19 – Keynotes

It wasn’t that they didn’t have each other’s keys; they had for a while, but this one was different. This one was more like an invitation.

A sequel to “Pancakes.” Post episode 622, “Time of Your Death,” circa May 2006.



“Now that is a fantasy.”

Catherine’s words hung in the air long after she and Greg had disappeared from the break room.

Their departure had left Sara and Grissom alone at the conference table. Sara glanced up from one last perusal of her printout from the Powell case, only to find Grissom giving her a look she was not all that unfamiliar with, but one he usually reserved for more private display. She smiled not entirely demurely in reply, before returning her attention to her notes.

They sat there, just the two of them, for a moment before Sara shuffled the sheets into their folder and without a word, rose to go, lingering only long enough on her way out to lean in and seemingly innocently enough place the file on his pile of papers.

“I’ll see you later,” she whispered casually and held his gaze for a moment. The hint of a grin played about Grissom’s mouth as his eyes followed hers to rest on the small silver key she had placed on top of the stack before vanishing down the hall.

He swiveled slightly in his chair to watch her, turning the key over and over in his hand as he did so, and simultaneously wondering just exactly how much time would have to pass before now could be considered later.

Finally, he said Screw it, gathered up the case files and headed back to his office to pack up his things. He paused only long enough in his leaving to check to see if Sara might still be lurking in the locker room, but in the end found it empty, which almost came as a bit of a relief as Grissom at the time wasn’t exactly in the mood for friendly small talk with the rest of the team.

He had something very different in mind, something a bit more immediate. Private.

Although he was eager to arrive at his destination, Grissom did, however, decide to make a quick stop on the way.

All the talk of fantasies had given him an idea, and while Sara’s cupboards had lost a bit of their sparseness since she had moved into her new place, he wanted to make sure he had everything he needed on hand.

The errand quickly run, he was soon back in his car and on his way.

He found he couldn’t suppress the expectant sort of smile that kept tugging at his lips as he pulled up in front of her building. He grabbed the paper bag from the passenger’s side, hurried up the stairs and was about to knock as usual, when he remembered about the key. He hurriedly slipped it into the lock and gave it a turn.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee perfuming the air greeted him and he could hear the hint of Sara singing softly to herself as she worked in the kitchen. He padded his way towards her as quietly as he could, and when he finally came up behind her, proceeded to brush the hair away from her neck before placing a long lingering kiss there.

Sara sighed in appreciation, but did not turn. “Took you long enough,” she said, her tone more amused than anything.

“I had to pick up some things first,” he replied, placing his bag on the counter.

Then taking in the bowl of freshly cut up fruit, the pair of plates, and all the accoutrements for making toast on the countertop in front of her, his grin grew as he realized that they had each procured all the necessary ingredients for the making of the other’s favorite breakfast.

The toaster popped.

“Did you have my arrival computed down to the minute?” Grissom asked, slightly taken aback at the timing, but pleased all the same.

“No,” she answered utterly nonchalant. “I just knew to start the toast when I heard the key in the door.”

Then beginning to pull eggs, sugar and flour from out of his bag, it was Sara’s turn to ask, “Pancakes?”

He nodded. “It appears that great minds really do think alike,” he said, but then added, “They can wait until later, since it appears that you already have breakfast almost finished.”

“In a hurry?” she queried curiously.

“No, just hungry.”

“Oh?” She handed him a plate.

“Not that kind,” he replied, taking it from her and replacing it on the counter before narrowing the slender gap between them. His eyes had once again gotten that look, the one where they went both dark and bright at the same time, a look very much akin to the one he had given her from across the conference table earlier.

Her mouth formed another oh, this one utterly inaudible.


Several hours later, Gil Grissom could be found back in Sara’s kitchen, pouring the last of the batter onto the sizzling skillet.

He shook his head in bemusement as his ears picked up the pitter-patter of footsteps on the tile behind him.

“Am I ever going to get to bring you breakfast in bed?” he asked ruefully.

Sara leaned in, her palm settling on the small of his back as she did so, to peer expectantly over his shoulder at the waiting pile of pancakes. “Probably only if you started cooking something that didn’t smell quite so good,” she replied and then, “You should take it as a compliment. I don’t know anyone else who can rouse someone out of a deep sleep simply through cooking.”

Thinking of how she had been snoring rather soundly when he had slipped out of bed and had barely stirred even when he tugged the blankets tighter around her and placed a kiss into her hair, he turned to her and teased, “For someone who supposedly never sleeps, you don’t seem to be having problems with it lately.”

“It’s all your fault,” Sara retorted, smiling blithely in reply.

He feigned a hurt look. “Am I really that tiresome?” he asked, handing her a plate.

She shook her head. “No. Just good at wearing me out.”

He stood there dumbfounded for a moment before finally saying, “I see.”

“You are rather proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Sara laughed; Grissom shrugged, though truthfully he did look more than a little pleased with himself.



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