She looked like dessert, he thought. It wasn’t the first time that image had come to him, overlaid on her fine features and quick smile. After all, a dessert was a treat to be savored, a special incentive to get through more mundane things, be they a dinner or a long shift.

 

Given what she was wearing, she even LOOKED like a dessert, and that insight tickled him immensely. Dressed in a soft short-sleeved sundress of shimmery green material that clung and flowed and brought out her curves, Clementine looked for all the world like a sparkly dish of soft serve mint mocha ice cream. She stood awkwardly at the foot of the stairs, reaching to adjust a sandal strap at Greg rose up from the sofa. Mrs. St. Croix struggled to move her bulk out of her lounger getting to her slippered feet and smiling at her daughter.

 

“Baby don’t you look nice—think you’re gonna need a sweater? It gets cold out there at night—“

 

Clem shot Greg a resigned look and stepped over to the hall closet, fishing out a fluffy angora shawl of soft white, draping it over her shoulders in a quick, elegant gesture. Greg walked over and smiled at her.

 

“Definitely looking good,” he told her in an undertone. Her answering grin took in his casual suit and shirt of light charcoal. The tie was pure Sanders; bright red with a pattern of test tubes and Erlenmeyer flasks in silver thread. He followed her glance and shrugged. “You can take the man out of the lab . . .”

 

“Now remember what we discussed, Mistah Gregory Sanders. I may be old-fashioned and outta date for a city like Las Vegas, but I’m also one deadly serious woman. You make sure my daughtah is back here by one o’clock or so help me I’ll send out Winston, Royce and Kedar to come fetch you two. That won’t be pretty; just ask Clem about the LAST time.” Mrs. St Croix warned, her normally cheerful face shifting into the stern lines of a Valkyrie. Chastened, Greg nodded as Clem blushed hotly. She moved to hug her mother, reassuring her with a few quick hand signs. Her mother snorted.

 

“I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. Rules are rules, honey, and they go for you and your brothers alike, so don’t think I’m playing favorites. One o’clock curfew is the laid down law, child. Ain’t no reason on God’s green earth to be out any later than that.”

 

“I have to get back to Wyatt anyway,” Greg agreed. Mrs. St. Croix nodded approvingly; earlier she’d oohed and aahed over the pictures in Greg’s wallet while Clem was getting dressed, and had dispensed sound advice on toilet training (“Lots of applause—ain’t a boy child on the planet doesn’t like getting THAT!”) and tantrums. (“Set him where he won’t hurt himself and let him go. He’ll tucker out in about six minutes, tops. After that, you can give him a hug and get your way.”)

 

At the door, Mrs. St. Croix watched them go, driving off in Greg’s Jetta and sighing softly. She’d heard about the young CSI almost daily from her daughter, and as first impressions went he’d met with her tentative approval. Still—an unmarried father and a white boy to boot—

 

“Lordy, Clementine, it ain’t a different drummer, it’s the beat of a whole ‘nother marching band, baby. I just hope you understand that.” Shaking her head, Mrs. St. Croix stepped back in her house, wondering if it was too early for a glass of sherry.

 

***   ***   ***

 

“It’s too soon. I don’t know if I’m ready.”

 

“Aw come on, I WANT you there. I think it’s time we went public with this, hon.” Nick murmured gently as he tightened his hug around the slender figure in his arms. “It’s not going to be that big a surprise to anyone.”

 

“Lots of people don’t know, Nick. I mean they suspect, but that’s different from actually KNOWING, you know? Like Grissom and Sara.” Judy murmured, burrowing her nose against his chest. Nick rested his head on top of her chin, amazed again at how utterly petite Judy was, how perfectly she molded against him. Hugging her was delightful, and always made him feel big and protective.

 

Not that she needed protecting. She’d kicked his ass more than once in the course of their courtship, and was fully prepared to do it again, squeaking out her apologies afterwards. It was part of her charm, and Nick still couldn’t believe how sexy it was to have someone who could barely weighed more than a hundred pounds be able to pin him in under a minute.

 

Judy Bates, Dayshift receptionist, brown belt in Judo and 4^th Dan in Aikido, frizzy-
haired, perky, his. She turned, adjusting the strap of her bra and sighed. Nick eyed her, and then the clock; she blushed, following his line of vision.

 

“Nick! We agreed that was going to be AFTER dinner—“ she reminded him. He slid his fingers around her rib cage, reaching for the back of her Jezebel Satin Sweetness with eager hands.

 

“Didn’t you ever have dessert first when you were a kid? Come on, Judy—“ he breathed in her ear, his words coaxing, his pulse beginning to speed up. She quivered in his arms, bones like a bird, little hands sliding down his sculpted chest to follow the soft line of dark fur running down past his navel to his briefs.

 

“Nicholas Stokes, you’re a bad, bad influence—“ she clucked. He managed to unhook the bra and flashed her a dazzling grin.

 

“Maybe that’s why I need your goodness to rub off on me.”

 

***   ***   ***

 

Sara looked in the mirror and adjusted her pearl earring, then took a deep breath. She tried to see something calm in the face of her reflection, but that quality seemed to be missing; instead she noted some . . . nervousness. The tension around her eyes, the pursing of her mouth, the restlessness of her hands as she fiddled with things that didn’t need any more fiddling. Taking a breath, she leaned on the sides of the standing sink and glared at herself in the mirror.

 

“Get a grip, woman. Dinner with the man you love.” She growled at herself. Her tone must have been louder than she thought; Grissom leaned in the bathroom doorway, looking at her with concern. He was working on his tie, a pewter-colored one with a faint pattern of dots that seemed faintly familiar; Sara realized they were tiny Yin Yangs scattered over the grey background and grinned.

 

“Sara?”

 

“Fine. Just checking the complexion.”

 

He’d come in by now, and stood behind her, sliding his big hands over her shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

 

“Perfect, as always. Did I ever tell you how much I like your eyes?” he bent to mutter in her ear. Sara watched their reflections and grinned a little, shaking her head. They were a study on contrasts on so many levels that she took a moment to count them: male to female, stocky to slender, blue eyes to brown, dark suit to light—

 

“Your eyes are the shade of a perfect glass of Cutty Sark, Acushla. The same rich amber depths and twinkly hints of enticement. They hold the same promise of intoxication although my biological reactions to them center around my heart as well as my head and stomach,” Grissom told her softly, his arms coming around her waist. Sara blushed, feeling the heat on her skin in an embarrassed response to his words. She blinked.

 

“Are you coming ON to me, Grissom?” she covered, flashing a grin at their entwined reflections in the mirror. He gave a thoughtful little lift of his eyebrows and pressed his cheek against hers, tickling her with the edge of his beard. As usual he smelled perfectly wonderful; clean and warm with a hint of soap. He winked at her in the mirror.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good,” she replied, her lashes fluttering. “Because that kind of flattery is really effective. Keep it up; you could get lucky.”

 

“Oh I intend to,” Grissom assured her with a serious expression only slightly offset by the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m gunning for a jackpot.”

 

They left the house under the soft glow of a full moon; the crickets were in full chorus, apparently aware that Figaro was not on the prowl at the moment. Sara smiled at Grissom’s courtly attentions: holding her door open, helping her into the car, fastening her seatbelt. The nervousness in her stomach morphed into a sweet rumbling of delightful tension. Like a more soulful arousal, she thought, anticipation, refined through love and contentment. In surprise she realized that the man next to her was a part of her now; that a thousand intimate memories already bound him to her.

 

“You’re grinning,” Grissom observed, his glance flicking with approval over her white linen pantsuit and black silk blouse. Sara cocked her head in a gesture copied from him.

 

“So are you. Calamari on your mind?”

 

“Possibly, although it’s low on the list of my concerns at the moment.”

 

“Going to tell me what ranks higher?”

 

“In due time,” he chided, taking the austerity out of his words when he reached over to squeeze her fingers with gentle familiarity. Sara looked down at their hands on her lap, then glanced at his left one on the steering wheel. The passing streetlights illuminated the band on it, making the three imbedded diamonds glitter quickly in passing.

 

Her stomach tightened again. Grissom hadn’t taken his ring off, hadn’t been without it since she’d bought it for him. After the initial comments of admiration at work, nobody on any of the shifts had asked anything further, accepting it as a part of Grissom’s daily appearance. Sara knew she couldn’t get away with that herself, and once whatever he gave her got slipped on her finger, sharp feminine eyes would spot the significance immediately.

 

It was a sacrifice she finally felt prepared to make, Sara admitted to herself.

 

***   ***   ***

 

Catherine looked up as Nick finally appeared beaming in the doorway of the Grille, and when she realized who was on his arm, her own smile flashed out. From the corner of her mouth she muttered to Warrick in a soft voice. “So, when did THIS happen?”

 

Warrick was leaning back, his smile all-knowing. “Oh, about three and a half months back, give or take a few days. When we had to take that seminar on Sexual Harassment, Nick got paired up with Ms. Bates, and she laid him out but good quite a few times. Wish I’d had a camera, Catherine, because it was a sight to see. Looks like things have developed.”

 

“So I would guess—“ Catherine commented as they approached the table. Nick waved to Warrick, Catherine and Brass.

 

“Hey. Brought a date if you don’t mind.”

 

“Yeah well I hope you brought enough for everybody—“ Brass teased, and smiled at Judy, who went pink. Nick waggled a finger warningly at the other man.

 

“Hey hey—no harassment talk like that. My girl’s liable to whup ass if—“

 

“--Nick!” Judy squeaked. Warrick and Catherine grinned at each other.

 

“—Sorry Sugar, uh, administer corrective discipline through non-aggressive intervention.” Nick amended, pulling out a chair for her. Brass considered this, and Judy, thoughtfully.

 

“Gotcha.”

 

They chatted a while, keeping the conversation light as the waiter set drinks in front of them, circling unobtrusively. The warmth of the spring evening highlighted the main dining room; the crystal bowls of freshly cut flowers were gorgeous, and the linens held a snowy perfection on each table.

 

As the waiter returned and began to pull out his leather-backed order pad, Warrick glanced up to see Greg and Clem standing by the Maitre’d’s booth. Clem was smiling at something he’d said, and Greg had his hands deep in his pockets, bouncing on his feet. Warrick had to admit they both looked good, and that for the first time in a long while, Greg seemed genuinely relaxed. He nudged Catherine.

 

“More surprises—“ she grinned. Another waiter was leading the pair off, but Greg broke away to saunter over, his smile infectious.

 

“Oho! Party of five without Sanders. I’m deeply hurt.”

 

“And still on the night shift, Greggo. This is a Swing Shift gig—“ Nick explained. Greg nodded, his glance flickering over Judy; then he looked over his shoulder. Clem was already seated at a small table near one of the lakeside windows, looking sweetly elegant.

 

Everyone at the table grinned at Greg, who blushed a shade usually found only on gourmet tomatoes.

 

“I think you’re expected at a party of two, Hot Stuff—“ Catherine teased. Brass rolled his eyes.

 

“Young love—better hurry, I’m guessing she still has a curfew.”

 

“Ah, actually—“ Greg admitted, making both Warrick and Nick hoot a little. Judy caught Catherine’s eye and they shared a womanly empathetic shake of heads.

 

“Never mind, backfired joke. Go have fun and try hard to ignore the fact that your cynical colleagues will be here, studying and judging your every attempt to put the moves on your date—“ Brass mildly told him. Greg blinked, but his grin was softer this time.

 

“It’s okay. “ he intoned softly, standing up straight. “Have fun, people, see you on Monday—“ and he headed over to Clem, who shyly smiled as he joined her at the little booth.

 

“Our little boy is all grown up,” Catherine sighed, watching him go. Brass chuckled, looking back at the assembled group.

 

“Now we only have to work on THESE two.”

 

“Dibs—“ Judy piped up, glancing at Nick, who pinkened a little as everyone chuckled.

 

***   ***   ***

 

They walked up to the velvet rope, and Grissom tried to relax. Outwardly he was fine; composed almost, but inside the tingles of anticipation wreaked havoc. It was like Christmas or his birthday back when he was a boy—the thrill of the unknown coupled with the certainty of time moving forward in alternating moments of excruciating slowness or amazing speed. He lifted his chin and took a deep breath. Next to him, Sara bumped his shoulder with her own supportively.

 

“Good evening, how may I help you?” the slender blonde maitre’d intoned. Grissom stepped forward.

 

“We have reservations for eight-thirty I believe. Grissom?”

 

“Ah yes, right here, absolutely Mr. Grissom. If you’ll follow me, please—“ So saying, the maitre’d himself led them, moving swiftly in a diagonal through the crowded main dining room. Grissom kept his gaze on Sara’s slim back as she strode ahead of him, the linen clinging to her curves very nicely. They reached the other side, and went though the glass doors to the deck outside, settling in at an intimate table for two near the railing. Grissom helped Sara with her chair, then settled into his own, gratefully, glad to be off his feet.

 

Neither of them noticed seven pairs of eyes watching them.

 

“So.”

 

“So,” Sara smiled back, a trifle nervously, and at the husky sound of her voice, Grissom finally, finally relaxed.  Leaning forward, he held her gaze for a moment, then spoke softly.

 

“Tonight, only one of us is permitted to be nervous, Sara. I had assumed it was supposed to be me and not you, but I could be wrong about that.”

 

“Sorry, I brought my own heavy dose with me,” Came her husky admission. Grissom looked down at the tablecloth, a soft little smile on his face, and Sara added, “it’s a good kind of nervousness though. More anticipation than fear—that’s good, right?”

 

“It’s very good, and it matches what I’ve got perfectly.” Before he could say more, the thin blond waiter appeared.

 

“Good evening folks. My name is Dante, and it’s my honor to serve you tonight. What can I get you to drink?”

 

Sara glanced at Grissom, who gave a half-shrug.  “What would you like?”

 

“White wine. The house one is fine.”

 

“Make that two then, thank you.” Grissom told Dante, who nodded. The waiter slipped the leather-backed menus to them and walked away; Sara leaned back in her seat, her gaze never leaving the man opposite her.

 

“So.” She prompted.

 

“So,” he replied, smiling again. “Give me direction here, honey. Do you want the whole traditional ritual?”

 

Sara pretended to think it over, her hand stroking over the menu in slow sweeps. The move was elegant, sensual; Grissom watched her fingers move.

 

“Wellll, given the fact that I’m only planning on going through this once in my life, and that it’s taken a while for the two of us to get here, then yeah,” she looked up at him, eyes dark and sweet. “I want it all, Grissom.”

 

“And you shall have it,” He told her, reaching for that moving and bringing to his mouth to kiss.

 

Thirty feet away and in the dining room, complete silence reigned at the table. Finally Catherine spoke up cautiously.

 

“Did he just—kiss her hand?”

 

“He sure did. Man, never thought I’d see Grissom do that,” Nick muttered, a little stunned. Warrick nodded slowly.

 

“Yeah, well I think he’s had some practice lately.”

 

“For a while,” Brass agreed, his expression guarded and wistful. Nick frowned.

 

“So you’re telling me that Grissom and Sara have been . . . an item? Man, how long has THIS been going on?”

 

“February,” Catherine sighed.

 

“December,” Brass commented.

 

“October,” Warrick announced.

 

“Last May,” Judy corrected. Everyone looked at her and she blinked behind her glasses, going a little pink in the face. “They both filed change of address forms and new beneficiary paperwork about a year ago.”

 

“And you never said anything?” Catherine demanded, only half teasing; Judy shook her frizzy head.

 

“It’s not my business or my place.” She pointed out firmly in her soft little voice. “Your personal lives are just that—personal. Besides, I figured if they wanted you to know they would have told you.”

 

“Well now I’m just hurt.” Nick muttered again, frowning. Catherine reached over and rubbed his shoulder soothingly.

 

“Don’t be—think who we’re talking about. And besides, if it’s been a year, and they’re over there having dinner, all dolled up—“

 

Judy’s eyes widened in understanding; Warrick grinned widely and Brass rubbed his eyes with one hand as they each caught on to Catherine’s implication.  Nick blinked.

 

“—And we have a ringside seat. Oh yeah, this ought to be good.”

 

 

Greg turned his glance back to Clem and laughed softly. “Whoa, Grissom and Sara finally going public. I thought I’d be old and grey before THAT happened.”

 

Clem gave a nod, adding a little roll of her eyes to agree. She slid the smaller purse-sized whiteboard towards Greg.

 

//I don’t think they even have a clue we’re here.//

 

“Probably not,” Greg agreed, catching sight of the swing shift table. He gave them a thumbs up, and got nods in return. Clem looked slightly disapproving.

 

//What was THAT all about?//

 

“Let’s just say that we know these two pretty well, and if they’ve finally gotten to the point of going out to dinner HERE, then it’s probably worth noticing. Don’t worry—“ he hastened to reassure her, “—THIS dinner’s pretty special too. Not about to forget that you know.”

 

Slightly mollified, Clem sipped her wine spritzer and took her board back, wiping it clean. Greg was glad Sara and Grissom were behind her, so he could keep his attention shifts to a minimum. “So, how’s the grilled salmon?”

 

In answer she tauntingly held out a bite on her fork; Greg’s eyes twinkled. “What? No peanut butter?”

 

 

Sara felt the warmth of Grissom’s left hand on top of hers. He hadn’t let go of it, and the little caress of his thumb along her own was comforting. The outdoor heaters kept the deck warm, and she loved the view of the lake, where the light of the full moon created a silvery path across the water.

 

“It’s gorgeous out here,” she ventured, shyly. Grissom nodded, his glance flickering out over the lake.

 

“Is it?”

 

“Gil—“ Sara chided, feeling exasperation tinged with so much love that it welled up within her. When she looked at him, his eyes reflected it back. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“Love’s chemistry thrives best in equal heat,” he replied sagely, although he smiled through the quote. Sara arched an eyebrow and he added, “John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. Very profound and in this moment amazingly true.”

 

Their waiter returned, carrying a tray loaded with two plates; with a hint of dramatic flair he set the calamari in front of Grissom, and the spinach soufflé in front of Sara.

 

“If you need anything more, please let me know,” Dante murmured before slipping away. Sara looked down at the meal, chuckling softly to herself.

 

“A year ago we were eating buffet Mexican as I recall.”

 

“And I sat across from you just like this, wondering if we were about to make the biggest mistake in both our lives.” Grissom admitted in a low tone. “But I couldn’t hang in the balance anymore, honey. One of us had to have the courage to move forward. I’m glad it was you.”

 

Sara gave a small nod of acknowledgement, pleased to hear Grissom disclose that simple truth. He squeezed her hand gently before letting it go and tucking his napkin in his lap.

 

“Well, once you caught on that I wanted YOU, light side, dark side, good, bad, all of it, I think you more than made up for my initial proposition, Grissom.”

 

“To be honest, Sara, I’ll never regret giving up my emotional virginity to you—“ he teased, making her go bright red and laugh at the same time.

 

***   ***   ***

 

“They look very cozy—“ Catherine accused, sipping her Kahlua with satisfaction. Warrick had an arm over the back of her chair, and Brass was working on his second cup of coffee. Dante came over to collect a few glasses.

 

“They’re talking about Hawaii now. I suggested this nice little hotel on the Big Island. Anyone here need a refill?”

 

“Naw thanks. Keep up the reports.” Nick added cheerfully. Next to him, Judy was leaning against his shoulder, toying with the last of her salad. She offered Nick an olive and he ate it.

 

“Hawaii—honeymoon perhaps?” Brass commented. Catherine shrugged, but Warrick nodded, concentrating on the couple through the window.

 

“Makes sense—we sure as hell never have any seminars there. I’m sensing a build up to something.”

 

“Big time,” Catherine agreed. “And about time.”

 

“So you’re saying he’s going to pop the question tonight?” Nick demanded, looking from one face to another around the table. Brass, Catherine and Warrick nodded. Judy ate another black olive. “Oh man, I don’t buy that. This is Grissom we’re talking about. Mr. Cautious.”

 

“Yeah, well we talking money here, Nicky? Because I’d be willing to bet tonight’s tab that our former supervisor is about to get down on one knee.”

 

“I’ll see that action, man,” Nick grumbled, as much to contradict Warrick as anything else. “I do not see a ring in tonight’s events.”

 

“You’re so young. So foolish—“ Catherine sighed.

 

Out on the deck, Dante had cleared away the plates, and a lovely lull filled the evening. Sara was glad she had something in her stomach to counteract the giddiness. Idly she looked around, and suddenly the hard cold shock of recognition hit her as she made out five familiar faces looking her way. She blanched.

 

“Sara—“ Grissom began, softly, urgently.

 

“Grissom—“ she gurgled, blinking. He sighed. Very slowly he slid out of his seat and gave a little shake of his head, as if to clear it. He carefully shifted, and came around in front of her, blocking her view of the window and took her hands. Sara started, looking up at him. Slowly, Grissom got down.

 

“You’ve become a part of me, Sara, and I can’t function without you. As essential as air, as food, as life. You’re utterly amazing, strong and beautiful and I need you to be with me from now on, because despite all my years in blind, foolish denial you managed to love me anyway. I know now that you and you alone ARE the beat of my heart. Please, Sara, marry me.”

 

She looked at him. The breeze off the lake stirred his hair a little, but other than that Grissom was completely still, and if she hadn’t seen the rapid pulse along the side of his neck she might have thought he was a statue.

 

“Yes.” Came her choked, painful squeak, almost inaudible. Grissom blinked. Suddenly his big shoulders rose as he sucked in a breath, and carefully he fished under his jacket along his spine.

 

“Here.” He handed her a long manila envelope. Sara took it with nerveless fingers, still trying to process, to accept the amazing fact that she’d just agreed to marry Grissom.

 

Marry him. As in, happily ever after.

 

“Wh-what’s this?”

 

“Your ring.”

 

 

In the dining room, seven people stared wide-eyed across the tables. In tandem they all rose for a better look.

 

“What the hell is he handing her?” Catherine demanded of no one in particular. Nick shook his head in disbelief.

 

“No idea. And I STILL don’t see a ring.”

 

“Well, she’s jumping up and down now, looking pretty pleased—“ Brass observed, sipping more coffee and looking smug. “About to lay one on him—oh yeah, that’s a serious kiss alright.”

 

Out on the deck Grissom and Sara were entwined, utterly lost in each other and creating such a lovely picture that other diners were starting to stare. Catherine and Judy sighed. Warrick grinned.

 

“Maybe they’re plane tickets to Hawaii.”

 

“Eloping? Over my dead body!” Catherine snorted. “That would be SO like them, but damn it, it’s not going to happen. For a once in a lifetime pair like them, they HAVE to do the whole nine yards.”

 

Clem and Greg came over, both of them grinning.

 

“Was that what I think it was?” Greg demanded. Judy nodded, and Nick still looked skeptical.

 

“The consensus is that it was a proposal, but I have my doubts. No rock in sight.”

 

“So—let’s go see.” Greg suggested.

 

They looked at each other, and Catherine led the way, strolling across the dining room to the glass door leading to the deck. As they stepped through, Grissom finally caught sight of them, his expression slightly alarmed. Sara was still in his arms and let go of her reluctantly.

 

“Hey—so, what’s up?” Catherine brazened, looked at their two red faces with a grin of her own. Sara looked at Grissom, who managed a crooked smile.

 

“My blood pressure for one. What are you guys doing here?”

 

“Dinner—although it looks like you two had a better dessert than we did,” Brass smirked. Busted, Grissom rubbed the back of his neck, and Sara smiled widely.

 

“Engaged. We got engaged, okay?”

 

“Yes!” Warrick hooted, pointing a finger at Nick, who grinned in defeat. Catherine and Judy both looked at Sara’s hand.

 

“Ring?”

 

“Right here.” Sara held up a dark sheet. Both women stared at it.

 

“That’s an x-ray.”

 

“Yes, it is. And right there, that dark square edged thing lodged just beyond the esophagus is a one and a third carat ring we’ll be retrieving from the gut of our damn cat, who ate the thing this afternoon.” Grissom balefully replied, holding the x-ray up to the lamp on the deck.

 

“Let me get this straight, your CAT ate your engagement ring?” Catherine demanded with a shake of her head. Sara nodded ruefully.

 

“Yeah. I have a lovely stand in for the moment though—“

 

And Sara held out her left hand, where a little green twist tie bread wrapper wire had been formed into a butterfly.