-What? What did you say?” she sputtered into the phone, “How did you remember that?”

“Remember what?” Grissom asked, completely dumbfounded at Sara’s odd behavior. Perhaps she wasn’t ready for this relationship.

“Uh…nothing. Nothing really, sorry. I had a moment. You know, a crazed Sara moment.”

“I like your moments,” he smiled.

“Listen, do you want to come over for Christmas? I mean, let’s not be drunk this time, but it might be nice, have a little wine, watch Jerry Bailey fuck up his life and then magically fix it with heavenly intervention? Not too much drinking though. You’re positively frightening when you’re drunk, Grissom. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“My friends at college used to think I was funny. They used to liquor me up and try to make me cry.”

Sara snorted, “Nice friends.”

“I got them back,” Grissom grinned.

“Oh, really? How?”

“Blood, lots and lots of blood. I don’t want to go into details, but needless to say it was effectively humiliating. Bastards.”

Sara giggled at Grissom.

“What? They were. I only hung out with them because they bought me beer and paid me good money to do their term papers.”

Sara giggled maniacally, “My God Grissom. You have so many layers. I never would have pictured you as some kind of geekish slave boy.”

“It was good beer,” Grissom murmured defensively, “Wait…geekish slave boy? No, I wasn’t a geekish slave boy.”

“What were you then?”

“I was lost. Still am sometimes.”

Sara sputtered a little at the emotions in his voice when he said that, “Oh. You’re a very cryptic man.”

“I know. I can be. I can’t say that this…this relationship,” he stretched the words out, testing the feel of them, “…that this relationship will be easy. If you ever feel frustrated, feel free to get me drunk and make me cry.”

Despite the light joke at the end, Sara could read the seriousness behind Grissom’s voice, and she remained silent for a moment. She stared into the phone like it had just tried to jump down her throat, and then she finally summoned up something to say.

“So you’re coming over at 9?” Sara queried in a soft voice.

“What?”

“George Bailey!”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I’ll see you there. Hopefully I won’t talk about my father.”

“That really bothered you didn’t it?”

“Yes. I’ve never told anyone about my father. I even changed my legal name. Dropped the Virgil. Just Gil, so I wouldn’t be a junior anymore. No more connection to him…I’m doing it again. You always have this effect on me, you make me…”

“Over talk?”

“Yes,” he smirked remembering her own words from a year ago.

“We’re doing it again.”

“ Bailey at 9.”

“Right, and I’ll be damned if they call us in. I don’t care if my own parents are in Doc Robbins’; I’m not coming in tonight.”

“Ok, 9. I can’t wait.”

“I love you,” Sara said suddenly, feeling the need to tell him. Some far off place inside her was genuinely afraid that he might chicken out and not come over.

“I know,” Grissom replied simply.

“Thanks, Han.”

“Bull shit, you’re not freezing me in carbonate you cinnabunned temptress.”

“You pop culture references amuse me, young padawan.”

“Wait, shouldn’t you be the padawan?” Grissom queried.

“Someone has control issues,” she teased.

“Shut up. I’ll see you at nine. May the force be with you.”

“I hope that that’s geekanese for I love you.”

Grissom made a snorting sound and then hung up.

---

She had a hard time figuring out what to wear. This was undoubtedly a date, so she wanted to look pretty, but she didn’t want to look overly formal. She only had three skirts in her closet, and suddenly this seemed to be a problem. She suddenly didn’t like any of the clothes in her closet. She threw a shirt down angrily onto her bed. This was ridiculous, she was behaving irrationally. This was just a casual, friendly get-together. Right? But what if it wasn’t? What if it was a sexy, erotic get-together IN BED? In which case, she needed nice underwear. Now she had more problems, picking out a decent pair of underwear, which preferably matched. She felt like she was going crazy, and she wondered if Grissom was having the same thoughts.

No, that man is cool as a cucumber. He’s probably picking out some shirt he’s worn a hundred times before, and he probably has holes in his underwear or something.

---

Grissom thought he looked idiotic. He was gazing into the mirror, straightening his clothes, fiddling with his belt buckle, and generally being fastidiously self-conscious. His hair was suddenly unbearably untidy. He had honestly not run a proper comb through it in at least three months, and now he was deciding if he should put gel in it or not. He hated that his hair was so curly, hated that if he kept it to long it puffed out into a faux-fro. He also hated that the word ‘faux-fro’ was in his vocabulary, along with ‘tru dat’, ‘fo shizzle’, and ‘big pimpin’. The hazards of living in Vegas.

Grissom glanced into the mirror again. He looked like an insane mad professor. He thought of trimming his beard too, because he thought that in combination with the faux-fro, and his bright eyes, he looked like an insane pathetic and lonely lunatic out to rape, murder, and plunder a Star Wars convention. Oh, that was another thing…

May the force be with you? Nice Gil, you have the charm of a middle-aged man who lives in his parent’s basement.

---

Sara heard the door knock, and she took a moment to straighten herself before opening it. There was Grissom, leaning against her doorframe with a coy half-smile on his face and a crooked moth-eaten Santa hat on his head.

“Ho, Ho, Ho,” Grissom pronounced.

“You know, you do have a Santa look about you. Maybe not Santa exactly. You could be like Science Santa.”

“I’m not even going to touch that one,” Grissom replied perplexedly, “What the heck is Science Santa anyway?”

“I dunno, I guess he gives good little girls and boys Chemistry exams,” Sara giggled, showing him in.

“Hey! I’m good with kids.”

“Grissom, I’ve never witnessed you interact with a kid who hadn’t been raped or murdered, or a witness to one or the other.”

“I have cousins with children,” Grissom said matter-of-factly, “I spend the occasional holiday with family. Little boys love to talk about bugs and baseball and ride roller coasters. We have a ball.”

“I guess. What about the little girls though?”

Grissom shrugged, “No one’s ever had girls. It’s a family quirk I suppose.”

“It’s just, I’m skeptical. You don’t get along with adults, how you can get along with children?”

“Children are honest and innocent. I like children. It doesn’t take a lot to please them, but it’s worth it.”

Sara eyed him strangely as though he’d grown a second head, “That’s kind of sweet. Scary as all hell, but still sweet.”

Grissom sat down on her couch unceremoniously and Sara joined him, deftly clicking on the TV, which was conveniently on the right channel.

“So, what other movies do you like?” Sara thought to ask. She realized she barely knew this man even though she knew she was madly in love with him.

“One’s that have a plot. Such a rare thing to find now. Everyone relies on the special effects.”

“But you saw Star Wars. If that’s not special effects, I don’t know what is.”

“It was new back then though. I was in awe of what they had done. Now special effects have lost all there whimsy. Star Wars was a good movie in its own right though. It could have lived without the special effects; it still would’ve had a following for its plot and the whole alternate universe Lucas created. It would’ve been very…campy, but it could have survived, some of us would carry a torch for it.”

“Have you even watched a single movie in the past 20 or so years?”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I have. I saw Spiderman 2 just the other day, actually.”

“Oh, bugs.”

“It was a good movie.”

“BUUUGS.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to watch this damn man commit suicide.” Grissom grumbled, running a hand through his hair in mild irritation.

“Clarence to the rescue!” Sara crowed merrily.

“I always thought this scene was so inaccurate. I think he would have been unconscious, knocked out by the water. You’re good with these kinds of calculations. Tell me, shouldn’t he be unconscious because of the force he hits the water with on impact?”

“I’m not doing equations just because you can’t enjoy a movie. Do you have to nitpick at every inaccuracy? How the hell did you manage watching Star Wars if you can’t manage to watch this? Oh, and besides, there’s an angel in this movie, and yet no problems with that.”

“Would you guys do that for me? If I lost a bunch of money would you all have a party and call in my hunky, more successful brother to bail me out, along with the whole neighborhood?” Grissom thought aloud, changing the subject. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t said anything, fearing he’d made the mood to heavy.

“You have a brother?” Sara questioned dubiously.

“No.”

“That solves that problem, besides you’re getting ahead of the story. I like the part where the wife is a lonely librarian. Do you think we really affect people’s lives like this? I mean really.”

“You affected my life.”

Sara looked over at him, there eyes meeting. She’d almost forgotten that this was a date. Suddenly she wanted so badly just to caress him, stroke him, and feel the little curls on the back of his neck between her fingers.

She merely settled for entwining her fingers with his as they returned to the movie, but neither was really focused on it anymore. Both relished in the warm feeling of holding the others hand.

“I used to run around the house ringing bells because of this movie,” Grissom said softly, “I thought I was the best little angel maker in the world. God would give me a train set for making so many angels.”

“You never struck me as a religious man.”

“I’m not. I was just a religious child. I went to Catholic school.”

“I hate to think what your Catholic school was teaching you, that you thought God gave out presents…Did God ever give you your train set?”

“No, but Santa gave me an ant farm.”

“Does this mean that if you’d gotten a train you’d be a conductor?”

Grissom pulled the old, yawn and stretch and slipped his arm comfortably around Sara.

“Maybe.” Grissom replied evasively.

“That was pathetic Grissom, you have a doctorate and you couldn’t do anything but then the ‘yawn and stretch’?”

Grissom blushed.

“They didn’t teach me this in school.”

“Are you still a virgin Grissom? Because with moves like that, I’m beginning to wonder.”

“Don’t be silly…I’ve had sex with at least 12 woman.”

Sara blanched, “Oh my God. I’ll be 13.”

“What, pardon?”

“Lucky number 13. I swear this is some kind of omen.”

“Wait, did you just say you’d have sex with me?” Grissom blinked.

They both blushed now.

“I’m sorry, you haven’t even kissed me…while sober, and I just said I wanted to have sex with you. I should just go out on the strip in a short skirt and see if I can get myself murdered by a John.” Sara grumbled, her words full of self-disgust.

“I’ll work the case when you do.”

A small smile passed between them and they relaxed again.

“I think you’d make a lovely hooker.”

Sara glanced at him and found that he was gazing at her almost hungrily. She knew she should be flattered or aroused or something else entirely but she found herself in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. She was laughing so hard her stomach ached and little snorts escaped from her nostrils. Grissom merely gave her the oddest look as she stood there laughing. She laughed for almost a full minute, and Grissom started to chuckle as well. Soon they were both laughing, not knowing why, but just reveling in the insanity of it all.

“I’m sorry,” Sara said breathlessly, “I didn’t mean to insult your pickup line or whatever that was. It was just I had a very funny image of you trying to pick up hooker me.”

“I think you’d be too expensive.”

“I agree. You’d want something kinky and I wouldn’t be down with that.”

Grissom eyed her peculiarly.

“Why does everyone assume that? You know you’re not the first woman who’s told me she thought I’d be kinky.”

“I’m going to strike the last part from my memory, but as for the first part. Well…it’s always the quiet ones. Plus, the whole Lady Heather thing.”

This evidently was a hot button as Grissom began squirming and adjusting his collar.

“What happened with you and her anyway? There were…rumors. Gruesome Grissom and the Dominatrix of Doom.”

“What the hell is wrong with you people and your alliterations…” Grissom complained.

Sara felt an unreasonable amount of jealousy welling up inside her at the mere sign of his evasiveness.

“12?” she asked quietly.

Grissom looked positively ill, while at the same time maintaining the facial features of a bad puppy that had soiled the carpet. She wondered if she should rub his nose in it.

“You were with Hank.”

Suddenly, the tables had turned. They were so good at playing each other that it was frightening. Each could cut the other down so well.

“Yeah well, Hank never slapped my ass and asked me to oink like a pig or whatever the hell they do at that place,” Sara growled.

“I don’t want to do this Sara. I don’t want to waste time worrying about what we did while we weren’t with each other. I can’t live like that.”

“Tell me about Heather,” Sara demanded. She had to know before she could move on.

“Tell me about Hank,” Grissom countered, seeing his opportunity and taking it.

“Fair enough. Hank was a man. I’m a woman. Do I need to draw a diagram? That’s all it was. Sex and comfort and movies and free food. He had terrible taste in restaurants anyway. Crappy diners, I swear the man never even took me to a place that required a tie. “

“Was it good sex?”

“At first.”

“Then?”

“Then it got old. Heather now.”

“She’s an interesting conversationalist.”

“Is that Geekanese for ‘she blew me’?” Sara queried, a ruthless tone lacing her words.

“No! That’s crude,” Grissom huffed indignantly.

“Hey, you asked pointed questions, I’m just returning them,” she found it incredibly attractive when he tried to act dignified, and would have pounced on him if he wasn’t being such an ass.

“Hmm. Well we had sex. And I kept in touch with her off and on. A few dates. Nothing serious.”

“Are you dominant or submissive? I’m just curious,” Sara questioned deliberately, attempting to rattle him.

Grissom actually growled, “It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t having sex with a dominatrix. I was having sex with Heather. We both have very stressful jobs.”

“I’m sure. How many times?”

“I dunno...sixish,” Grissom offered, and then noticing the look on her face. ”Hey, you’re the one who asked this.”

“Was it good?” Sara pressed, ignoring the terrible feeling in her stomach.

“You’re asking more questions than I did.”

“You’re more evasive.”

“True…It’s hard to say. It felt amazing, but there was something off. It always felt like something was wrong afterwards.”

Sara bit her lip, she wanted to grind him into small pieces for his honesty, but at the same time it was admirable for him to be so truthful. She merely clenched and unclenched her fists.

“I have more of a temper than you,” Sara mumbled, trying to change the subject.

“Not true. I just have more self control. If Hank dies mysteriously a few years from now, and I assign you the investigation, it might be in your best interest to not investigate too much into it. It’s most certainly a suicide,” Grissom grinned, squeezing her hand playfully.

They sat in silence for a moment more, as Grissom mulled over all that had just been discussed.

“I punched someone in a bar once, broke his nose,” Grissom added thoughtfully.

“You were in a bar? And you hit someone?”

“He stole my rum and coke…and my date.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Pretty drunk,” he shrugged.

Sara snorted. She noticed the movie was over, and now they were watching the news. It was talking about some murder case they’d already solved.

“This has been enlightening. I know you like Star Wars, children. I know you have cousins, who have children. I know you were Catholic, and that you wanted a train, but you got bugs instead. I know you’ve seen Spiderman 2, and presumably the original Spiderman movie as well. I know you’ve had sex with 12 women, one of whom was Lady Heather. I know you have a temper and that you go to bars, order rum and cokes and evidently take advantage of women until they’re stolen by guys whose nose you eventually break,” Sara thought aloud, counting off everything she now knew about Grissom, as though she were making a grocery list.

“Oh, and that I think you’d be a lovely hooker. But when you say it all like that I sound a bit dull,” Grissom replied with a chuckle.

Once again silence, and then once more Grissom broke the silence with a curious question.

“How many men have you had sex with?” he asked.

“I didn’t ask you that question,” Sara replied immediately, alluding to there unspoken agreement to ask and answer all of there questions mutually.

“I’ve had sex with 0 men. A transvestite hit on me once, but I resisted temptation.”

Sara gave him a searching look, but couldn’t figure if he was joking or not on that one.

“You’re a strange man, Gil Grissom,” Sara chuckled, and then she turned towards his original question,” I dunno, 20ish?”

Grissom seemed to be seething.

“Blackjack,” Sara said suddenly.

“What?”

“I dunno why I keep doing this, keep talking to you about you having sex with me, but if it did happen, you’d be 21. Blackjack.”

“My middle name is Arthur,” Grissom offered as means of response, and though it seemed as this had nothing to do with anything, Grissom was testing a hypothesis with this statement.

“GAG?”

“Wow, two seconds or less. You’re cleverness never ceases to surprise me. I mean first the whole sex partners number game, and now this.”

“Is your middle name really Arthur?” Sara asked, after she realized that he’d been testing her.

“Yes.”

“That sucked didn’t it.”

“At least I’m not named Frederick.”

Sara smirked, “You’re the one who was hit on by the transvestite.”

“It’s confusing to be hit on by a transvestite,” Grissom frowned.

“I really don’t want to have this conversation…Ask me questions about myself.”

“I don’t really care. I have all I need to know. You’re Sara Sidle, and I love you,” Grissom replied honestly.

“Where do you get this stuff?” Sara asked at this sugary sweet comment, but she was smiling at him, pleased.

“It comes from my heart.”

“I understand why you like Peanuts. You sound like you could pick up where Charles Schulz left off.”

“Oh yeah, Gil Grissom: regular aficionado on the human condition.”

They sat there for a while, watching the news absentmindedly. Sara had curled up in his lap before she knew it. He was stroking her head gently.

“I swam competitively in High School,” Grissom was finding it hard to keep his mouth shut. The whole thing about the truth setting people free was true. All these years and Sara never knew anything about him, and now suddenly he felt like he had to tell her everything before he ran out of time.

“I did musical theatre,” it was quickly becoming a contest to see who could whip out the most startling personal revelation. Somehow everything with them became a contest, a game. It was pleasant.

“I like artichokes.”

“My Aunt is named Geraldine.”

“I have a scar on my butt where I sat on a pen when I was 23.”

“I have a tattoo on my butt.”

“I once ate a whole bag of marshmallows by myself in a fit of anger and hunger. I then realized that marshmallows expand inside your stomach and vomited white stuff all over the backseat of Alexander Becknel’s car,” Grissom offered, trying to keep his mind off Sara’s butt.

“THE Alexander Becknel?” Sara asked, recognizing the name from many articles in forensics magazines.

“Yes.”

Sara giggled, ”Your vomiting in people’s car stories are cooler than mine because they involve famous criminalists. I ate candy corn off of the bottom of someone’s shoe and then vomited in the back of Helen Baker’s car.”

“Who’s Helen Baker?” Grissom questioned in a puzzled tone of voice.

“Exactly.”

“When I was 10, I stabbed a boy with a spork,” Grissom replied, getting back to the original goal of the conversation.

“How’d you manage that?”

“I was a precocious child.”

“I imagine…When I was 10 I caught a fish with my bare hands.”

Grissom gave her a look, “I don’t know if I should be creeped out or aroused.”

“You can decide later,” She then bit her tongue, “Ok, I swear that time I didn’t mean to talk about sex.”

Grissom just smiled softly, stroking her hair more.

“Have I stumped you,” Sara asked after a while.

“No, I’m just tired,” he said, “Besides, it’s not always about winning. That’s the only thing I learnt from my competitive swimming days. That and if your ass is snapped with a towel, it hurts.”

Sara made a small giggle, followed quickly by a happy sigh and then closed her eyes, soaking in the moment. She liked how it felt to be in Grissom’s lap with him stroking her hair. It’d be perfect if he was doing the crossword, just like a dream she once had. And in the dream it had been Sunday, which reminded her of Calvin and Hobbes for absolutely no reason at all other than she had an anthology of Sunday comic strips from them in her bedroom.

“Bill Watterson,” Sara mumbled.

“Mmm,” Grissom murmured, moments away from sleep, but still able to do the hold creepy mind-meld thing he and Sara always did, “Calvin and Hobbes.”

After that his breathe fell into a regular rhythm, and Sara lay in his lap for a few moments, simply listening to his slow intakes of breath and exhalations with her eyes closed. The steady sound soothed her and soon she too was asleep.

---

He was very sore. That was his first conscious thought in the morning. He desperately needed to stretch, to rub life back into his stiff limbs, but the peaceful resting angel on his lap prohibited him from moving. He was deathly afraid of disturbing her slumber, so he merely contented himself with watching her sleep. She had a tiny smile on her face, and soon Grissom was grinning like a Cheshire cat at her. He stroked her hair, softly and delicately as though he would break her, allowing himself the pleasure of running his fingers through her soft chocolate locks.

Suddenly her eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” he smiled warmly, “I love you, but I can’t feel my legs.”

“Oh,” Sara sat up, brushing herself off lamely, “Is it really morning? I can’t believe I fell asleep. At night too. My God, I have work today; this is going to be hell.”

“You can take another day off,” Grissom said breezily, and then turned and gave Sara a peculiar look, “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. You’re wondering if you can go 24 hours without sleep, so I suggest you blow off work.”

Sara smiled broadly, “I know, and I slept at night. Grissom I haven’t slept at night since I was like 20.”

They grinned stupidly at each other for a moment.

“Do you want breakfast? I’ll make you breakfast,” Grissom offered.

“This is my house Grissom, how will you find everything?”

“I’ll make educated guesses. If I’m wrong, well, it’ll be amusing results.”

Sara let her hand gently graze his shoulder as he stood up stiffly from the couch, but she knew she held it there slightly longer than was natural. He grasped her hand gently, examining the long fingers delicately. It was funny, he had spent the whole night at her house, and yet he proceeded with such precautions. It was strange, he had spent at least half the night with her talking about sex and nothing but sex, and yet they’d never shared a kiss, at least one that both parties remembered vividly.

“You have very delicate hands,” Grissom said.

“Thank you,” Sara mumbled.

“I need to kiss you.”

“Ok.”

And he did, very gently on the lips, his tongue slipping in slightly after a few seconds, stroking the inside of her mouth. It was nothing like the first drunken kisses they’d shared, it meant something. The kiss ended shortly, Grissom pulling away slowly.

“That was nice,” Grissom smiled.

“Are you insane?”

”No?”

“I couldn’t even move when you kissed me and you think it was just nice,” Sara asked, in a mild state of shock and anger.

“I um, would you like to supply some appropriate adjectives so I don’t stick my foot in my mouth again?” Grissom questioned. He never could do anything right with Sara it seemed.

“Yes. No. If I say what I think I’m afraid you will get an inflated ego.”

Grissom smirked at her and started fooling around in her kitchen.

“This reminds me of a novel I read. The guy thought that he could judge every woman he met by the contents of her kitchen,” Sara spoke, thoughtfully.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who reads a lot of fiction,” Grissom replied, opening a cupboard and finding nothing but row upon row of rice. Slightly confused, he closed it and turned to the next one.

“I read a lot of everything Grissom. I do that whole Barnes and Noble-ripping them out of money thing.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh you know, there are lots of us who just sit in Barnes and Noble, sipping coffee and reading books we will never buy. It becomes a little competition after a while. Who can discard the most books, who gets the best seat. The seat part is the worst. You have to protect your comfortable chair, but after all that coffee you need to pee. So you try to wait it out, you can see the lurkers, waiting for you to stand up to go to the restroom. They just want to steal your chair.”

Grissom was looking at her with amusement, “I’ve never done this before.”

“We should go to Barnes and Noble, buy their expensive coffee, steal the insides of there books, store the knowledge away like intellectual chipmunks and then scurry off for a ritualistic urination.”

“I’m going to pretend I never heard that,” and he then proceeded to serve her pop tarts in wine glasses.

“Happy Boxing Day,” he toasted, crumbs from the crumbled pop tart scattering as he motioned with his glass.

“You were right this is interesting,” she said eyeing the pop tarts, “What did my kitchen tell you?”

“It told me you don’t have anything in the same places as I do.”

“That’s nice.”

They ate in silence for a while, when Grissom’s head suddenly snapped up. He could feel Sara’s eyes on him, studying him.

“What?” Grissom asked.

“Nothing…I-I was just thinking. Why have you been so totally honest with me? I mean, we’ve known each other for a while and you’ve barely told me anything about yourself…its odd.”

Grissom shrugged, “Well, once I’d made a fool out of myself when I was drunk, it didn’t seem all that bad.”

”Oh,” Sara replied flatly. She’d hoped for some sort of poetic reply, and instead she received the truth. The truth was always a lot less beautiful or gentle than Grissom’s natural evasiveness.

“To liquoring you up!” Sara toasted with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

Grissom raised his wine glass to hers, listening to the merry jingling as the two collided. He brought it back towards him, and then paused a moment, as if in thought.

“Hey Sara, these Pop Tarts are non-alcoholic right?” Grissom joked.

Sara gave him a small smile, leant forward, and kissed him gently on the cheek.