DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything associated with the show… I just like playing with the characters in it from time to time. Dance Monkeys! Dance!
RATING: T – For Teen (for mature subject matter)
PAIRINGS: GSR
SPOILERS: Season 7 (Sometime Pre-LD)
SUMMARY: Geek Fiction Summer Reading Fic-A-Thon (Prompt Oscar Wilde). Gil and Sara have a little fun with their secret relationship.

A/N: Had great ideas for this one right out of the gate, but between being busy, stressing over getting the new car, and all the other writing I had on my plate, it became something of a chore to finish this one. Also, I originally intended there to be smut, but the Smut Muse was harder to motivate than I was this time… Sorry.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: My main beta's are fantastic! First, there is the unstoppable Speedy GonBETAles, who can zip through anything and have it back to my insanely impatient, twisted little mind in the blink of an eye. Then there is the source of all my FanFic (especially the smut), who I affectionately refer to as SmutBETA. She's the one that pestered me into writing this stuff in the first place. And lastly, there is my Guerilla Beta, who swoops in to save the day when I can't get satisfaction from the other two. Her insights and skills have rescued many a story from oblivion. If they say a writer is only as good as their editor…then a great deal of the praise belongs to these fine ladies.

REVIEWS: Reviews are the way I know if people are enjoying the work or not. So, if you leave one, THANKS! And if not, I hope you found at least a little something to brighten your day, and thanks for taking the time to read.

It had been a quiet scene. Everyone was busy documenting the counterfeit bills that were scattered all over the warehouse after SWAT had blown the doors off of what they thought would be a simple drug bust. They were all just going through the motions until the Feds finally showed up to take over the case.

Brass was busy with the rest of the detectives getting all of the suspects packaged up and sent down to the County Jail. With everyone off on their own, there just wasn't much conversation and she was starting to get nervous. It was her turn, and the shift was nearing the end. In an attempt to get someone to talk to her, she started working her way closer to Nick and Greg, over by the sorting table.

She could feel his eyes following her path, so she knew that he was watching her again. She also realized that he was perfectly aware of her position in the game. There was nothing she hated more than losing, even if the loss was not exactly a bad thing for her in the end. She simply hated to lose, especially since she was the one who had made the choice this time.

Greg looked up from the stack of bills that he was cataloguing and smiled at her. "Hey, Sara… Can you believe I was complaining about not having enough to do tonight?"

She was completely unable to suppress the smile that spread over her face. Greg had just given her the perfect opening. "Well, ya know, Greg, 'when the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.'"

"No Kidding!"

Just as Sara was closing up the evidence bag, she turned to see if Grissom had heard her when she saw him talking to several men in very nice, but very plain suits. She looked down at her watch and smirked. It looked like the Secret Service showed up in just enough time to get them all out by the end of the shift. And she was one up today, so that meant she would be doing the collecting on the bet.

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Normally, he was not a betting man, but in this instance there simply was no down side to this particular wager. Win or lose, he was certainly reaping the benefits of the game. Besides, it presented him with a unique opportunity in which to exercise some of his more obscure knowledge.

However, as he and Warrick worked the accident scene together, he had drawn a complete blank on anything he could apply to the situation without the man catching on. And to make matters worse, Sara was busy taking the perimeter shots of the scene and watching him like a hawk. While he was certainly enjoying himself, he would like to get the upper hand in the game at least once. The problem was that everyone seemed to know when he was quoting someone.

He supposed that he should not have been so surprised, since he was quite well known for being a man of quotations, but he had been absolutely certain each time that the particular quote being used was obscure enough to pass without notice. He had been wrong, each time.

It also did not help that he thought he had finally gotten one over on Sara when she failed to get her quote in for the day as they waited for the Feds to take over their counterfeit case. When she pulled it out in the very last minute he was a little disappointed, because by that point, he was already planning out how she was going to payoff the bet. Although, he did have to admit her little experiment with the tub was a rousing success. Or was that an arousing success?

Warrick had been talking all throughout his little trip down memory lane, but when the man mentioned their ever present lab director, he finally managed to get his attention.

"I just don't know how you can do it, Gris." Warrick shook his head in frustration as he explained, "The guy's a complete kiss-ass who couldn't find his way through a low end B&E with a flashlight and a confession. He managed to weasel his way into the AD slot by kissin' the right ass and suckin' up to whoever was willin', splits up our team, screws with everybody's careers for a freakin' year, nearly fires Sara, hangs Cath out to dry and leaves her swinging to save his own ass after Nick gets nabbed, totally sells out Sanders, louses up shifts, and you still put up with him like you do… I just don't get it."

Grissom shrugged his shoulders and bagged another piece of evidence. "I suppose it's a matter of the evil you know, being better than the one you don't."

"That can't be it. I mean, I know you don't want the director's job, but how you can smile and nod at that guy when you know for a fact that he's gunnin' for you at every turn. How can you do that?" Warrick sealed up another full box of evidence as he finished his question.

Looking over to make sure a certain someone was still listening, Grissom knew he had finally found the perfect, completely obscure quote to slip into the conversation. He also knew that Sara would instantly recognize it, since it was one of her favorites, as of late. "Well, Warrick, I've learned that one should 'always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.'"

Warrick laughed and nodded his head as he lifted the box up. "I'm starting to think you've been workin' too many cases with Sara, Boss." Grissom instantly froze with the non-chalant comment. "She's been using that line for a while." He clapped the older man on the shoulder as he passed and added, "And I'm still not buyin' it, Mr. Wilde."

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"I don't care… I still think you set me up."

Sara threw her arms into the air and stalked into the kitchen. "How the hell could I have set you up? You're the one who came up with this damn game in the first place!"

Still pouting just a little, he answered, "Yes, but you picked the author."

She instantly shot back with, "This week! Last week you didn't hear me complaining when you picked Ayn Rand. I mean really, Gil, do you have any idea how hard it is to get THAT kind of stuff into a casual conversation without being noticed?!"

"I don't know…you seemed to do just fine to me." He walked into the kitchen and stood behind her before dropping his hands onto her tense shoulders. "And I nearly swallowed my own tongue when you quoted that line about promiscuity."

Her shoulders relaxed a little when he softly rubbed into her tense muscles. "I even surprised myself with that one. But the look on Catherine's face was worth sounding like a puritanical dork."

He chuckled at the memory and deepened his attempt to ease her tension with his strong hands. "Catherine? I thought Nick's spit take was far more entertaining. I nearly laughed out loud."

"That would've killed the game for sure!" Sara finally laughed at the memory and they both relaxed into their normal routine.

Once the breakfast dishes were safely in the dishwasher, the leftovers carefully put away in the fridge, and the counters perfectly sanitized they were able to retire to the couch for some reading time.

Grissom decided that he needed to bone up on his knowledge of the works of Oscar Wilde, so he chose to re-read the play "The Ballad of Reading Gaol." It was written during Wilde's imprisonment there for violating the decency laws in the British Isles at the time. His choice was based on the fact that the man wrote many disdainful things about the law and the treatment of the condemned in that piece, so he was more likely to find something that would prove useful in their bet.

Sara, secure in her knowledge of the man's works, chose to do a little leisure reading. The book in question had just arrived in the mail the day before.

A friend of hers from Berkeley had been going on and on about a quirky little piece of fiction she found by accident one day. It was far from her usual fare, but when the friend took the time to send her a copy of the first book she relented and decided to give it a try. Midnight D.J.'s turned werewolves was not something Sara would have ever read on her own, but there she sat on the couch, with her feet propped up in Grissom's lap, pouring through the third book in the series, "Kitty Takes a Holiday."

Werewolves, late night talk shows and vampire hunters; if anyone from work ever saw her with the book they never would have believed it. At first Grissom thought she had lost her mind, but after listening to her chuckle her way through the first book, he became intrigued. After that, whenever she came across what he referred to as "the good parts," she would read them aloud, to allow him the chance to enjoy it as well. She also had to admit, it was fun to be able to share their reading experiences together. Couch time quickly became her favorite part of their daily routine.

When she looked up and saw that Grissom was rubbing his eyes as he fought to stay awake, she set her book down and asked, "So, in the name of fairness and keeping the peace… I'll declare today a draw."

Grissom set his book down as well and smirked when he pulled off his glasses and looked at her. "That's very generous of you." He raised his eyebrow and questioned her motives. "So, what's the catch?"

"No catch… Besides, I'm totally beat, and you look like you could use a day off, too." He waited for the requisite amount of time before she finally revealed her true intent. "But…since this one is a push, that means we have to use Wilde for an extra shift."

He threw his head back into the wall above the sofa back and grimaced. "I knew there was a catch in there."

She got up from the couch, leaving her book on the coffee table before turning to put her hands out for him. "Oh, quit complaining and come to bed with me."

He left his book on the cushion and took her hands before he made his display of reluctantly rising from the sofa. "If I have to."

Sara shook her head and smiled. "You have to… You're gonna need the rest for what I have planned after shift tomorrow…when I win the bet again." The waggle of her eyebrow was always an endearing gesture to him. It was such an un-Sara-like thing to do, and she saved it for their time alone. She used to share those looks with the others in her comical way of flirting, but she no longer felt a need to use that method of hiding her unease. Instead, she saved them for those comfortable moments at home, when it was just them, and she wanted him to smile at her. He was only too happy to oblige.

"You are awfully certain of yourself, Sidle." The corner of his mouth turned up and his eyes began to dance to the music of her gentle laughter. "I may just have to spoil your plans, with one of my own."

She shifted her jaw from side to side and fought to restrain her smile through pursed lips. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

As they slept, wrapped in each other's arms, he had many dreams that he wished to use in the event that he won the bet the next day. But there was one question that kept infiltrating his dreams; what is she planning this time?

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It was one of those cases that stole the chatter from each member of their team. The scene was gruesome, and the inclusion of the children was a difficult pill to swallow. By the time everyone had finished up and gotten back to the lab, Grissom was drained from the whole experience. It was one hell of a way to end his week.

As he tried to make his way through the evidence log, he exhaled sharply and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose after removing his glasses. No matter how much he worked to remove his emotions from his cases, whenever a child was the subject, he found it very difficult. And going through the pictures cataloguing the fatal injuries of the children in this case was enough to destroy any pretense he had at being objective.

He got up from his chair and went out in search of fresh coffee and a living human connection. His destination: the break room, and Sara. Upon entering the break room, he got a little more than he was intending.

There on the sofa was Sara, with her arms around Greg's shoulders as he silently shook from his sobs. Grissom could tell at the scene that his youngest CSI was taking the whole thing badly, but he never imagined entirely how bad.

Sara instantly recognized his presence in the room, but she only gave him a shy look as she continued to hold the overwrought young man in her arms as he quietly made his way to the coffee maker. While he wanted to respect Greg's privacy, as his supervisor, he felt a certain responsibility to the man.

Without even realizing that he was in the room, Greg's next words were just what he needed to offer his support.

"It doesn't make any sense, Sara. This guy, he only did, what, eighteen months for that DUI accident? But he gets out of jail, comes home to his family and then kills them all, plus himself inside of two weeks of his release… How does something like that happen?"

Before Grissom could speak, Sara handed Greg a tissue and calmly stated, "Greg, I can't make sense of any of this stuff, and honestly, I've stopped trying, because it only ties me up in knots." She smoothed the hair out of his eyes when he turned to look at her with such a profound sadness. "I just try to make sure that the right people are held accountable for the crimes we have to investigate, and I try to hold on to that part of me that can't understand why a person does these things, because that's what keeps me sane and human."

He wanted to reach out to Sara and wrap her up in his arms as she explained her own method for coping with the more difficult cases. Grissom always knew that Sara had found a balance for dealing with the strains of their profession, but he never felt the need to ask her how she had come by this resolution. Now that he knew, it made him love her all the more.

His presence was suddenly recognized by Greg when he turned and found Grissom standing at the coffee pot. "Grissom, I-I-I didn't know you w-were-…" Greg stumbled over the words as he tried to collect himself in the face of his supervisor.

"You're fine, Greg… I just came in here to try and clear some of those images out of my own head. You are well within your rights to have been disturbed by this case." He moved toward one of the chairs at the end of the table nearest the couch.

"I guess I just can't understand how this guy could go from being a stupid businessman with a taste for bourbon and some really bad judgment, to a man capable of brutally murdering his entire family over the weekend and then blowing his own brains out."
Grissom set his coffee mug down and exhaled sharply. He was not entirely certain that he understood himself, but he knew all too well that prison never fixed anything in the long run. More often than not, instead of curing them of their criminal tendencies, the man or woman released had merely received an education in becoming a more dangerous criminal.

"Greg, our system is not perfect, by any means, and unfortunately it has a serious flaw in the short-term detention and release of minimal offenders. The penal system has a long history of doing a far better job of training criminals, instead of rehabilitating them, as they have been charged with doing." Grissom made sure that he had Greg's eye contact when he sealed the lesson with a quote. "'Vile deeds like poison weeds bloom well in prison air, it is only what is good in man, that wastes and withers there.'"

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Upon finally arriving home, Grissom was desperate for something other than the foul, coppery stench of bloody death, and the stark, harsh light of truth in the act of murder. He craved warmth and tenderness, and the calm, cool quiet of home.

The moment he entered the house from the garage, his senses were overcome with the aroma of melted cheeses, tomatoes and pungent spices. He sighed as the scent filled his nostrils. There was something about Sara's grilled cheese and tomato-basil soup lunches that always made him feel right with the world again, and gave him an unbelievable sense of being loved.

He dropped his files and keys down on the entry table, and hung his jacket up in the closet before making his way to the kitchen. That was where he found her, leaning casually over the soup pot, testing its progress. As the spoon reached her lips, she carefully blew over the surface before taking the spicy liquid into her waiting mouth. The moment her eyes opened wide with approval, she noticed him standing in the dining room.

"Oh good, you made it home." She placed the spoon on a holder beside the stove and then looked at her wrist watch. "I was beginning to think I'd have to send out the National Guard to get you here."

As he walked towards her, he smirked and said, "I would hope you that you would have tried the phone first."

She looked away and took one of the sandwiches from her plate to transfer to another one when she stated, "And when your phone has been turned off…"

He quickly checked the device hooked to the belt around his waist, only to discover that it was indeed turned off. Grissom searched his mind for the reason that caused him to switch off the phone and then he remembered the incessant calls from an obnoxious reporter, which led to the silencing the offending item. "Right…. My apologies." He blushed slightly as her gaze met his again. "I was avoiding a reporter, not you."

She pointed to a small stack of pink papers on the counter and nodded, "I kind of figured that one out already."

The frustrated sigh that escaped him as he flipped through the answering machine messages spoke volumes about his annoyance. "It would appear that there is a need to change my numbers…again."

Sara nodded at the messages in his hand once more. "Last one is the new home number… You'll have to get that to personnel yourself and then have admin change your cell."

He dropped the messages back onto the counter and walked around to stand behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he nuzzled into her neck as she ladled the soup into two bowls. "Your efficiency and caring continue to astound me."

"Caring nothin'… Do you know hard it is to sleep when the phone won't stop ringing?" His comfortable laughter against her neck was a delight for him and for her, as he gently rocked them both in the act.

"Yes, well…I'll be sure to turn in the changed numbers directly to personnel this time. I think that assistant of Ecklie's is the one giving out information to the press." He dipped a finger into the soup and tried to sneak a quick taste of it when she grabbed his wrist and halted his progress. Instead of allowing him to continue with his taste, she brought his hand to her face and took his finger into her mouth for her own taste as she rolled her tongue around the digit.

"Mmmmm… Not bad." She bumped him back with her rear and took hold of the plates with the bowls sitting on top. "Now go sit down, so we can eat."

He caught her playful smirk and chuckled as he turned for the dining room, dutifully answering, "Yes, dear."

As Sara came from around the kitchen counter she remarked, "You did a good thing today…with Greg."

He shrugged off her attention and responded with, "I think you were far better equipped in that situation. He was in need of comfort, and you were doing just fine without me."

"Don't sell yourself short, Gris… You were able to connect with Greg and you gave him something he could fall back on, something tangible to hold onto. And besides, I know from personal experience that you are very talented in the comforting department." She ended her analysis with a wink and a nudge that brought a slight blush to his cheeks.

Sara had a way of showing him his own heart. He often felt a lack of connection with that organ's theoretical purpose, but with her he knew what it meant to feel compassion, as well as love. Her reminder of his ability to connect with and comfort their co-worker and friend, was absent of the accusation that his citation of the words from the Oscar Wilde tale of his imprisonment in one of England's many prison were obvious, even if Greg did not specifically bust him on it. He waited for it, but as they sat down to eat, there was no mention of the fact that his blatantly obvious quote meant she once again won their bet.

Not until they began to eat did Grissom realize how hungry he was, or exactly how long it had been since he last ate. He practically inhaled his sandwich and was just finishing up his soup when he noticed Sara watching him as she absently pushed her spoon around her bowl. His hunger also made him notice that her food was relatively untouched.

"Not hungry?" She shrugged off his question, and that made him a bit more concerned. "What's wrong?"

Sara shook her head and smiled shyly. "I did a little too much sampling, I think… You know how I am with cheese."

He chuckled at her reasoning. "Yes, well…I have to admit that I was not aware someone could actually go through a pound of Jarlsberg in a week."

"That's why I told you not to get so much… If it's here, I'm gonna eat it." She slid her plate and bowl over to him. "But I can't eat anymore right now… You finish it."

Hesitating for only a moment, he asked, "Are you sure? I could just eat some more soup and get some crackers, or something-"

"Please… Eat it. You know you want it." She shot him with one of those one-sided smirks that always tickled him.

His hand reached out to the plate in the center of the table. "Well, I wouldn't want it to go to waste." She laughed at his mock modesty and stood up with his empty plate and bowl in her hands. As he devoured the remaining sandwich, in between bites, he asked, "What's different about the grilled cheese?"

From the kitchen, she called back to him, "They were all out of the Canadian Cheddar I usually get, so I decided to get some Smoked Gouda instead of the regular stuff to make up for it. Why? Didn't you like it?"

"No… I think I liked it better." He washed the last bite down with a gulp of water. "Had more of a savory taste to it, and you used that oat bread instead of the rye. It's a wonderful blend of flavors this way."

Sara slipped the last full bowl in front of him and leaned her head in beside his to place a kiss on his cheek, while he dove into the last of the soup. "Thank you."

Moments later, Grissom handed Sara the empty bowl and smiled back at her. They were little things, but those small gestures were like pure gold to him. Each of those little things was a sign of their love for each other. Every casual touch, every meal prepared, every chore performed, every comforting word was simply a demonstration of their commitment and caring.

When he was finally finished, he got up from the table with the dishes and turned for the kitchen as he started talking, "Hard to believe that something so simple is probably my favorite mea-" He stopped when he realized Sara was no longer in the kitchen. Gil turned in a circle as he scanned the area for her location. Failing to find her, he called out, "Sara?"

From the bedroom he heard, "Be out in a sec… There's some dessert in the kitchen."

His brow immediately rose at the mention of dessert. Gil's one great weakness, other than Sara, was his sweet-tooth. He quickly made his way into the kitchen and dumped his dishes in the sink. As he went to check the dishwasher he found the tray sitting on the counter.

On the tray were cubes of pound cake and shortcake, a selection of strawberry and blackberry preserves, and finally a pot of liquefied dark chocolate resting in a warming bath. It was absolutely perfect, and exactly what he had been planning on the off chance that he actually succeeded in winning during their little wager. There was something decidedly sensual about feeding sweets to the one you loved.

"Sara…" He began to walk back out to the dining table with his focus squarely on the tray of sweets in front of him. He was trying to figure out just how she had come up with the idea for their dessert, especially since he had been planning to exactly the same thing. "Have you been reading my mind aga-" When his gaze lifted from the tray, he was stopped dead in his tracks.

Leaning against the column in the center of the room was a vision in the most breathtaking pale golden silk. He instantly recognized the lingerie as the set he purchased for her at the beginning of their game. Sara's customary sleepwear consisted of cotton shorts and a tank top, and he wanted to see her in something a little more flattering. Not that the tight tank tops and barely there shorts were not a definite turn on after years of only seeing her in the many layers of work clothes, but sometimes he wanted a little something special.

Seeing her, standing there, draped in the silk robe, the delicate gown showing through, and her bare leg peeking out from the luxurious material was enough to make him bobble the tray in his hands as the oxygen left his brain. When he bought the garment, he had imagined what Sara would look like when she wore it, but he was completely unprepared for the reality of it.

He found his gaze transfixed as she smoothed her palm down over her hip to her thigh, looked up at him through her eyelashes, and spoke to him in a seductive voice, "I have to admit, you have excellent taste."

Her low sultry tone kindled a burning flame in his chest and he struggled to acknowledge her words. In the end, the only thing he was able to do was to nod his head.

Sara looked over her shoulder and gestured at the couch when she asked, "Wouldn't that be better over there?"

It took a few moments before her question finally made it past his ears and registered in his highly aroused mind. Gil blinked and broke his fixed stare from her form to look down. That was when he remembered he was holding the tray containing their dessert and he snapped back into reality. "Oh! Um, yeah, that would be…nice?"

After a few more moments, his feet got the message and he started to move toward the sofa. As he passed Sara, he could hear the faintest hint of a giggle, as she tried to suppress the desire to laugh at his predicament.

He was struck dumb by the reality of his dreams. When he had been trying to come up with the perfect reward for winning their wager, all he needed to do was to remember the dream which plagued his sleep for years. It was a simple dream, but it always left him feeling renewed. Since the object of that dream had come to share his bed, it remained a quiet thought in the back of his mind, but having to come up with something for the bet jogged it back to the surface. On an impulse, he began to scour the internet for the garment to match his dreams, and the moment he found it, the purchase was made. But seeing it on her in the dim, soft light of their shared living space shattered his dreams with the awe inspiring reality before him.

Turning when he reached the sofa, he looked around as though his mind was trying to figure out exactly what the furniture was used for. If he had seen himself, he would have been embarrassed by his fumbling, but all that was erased when Sara appeared at his side and whispered, "Have a seat."

"Huh?" He was unnerved by her proximity and the warm tingle that her raspy breath sent coursing through his body. He turned to find the faint light shining into the room through the slats in the blinds dancing in her darkened amber eyes. She raised her hands, placed them atop his shoulders and guided him to sit. He looked down at the couch and said, "Oh, yeah, right."

As he lowered himself to the sofa, Sara carefully removed the tray from his death grip and twisted to set it down on the coffee table behind her. When he reached the last few inches before the sofa cushions, his legs gave out and he dropped the rest of the way onto the furniture.

Sara took one of the forks from the tray and speared a piece of the pound cake. He craned his neck to see around her so that he could watch what she did. As he watched her slowly drag the cake through the strawberry preserves, he felt an entire bouquet of butterflies fluttering to life inside his stomach in anticipation of her next move.

When she turned back to face him, she held her right hand underneath the end of the fork to prevent the preserves from slipping loose of the cake and staining the lavish silk gown. Sara gracefully sat down upon his lap sideways and delicately brought the fork to his mouth. Purely on instinct, his mouth dropped open as the sweet morsel was moved closer to his lips. As it touched his waiting tongue, he felt Sara lean into him a little more.

Gil relished in the taste of the confection in his mouth, and the sweet warm creature nestled into his body. He had never imagined that his dreams could ever come true, but there, in that moment, with every instance of the machinations of his furtive imagination a reality within his grasp, he knew that dreams did indeed come true.

With his mind back in command of his body, he reached up to wrap his arms around his love and he held her tightly. Sara moved her arms to hold him around the neck and then whispered into his ear, "With ideas like this, I should have let you win sooner." That was when she removed a folded sheet of composition paper from the pocket of her robe. "Of course, only you would take the pains to plan out and research every detail of a surprise seduction and then leave the plan out in the open."

A/N2: The Ayn Rand quote I referenced in the story was the following: "I consider promiscuity immoral. Not because sex is evil, but because sex is too good and too important." From the interview given to Playboy Magazine, March 1964 (yeah, I was a little shocked that's what it was from as well).