The guests at their wedding were more than a little startled at the line in the invitation that read, "Please bring a pair of silly socks," but most chalked it up to the fact that this was after all Grissom and Sara getting married and went searching for silly socks.
The first note landed on his lap in the middle of a thoroughly useless and utterly boring seminar on properly documenting a crime scene. Think theyíll document my crime scene after I die of boredom?
I havenít passed notes in class since fifth grade. Thatís how boring this is.
He tried not to think about the fact that when she was in fifth grade, heíd already gotten his Ph.D. It was too depressing.
You look sad. Donít worry, only fourmorehours.
Do you wanna go out?
Check yes or no.
He passed the note to her and watched as she smiled, finally realizing what he was talking about. She did not, however, respond immediately, which made him nervous. He turned back to the presenter, his mind whirling. Was he too late? Was he too old? The what-ifs swirled through his head, but his spiral into self-doubt was halted by another note. She had scribbled out "go" and written "make" above it, then checked yes.
"What do you think that oneís supposed to represent?" Brass whispered to Catherine, who was staring at a triangular painting in total disgust.
"I think it represents a five foot eleven workaholic attempting to pretend that he has other interests." she whispered back
"I do have many interests, Catherine." Grissom said, startling them both. Catherine contemplated once again how much trouble she would be in if she put a bell on her taciturn supervisor. At least then she would know when he was sneaking up behind her.
"Yeah, okay, Gil. Why donít you wander on over to Sara and explain that you and she are like the two sides of the triangle and that only within the grander scheme of the lab can you two have a beautiful relationship. Iím sure she would love being compared to the squiggles of a maggot," Brass said rather sardonically.
Warrick and Nick shook their heads before Warrick said, "Sorry, Cath, I think Nick and I will be occupied trying to find tuxes that fit before Friday. Why don't they give us more notice than this?"
"So they make sure we won't all arrange to be in Abu Dhabi that night," Sara said somewhat sardonically.
Sara had to laugh. This man was apparently incorrigible, and she would have said as much had Grissom not stepped out of the dressing room. Unfortunately she lost the power of speech due to the sight of Grissom in a tux. Even more unfortunately, Cliff had not lost his ability to speak and said, "My god, you are so hot!"
"Well, yes. Those boxers have seen better days, and don't you want to be wearing nice boxers when a beautiful woman sees them?"
"No one except me will be seeing my boxers," Grissom said firmly.
Sara's first coherent and non-X-rated thought was 'Damn, that man looks even better than he did at the store.'
Nick froze. He completely believed the threat. The unseen voice left no doubt about the seriousness of the situation. Licking his lips nervously, Nick slowly lifted his arms up and turned around cautiously.
"I've got a wife and kids. They need me," he pleaded.
"Stow it, Stokes. Grissom promised me that truck," Sara said as she crossed the garage.
"I have to stop betting with Warrick on these things," the lab-tech-actor said sadly, and Nina was torn out of her hateful stare-other-shipper-into-submission-and-the-true-way to look up. "Seven times out of ten, they bicker like this."
"Your own fault for betting with a talented ex-gambler," the woman replied. "Donít you think heís looked into the odds?"
"Ecklie?" Nina muttered, but got no answer as she was pushed into a convention hall and saw hundreds of faces turned to look at her. And at the podium, Ecklie was throning, looking sour.
"Ah, I believe that is the last two," he said, giving Nina and Juliana both a hard glare until they slinked down on available seats. "Welcome students! I am Conrad Ecklie, and you will call me Mister Ecklie and nothing else or I will give you homework from here to eternity, which incidentally is as long as it would take me to play matchmaker for Miss Sidle and Doctor Grissom, or send them on a holiday to Kuala Lumpur because theyíve worked so hard, poor things."
He paused a moment, looking for a moment as though he were trying to cough up a hairball.
Greg munched thoughtfully. "I guess decent is as decent ships and... Is that girl drawing us?"
"Then why are her eyes so glazed?"
"I think sheís picturing us naked," Nick replied, squinting at her a little.
Greg thought this over. "Letís get her some more to drink, then show the drawing to Ecklie and tell him itís meant to be him and Grissom. Iím sure heíll love it..."
"Youíre mean, man."
Greg grinned and raised his glass as if in toast. "No, Iím educating."
"Not really," Elisa replied. "Well, some of us Catherine/Warrick shippers tried to dump a bucket of mistletoe on the two so theyíd be forced to kiss. Unfortunately, they are both very fast and we dumped it on Hodges and Doc Robbins instead and they actually did kiss, just to spite us, I think. Iím gonna be blind for a year."
"I give them three days," Warrick said lazily.
"Four," Catherine countered.
"Care to make a wager on that?"
"Continuing on," Robbins said, moving the slide forward, "we have Grillows." A picture of a barbecue was prominently displayed. "I know what a grill is, but Iím not sure if the Grissom/Catherine shippers are grilling Ďowsí or Ďlowsí on it. Actually, this is a particularly egregious example of the common practice of taking the names of the members of a pairing and smashing them together like a trainwreck. Sandle is another, but it conjures up images of shoes rather than something largely unidentifiable. Incidentally, if anyone tries to ship me with Catherine and calls it RobCat, I can assure you that person will find themselves hip-deep in a ten thousand page essay on the damages of smashing and stupidity."