Title: Cross Training
By: Shelley Russell
Series: Working Out 06
Summary: Digger bees, softball, the Sphinx, a realization, and a homerun.
Category: CSI: Vegas
Characters: Warrick/Grissom
Genres: Slash

Eight a.m. on a Saturday morning, the first week of March, and Warrick Brown was a man on a mission. Dressed in a royal blue Las Vegas 51s batting jersey, blue jeans, and tennis shoes, long legs swinging easily from his hips, he strode quickly through the corridors of the Las Vegas Crime Lab in search of his boyfriend. Warrick was making sure Gil Grissom hadn't become distracted and forgotten about their plans for the day.

With predatory grace, Warrick powered toward Grissom's office. A quick glance in the door, but no Gris. Knocking lightly on the doorframe, Warrick stepped inside and looked left. There, in an easy chair, surrounded by his immense collection of entomology texts, sat his handsome boyfriend. Not too surprising, Gris was nose-deep in a large volume with pictures of creepy critters on the front.

"Hey, Super Gris. Whatcha got there?"

Bright blue eyes looked up over his glasses and his book. "Hey, Wonder Warrick. An advance copy of Robinson's Urban Insects and Arachnids."

"Is that right?"

"Yes. Did you know that digger bees traditionally build burrows in the desert, but they've adapted to building tunnels in overpass embankments and in the bricks of adobe buildings? They'll even take over pre-existing holes in wood houses. They use wood chips to line the nest." He shook his head, "I'm still amazed by the adaptive ability of insects."

Gazing with undisguised affection, Warrick's heartbeat ramped up at seeing and hearing his boyfriend enthuse about six-legged, flying, stinging beasties. Of course, it didn't hurt that Gris was blessed with luxuriant graying hair, beautiful blue eyes, a rakish soft beard, and a plump bottom lip ripe for biting.

The look on Warrick's face must have given his thoughts away because his boyfriend suddenly stopped talking about digger bees, "Warrick?"

"You know I'm gonna slip one day and kiss you in here."

A slow half smile. "Not a good idea."

"I thought you weren't worried about what other people think."

"I'm not. But we never stop with just a kiss."

A scalding dream image burst upon green eyes: books, papers, pens, staplers, and specimens flying from the top of the desk just before Grissom's naked back hits it and just before a naked Warrick lands on top. He swallowed, "Yeah, I see your point. So, you ready?"

"Yep."

Warrick reached down a large hand to pull Gris to his feet. An exasperated look crossed his face, "While I appreciate the help, I'm not completely decrepit, yet."

"You ever think I might be lookin' for any excuse to touch you?"

Exasperation gave way to skepticism, "You ever think touching can be as dangerous as kissing?"

With a wicked grin on his face, Warrick refused to take his hand away. "Maybe, just this once, you can risk it."

Eyebrow raised, Gris contemplated the challenge and the helping hand. At last he accepted both. Warrick easily pulled his boyfriend to his feet and stroked his wrist and palm with long fingers. The two men stood close, savoring the familiar scent and heat of one another, then Warrick stepped back quickly before he gave in to overwhelming temptation. It was a good thing, too, because Graveyard shift CSIs Greg Sanders and Sara Sidle loped unannounced into the office.

"Hey, big guy," Sara smiled warmly at Warrick.

Warrick smiled back. He liked her smile. He wished she'd smile more often. "Hey yourself."

"You guys working out on Saturday mornings, too?" Greg bopped, eyebrows, hair, feet in motion.

"Nah, I needed to talk some stuff over with Grissom."

"You're trying to get back on Graveyard," Sara guessed, dark brown eyes shining, smile widening.

Wondering where that deduction came from, Warrick shook his head, "Not even close, Nancy Drew."

"Like any of us would trade with you, anyway. Not if we have to work for--"

"Sara," Grissom's quiet voice cut her off.

Sara's smile disappeared. She pursed her lips and tilted her head in defiance.

Greg waited a couple of beats then said, "So, he remarks jauntily into the awkward silence, you wanna join us for breakfast?"

"No. But thanks."

Sara glanced at Warrick then back to Gris. "Got a better offer?" she asked sharply.

"I've got a date," Grissom stated simply.

"You've got a date?" Sara could never play poker. Her obvious surprise changed quickly to hurt then to puzzlement then to curiosity. "Who with?"

Gris smiled enigmatically and looked at Warrick. Oh, dear lord, no, Gris wasn't going to drop the bombshell here and now, was he? When Nick found out about their relationship, he'd nearly passed out; Catherine had laughed her ass off and, even now, could barely believe the news. Considering Sara's worrisome attraction to Gris, who knew what she would do. Warrick pleaded silently with his boyfriend not to do anything rash.

Grissom's amused blue eyes went back to Sara, "With one of Warrick's cousins."

"Oh," she looked uncertainly at Warrick, "well, that's . . . great."

"Way to go, boss," Greg stopped just short of a leer. "If I'd known you were on the prowl, I could've hooked you up with Aunt Nikolina. Her late husband, Lars, known in the family ironically as 'Lucky Lars,' had a little too much of the akevit, if you know what I mean, and fell victim to a bizarre industrial accident at the Polska meat packing plant. The operative word is fell. Word to the wise: stay away from the kielbasa."

"Greg," Sara snapped, "shut up. You know that's not funny."

Greg leaned towards her, "You know you find me irresistible."

Warrick rolled his eyes, "Yeah, we all do, Greg."

"I'd like my office back, now," Gris looked pointedly at his two CSIs.

Sara stood for a moment then gave a grudging smile, "I hope you have a good time on your date."

"Thank you," Gris nodded.

A more natural smile, then she spun away, long legs speeding her down the hall, Greg trotting after her.

Warrick watched Gris slip a bookmark into Urban Insects and Arachnids and toss the book onto the easy chair. He took off his glasses and put them into his shirt pocket. Grissom seemed completely unaffected by the social interaction that had just taken place.

Voice low, Warrick said, "What are you going to do about Sara?"

"Let her do her job and keep her away from Catherine and Conrad."

"I meant what are you going to do about Sara in regards to us."

Confusion on the handsome face. "What about us?"

"Gris, whether you can see it or not, Sara has feelings for you. Always has, as far as I can tell."

"What does that have to do with us?"

Warrick shut his eyes. When it came to personal relationships, his boyfriend could be incredibly obtuse. Or pretend to be, especially if he wanted to avoid talking about the subject. Taking a calming breath, Warrick said, "You gotta tell her she has no chance with you 'cause you're involved with somebody else. It's what's right and fair to her and to us."

Gris cocked his head, pondering Warrick's words, "She already knows she has no chance with me because I'm her supervisor. Besides, I've already told her 'no.'"

"You and me being together is proof that your supervisor status can change at any time. And how did you come to tell her 'no'?"

Gris was quiet for a moment, then shrugged, "I've never said 'yes.'"

"For all our sakes, you gotta be more direct with her, ba--" Warrick caught himself, "basically."

An unspoken "baby" hovered in the air, and Grissom smiled at the near slip, "Should the occasion arise, I will."

Yeah, like any "occasion" could ever make him reveal anything personal to Sara. Pulling personal information from Gris was about as easy as pulling an elephant out of a top hat. With a sigh, Warrick tilted his head toward the door, "C'mon, time to head on out for your big date with Latisha."

"Am I catching or pitching?"

"The way Lala handles a bat? Hoo, we both gonna be ducking."

******

Grissom slowly pushed himself up off the hard infield, his boyfriend's rolling laughter not helping. Latisha, Warrick's twelve-year-old cousin, signed her apologies as she raced to retrieve the wooden bat still rolling out into centerfield.

"Baby, never knew you had such great reflexes," Warrick beamed. "The way that bat flew at your head, thought I was gonna have to get a new boyfriend."

Creaking to his feet, Gris dusted off his gray sweatshirt and blue jeans. He retrieved his dark glasses and retro Brooklyn Dodgers cap and tried to retrieve his dignity. "Batting gloves might help her keep her grip."

With easy athleticism, and a heart-clenching grin on his beautiful face, Warrick lobbed the softball back to Grissom then crouched back down behind home plate. "Yeah. Though sure is great seeing you stretched out in that particular prone position. Gives me all sorts of warm thoughts."

Gris shot Warrick a warning look as Latisha trotted back. She shrugged sheepishly and signed, //Sorry. You hurt?//

//No, honey, I'm fine. Keep your fingers loose, but not quite so loose next time.//

She nodded and, with a determined look, settled back into the batter's box, adjusted her star-covered cap, dusted her hands, and dug her right toe into the dirt.

Batting practice had been Latisha's idea. The Las Vegas School for the Deaf had a killer girl's softball team, and she was determined to make the cut. She could catch, she could throw, she could run fast. She just couldn't hit. No one had ever taken the time to coach her. So, what better coaches than her Cousin Rick, who had turned down an offer to play semi-pro ball in order to go to college, and his boyfriend Grissom, who not only knew the names of every Cy Young award winner but could detail every pitch they ever threw?

By 9:00 that Saturday morning, Warrick and Gris were motoring on I-515, headed for Henderson in Warrick's black Lexus. They'd pulled up in front of Latisha's split level ranch house in time to see her mom Celia Walker visiting on the front porch with Aunt Cathy Gonzalez. Aunt Cathy was Celia's mother and Latisha's grandmother.

Of course, two women from Warrick's family meant Grissom had to endure twice as many hugs. Caught up in a crushing embrace from Aunt Cathy, Gris looked for help from his boyfriend, but Warrick merely grinned wickedly, crossed his arms, leaned up against the porch railing, and obviously enjoyed his boyfriend's discomfort.

Latisha flew out the door, smacking it loudly with a trailing bat. She wore pink and gray: a gray baseball cap covered in bright pink stars; a gray hoodie with 'I'm an All-Star' emblazoned in pink and white; gray sweats, broad pink stripe running down the side; bright pink Keds with white shoe laces.

Gris suffered one more hug, then he, Warrick, and Latisha adjourned to the IHOP at Warm Springs Road for pancakes and sausage. Bellies full, the three shot back to Vegas and the youth softball field at Doc Romeo park.

It was now nearly noon, and they'd been in the park for over an hour. The two men had taught Latisha the batter's mantra: toes parallel, shoulders parallel, elbows parallel, arms parallel, and chin parallel to shoulders. Her swing was finally level, and she was beginning to use her legs and shoulders as well as her arms. Unfortunately, she hadn't hit a single ball. She had managed to tag Grissom on the shin with a low flying bat and caught Warrick on the back of his head with a roundhouse swing. So, she wasn't entirely hitless.

Tucking the ball under his left arm, Gris signed and reminded her once again, "Keep your eye on the ball. Follow it all the way into the bat."

Latisha nodded. Her fierce concentration impressed him. She was absolutely fearless, too. She didn't shy from the ball and had every confidence that she was going to smack it every time. But for some reason, she wouldn't keep her eyes open.

"Ready." He gripped the ball, then tossed it underhand in a perfect arc to Warrick's cupped hands behind home plate. Her swing was sweet, but she missed the ball.

"You're still closing your eyes," Gris instructed.

She set the bat down and signed, //Am not.//

"Baby, tell her you want to see those beautiful black eyes open all the way."

Except for "baby," Grissom signed Warrick's words then caught his toss with one hand.

Sighing dramatically, Latisha picked up the bat and hammered the end of it onto the plate. She dug in and took a couple of practice swings, concentration re-doubled.

Gris wanted to smile but he stayed serious, staring into her beautiful black eyes. He held up the ball in his right hand; with his left, he pointed to the ball, pointed to his left eye, then pointed back to the ball. Latisha rolled her eyes and groaned. Warrick's deep chuckle brought a faint smile to Grissom's lips.

"Ready." He cupped the ball in his strong hand and released it toward home. He kept his blue eyes pinned on her face and, sure enough, ebony eyes disappeared behind chocolate brown eyelids, and she swung early. Whiff. The ball landed softly into Warrick's large hands.

Latisha threw the bat down. //Shit!//

"Hey, Lala," Warrick grabbed her around the waist, turned her so that she had to look at him. He enunciated clearly and slowly, "I know that sign. That's a bad word."

She was frustrated and tired and wasn't about to apologize. Gris made his way home and squatted down next to his boyfriend. Smiling at the stubborn expression on her dark face, Grissom signed and spoke, "I think we better take a break."

"I hate that ball," Gris translated her words.

"Oh, Lala, I have so been there," Warrick sympathized. "Tell you what . . . let's get some smoothies, then we'll--" Warrick's cell phone trilled. He stood up and opened the phone in one fluid motion.

Warrick glanced at the number of the incoming call. He paused then looked into curious blue eyes. "It's Catherine."

Gris shrugged, though he couldn't stop the dull kick to his gut. It embarrassed him, frustrated him, that he couldn't control his emotional and physical reaction, that he couldn't control his jealousy.

"Answer the phone." And it embarrassed Gris even more that his boyfriend seemed to think he needed permission to talk to her during off hours.

"Hey, Cath, whassup?" At least Warrick sounded like he was talking to a friend and not a lover. Grissom bit the inside of his cheek for catty thinking.

A small hand patted him on the shoulder. Latisha looked worried. //What's wrong?//

Gris managed a smile and quickly masked any other feeling, //Nothing. You accomplished a lot this morning.//

She shook her head and moved her hands rapidly, //I didn't hit the ball. Not once.//

//But you've got the mechanics down. Once you keep your eyes open and watch the ball, you'll start connecting. You'll hit the ball out of the park.//

Latisha squinted her eyes. //For real?//

//For real. You just need practice.//

//How can I do that?// She swept her arms out belligerently. Gris knew that she felt isolated. Latisha didn't have any friends outside of the School for the Deaf, and she only attended classes during the day. When Cousin Celia left work, she wanted her daughter at home. //Tryouts are next Saturday//.

Gris knew the answer, but he was reluctant to commit himself. He usually related to children even worse than he did adults. He glanced at Warrick who had taken his phone conversation over by the dugout. Maybe it was so that he wouldn't distract Gris as he talked to Latisha. Or maybe it was so that Warrick couldn't be overheard.

Disgusted at the petty direction of his thoughts, Grissom decided to do something selfless for a change, //I'll pick you up after school Monday.// He thought to add, //If your Mom okays it.//

//But R-I-C-K has to be at work.//

//Who said anything about him?//

She quirked her head and signed hesitantly, //You and me?//

//And a backstop.// He smiled at the confusion on her face. //I'll toss you the ball from the side. You'll hit it against the fence.//

Her dark face shone with delight, //I'm gonna kill that ball!//

Grissom winked and smiled back, //Better the ball than me, honey.//

******

Half listening to Catherine, Warrick watched as his boyfriend ruthlessly suppressed all negative emotion in order to talk with Latisha. Dealing with strong emotion was not Grissom's strong suit, but Warrick had to give his boy props--at least he was trying to work through his jealousy rather than shutting down. Or running away.

"Warrick, are you there?"

"Uh, yeah, Cath, sorry. Whatcha need?" Not wanting to be a distraction to Gris, Warrick began walking over to the home team's dugout.

"A favor. No, make that payback. You owe me, mister."

Yeah. Warrick was wondering how long he'd be paying for the "fabulous dinner." After an explosive fight with Gris, Warrick had fallen into his old flirting and player habits, the upshot being he'd promised Catherine a dinner for two at his house. It had taken him less than an hour before he'd regretted it. It had taken him less than a day to make up with Gris. But Warrick hadn't cancelled the dinner. He hadn't been able to tell her. It had taken his royally pissed boyfriend to do that. The dinner hadn't ended in bloodshed, but it had been far from fabulous.

"You're calling in another marker," Warrick sighed.

"You got it. Remember I gave up the diversity workshop last Saturday to be with--"

He hooked his fingers in the chain-link fence and gave it a shake. "Yeah, yeah, all right, I apologize. Again."

"Oh, it takes more than an apology, Rick. I need that workshop. Good thing I got on the waiting list for the one today because I just got a call that there's a vacancy. Guess who's watching Lindsey?"

Warrick glanced at his boyfriend and cousin, large tanned and small brown hands moving gracefully, "C'mon, Cath, you can't be serious."

"Yes, I can. As a heart attack."

Struggling not to raise his voice, Warrick argued, "Lindsey's twelve years old. She's old enough--"

"No, she's not old enough to be by herself, and my mother's out of town this weekend. I don't have time to track down anyone else. I need you to be here at 12:15 if I'm going to make it by 1:00."

Warrick looked at his watch. Fuck. "It's almost noon!"

"Yep. See you soon, Ricky."

He snapped his phone shut. Fabulous. Fucking fabulous.

Precisely at a quarter past noon, the black Lexus screamed up to the curb in front of Catherine's new house. Warrick wondered how she could afford it, even with a supervisor's higher salary. He was half-way to the door when it opened, and Lindsey stalked out.

"Hey, Rick," she grumped, blond hair flying, an almost pout on her round, fair face. "You know I don't need a babysitter, right?"

"Hey, Linds, and I am so not going there." He placed his hands on his knees, kind green eyes seeking angry blue, "Hey, we'll have fun today. Promise. Now, why don't you go on out to the car and say 'hi' to my cousin Latisha?"

With a loud sigh, Lindsey hefted her Chococat day pack onto her shoulder. She started toward the Lexus then stopped suddenly, staring out toward the street. "Is that Grissom?"

Warrick glanced behind him. Gris was getting out of the front seat, probably planning to climb into the back to sit beside Latisha. Made sense. It was hard for Lala to see his hands when she was buckled into the back seat.

"Yeah. He's helping me turn Latisha into the next Jennie Finch."

"Who?"

"Best woman's softball player ever, girl. Don't they teach you anything in that new school?" Warrick smiled, and wondered how Catherine could afford the Butterfield Academy, too.

"Oh, great," Lindsey huffed, "sports and bugs. This just gets better and better." She slouched her way down the sidewalk to the Lexus.

"You know, I really do appreciate this." The personification of professional chic in charcoal gray and emerald green, Catherine zipped past Warrick on her way to her Denali.

"Yeah, well, this makes us even," he said, sneaking an appreciative look at her lovely legs and ass as he caught up.

"In your drea--" she stopped short, "Is that Grissom?"

Her surprised voice irritated Warrick, "He is my boyfriend, Cath."

"Oh, this just gets better and better. Lindsey doesn't know about you two. I'll tell her myself when the time's right."

Warrick stared at Catherine. While he and Gris avoided public displays of affection, Warrick wasn't about to deny their relationship. "I'm not gonna lie to her."

"I'm not asking you to lie, just don't tell her. And, if she brings any creepy crawlies home, I will hunt you down." She keyed open the Denali and swung up and inside.

Warrick couldn't help but smile, reminded of his boyfriend's well-meaning if disastrous experiment, "You still haven't forgiven him for the banana spider. That was what, six years ago?"

"Safest way to eradicate cockroaches, my ass," she growled, closing the door and starting the engine.

Warrick knocked on the driver's side window. The glass whirred down slowly. "When you gonna be done?"

"When I'm done," she swept reddish gold hair from her face. "I'll call. So, what are you guys gonna do?"

He sighed, shaking his head, "Latisha and Gris get their way? The roller coaster tour of Vegas."

"Does Lindsey get a vote?"

"Sure."

Catherine smiled a wicked, kick-ass grin, "Well, Warrick, my man, get ready to set your butt on the seat of a coaster." She shifted into reverse, "See ya when I see ya!" And she peeled out of the driveway.

******

//Here comes the little princess,// Latisha groused.

Watching Lindsey and Warrick talk on the front walk, Gris signed, //L-I-N-D-S-E-Y is a nice kid. Don't judge her before you know her.//

//It's not fair. This is supposed to be my day.//

Gris tried to remember what it felt like to be disappointed at twelve years old. He couldn't remember feeling anything. //It's still your day. You're just . . . sharing it//.

The sullen look on Latisha's face proved she wasn't buying his argument. Shrugging, he got out of the Lexus, leaned on the top, and watched as an equally sullen Lindsey walked slowly to the curb. Blue sweater, blue jeans, blue disposition.

"Hi, Lindsey."

"Hello."

"You want to ride shotgun?"

A big sigh. "I guess," and she trudged around to the front passenger side. "You know I don't need a babysitter, right?"

He looked up to see Warrick talking to Catherine. "Sometimes we all have to do things we don't want to do."

"Even adults?"

He tore his jealous eyes away from his boyfriend, and mustered a small smile for Lindsey, "Especially adults. Climb in, and I'll introduce you to Latisha."

He waited while she dumped her backpack onto the floor and jumped on her knees into the bucket seat, then he shut the door and got into the backseat behind her. "Lindsey," he spoke and signed simultaneously, "meet Latisha Walker, Warrick's Cousin. Latisha, this is Lindsey Willows. Warrick works with her Mom."

Mesmerized by Grissom's hands, Lindsey barely managed to say, "Uh . . . hi."

Latisha flashed, //Whatever.//

Gil Grissom could tolerate most things, but rudeness was not one of them. He pinned Latisha with stern blue eyes, hands moving deliberately, though his voice remained pleasant. "Lindsey, would you excuse Latisha and me for a moment, please?"

"That's sign language!" Lindsey blurted, looking from Latisha to Grissom and back, "You can do sign language?! That is so cool! When did you learn? Would you teach me?"

Although amazed at Lindsey's sudden transformation from sullen to excited, Gris still kept his eyes on Latisha, "We'll be happy to, but, first--"

//I'm sorry,// small dark hands signed. Dark eyes apologized, too. She knew she'd crossed the line.

Lifting an eyebrow, Gris waited for her to continue. "Hi, Lindsey. Nice to meet you" is what Gris translated.

"So, you're deaf?" Lindsey asked, keeping one eye on Latisha and the other on Grissom's hands.

"Yeah. Born deaf." Latisha's resentment gave way to a sly grin, "So, you're blonde?"

"Yeah. Born blonde." Lindsey crossed her eyes, "It's a real disability!" The ice broke. The girls laughed, but Grissom had no idea why.

Latisha bounced on the back seat, "I like your earrings."

"I got pierced ears for my birthday."

"My mom says I have to wait," Latisha grumped. Grissom echoed her facial expression as he spoke for her.

Lindsey grinned, entertained by Grissom's performance. "Moms can be so un-cool. I like your hat."

"It's a cap," Grissom added helpfully. Both girls smirked at him.

"You are such a Muggle," Lindsey shook her head.

He hadn't read one page from a Harry Potter book, but even Gris wasn't that out of touch with popular culture. "Hey, I can work magic in a chemistry lab."

"Yeah. You wish."

The driver's side door opened, and Warrick slid gracefully inside, turning to look affectionately at Gris. "Hey, what did I miss?"

"Latisha is cool," Lindsey pronounced.

"Lindsey is, too," Latisha nodded.

"I'm a Muggle, evidently," Grissom sighed, hands moving swiftly.

With a beautiful grin that always made Gris catch his breath, Warrick came to the defense of his boyfriend. "Nah, you got that cool Dumbledore/Hagrid cross working. Smart guy with a love for unlovable animals."

"You're not unlovable."

Green eyes flicking toward Lindsey, Warrick threw a cautionary glance at his boyfriend. It took a few seconds but Gris got it. Lindsey didn't know about them. Gris nodded his understanding. And his irritation.

Warrick shrugged an apology, cranked the Lexus, and pulled smoothly away from the curb. "You girls ready for smoothies?"

Lindsey said, "Yeah, Smoothie King!"

Latisha shook her head, "No, Tropical Smoothie Café!"

Catching mischievous green eyes reflected in the rearview mirror, Grissom realized what was coming. He was going to be tagged to play the bad guy. "Hey, Gris, you get to be the tie-breaker."

Narrowing his eyes, Grissom shot Warrick a promise of retaliation. Then a slow smile, "Juices Wild."

"Hey, that's not fair!" Both girls protested.

"Then we'll let Warrick decide. He's driving," Gris signed and spoke with a smirk.

******

Juices Wild it was.

They sat in a booth decorated with zebra stripes. The girls squirmed together on one side of the booth and spooned up mixtures of sherbet, bananas, strawberries, and whipped cream. The men slowly sipped low-fat yogurt mixed with raspberries, blueberries, and orange juice. Warrick had called quiet time so that Gris could use his hands to eat.

Warrick was used to sitting close to Grissom in public without touching him. Neither man was ashamed of their relationship, but both were realists. Even in anything goes Las Vegas, an inter-racial, gay couple attracted attention, if not outright stares and threats. Attention was not something Gris wanted at anytime. It was certainly not something to risk with Linds and Lala present. Of course, knowing not to touch and desiring to touch were two different things. Warrick risked rubbing his knee against his boyfriend's. Accidentally on purpose. The small lift of lips and quiet twinkle in blue eyes were answer enough.

Heart on simmer, Warrick glanced up to see two small faces bobbing in anticipation, looking expectantly at him. Their smoothie glasses sat empty. He checked the level of Grissom's smoothie then smiled a question at his boyfriend.

With a smirk, Gris signed and spoke, "Quiet time's over."

"I love Romeo!" Lindsey exclaimed.

"I love Romeo, too," Grissom translated as Latisha signed. A woman passing by the booth shot Gris a startled look, and Warrick broke up.

"What about Juliet?" Grissom asked, obviously baffled.

"Wrong, heh, wrong Romeo, Gris," Warrick chuckled.

"Lil' Romeo, he's so cute," Latisha sparkled, trying to enlighten Grissom. "He has his own show: 'Romeo!' It's on Nickelodeon."

Lindsey launched into her favorite line, while Latisha's hands and Grissom's voice joined in. "'There's a new big dog in this pound. Woof, woof!'"

Hearing his boyfriend translate 'woof, woof' sent Warrick over the edge. He wound up with his head on the table, laughing so hard he started to cough. A strong hand alternately rubbed and patted his back.

"Is Rick okay?" He heard Lindsey ask, and the strong hand left him to sign her words for Latisha.

"Nothing fatal," his boyfriend's soft, amused voice reassured her.

"Everybody's staring."

"Well, that's what happens when a new big dog comes to the pound."

"This is so embarrassing! Latisha, ladies room!"

The two girls fled the booth, while Warrick bit his bottom lip to stop laughing. He felt his boyfriend lean down close. Oh, baby, no, and then a silken whisper, "Woof, woof, anima mea." Warrick lost it again.

******

Grissom was fascinated. Never in his adult life had he taken the opportunity to study the normal interaction of two children. Never for so long and certainly never so close. As the Lexus made its way to the Sphinx amusement park, he learned about television shows he'd never seen, books he'd never read, words he'd never spoken, and clothes he'd never worn. His increasingly clueless translations finally led to Lindsey digging two silver glitter pens and a Hello, Kitty spiral notebook from her backpack. She and Latisha were now writing notes back and forth, with Gris serving as middleman, helping to pass the notes from one small hand to another.

The notes had led to a game. He didn't know which girl had thought of it, but every now and then, Latisha laid down her pen and signed a nonsense phrase which Gris then said aloud. He had no idea why the girls found this so hysterical, but he was more than willing to play along.

"Platypus loves monkey," he growled. Lindsey dissolved into giggles while Latisha wrapped her arms around her stomach, screeching loudly. In the last few minutes, he'd said 'aardvarks eat artichokes,' 'red roof rhinoceros,' and 'boys scratch stink.' The girls had rocked with laughter each time.

Grissom was fascinated. His boyfriend, on the other hand, was exasperated.

"All right, guys, that's it. I gotta concentrate on driving here. I'm calling quiet time."

"Yeah, right," Lindsey drawled.

"Whoa, girl, you sound more like your Mother everyday."

"That's good, isn't it?" Lindsey asked suspiciously.

"Yeah. It sure is."

Lindsey was quiet a moment, then she asked, "Hey, Warrick, do you still like Mom?"

Grissom couldn't help the slight hitch in his hands as he signed Lindsey's words for Latisha. Glancing up to find green eyes looking at him in the rearview mirror, he quickly looked away.

"She's a good friend." Warrick emphasized the word friend.

"She thinks you're a hottie. She fans herself every time she gets off the phone with you."

"Ah, Lindsey, let's--"

"Why don't you come over anymore?"

Warrick drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel. "Well, um, you know your Mom's my boss, now, and it's, uh, it's complicated."

Gris didn't think it was complicated at all, but he kept his opinion to himself. Or so he thought.

//Why are you mad?//

He almost spoke Latisha's question aloud. Shaking his head, he signed back, //I'm not.//

She wasn't convinced. //Are too.//

Lindsey said, "Does that mean you can't be Mom's boyfriend?"

"Yeah, that's what it means."

//Could R-I-C-K have a boyfriend and a girlfriend?//

//No, just a boyfriend,// Gris signed emphatically.

Latisha leaned back and away. He'd startled her. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and signed gently, //L-I-N-D-S-E-Y doesn't know we're boyfriends.//

Dark eyes open wide, Latisha stared at him, then at the back of Lindsey's head, //Wow. She really is a blonde.//

Latisha bent her head and scribbled a note. Grissom could just imagine what she was writing. He touched her hand, then signed, //Don't tell her.//

//Why?//

Why not, indeed? He blew a breath. //R-I-C-K can tell you. For now, it's a secret.//

Intelligent black eyes studied him for a moment, then she shrugged, crumpled up the note, and tossed it to him. He slipped the note into his jeans pocket.

"Hey, that's a new . . . that's a satellite radio!" Lindsey exclaimed. "Cool!"

"Yeah, Gris gave it to me."

"Oh." Lindsey was obviously thinking that one over. "Hey, Grissom, would you buy my Mom one?"

"Lindsey!" Warrick admonished.

"I was just asking."

"You don't go asking people for gifts."

"Okay, okay. Don't freak out." She waited a beat, "Can we listen to it?"

"Gris?"

Latisha had followed the conversation through Grissom's swift translation, and he now waited for her permission. Usually the two men kept the radio off so it wouldn't distract Gris as he was translating. Also, they didn't want to risk her feeling left out.

Nodding excitedly, she signed, "Sure!"

Lindsey wiggled around as far as the seat belt allowed, grinned, and flashed one of the signs she'd learned at Juices Wild, //Thanks!//

Latisha grinned back, //Welcome!//

Gris had very few friends in his life. Even those few had to work ceaselessly to get him to let them in. So, he was astounded by how quickly the two girls had gone from wary to close. Instant bonding.

Warrick turned on the radio. Regina Carter's jazz violin soared on "Lady Be Good."

It took only a few notes for Lindsey to ask, "Can I look for some good music?"

Grissom smirked as his boyfriend shot an offended look at Lindsey, "Oh, really? So who you think makes good music?"

"Well, Romeo, of course. And Avril Lavigne, And Usher. And, um . . . Oh! Evanescence. I really like Amy Lee. She has the most radical pierced eyebrow and long black hair." Lindsey sighed, "I wish Mom would let me dye my hair black."

"Yeah. Picture that."

"Well," Grissom spoke up from the back seat, "it's not unusual for girls and boys moving into the teen years to want to look different. Changing the color of your hair is probably the least radical option. Did you know that the ancient Egyptians used henna and indigo to dye children's hair black?"

"Too bad Mom's not an ancient Egyptian."

Latisha's intense face suddenly brightened, "Maybe Lindsey can get her hair dyed black at the Sphinx."

Grissom smiled, "I'm afraid the Sphinx is only imitation ancient Egypt."

"Gris," Warrick cautioned, "if we show up with Lindsey with her hair dyed black, Catherine will crucify us upside down."

They contemplated that fate for a moment, then Latisha signed, //Damn. That would hurt.//

******

By 1:30, the Lexus pulled into the parking lot at the Sphinx amusement park. By 1:40, Gris, Lala, and Linds were in line to ride Pharaoh's Fever, one of the oldest roller coasters in Las Vegas but one of the most kid friendly. Even then, Latisha barely reached the "you must be this tall in order to ride" requirement.

Warrick, though, was not in line. Riding a roller coaster made his stomach do evil things that even a week-long bout with the flu couldn't rival. He leaned over the people barrier and asked his boyfriend again, "You sure you're gonna be okay alone with the girls?"

Grissom's mouth thinned in irritation, "For the last time, we'll be fine." He handed over his cap and dark glasses to Warrick, then plucked Latisha's cap off her head and handed it over, too. Gris was obviously thinking more about riding the coaster than supervising the girls.

Tucking caps and glasses into Lindsey's backpack, which he also held, Warrick said, "Okay. I'll be waiting at the exit."

Blue eyes stared in disbelief. "We're not gonna ride Pharaoh's Fever just once."

"Gris--"

Oh, but Warrick knew that stubborn look. And he saw it reflected on two smaller faces.

Sighing, Warrick crumbled, "All right. I'll check out the shooting gallery. How about we meet up in front of Cleopatra's concession stand. 2:30 sharp."

"Make it 3:00?" his boyfriend wheedled.

Shaking his head, wishing he could reach over and kiss Gris instead, Warrick smiled, "How many times around will that make?"

He watched Grissom as he calculated, sizing up the length of the line, estimating the length of the wait, factoring in the known length of the ride, accounting for the varying population of the park during a Saturday afternoon. "At the minimum, six."

"You girls ready for that? Six times around?"

Two small heads, one black and one blond, nodded furiously.

"Okay. We meet up at 3:00. Cleopatra's concession stand. Do whatever Gris says, all right?"

Latisha was already busy watching the roller coaster; Lindsey flirting with the teenage boy in line ahead of them; Gris studying the pulsing wings of a white butterfly that had just landed on the people barrier.

Once again, Warrick doubted the wisdom of letting these three loose unsupervised on the Sphinx. He lightly touched Lala as he said, "Guys! Pay attention, here!"

Three faces snapped back to Warrick, his boyfriend looking particularly apologetic, "Do whatever Gris says. All right?"

The two girls looked askance at Gris and shrugged.

"All right?" Warrick repeated loudly.

"All right! Jeeze," Lindsey whined while Latisha signed "Okay! Okay!"

Standing in the shade cast by the flashing Pharaoh's Fever sign, Warrick waited, knowing it wasn't necessary. But he wanted to make sure they got safely into a car. It wasn't that he didn't trust his boyfriend. It's just that Warrick knew Gris could get distracted. Even standing in line.

Ten minutes later, his boyfriend and the girls reached the wooden platform, shaded by a yellow canopy. An empty red and white car pulled up. Warrick watched as Gris started to slide into the front bench, then realized he needed to let Lala and Linds go first. He helped the attendant buckle them in, warned them to keep the belts buckled, then sat down on the bench just behind. The car began to clank forward on the white steel track, and three pair of eyes gleamed with anticipation, three smiles broadened in preparation.

Ignoring the slowly rising queasiness in his stomach, Warrick focused instead on his boyfriend's handsome face, glowing with excitement, throwing off years of disappointment and worry and pain. Warrick watched until all three kids disappeared over the first hill.

******

It was 3:15, and Warrick waited not so patiently in front of Cleopatra's Concession Stand, surrounded by the smells of popcorn, fried food, and melting tar. He stood, one foot propped on the bench of a green metal picnic table, hand shading his eyes as he scanned the crowd for the unusual, but dearly familiar, side-to-side gait of his boyfriend. Five more minutes, then Warrick was calling Grissom's cell.

And, speaking of cell phones, a familiar trill interrupted Warrick's search. He glanced at the number, hoping it was--. Shit. "Yeah, uh, hi, Catherine. Workshop finished?"

"Nope. Just a break. How's the roller coaster tour of Vegas?"

"How's the workshop?" Warrick did not like the silence that greeted his question, so he quickly added, "Oh, hey, Cath, it's . . . it's good."

"You are such a lousy liar, Rick."

"No, it's good. We're at the Sphinx. I won Latisha a pink crocodile and Linds a blue camel at the shooting gallery. She likes blue, right?"

"She loves blue. Now, where is she?"

"Uh, she's with Latisha and Gris."

"And where are they?"

Warrick rapidly scanned Pharaoh's Midway, "Well, I don't--"

"If you're about to tell me that you entrusted my daughter to a man who can barely take care of himself--"

"They're fine! They're riding Pharaoh's Fever." He hoped. "They'll be here any minute." He swung his head left to right, pleading, praying . . . there. The blue eyes, the soft beard, the broad shoulders, holding his arms out, holding the small hands of--

"Oh, dear lord." Warrick said.

"Rick?"

"Catherine, I'll call you back."

"Warrick Brown, you hang up this phone, and--" Warrick hung up the phone. Then broke out laughing.

His amazing boyfriend had bought Lindsey and Latisha black Cleopatra wigs. Amy Lee, eat your heart out.

It took every ounce of self control Warrick ever possessed not to hug his boyfriend. Gris knew it, too. One blue eye vanished momentarily behind a sly wink.

Lindsey crowed, "Rick, look at my tattoo!"

"Hoo, look at that!" Crouching down, Warrick examined the intricate henna tattoo of a cobra wrapped around Lindsey's pale arm.

Then Latisha tapped his shoulder. She proudly showed off matching yellow scorpions on the back of each hand.

"Something tells me y'all didn't make it around six times."

//L-I-N-D-S-E-Y barfed.//

Yeah. Warrick didn't need his boyfriend to translate that sign.

Gris added proudly, "We still made it around twice. We cleaned up and went shopping. Amenhotep's Trinkets and Gifts."

"I guess that explains the matching Queen Nefertiti t-shirts you three have on."

"Buy two, get one free," Gris shrugged and held out a white plastic bag, a golden Sphinx printed on the side. "The girls' tops are a little worse for wear. I'll run this out to the car."

"Wait a sec. I need you to translate for me." Warrick's cell phone rang, but he ignored it and turned back to the girls. "Well, y'all look like Egyptian princesses. What you say we try out the Chariot-Go-Round next?"

Latisha nodded her head, though Lindsey looked less than thrilled, "That's a little kid's ride."

"Yeah. But little kid's rides are about all I can handle," he grinned.

Head cocked, Gris asked, "Aren't you going to answer your phone?"

Warrick stood. "Nah. They can leave a message."

"Oh, cool!" Lindsey spotted the stuffed animals on the picnic table. "Did you win all of these?"

"Uh huh. At Shoot the Stars. I shot 'em all. The camel's for you. Crocodile's for Lala."

The girls grabbed their prizes, hugged them, compared them, named them.

Warrick watched his boyfriend study the girls then saw blue eyes shift to the top of the picnic table. On it squatted a third stuffed animal, roundish, a bit on the flat side, covered in orange and black stripes. With six black legs.

Warrick gave his boyfriend a sly grin, "Scarab beetle's for you."

A raised eyebrow, a faint blush, and a lopsided smile. Gris reached out and lightly stroked the stuffed beetle, looking like he'd rather stroke his boyfriend instead. "Scarabaeus sacer. Cool. Thanks."

"So, what ya gonna name it?"

Oh lord that know-it-all look. "Khepri, obviously."

Warrick had no idea who or what Khepri was but wasn't about to let his boyfriend know, "Obviously."

With a pleased grin, Gris scooped up the beetle, "I'll, ah, run it out to the car, too," then he walked briskly away.

With an even more pleased grin, Warrick watched the rolling motion of his boyfriend's ass as he walked briskly away.

The cell phone in the Chococat backpack started to ring. If Warrick was still a betting man, he'd lay odds a million to one as to the caller. "Uh, Linds, you might want to keep the conversation short. We got a lot of rides ahead of us."

Lindsey dug her phone out of her backpack, flipped it open, and struggled to get the thick hair of her wig out of the way in order to hold the phone up to her ear. "Hello? . . . Hi, Mom!"

Yep. Winner.

Lindsey listened briefly to Catherine then said in a rush, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm having a great time. Don't worry." An extended silence, then she obviously interrupted her mother, "Look, Mom, we haven't even gotten to Bastet's Bumper Cars. I gotta go. Bye. Love you. Bye." She looked up at Warrick, confusion evident on her freckled face, "What did you say to Mom?"

"Nothing much. Why? What did she say?"

"Um, well, if I were you . . . I think I'd rather be crucified upside down."

It was 7:30 p.m. when the Lexus purred up in front of Catherine's house. Grissom rolled his head side to side, stretching tight neck muscles. He watched Lindsey, stretching and yawning, unbuckle her seatbelt then dig for her Chococat backpack and Cleo the blue camel. "Thanks. Oh, Rick, Mom wants you to come inside," she said, opening the door and wrestling backpack and camel out of the car. She bumped the door shut with her hip.

"Baby, come in with us," Warrick said, turning around, beautiful voice and face almost pleading. "I need you to watch my back in there." He tilted his head toward the house.

Grissom glanced at Latisha, fast asleep, face burrowed into the scarab beetle, arms wrapped around Doc Croc, small feet dug into Grissom's stomach. He'd had to cup her feet with his hands to avoid being kicked in a more sensitive region.

"Gris, Lala's out for the count. Besides, she's a good excuse to get us going sooner."

Another off-the-job encounter with Catherine was not what Grissom wanted right now, but he opened the door and slid slowly out of the car, lowering Latisha's feet on the car seat, trying not to wake her. He carefully shut the door and followed his boyfriend up the walk.

Lindsey had just dug her house key out of her backpack by the time he reached the front door. She opened it and hauled Chococat and Cleo inside.

"Mom?" She called.

"Hi, baby. Glad you're home," Catherine's voice, more gentle than Grissom had heard in a long time, came down a hallway. The way a mother should welcome a child home. "Be there in a second."

"We had a great time! We rode the Chariot-Go-Round, Pharaoh's Ferris Wheel, Tut's Tiny Train, the Papyrus Parachute Drop," Lindsey headed for the kitchen, ticking off the rides on her fingers as she went, "Bastet's Bumper Cars, the Egyptian Giant Slide, and, uh, what else, oh, and Pharaoh's Fever." She reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water, opened it, began to drink from it. Then she remembered her manners, "Oh, hey, could I get you guys some water or something?"

Grissom shook his head as Warrick said, "Nah, we're fine. Gris and I can't stay long. We gotta get Latisha home."

"Where is Latisha?" Catherine asked, sailing down the hall, moving with natural grace and self-confidence. Grissom was determined not to feel jealous. He would show every courtesy. He had nothing to fear from this beautiful woman who could offer Warrick everything Grissom couldn't. Fuck it. Gris took a big calming breath.

"She's sacked out in the back seat," Warrick said, looking askance at his boyfriend.

Lindsey shot out of the kitchen, "Mom, look!"

"Wow!" Surprised, Catherine took in the Cleopatra wig, the cobra tattoo, the Nefertiti t-shirt, the blue camel, the huge grin on her daughter's face, "You sure look like you had a great time."

"Yeah! Warrick won me Cleo, and Grissom bought me everything else. Isn't this the coolest wig? Now, I don't need to dye my hair."

"You and Amy Lee, hmm?" Catherine smiled at her daughter. The smile failed to reach her eyes when she looked at Grissom, "I guess I should be grateful you didn't buy her a pierced eyebrow, too."

"And watch this!" Lindsey signed and spoke, "This is 'hello.' This is 'thank you.' This is 'welcome.' This is 'blood spatter.'"

Catherine sputtered and glared at Gris who shrugged, "Well, it could be useful."

"When?! The next time I take my daughter on a 419?"

"Mom, Mom, that's what I wanted to learn. It's cool. Grissom is cool. You never told me he was cool."

"Well, baby, that's because I never knew he was." She patted her daughter's shoulder and realized something was different. "Where's your blue sweater?"

"It's in my backpack." Lindsey raced over, unzipped it, and pulled her shirt out. Gris had rinsed out Lindsey's sweater and Lathisha's hoodie before he'd taken them to the car. He'd bagged the wet clothing separately, conveniently in--

"Is that an evidence bag?" Catherine looked shocked, taking the bagged sweater from Lindsey. "My god, Gil, it has your initials on it."

"It's a good habit, Catherine."

"Well, Mr. Ethics, isn't this a misuse of laboratory resources?"

That did it. Voice soft but deadly, Gris said, "I think I can trust you of all people to turn a blind eye to that."

"We really gotta be going," Warrick announced loudly, grabbing Grissom's elbow.

Gris stayed rock solid, not backing down, not turning tail, not breaking Catherine's stare. He knew that Catherine's sniping at him had nothing to do with teaching Lindsey inappropriate sign language nor with misusing lab resources. But it had everything to do with the fact that Warrick would dare to choose Grissom over Catherine.

With sudden, astounding insight, Gris at last got it. Whether motivated by reason or insanity, Warrick had indeed chosen Gris not Cath. Warrick's large hand was on Grissom's elbow not Catherine's. Warrick wanted to leave with Gris not stay with her. Jealousy giving way to wonder, he shifted his gaze to his nervous, worried, and utterly gorgeous boyfriend. And smiled.

Catherine saw his smile. She obviously knew what it meant. She looked at the ground for a moment then at Warrick and Gris, an unaccustomed sadness on her face. "Look, guys, wait. Let's . . . start over." She took a deep breath, "Thank you, thank you both, for watching Lindsey this afternoon. I appreciate you being there for me."

Gris inclined his head as Warrick said, "Sure, Cath, anytime."

Grissom's smile faltered. It was one thing to know you were your boyfriend's first choice. It was another to be at the beck and call of his second.

"You must have spent a fortune on the girls." She grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter and drew out her pocket book, "Let me help out."

"Hey, Cath, that's not necessary," Warrick said.

"I didn't mean you," she said with a smile, "I meant Gil."

Somehow Gris liked Catherine owing him a favor, "No. It was my pleasure. It really was. I had fun today."

"Me, too." Lindsey said, obviously relieved that the tension between her Mom and Grissom had lessened. "Could we maybe, you know, go out again? With Latisha, too, sometime?"

Gris shared an amused look with his boyfriend and then Lindsey continued, "It's awesome being out with such a cool couple." Blue and green eyes grew wide. Both men were certain they'd let nothing slip.

It was Catherine's smile that faltered this time. "You know they're a couple?"

Lindsey rolled her eyes, "Jeeze, Mom, how big a blonde do you think I am?"

******

The drive to Henderson and back was conversation free. Gris was lost in his thoughts; Warrick lost to the rhythm on the radio and the speed of the Lexus.

They'd dropped off Lala, Warrick cradling and carrying her to bed, Grissom toting bat, cap, wig, damp hoodie, and pink crocodile in after. Celia had hugged them and thanked them and hugged them some more, especially when Gris asked Celia if he could pick up Latisha for batting practice on Monday. Warrick had delighted in every minute, watching his boyfriend's face blush deeper with each hug. Each hug and each blush reminded Warrick why he loved his family and his boyfriend so much.

As the Lexus zoomed closer to his house, as he thought about his overly affectionate family and his affection-shy boyfriend, Warrick began to feel the need to touch Gris. Being in public and being with the girls had inhibited Warrick's natural inclination. The two men shared such little time alone as it was, even though their little time together was all the sweeter, all the more passionate. With a slow dimpled smile much hotter than any pharaoh's fever, Warrick looked longingly at Grissom, reached over, and caressed his thigh.

A soft smile answered back. A strong hand slipped underneath Warrick's. Their fingers laced together, squeezed promises to one another. Their thumbs teased each other, rubbed against each other, building a slow, tender warmth. Warrick was almost reluctant to pull into his driveway, to break the contact of their hands in order to put the Lexus into park, to turn off the engine and pull out the keys, to pull away from Gris and get out of the car and walk to the front door. But reluctance fell away before the strong arm that encircled Warrick's waist as he opened his front door and the soft lips that feathered his own. They kissed sweetly, moved slowly inside. Warrick barely remembered to close and lock the front door. He smiled as his boyfriend tossed Khepri the scarab beetle and his Dodgers cap onto the couch. Warrick's long fingers combed through the damp, matted gray curls then drew down into the soft beard. Muscled arms came around Warrick, pulling him close.

Their bodies pressed comfortably against each other; their hands soothed over backs and shoulders, necks and arms. They kissed with controlled passion, wanting to go slow, needing to take time. Warrick slipped his fingers under his boyfriend's t-shirt, coasted over the smooth warmth of his back, pressed gently against firm muscles. Warrick tasted his boyfriend's mouth, a hot sweetness more addicting than wine. With a strong arm wrapped around him, strong fingers caressing his neck, Warrick dove into the perfect moment and photographed it with his mind's eye.

He pulled back to look at Grissom's flushed face, the swollen lips, the flared nostrils, the glazed blue eyes. Grasping the hem of the t-shirt, trailing long dark fingers up smooth pale skin, Warrick sensuously undressed Gris. Smiling knowingly, Warrick brushed his thumbs against his boyfriend's hyper-sensitive nipples. A growling moan rumbled from Grissom's throat. Green eyes glowed at the precious sound. It had taken a long time and a great deal of patience, but Gris finally trusted Warrick enough to be exposed, to be bare, to be raw.

Blue eyes took on an almost feral aspect. Grissom dipped his head and licked Warrick's neck from collarbone to chin. A startled gasp lurched from full lips. The slick tongue moved down, tracing along the v-neck of his jersey as nimble fingers unbuttoned and stroked their way down his chest. The tongue started to follow the fingers, but gentle hands lifted Grissom's head, bow-shaped lips enticed the sweet tongue into Warrick's mouth.

They kissed and moaned and sighed. They pressed hands and lips and chests together. They whispered yeah and so good and baby and anima mea. They shyly murmured I love you.

When the time was right, when the sweetness gave way to aching need, they moved together to their bed. They lay side by side, sea green eyes melting into sky blue, firm hands stroking each other's cocks. They reached the shattering, throat crying moment together, two hearts and two souls melded into one.

******

"'There's not a minute of our lives should stretch / without some pleasure now.'"

"I'm guessing Shakespeare."

"Antony and Cleopatra. Keeping with the theme of the day." Grissom lay content on his back on the bed in Warrick's bedroom. He was covered with a light cotton blanket. And his boyfriend.

Head resting on Grissom's shoulder, Warrick stretched out on his boyfriend's chest. "Huh. You must be exhausted, baby. Awake 24 straight. Keeping up with Lala and Linds. Hell, out-pacing them. You wore those girls out."

"Hmm. Yep, that's me, the undefeated and still undisputed amusement park champion of the world."

"Yeah, something like that. You amaze me, you know that?"

Gris stroked the springy black-brown curls, "I do?"

"Uh huh. Tell me, baby, four months back, would you have spent your Saturday afternoon at the Sphinx Amusement Park with two twelve year olds and your incredibly good looking boyfriend in tow?"

"Depends. How old is the boyfriend?"

Long fingers gave him a gentle pinch. "Baby, never quit your night job. Now, you wanna answer the question?"

"Four months back, I never would have spent my Saturday afternoon at the Sphinx Amusement park with three other people regardless of age, sex, or pulchritude."

"You're a digger bee."

Gris blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Warrick's head lifted off of Grissom's chest. Amused green eyes sought puzzled blue. "What, you think I can't learn from you?"

"No, I just didn't think you were listening."

A heart-stopping grin. "Heh. Fooled ya, boyfriend. Yeah, you're a digger bee. You're changing, you're adapting. That's good."

"I don't think I ever quite joined the hive."

"Give me time, worker bee."

Gris smirked, "Don't you mean bay-bee?"

Warrick groaned and rolled off Gris, "Oh, man, makin' you give up puns is the next thing we got to work on."

"Never happen."

Long, gentle fingers rubbed circles on Grissom's belly and chest. "You were good with the girls today. I didn't know you had it in you."

"Me either. It was a unique experience for me. You seemed in your element, though."

"Kids are fun. You ever want a kid of your own?"

Gris knew that Warrick did. Warrick had admitted as much to Mary Grace, Grissom's mother. But Gris didn't know if Warrick's desire for children might one day outweigh his desire for his boyfriend. Still, Gris couldn't lie. "No. I'm far too selfish and . . . odd."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, baby."

"Warrick, one day does not a parent make."

"Never thought I'd say this to you, but you are dead wrong. You parent kids all the time: Nick, Sara, Greg."

"I notice you're curiously absent from that list."

Ah, the wicked, dimpled grin that always rocked Grissom to the marrow. "Oh, you have never been my daddy. Baby."

"Hmmmph."

Long fingers settled on Grissom's chin, ruffling his beard. "It's an odd segue, but, are you calling Mary Grace tomorrow?"

"No, Philip suggested I wait until after I meet with Dr. Golden." Grissom's dysfunctional relationship with his mother had nearly fractured his relationship with Warrick. The prospect of losing Warrick had finally driven Gris to seek something he'd needed for decades: professional counseling to help him deal with Mary Grace.

"Next time you call her--"

"I know, I put you on the line."

"Yeah, I wanna let her know how good you are with Linds and Lala. How proud you make me. How you're my family, now."

Grissom smiled up into the beautiful face of his boyfriend, a face where green eyes and caramel colored skin and coral colored lips came together in perfection, a face full of love and respect and acceptance. For the first time in his life, Gris finally understood what family meant.

******

Four-thirty in the afternoon on Monday, the second week in March. Earlier that day, Warrick had called Catherine, his supervisor, to tell her he was going to be late for personal business. She didn't softly purr a sly innuendo like, "Well, just how personal is personal, Warrick?" She obviously didn't want to know. She'd warned him to be in before 5:00, if at all possible. With a slightly regretful sigh, Warrick had shut his phone. But then he'd brightened at the thought of his destination.

And now he sat in his Denali, parked across the street from Stahl Elementary. He was engaged in a covert operation, spying on his boyfriend and cousin. Warrick's attention was riveted on the school's baseball diamond, more precisely the fenced-in area around home plate. That's where, with a bucket of softballs, his boyfriend was patiently tossing softball after softball in from the side while Latisha tried to hammer each ball into the fence. They'd been at batting practice for an hour or so, and Lala was starting to connect, feeble grounders at first, but now solid smashes against the fence. Her black eyes glowed with triumph, her slender body moved with confidence. Grissom's stoic face began to shine with pride.

When the bucket grew empty, Gris and Lala picked up the balls. Latisha shot them overhand like basketballs back into the bucket. Gris tossed his in precisely, underhanded, as well as all the ones Lala banked off the bucket's rim. Once they were restocked, Grissom cocked his head and signed to her. Warrick regretted that he hadn't kept up his study of ASL.

He watched as his boyfriend picked up the bucket and paced out a distance equal to where a softball pitcher's mound would be. Latisha took up her position in the batter's box, digging in, taking her practice swings. Warrick smiled as a pink tongue peeked out of the corner of dark brown lips.

She missed the first four tosses, then she and Gris held a long, silent conversation, hands moving gracefully but quickly. Whatever the conversation, Warrick's boyfriend had the last word, his blue eyes firm and unyielding. Looking pissed but determined, Lala picked up her bat, drummed it on home plate, and took her stance.

The next ball she managed to tip. The next she dribbled along the third base line. The next she smacked solid, between first and second base. The next she sent screaming into left field. She hit the next half dozen into the outfield.

Gris nodded his head with each hit, but he didn't offer any praise or encouragement. Not his style. He expected Latisha to hit the ball. She'd been trained to do the job. Now she only needed to do it.

Glancing at his watch, sighing, Warrick reluctantly started the Denali. It was getting late, and he needed to get to work. One last pitch. Latisha's form and timing were perfect. A loud crack, an awesome arc, and the ball flew over the outfield fence. Lala's dark face was alight with joy. She dropped her bat and signed her joy to Gris. With a gentle smile, he signed back, and then index finger pointed to the sky, rotating the finger in a circle, he gave her the umpire's signal to round the bases.

Warrick watched her as she laughed wildly, trotting along the first base line. Then he watched his boyfriend turn towards the Denali. Damn. Busted. With his right hand raised, his thumb spread away from his fingers, index and little fingers lifted, Gris made a sign even Warrick recognized. "I love you."

Warrick had trouble seeing the road as he drove to work.