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The Things We Keep
Unbound improv challenge response. Sometimes, the things we collect say a lot about us. G/S.
Rating: PG-13; Published on 06/09/2005 - Reviews 0

Chapters: - 1 -

Disclaimer: Gimme a break. School’s out, and I have more kids than I know what to do with! I’m just having a little fun with characters I don’t own.

Summary: Unbound improv challenge response. Sometimes, the things we collect say a lot about us. G/S.

“Did you know that there is a butterfly called Sara?” Greg leaned back in his chair, reading from a journal Grissom had left in the break room.

“Yep. Orange tipped. Common along the west coast,” Sara shot back immediately. “Cute, Greg, but you’re not the first man to try that approach,” she added, giving a teasing smile.

“Really…” He seemed to ponder that a moment. “Guess I shouldn’t tread on entomologist territory, huh?”

Sara laughed at his assumption. “Uh, no, Greg. The summer before I went to Harvard, I worked at the Exploratorium in San Francisco.” Greg looked interested, but confused. “The nature guy had a thing for me,” she shrugged. “Gave me an Anthocharis Sara in one of those little display boxes.”

“Like the kind in Grissom’s office?”

“Yeah,” she said, and suddenly an odd thought occurred to her. “I gotta go…check on something. I’ll see ya later.”

It was a slow night. Making her way to Grissom’s office, Sara kept up the reassuring thought that she wasn’t about to make an ass out of herself. They had become good friends in the past few months. This was a perfectly legitimate, friendly offer.

He was reading a casefile at his desk when she sauntered in. “Hey, do you still collect butterflies?” she asked, glancing at the wall behind him.

“Yeah, I guess,” he replied, happy for the interruption. “I haven’t gotten anything recently,” he added, knowing the Debbie Marlin case destroyed most of his interest in the delicate insects.

“Oh. Well, at the risk of sounding ridiculous, do you have a Sara specimen?” She tried to keep a straight face, but his unexpected smile made it very hard.

“An Anthocharis Sara? No.” He cocked his head and deliberately let his eyes drift over her. “They are striking, though.”

Her harmless glare only spurred the sweet tension.

“Because…um, it occurred to me today that I have one stuffed in a box in the back of my closet.” Grissom crinkled his brow, curious. “Somebody gave it to me—a long time ago. It’s…not important, but I just figured if you collect them, you know, you could have it.”

He seemed to consider it a moment. “Really?”

“Sure,” Sara shrugged, “I’ll bring it in tomorrow.” She stood there, and they stared at each other. It wasn’t exactly awkward, but it was…certainly strange.

“Actually,” he said, before she could leave, “you could bring it to my house, instead.” He turned to glance at his cluttered office wall. “I don’t have much room here. Besides, I think a Sara butterfly should be kept in my home.”

She fought the twist of her lips, trying hard not to fall for his lame attempt at flirtation. “Of course,” she nodded, starting to enjoy this again—the friendly banter, the anticipation. It was odd, how these days something more between them seemed sort of…possible.

The meeting at his townhouse was tentative, but before long, they relaxed around each other. Grissom regretted taking her butterfly, but she assured him she didn’t want it. He immediately got a hammer and nail and found a place for it on his living room wall among several other specimens.

“Wow,” Sara said, inspecting them with awe. “You have a lot of these. They’re…kind of neat.”

“Don’t you collect anything?” he asked casually, straightening the box to perfection.

“Not really. Well…yeah, I guess I do.” He looked at her then, and she felt silly and nervous. “It’s stupid. Never mind.”

“What? You can tell me.” He stepped closer to her, genuinely interested.

Sara took a deep breath and kept her eyes on his butterflies. “Have you ever heard the psychological theory that when children lose a parent, a part of them kind of…stops growing, emotionally? So, they’re doomed to remain at whatever age they were when their parent died?”

Grissom stiffened and blinked, conflicted about how to respond. “Yes.”

“I think it’s true,” she said thoughtfully. “I really like…children’s literature.” A quick glance at his face made her continue. “Classics, I guess. I mean, I liked books as a kid, and I still…well, it’s weird. I find them comforting for some reason—the simplicity and naivety. I’ll just shut up now,” she blurted, shaking her head, clearly embarrassed.

Grissom watched her closely, moved by her honesty and amazed once again by her depth of character. Allowing himself a carefully executed act of spontaneity, he reached out and took her face in his hands.

She flinched and nervously blinked up at him. The shock of his touch was one thing, but the rush of his words was something else entirely—

“Sara, everyday that I continue this façade of being just a supportive supervisor and friend, pretending I don’t want to…comfort you and…be with you, breaks my heart just a little bit more.”

She didn’t want to cry, but it was hard not to. He seemed to be asking permission as he pulled her closer.

“You can be with me anytime you want,” she whispered bravely, taking in a mouthful of his air and shivering at the sight of his beautifully anguished eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replied, gently falling against him.

The tender kisses that followed left them both breathless and smiling shyly. His bearded lips tickled her skin, brushing over her cheek on the way to her ear where he whispered, “Children’s books, huh?”

Sara blushed and let her face fall to his neck. “Yeah. Do you want to see my collection?”

THE END.

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Chapters: - 1 -