| Blinking, Natasha was shoved forward by her teammates, to accept her award amid cries of praise and flashbulbs. Coach Walker hugged her and she shook the President's hand, looking at the microphone that was now in her hand like it had materilzed out of nowhere. "I'm...really surprised," she began, looking at the bronzed statue of a crosse that was in her hand. "I can think of a whole team of girls that deserve this more than I do. I'd like to thank my parents, who couldn't be here tonight but I know they're watching from where they are. My grandmother and aunt who are in the stands, who taught me preserverance; my team, of course, who always kept me on my toes and gave me a reason to fight even harder. To Coach Walker, who now can't make us run 3 miles every day...and to someone very special to me who's in the stands. He understands me better than I understand myself. And the fans; thank you for coming out tonight to cheer us on! You rock!" The sea of red in the stands exploded again and I tapped Warrick on the shoulder, smiling. "Come on, let's wait for her in the car," I said and Warrick nodded, smiling too. "Yeah, it'll be a madhouse in here in a few minutes." 'And cameras,' I thought silently, fighting my way through the frenzied people. 'Some one will began to notice that I show up to lacrosse games and speculate. Thirty years doesn't seem that long to me but to the rest of the world; it's a lifetime. Thirty years ago I wouldn't have Warrick working by my side as an equal or Natasha in my arms because of what the world once was. And yet, I don't notice her age; I just see the woman that I've somehow fallen in love with but some people won't. Gil Grissom with a woman who couldn't even drink legally. That would cause havoc.' Outside the stadium, some people had the idea and were already leaving but I had no intention of leaving, just relaxing in the car. I found the Hummer and unlocked the doors, Warrick and I sliding in. "So Gris, where are her parents?" he asked, shutting the door and I cradled my cell phone in my hand. "She's...an orphan," I explained softly. "Her parents died when she was small." The taller man shook his head. "That sucks," he said just as soft. "But she turned out ok, obviously...did she take gymnastics?" "Since she was 2. She's half Russian; it was sort of a requirement." I called her cell phone and got her voice mail as I knew I would. " "Tiger, I'm outside," I said simply and hung up, stretching. "Lacrosse isn't so boring, now is it?" Warrick chuckled. "Not with moves like that. Damn! Those women are violent. How many stitches does she have?" "With the ones tonight? Fifty eight. Just this year." A smirk. "That's more than I've had my whole life." Making small talk for nearly 45 minutes, I looked up to see a small form exiting the stadium and I got out, leaning against the hood. "Is your knee ok?" I asked and Natasha smiled, now clad in a polo shirt and khakis, hair straight and free. 'For interviews,' I reasoned. "I'm fine as always," she replied, hugging me and winking at Warrick who was still in the SUV. "Hello Mr. Brown. How did you like the game?" Warrick smiled back. "Awesome; my first Lacrosse game," he replied, rolling down the window. "And I'm just Warrick, no 'Mr. Brown'...I'm not *that* old." I shot my coworker a mock look and Natasha punched me on my arm lightly. "No fighting; I have to go get ready for Mr. Stokes' party, remember?" she reminded me and threw her gym bag and trophy in the trunk, sliding in the back seat. "Nice...the Crime Lab pay for these?" I started the engine, backed out, the rest of the cars long gone, and pulled away. "Yeah, they actually splurged for once," Warrick muttered. Natasha rubbed the cut below her eye and smiled faintly. "Another one for the collection; that chick got me good," she said softly. I looked at the review mirror at her, black stitches stark against her skin that was somewhere in between Warrick's and myself's. 'She's still beautiful...' "Why do you put your body at risk, Natasha?" I asked and I was rewarded with a throaty laugh. "You only live once, Borjik," she replied. "This body anyway. I'll have fun while I'm here." Warrick turned his head to look at her out of one green eye. "Are you this passionate about *everything*?" he asked and I knew what he meant, the heat coming to my face. "Oh, you'd better believe it," she said, still chuckling, the two of them sharing a look and I blushed harder. "Do you know what you're wearing, Natasha?" I inquired, taking the focus off our sex life and on something else that *didn't* make me turn red. "I'd better pick a dress that goes with my stitches; gotta match after all." I smiled as I closed in on Warrick's apartment, stopping the car to let him out. "You live really close to the stadium," she remarked and he opened his door and her door to allow her to take his seat. "The rent's cheaper," Warrick said, letting her get in before shutting the door. "And it's a studio apartment, bonus. See you guys later. And congrats, good game." Natasha smiled, waving. "Thanks, see you in a few," she replied and I nodded. "Bye Warrick," I said before driving off, reaching a hand over to touch her hair automatically. "Are you sure you're okay?" Chuckling softly, color came to her cheeks. "I'm fine Gil," she said gently, touching my hand. "My knee has always been bad and a scar...just another one. The edge of her crosse just nicked me." "Five stitches isn't a nick," I muttered and she smiled. "In my line of work, it is." Next |