For Frank -- who not only helped me with the idea, but who also taught me that the quiet moments in life are the most special.
Pancakes
There was nothing altogether special about this particular Tuesday afternoon. It was a little after one. Grissom was seated on Sara's sofa finishing the New York Times crossword from the morning paper (in pen, per usual) while Sara leaned against him and thumbed through the latest edition of the Journal of Forensic Sciences. Both acts were conducted in relative quiet, although every once in a while, Grissom would read out a clue he has was puzzling over and Sara would quote some interesting fact she came across in an article. Most people probably would have thought the whole encounter to be rather dull. For Grissom and Sara, however, it was a hard-won and long-in-coming pleasure.
After a while, Sara said, still not looking up from her reading, "Is this what you thought it would be like?"
He filled in twenty-two across before asking, "What?"
"Us. Together. Like this," she explained.
"Are you disappointed?" He asked, his eyes shifting from the page to her.
Sara turned to him. "Hardly, but you are avoiding the question, Griss."
He shook his head and laughed. But his face was serious when he answered, "No, Sara. It's better."
Sara grinned. "Really?" She asked.
"Much."
That said, they returned to their respective puzzle and reading.
Until Sara asked, "What did you fantasize about back then?"
"Before we were together?"
"Yeah."
"Honestly?"
She nodded, mentally replying, "No, I want you to lie."
His answer could not have been more unexpected.
"Pancakes," he replied simply, still peering through his reading glasses at his crossword.
"Pancakes?" She echoed confused.
"Pancakes," he said again.
Sara laughed. "Is that code for something I'm not aware of?"
"No."
"You mean made out of butter, flour, milk, eggs and sugar pancakes?"
"Yes."
"You used to fantasize about pancakes?" She asked incredulously. "I've never even seen you eat pancakes."
"Not eating them. Making them," he explained. Sara was still puzzling out what the hell that meant when he added, "For you."
"Making me pancakes?"
"Yes."
She closed her journal, shook her head and stammered, "I think I'm still missing something here."
Grissom put down both his puzzle and his pen and turned to her.
"When you first came to Vegas, whenever we had breakfast with the team, you always ordered pancakes -- nothing else -- not eggs or toast or cereal. Just pancakes," he began. "So I used to think about making you pancakes for breakfast if you... If we..." His voice trailed off slightly for a moment, but then he continued, "So it was always pancakes. I would be in the kitchen putting it all together and you'd walk in in my bathrobe all sleepy-eyed and with your hair all disheveled and kiss me good-morning and we'd have pancakes."
For a long time, Sara sat there stunned, surprised by both the intimacy and care implied in his admission. Then slowly she smiled and leaned in and kissed him gently. As she pulled away, she said softly, "You know I did just go to the store. So I'm pretty sure I have plenty of milk and flour and eggs and sugar. Are you in the mood for pancakes?"
"With you? Always."
A/N: For all of you who so generously review, please note that I will be away from the computer and the internet until 2/18/08 (yes, there really are places left on the planet with no internet access, believe it or not)... I will happily respond to any of your comments, questions and suggestions then. Have a very happy holiday. Thanks for reading as always. Take care and best wishes. Karen