Disclaimer: The characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.

Spoilers: SEASON 8 PREVIEWS (mild) 

A quick one for Cincoflex.


There was a package taped to her locker door, and as Sara pulled it free she sighed; it looked like Greg hadn't given up.

She dumped the jumpsuit on the bench and looked down at herself; she was three weeks out of the hospital now, but her spare frame was even thinner, and these days she felt downright bony despite the huge meals Grissom tried to feed her. Still, she reflected, she was on the mend, and the weight would return soon enough--

The door behind her swung open, and she looked over her shoulder to see Grissom himself entering the locker room. "What's that?" he asked.

Sara tossed the package onto the bench; the cellophane crackled. "Just something from Greg."

Grissom walked over and picked it up, squinting a little at the contents. "I haven't seen one of these in…"

"Twenty-five years?" Sara supplied, smiling a little. She hadn't owned a pair, but she could remember when it seemed like just about everyone was wearing a set.

Grissom tilted the package, making the balls on the end of the springs sparkle. "Why is Greg giving you space boppers?"

"Is that what you called them? We called 'em deelybobbers," Sara said absently, opening her locker and reaching for her hairbrush. "He's trying to convince me to go to his Halloween party."

Grissom snickered and set the toy aside. "I thought you already turned him down."

"I did. Twice. He still thinks he can change my mind." She brushed her hair vigorously, scraping it back and wrapping the tail in an elastic, her fingers slightly clumsy due to the cast still on one wrist.

"Why toy antennae, though?" Grissom pushed his hands into his pockets, cocking his head to one side as he watched her.

Sara sighed again, mingled amusement and exasperation. "He claims that now that I'm going out with you I have to dress up like an ant."

Grissom's smirk was tolerant. "Sounds like Greg. But I have to admit, that isn't one of my fantasies."

Sara tossed the brush back onto her locker shelf, glancing around to reassure herself that they were alone; their relationship might be outed to the lab, but neither of them were into public displays of affection. "Yeah? What is one of your fantasies?"

Grissom's lips twitched, and she thought she had him, but then he leaned in and whispered in her ear, and she felt the blood rising in slow heat up her throat to her cheeks.

"That's…interesting," she said, pretending she wasn't blushing at his suggestion. "But I don't think I could wear it to Greg's costume party."

"I would hope not," Grissom agreed, straightening and looking much too composed.

Sara cleared her throat and scooped up the jumpsuit from where she'd left it on the bench. "I have to change, Warrick's waiting."

Grissom nodded, and Sara whisked around the lockers to the women's showers. "Has Greg made any other suggestions?" he asked.

Sara stepped out of her slacks and folded them. "Not yet."

She heard the cellophane rustle. "I'll take care of these, then, if you don't mind," Grissom said. "And if you like, you can tell him you have a previous, ah, engagement."

Sara snickered as she replaced her blouse with a tank top and stepped into the jumpsuit. "He'll flip, you know he will. And everyone'll hear about it inside of five minutes."

She zipped up the front and walked back around the partition, putting her clothes in her locker. Grissom was regarding her with a mix of amusement and wistfulness. "They'll find out soon anyway."

"True." Sara moved in front of him and, sparing a quick glance at the door, slid her fingers along his neck until she felt the fine chain hiding under his shirt. Pulling it out, she caught the ring it held, and tried it on her left hand, but her fingers were still too thin and the antique piece slid off.

Grissom caught her left hand and placed a gentle kiss in the palm before releasing her and dropping the chain back down his shirt. "Go. I'll get rid of Greg's present and come up with something really fattening for dinner."

Sara smiled at him, wanting more than a kiss but sticking to propriety, and shoved her feet back into her shoes. "See you later."

At the door she paused and looked back; he was watching her with the faintly awed, faintly proprietary look that never failed to warm her. "Impatient?" she teased.

Grissom raised both brows. "Ant-icipitory."

She rolled her eyes, and closed the door on his chuckle.