But
Olivia merely smiled and reached out a hand to
touch the thickening stubble along his chin.
//Nice.
I like it.//
Grissom’s
expression softened and he smiled at his
mother, shaking his head slightly.
//Thanks.
But I’m sure you didn’t come to
Olivia’s
graceful hands flew quickly and Gris squinted,
trying to keep up.
//I
TRIED, but someone doesn’t check his E-mail in a
timely fashion! I’m here for Petrov’s opening.
He’s got a major exhibit
tomorrow night, and needs the emotional support.//
Grissom
rolled his eyes, familiar with the artist in
question. Olivia smiled with unnerving sweetness.
//You’ve
told me time and time again that Petrov is a
whiny self-centered neurotic.// he complained.
//Yes,
but he’s talented and makes me a nice commission
so for that reason you’re going to help me out, Gil dear.//
His
brows dropped in a scowling frown as his fingers
responded.
//Now
I’m in trouble. You only throw in the
‘dear’ when
you WANT something Mom—what is it?//
//You
and Sara to come to the opening tomorrow night.//
//NO.//
//Did
you just sign ‘no’ to ME, your loving mother?//
//Yes.//
//Good,
it’s settled then,// Olivia smirked. Grissom
caught her small hands between his own, trapping them and shook his
head
firmly.
“NO,
Mom. Read my lips and I KNOW you can—NO.”
Olivia
Grissom came dangerously close to a pout, her
eyebrow arching in an uncanny mirror of his as the stare down
continued.
Grissom spoke softly and slowly.
“Despite
what you THINK you know, I will neither
confirm or deny your perceptions. Sara loves her job. I love MY job. So
as long
as that’s our situation we’re
colleagues.”
Olivia
tugged her hands from his and signed.
//At
work.//
Grissom
hesitated, just long enough for his mother to
smile broadly. She gave a nod and then sighed.
//All
right then, I can’t play the blackmail card. How
about the guilt one?//
Gris
pursed his mouth and went around to his desk,
settling in the chair as his mother cocked her head at him.
“Do
your worst—“ he challenged, looking loftily at her.
She dramatically pressed a hand to her chest, sighing.
//I’m
seventy-FOUR, Gilbert Gordon Grissom, with a weak
constitution.//
“Mom,
you powerwalk three miles a day and do yoga,”
Gris snorted, sorting through a case file of crime scene photos.
“That hardly
qualifies you as feeble.”
//Conserving
my energy. I’m trying not to die while my
future grandchildren are still in your boxers!//
Startled,
Grissom blushed, looking at his mother who
refused to meet his eye. He rubbed his face to hide the heat, and at
that
moment Nick looked in the office door.
“Oh
hey Grissom, didn’t know you had
company—“ he
commented cheerfully. Olivia smiled at him while Gris signed hastily.
//Nick
Stokes—the one from
“Nick,
this . . . is my mother, Olivia Grissom.”
Startled
at the sign language, Nick held out his hand
then hesitated; Olivia cupped his big one in her two and beamed at him.
“Pease
to meet you.”
“Likewise
ma’am.”
“Nick
would you take her to the break room—I’ll be back
in a moment.”
“Ah,
sure thing—“
Grissom
slipped out.
Within
two minutes he was lowering himself on a dolly
and rolling under the battered Gremlin, scooting closer to the long
overall-clad legs already under it.
Under
the chassis, Sara glanced at him in surprise, big
eyes blinking behind her goggles.
“Grissom?”
“Yeah.
We’ve got a problem.”
“So—talk
to me,” she grinned, aware of his discomfort
and suspecting the reason for it. “Let me
guess—your mom still thinks you’re
gay?”
The
dour glance he shot her was enough to make her
laugh loudly and somewhat heartlessly. Grissom reached over and pulled
her
dolly until it bumped against his, shifting to face her. Sara opened
her mouth
to speak and suddenly found herself engulfed in a deep demanding kiss
of such
sweet intensity she could feel her toes curl deep in her boots. She
broke away
with a little whimper of pleasure as Grissom whispered,
“There—serious evidence
I am NOT into window treatments or rainbow marches.”
“I-I’m
not fully convinced. I may need repeated samples
to reach a definite conclusion.”
“Not
HERE, and certainly not under a Gremlin. Of all
the weekends for my mom to come to town—“
Sara
gave a crooked smile of commiseration, taking her
goggles off.
“Yeah,
well it might be better in the long run anyway.
I have my OWN visitor right now.”
“I
know,” came Gil’s low voice, “I was
looking forward
to it.”
Stunned,
Sara rolled over to face him, setting her
goggles on the floor by her head. He turned his head and watched her,
his eyes
hungry.
“You’re
kidding.”
“No,
not really—it’s the biologist in me I suppose, but
on some basic primitive level your cycle hits a hot
button—the vestiges of
estrus I guess. All I know is that as far as MY body chemistry knows,
you’re in
heat.”
“That’s
SUCH a pleasant image—“ Sara tried to protest,
but she blushed and fought the urge to squirm. Grissom’s kiss
had stirred her
hormones to a frenzy, and his words were NOT helping at all. He drew in
a
breath.
“That
upsets you? Tell me now because I need to know
how things are going to be about this, Sara.”
“No,
no it doesn’t squick me out per se.” She caught
his tenderly skeptical glance and added, “Much. I just
didn’t think you’d be
the more primal of the two of us.”
“Ah.
Well up to this point I haven’t had a chance to do
more than wrestle with my libido when your pheromones change. Still,
it’s not
going to be an easy weekend. My mother wants us to go to an opening
tomorrow
night and she’s not about to take no for an
answer.”
“Really?”
Sara fixed her gaze on him and Grissom felt
his face flush a little under her scrutiny. “Why?”
“Because
she’s my MOTHER,” he replied, as if this
should be self-evident. “She . . . knows.”
“She
suspects, she doesn’t know, not for
sure—“ Sara
murmured, “Inference isn’t fact.”
“Spoken
like a woman who hasn’t been subjected to—never
mind. We can either go, graciously, or refuse and suffer the slings and
arrows
of wounded matriarchal pride. What say you?”
Sara
picked up her goggles, her attention focused on a
suspicious streak on the oil pan over her head. Reaching for a swab,
she
carefully wiped and capped it before flashing a smile at the man next
to her.
“I
say I don’t know what art is, but I know what I
like.”
***
*** ***
By
the time Grissom made it back to the break room his
mother had charmed the crew. As usual. He looked in at her surrounded
by
Catherine, Warrick, Nick with a sense of familiar amusement, watching
her
bright eyes darting from face to face as she held court.
“De
nakes were de wors do. I don mine de bugs or de
rat, but I drew de line at a coba.”
Catherine
looked up at Gris, smirking.
“A
cobra, Grissom? For shame?”
He
gave a shrug, but signed to his mother.
//In
a fair fight you could have taken the cobra,
Mom.//
//Shhh!
Working the crowd here, son.// she flashed back
imperiously. He managed a soft smile and looked around the group.
“Not
to be the spoilsport guys, but we have work to
do—Warrick how do we stand on the shootout?”
“Blood,
fiber and some unknown trace samples getting
processed now, and Greg’s got some DNA from the countertop
and one of the
doorframes. Catherine found some hair caught in it.”
“Good.
Nick?”
“Still
processing the tires from the Gremlin used in
that hit and run over on the north side.”
“I
think Sara found something on the undercarriage, so
go check with her. Mom, it’s dinner break now, so
let’s go eat—“
So
saying, he took his mother firmly by the elbow and
steered her out of the break room; she waved at Warrick and Catherine.
“Ni
to mee you—“
Café
Corazon was open, and Grissom settled his mother
into a booth then watched her finger through the laminated menu card,
biding
her time. He folded his hands on the table and waited.
//Lyndon
O’Shea wants to buy me out.// she signed at
last.
//He’s
wanted to do that for the last six years, Mom.//
//Yes,
well now I’m actually considering it, Gil. The
day-to-day is finally grinding me down, and Alex . . .// she blushed.
Grissom
smiled and arched an eyebrow at his mother as the waitress came over.
Once
they’d ordered, he waggled his fingers again.
//And
Alex what? Finally got you to agree to that grand
tour of
//Yes.
The Cathedrals of England,
//Do
what moves you Mom. Follow your heart. You don’t
need my permission or approval for that.//
Olivia
nodded, as if this was the answer she’d expected
all along. Grissom kept her gaze, and she shyly let her fingers ask the
question.
//I
have to know, Gil dear. What’s her voice like?//
He
took a moment before replying, his large elegant
hands moving in stops and starts; the visual equivalent of a stammer.
//Husky.
Low. She has a West Coast inflection that runs
right up my spine sometimes.//
Olivia
smiled, cocking her head, nodding. He continued.
//Her
voice was the one I knew I’d miss the most.//
//Gil--//
//Sometimes,
when she says my name--// his fingers
stopped in mid-air, and Grissom pressed his lips together tightly,
caught in a
brief unguarded moment of wonder. Olivia swiftly reached over and
squeezed his
still fingers. She let her own flutter quickly.
//Getting
sentimental, Gilbert,// came her tender
observation. He was saved from denial by the arrival of dinner.
***
*** ***
Sara
looked in the mirror, smoothing the material down
over her hips; she frowned. The color was fine, a lovely shade between
green
and grey with hints of sage through the watered silk of it, but the
hemline
seemed a little short. She glanced at the closet and then the clock,
shaking
her head ruefully as she realized she didn’t have time to
change her mind
anymore.
“Come
on Sidle, it’s Showtime—“ she announced
to her
reflection, rolling her eyes as she stepped into her sandal heels. One
last
look in the mirror—
Her
hair was pinned up, with little tendrils in front
of each ear. Small earrings, peridot studs that caught the light.
Simple silk
dress with fitted 3/4th
sleeves, scoop neck. She turned and glanced
again, smirking.
The
dress was nearly backless, the low scoop dropping
to just above the swell of her buttocks, showcasing her long elegant
spine and
ending in an enticing bow.
“Screw
subtlety—“ she told her reflection, which winked
back. Sara picked up the grey velvet clutch purse as the doorbell rang;
she
sauntered over and checked the spy hole.
Oh
yes. No blue suit tonight, no this one was rich black,
with a grey dress shirt and burgundy tie flecked with more black. The
coloring
complimented Grissom’s iron-grey hair and beard, and looking
at him Sara felt a
rush of desire so strong, she leaned against the door to support
herself.
“Sara?”
he called a trifle impatiently, moving to press
the button again. She yanked the door open, flashing a tight smile at
him.
Grissom froze.
“Okay,
I think I’m ready . . . Gris?”
“Saaaa
. . .” he trailed off, blue eyes wide, drinking
in the sight of her with a desperate intensity that thrilled her. She
gave a
half turn, letting him catch a glimpse of her back; he took a step
forward,
compelled.
“You
can’t wear that. You can’t almost wear
that,”
Grissom corrected himself in a slightly choked voice. Sara fought the
urge to
agree and kept her expression as neutral as she could.
“Why
not?”
“Why
not? Because I SAID so.” This came out with such
utter conviction that Sara blinked. He took another step, so close now
she
could feel his breath on her lips.
“Then
I guess I’ll stay home—“ she whispered
silkily.
“Give my regards to your mom.”
They
stood there in the doorway of her apartment, the
two of them caught in a delicate tension woven with cords of lust and
frustration. Grissom held Sara’s gaze as she lifted her chin
and murmured,
“Compromise?”
“I’m
listening.”
“I
wear the dress--you call the shots now and later,
Gris. In totality.”
“I’d
do that anyway,” he countered, but his eyes were
warmer, his voice amused. Sara flicked her tongue over her plum-colored
lips.
“Not
to the degree I’m offering tonight,” she purred.
“And this would be . . .”
“
. . . In public,” he finished thoughtfully, the azure
of his eyes gleaming. Sara said nothing more, waiting, hoping.
With
a soft twitch of his mouth, Grissom nodded, once.
He looked her over one more time, taking Sara in from her manicured
toes to her
pinned up hair with a stare that missed nothing.
He
spoke in a soft voice of ruthless sincerity.
“If
it wasn’t for this obligation to my mother, I’d
take you over my knee, Sara Sidle, but that would be AFTER
I’d taken you a few
times in other ways. Let’s go.”
She
followed him out onto the dark street, her heart
beating fast, her mouth dry.
