DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything associated with the show… I just like playing with the characters in it from time to time. Dance Monkeys! Dance!
RATING: T for Teen
SPOILERS: Through US Aired Episodes Season 9
WORD COUNT: 998
PAIRING: GSR
PROMPT: 1Hour2Write June Picture Challenge Picture #10
SUMMARY: Sara is trying to get everything ready for dinner when she gets distracted.

A/N: Just a nice little fic for the 1Hour2Write Picture Challenge (links in my profile). But as always, if it wasn't for some incredibly talented ladies, this thing would never see the light of day. I am really lucky to have such wonderful betas, and blessed to also be able to call them friends.

REVIEWS: Reviews are the way I know if people are enjoying the work or not. So, if you leave one, THANKS! And if not, I hope you found at least a little something to brighten your day, and thanks for taking the time to read.


Moving from one cabinet to another Sara held the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she pulled out all the necessary tools. "No, I'm serious, Greg. He's really out there on the beach digging around in the sand."

His chuff of laughter told her he wasn't buying it. "Come on, Sara. There's no way the man is out there getting his little tootsies dirty just to find a handful of clams."

She dropped the steamer with the lid down on the stove and went in search of the other items he had requested before taking off for the beach. "Believe it or not, Greg. As soon as he gets back, we're having steamed clams with pasta and vodka cream sauce."

"Okay, now that's even more ridiculous." He was outright laughing when he said, "There's no way you're eating any clams, fresh or not, if you're the one cooking. I've had the Sara Special before."

"Bite me. I can cook…a little." She almost laughed at her statement. Her skills in the kitchen were hardly anything to brag about.

"Re-heating take-out doesn't count, Sar." Greg was not about to let her slide. He never did. "And neither is cutting up crap for your salads."

"Whatever…" She found the ladle he liked in the dishwasher and left it next to the other ingredients for his so-called, world famous Clams ala Grissom. She was still withholding her judgment until actually tasting this latest masterpiece. While she knew he could cook (certainly better than she could), his experimentation was often met with vehement protests from her digestive tract.

"Did you just call to criticize my culinary abilities, or was there actually a purpose?" She checked the list once more, pushing a wild strand of hair out of the way with the back of her wrist.

"There is a purpose…" He paused for a moment, and she knew he was working up to something. "I'm gonna be in Cali visiting my folks in a couple of weeks, and I was sort of wondering if…" He choked on actually saying the words.

Deciding to give him a break, Sara did it for him. "You were wondering if you could swing a couple of hundred miles out of your way to come by and see me?"

She could actually hear the blush in his next words, "Something like that…you know, if you don't mind, that is."

Sara smiled, knowing Greg was probably kicking the dirt with his toe as he tried not to sound too eager. "You still have the address?"

"Of course!" She laughed at his sudden excitement.

When he began to rattle off dates and times her mind started to wander, so she stopped him, "Greg, just email all of that to me, okay? And I'll make sure everything's ready on my end."

"Thanks, Sara! It's just hard not having you around anymore, and I figured, you know, if I was close, that maybe we could have some time to catch up and all that junk." Her smile grew as her old friend began to sound like the crazy kid she first met in Vegas so many years ago.

"Okay, okay. Greg, I need to finish getting ready before the triumphant clam digger gets back. So, send me all that stuff and I'll be looking forward to seeing you darken my doorstep." Greg thanked her again, and again, but she was finally able to get him off the phone just as Grissom came meandering back to the house.

She grabbed a towel from the table when she heard him flip on the hose by the door. There was no chance of sand getting in the house with his foolproof system in place. The walk to the house was made with grated metal floor mats, shoes were kicked off into the new and improved sifter box, and then a quick shuffle down the rubber mesh mat near the door, followed by a thorough rinsing with the hose. Like with everything else, Gil had a routine, with an organized system in place when it came to keeping sand out of the house. Of course, this time it was not a system of his own design, but one of his mother's little tricks. It was apparently a genetic quirk after all.

Meeting him at the door with the towel for his feet and legs, she smiled at the basket he held in his hand.

Gil immediately looked down into his nearly empty clam basket. "Well, there weren't quite as many as I had hoped." She tossed him the towel and took the basket from his grasp, laughing at the expression on his face.

"We should have enough for the effect, but I really wish…" He bent down to wipe the rest of the water from his legs. "Someone had thought ahead and gotten enough clams to be sure." Straightening up, he was met with Sara holding a bag of clams from the local market and wearing a wide smile. Gil tossed the towel into the hamper by the door and then leaned in to gently kiss her lips. "Good thing I have you thinking ahead for me."

She snorted. "Yeah, I'm handy to have when it comes to mollusk preparation."

Snaking an arm around her waist, he brought her body flush with his, humming against her neck, his tone incredibly salacious. "Oh, you're good to have in any way." Kissing and nibbling his way up her neck, he started whispering the ways down her neck. "It's good to have you in bed, in the shower." His lips pressed in time with her quickening pulse. "It's good to have you in the kitchen, against the wall."

Her mind was swimming with all of the memories, and all of the possibilities yet to come when he drew back and studied her brightly flushed face. "What, no witty retort?" His eyes were shining with mischief when he smirked, "Oh, come on, Sara. Don't clam up on me now."