The truce held . . . for a while. Dante stuck with Sara and Grissom, and gave Figaro a wide berth while Figaro kept to the high ground of the kitchen counter and watched the puppy intently. The homemade dog food went over well despite the ground chuck being a bit overdone; Dante gulped down the stewed tomatoes, rice and hamburger dish so quickly he was in danger of choking.
“Slow down!” Sara chided, trying not to grin as Dante actually stepped into the serving plate. The puppy ignored her, licking the cool surface longingly and then running his little tongue around his mouth to check for crumbs. Grissom scooped him up and carried him to the back yard.
“You look like you’ve had experience with this—“ Sara ventured, following him. Grissom had the puppy up to his shoulder, and Dante was busy licking his ear.
“Mostly trial and error, but it’s fundamental—what goes in—“
“Yeah, yeah, I get the saying,” Sara replied with a wince. Grissom set Dante down and watched him scamper down the brick steps into the grass. He snuffled around happily, exploring the yard, bouncing here and there as new smells drew his attention. The sun had just risen, and the air was cool and still. Sara stood with Grissom, watching Dante.
“Do you want to keep him?” she asked, fairly sure of the answer. Grissom didn’t commit lightly, but she’d seen the way he’d held the puppy, the care and attention in his gestures.
“A puppy is a lot of work,” came his slightly evasive reply. Sara stepped behind him and began to rub Grissom’s shoulders, her hands gently kneading the tension in the broad muscles along his strong neck. After the first few seconds she felt him relax and a small happy groan escaped him.
“Yes, a puppy is a lot of work,” she agreed softly. “But you wanna know a secret? I’ve never had a dog.”
Astonished, Grissom turned his head to look at her. Sara nodded solemnly. “It’s true. My family had cats off and on, and sometimes guests coming to the Inn would bring a dog with them, but we never had one of our own. It just wasn’t feasible, not with so many people coming and going all the time.”
“Yes, I could see that, unfortunately. And while this one’s little at the moment, he will get bigger. A LOT bigger,” Grissom predicted, still savoring the feel of Sara’s hands on his shoulders. She said nothing, but kept rubbing for a while. Out in the yard, Dante squatted again, proudly marking his turf and trotting away from a job well done.
“I don’t mind.”
“You say that now—“ Grissom predicted, but he smiled crookedly. Figaro slipped around their legs, brushing against them on his way to the edge of the stairs. The cat watched Dante caper about, and arched up when the puppy bounded over. Dante slowed, and dropped to his rounded belly, whimpering a little, clearly remembering the Power of the Paw. Figaro eyed him for a moment, then deliberately edged closer, and sniffed the puppy’s head once more, whiskers twitching. Dante lifted his muzzle and Figaro sniffed that too, and gave a quick grooming lick that the puppy appreciated.
“Looks like they like each other,” she observed cautiously. Grissom thrust his jaw out and crossed his arms.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to call it like—they’re acclimating right now. Getting to like is a long process, but grooming is a good start.”
“Speaking of grooming—“ Sara whispered, “Someone could use a bath.”
“Okay, yes. Between the pet store and the dog food, I guess I could stand a soak,” Grissom grumbled.
*** *** ***
The water was nearly perfect—hot, but not blisteringly so, and the suds were mildly scented. Grissom lowered himself into the water, wincing only when traditionally tender male flesh met the hot soak. Once completely in though, he felt himself relax and lounged back against the cooler porcelain, letting his arms rest along the high sides of the tub.
It felt marvelous. Grissom reached for the bath brush, lazily dipping it in the water and rubbing it along the bar of soap, sudsing it up. Just as he reached the long brush to where his toes rested against the end of the tub, the frosted door to the bathroom creaked open slightly. Grissom glanced over.
Figaro strode in, looking around and moving towards Grissom curiously. He watched the cat approach, and leap up onto the closed lid of the toilet, then sit there, grooming one paw.
“Yes?” Grissom demanded in a low tone. He wasn’t surprised; Figaro had a habit of stopping in to check on whoever was in the bathtub. Sara didn’t mind, but Grissom still found it to be a little unsettling to be watched by a cat. Figaro worked over his paw with stronger strokes, and Grissom sighed. “If this is to complain about the new kid, you’ll have to talk to the lady of the house.”
Figaro didn’t stop grooming, and Grissom continued, “Yes, he’s a little clumsy and noisy, but give him time, you’ll get used to him.”
The cat finally paused and glanced at Grissom, eyes wide and unblinking. Grissom looked back, as if waiting for a reply. Figaro leaped, landing on the solid surface of the bath tray, scattering Sara’s disposable razors across the surface. Grissom scowled.
“Cat—“ whatever else he was going to say didn’t happen; the glass door opened again, followed by the rapid clickety scratch of small toenails on the linoleum. Grissom glanced over the side of the free-standing tub to see Dante looking up at him, tail wagging madly. The puppy rose up on his hind legs, forelegs on the porcelain outside of the tub and barked, proud of his accomplishment.
On the bath tray, Figaro sat loftily, giving a disdainful glare at the little dog. Grissom looked from one to the other for a moment, nonplussed to have company for his soak.
He sighed, and flicked water at Dante, who barked again, happily, and lapped at the soapy fluff.
The frosted glass door opened again, and this time Sara peeked in, eyes bright at the sight. Grissom shot her a long-suffering look, feeling both a tad annoyed and aroused.
“Anybody ELSE want to come in and watch me bathe?”
“I could call Brass and Catherine if you like—“ she offered. Grissom did not look amused, and reached for the bath brush again, rubbing the bristles over the soap. Sara sauntered over, a hot little smile on her face, and seeing it, Grissom blushed a bit.
“Or, I could keep this nice show all for myself,” she cooed, gently picking up Figaro from the bath tray. Instantly the cat went boneless in her supportive hands, purring gently. Below, Dante watched, his ears pricking up. Sara carried Fig out and gently set him outside the frosted glass door, shooing him a bit; huffily the cat strode off. Sara turned her attention to Dante as she squatted down and called to him. “Come on baby, come here---“
Dante bounded over, lick-licking the fingers that caressed his chin. Sara herded him out with her hands and firmly closed the glass door of the bathroom, leaving both animals on the other side. She rested her back against the glass and began to undo the buttons of her blouse as Grissom’s eyes widened.
“Okay out of all three, you’re definitely the one I’d pick to join me.”
“You’re only saying that because I’m a girl.”
“Yes, “ Grissom agreed, his blue eyes twinkling. “Although I need to see more of you to verify that.”
The blouse dropped, followed by a bra. “This enough?” Sara throatily inquired.
“Nnnnnno.”
The soft sounds of slacks sliding to the floor filled the bathroom, followed by a tiny deep-in-the-throat moan from the direction of the tub.
“There. You can’t possibly insist I lose the panties too—“
“--I insist,” came the immediate response. “A good scientist needs full . . . complete . . . visual . . . verification . . . ohh yeah.”
“Well, YOU’RE happy to see me--” Sara giggled, sauntering over to the tub and looking down into the water. “Peekaboo to you too.”
Grissom’s cheeks went pink but it wasn’t from the heat of the tub. “Call it a definitive response to an amazing stimulus, Acushla. Your femininity is established—so get in.”
“Please?”
“Please,” Grissom growled softly. “I think we need to move on to the next battery of tests involving some physical interaction for sensory confirmation.”
“Only if it’s in the name of science,” Sara agreed, sliding one long leg over the side of the tub, and giving him a magnificent view along the insides of her thighs. “I adore scientists.”
“Really? Come sit on my lap and I’ll recite the Periodic Table of Elements for you.”
“Oh that’s it, talk theory to me, baby—“
Grissom gave a low groan as Sara settled herself into the water. “Hydrogen . . . Helium . . . lithium . . . ooooh b-beryllium-m-m-m-m-m-m-mmmmmm.”
The water surged and splashed a bit, but Sara had a good grip on the sides of the tub and understood the principles of mouth to mouth quite well.
*** *** ***
“Grissom, your dog is howling . . .” came the irritated whisper.
“MY dog? I thought he was OUR dog.”
“He’s our dog when he’s quiet. Go let him outside.”
With a groan and a sigh, Grissom threw the covers back and sat up, running a hand through his beard. The bedside clock read one fifteen PM, and beyond the French doors of the bedroom the muted light of midday shone through. Grissom rose wearily and made his way to the kitchen. He looked over the makeshift cardboard barrier and Dante broke into a series of happy whimpers at the sight of him.
“If we could teach you to make coffee—“ came the mumble. Grissom stepped over the barrier--
--and into a puddle. He sighed.
Out in the back yard, he watched Dante dash out in the yard as he carefully hosed his foot off, flinching a little at the cold water. The puppy raced around the yard, delighted to be in open space and Grissom couldn’t help smiling at the dog’s sheer exuberance. He turned the spigot off and walked down the brick steps into the yard, blinking in the daylight, and enjoying the warm grass under his bare, cool feet. Dante dashed over and immediately sniffed Grissom’s toes. The sound of the breeze through the cottonwood and the chatter of a few jays were the only sound for a long moment. Grissom eyed the hammock in the shade, then began to lumber towards it, Dante at his heels.
Once there, he brushed a few leaves off of the warm canvas and stretched out in it, feeling a lovely lassitude. Grissom let his fingers dangle down, and Dante licked them; with a quick scoop, Grissom picked up the puppy and set him in his lap. Dante struggled to reach his face, nuzzling his beard again.
“Shhhhh. You need to sleep, dog. Take a clue from the cat. We’re a nocturnal household for the most part. Rest—“ Grissom ordered with mock-sternness. He softly stroked the puppy as he spoke, and gradually Dante gave a tiny sigh of content, dropping his head on his paws. He yawned hugely, happy to be sprawled out on Grissom’s chest, and the last part of him to stop moving was his wagging tail. Grissom kept stroking the puppy’s back, taking quiet pleasure in the feel of the little spine, the soft breathing.
He’d nearly dropped off himself when he felt a light ‘thump’ near his shins; glancing down, Grissom saw Figaro standing unevenly on the canvas, looking over the limited napping areas. He sidled up along Grissom’s hip, and finding enough room, curled up there, a warm purring lump. The three of them dozed in the shade.
A few hours later, Sara strolled out and caught sight of the menagerie. Her approach woke Dante, who rose and leaped off of Grissom, who gave a little ‘oof!’ and began to sit up. Sara squatted down and patted the puppy; Dante immediately washed her fingers.
“So we need to take him in to see Santos, right?”
“Yep. Shots, worming, the works since we don’t have any paperwork on him.”
*** *** ***
“Okay, let’s take a look at who we have here . . . . yes, yes, I like you too, buddy . . . hmmm. He’s a little wheezy, but his nose isn’t running. Pretty well-fed, about seven weeks old I’d say.” Doctor Santos murmured lightly. The vet bore a stunning resemblance to John Lennon, right down to the little round glasses and straight, graying hair. He picked up the puppy and turned Dante over, inspecting each paw, the belly button and genitalia before setting the little dog back on the stainless steel table. Slightly nonplussed, Dante sat, tail still wagging. Santos smiled.
“He’s a prime little Golden Retriever. How’s he fitting in at home?”
“You mean Figaro?” Sara asked, keeping a restraining hand on Dante. Santos nodded, and Grissom spoke up.
“They’re doing all right so far. I think Dante’s a little intimidated by him.”
“I’M a little intimidated by him—he’s quite a cat,” Santos grinned. “As long as they have separate eating areas and someone to watch them for the first few days things should be fine. Did you scent mark him?” This last was to Grissom, who nodded. Santos softly stroked Dante’s head again, “Good. Now, what shots has he had?”
“We don’t know. He’s the sole survivor of a pet shop fire,” Sara murmured. The vet picked up the chart and made a notation on it.
“The one over on Beatrice Way. I saw it on TV. Not good. Well then, let’s play it safe and give him the puppy pack, along with a B vitamin. And he’s going to need neutering.”
“So soon?” Grissom objected softly, as Sara hid her smirk. Santos gave a rueful nod.
“Within the next six weeks or so is probably best, Gil—before he ever realizes what he’s missing.”
The two men shared a wince; Sara tried not to roll her eyes. Santos set down the chart and picked up a hypo, carefully filling it with a yellow fluid and speaking quietly.
“All right, so here we go with the B vitamin . . . going right between the shoulder blades so if one of you could hold him please—“
Grissom moved closer, his big hands gently cupping around Dante’s chubby middle. Santos pinched a little of the loose skin and slid the needle in; instantly Dante yelped, a high pitiful yowl that indicated serious torture. Grissom flinched, but Sara slipped a hand under the puppy’s chin and stroked.
“Oh get over it, babe—it’s just a shot.” She commented softly, keeping an eye on Grissom. His thumbs rubbed soothingly along the rounded ribs. Dante turned soulfully wounded eyes to Sara, then sneezed, the shot completely forgotten.
*** *** ***
Grissom examined the plastic fire hydrant with a jaundiced eye. “That’s obscene.”
“What is?” Sara demanded, cradling Dante as all three of them walked down the aisle of Pet Planet. The puppy squirmed, eager to get down and examine all the amazing smells to the place, but Sara held him close. Dante eventually gave up and settled for licking her neck, making her grin widely as she tried to stop him. Grissom waved the hydrant around.
“This. Shaping it like a dog’s toilet. Tell me, does anyone make crackers shaped like commodes for humans? Are there any urinal patterned chewing gums out there?”
“That is SO gross, and completely unlike you,” Sara muttered with a nose-wrinkle of distaste. Grissom checked himself and set the squeaky toy back, turning to her.
“You’re right . . . but I’m making a point. The aesthetics are to appeal to the owner’s sense of whimsy, and not their intelligence, or sense of good taste.”
“So says the man who used to have a singing fish over his office door.”
Grissom opened his mouth, thought better of it and moved on down the aisle a few steps, reaching for a rawhide twist. When he slid it under Dante’s nose the puppy shifted his licking from Sara to the treat, his interest perking.
“Looks like we have a winner; now we have to get something for Figaro,” she commented. Grissom’s brows drew together and she clarified, “Jealousy. Can’t favor one over the other you know.”
“Ah.”
“He does get jealous—remember our honeymoon? And how he managed to knock every one of your specimen boxes off the kitchen counter?”
Grissom shot a smug look up towards the ceiling. “Actually, I assumed he was upset because he heard all that loud growling and begging—“
“—Coming from YOU—“ Sara spluttered weakly, her words trailing off.
Grissom cocked his head knowingly and after a second of fierce reddening Sara made a big production out of setting Dante down. As she straightened up again, Grissom handed her the rawhide twist. “Oh shame where is thy blush?” he quoted softly. “You know perfectly well who was begging the first day.”
Sara leaned into Grissom’s face, her eyes bright and hot, her expression slightly fierce. “And the days after that?”
“AFTER that is not the point,” he responded quickly, looking away. “Figaro did most of his destruction in the first twenty-four hours.”
“It was after that first day that he went and hid in the tree house! We couldn’t get him back DOWN until we opened that can of albacore tuna,” Sara pointed out, pretending to examine a Nylabone. “I think your . . . enthusiasm . . . traumatized him. He still won’t come in the bedroom when we’re both in there.”
“A situation I’m perfectly happy with,” Grissom grumbled, very red himself now. A small package caught his eye, and he lifted it off the suspending rod thoughtfully. Sara looked over and smiled, giving a little nod.
“Cat dope. Definitely the thing to mellow Figaro out.”
“Nepeta cateria,” Grissom agreed, holding the little cellophane bag. “Aromatic and amusing. Let’s see how we can use THIS to Dante’s advantage.”
*** *** ***
Dante wasn’t thrilled with his new collar, but couldn’t get it off, no matter how he tried to back out of it, or hook a foot into it. Sara fed him some bits of cheddar to distract him and he liked that quite a bit. She was sitting on the living room carpet, letting him take the little bits from her fingers as Grissom knelt down and opened the little packet of cat nip.
“We’ll vacuum later,” he promised, pouring a handful into one big palm. Sara watched some of the leaves spill over onto the carpet.
“You’ll vacuum later,” came her arch response. “In the nude, maybe.” Grissom arched an eyebrow at her, but his eyes held a glint of heat and she squirmed. Dante tried to sniff Grissom’s hands but he pulled them away and began to rub them together, grinding the dried leaves with a brisk crackling sound.
Carefully he reached down and stroked his palms over the puppy’s head, running his fingers along Dante’s neck and forepaws. Blissfully, Dante basked in the attention, tongue lolling out, and Sara laughed at his adoring expression. “You SO have the touch, Beast Master.”
“Cat, dog, woman; they all respond well to caresses,” Grissom agreed. “When words fail, I let my fingers do the talking.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen what your middle finger has to say to Ecklie sometimes.”
Grissom tried to ignore that and motioned with his chin towards the kitchen. “Would you please bring Fig in?”
Sara rose and sauntered to the kitchen, returning a moment later with the cat in her arms. Figaro looked down from his lofty perch at Grissom and Dante, his whiskers starting to twitch. Carefully, Sara knelt and set the cat down right in front of Dante. Figaro sniffed, delicately. Dante sniffed back, keeping a careful eye on the other animal’s paws.
Figaro twitched. He jumped forward, shoving his nose against Dante’s shoulder, then dragging his face along the little dog’s chest. Nonplussed, the puppy tried to back up, but Figaro kept coming forward, rubbing against him.
Sara laughed. Dante and Figaro were roughly the same size, but the little cat was brazenly bumping up along the puppy, purring loudly, his tail tensing up every now and then like an exclamation point. Dante in turn kept trying to lick Figaro’s face, so the pair of them ended up circling each other repeatedly. Finally Figaro flopped down, waving a paw at Dante, patting his nose gently with it, and the puppy licked it happily working his way down to Figaro’s chin.
Grissom settled in on the carpet, his back up against the sofa, his legs stretched out and crossed in front of him. He turned his attention from the pets to Sara, and let his smile widen a bit. She crawled over to him, settling in at his side and turning to keep an eye on the animals.
“It works with them too—“
“Works?”
“The old adage that when you use recreational chemicals even opposites can attract,” came her observation. Grissom cocked his head.
“Oh you don’t always need chemicals. You and I quite different but we complement each other fairly well.”
“Yeah, well in our case it’s chemistry, not chemicals,” Sara turned and rubbed her nose with his. “Our fundamental diversities are—“
“—Fun,” Grissom agreed, nuzzling her in return. “Yin to Yang, male to female, instinct to intellect. The more I’m with you, the more I learn about myself.”
“The more I’m with you the more I trust myself,” Sara replied, pressing her face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Grissom slid a hand up her slender back, stroking the small knobs through her blouse. They stayed cuddled like that for a long time, drinking in mutual comfort through contact. Finally Sara rubbed her cheek along his neck, letting her teeth nip Grissom’s earlobe. He shivered.
“See? You like me,” she teased, her breath warm and moist in his ear. Grissom guided her hand to his chest, letting her palm slide over his erect nipple.
“Follow the evidence,” came his husky reply.
“I just might have to DO that.”
