~*~*~*~*~

Sara had enjoyed attending a Chicago forensics conference with Grissom, though they had not actually seen each other except at meals. He had been lecturing twice a day, and she had attended nearly every workshop but his, leaving them with very little time to talk. It was the last night now, when everyone piled into a packed ballroom and tripped over one another in displays of what could only be described as ass-kissing.

Sara had long ago retreated to the portico, and she recognized his footsteps behind her. He stood beside her and leaned against the railing, watching the snow fall down around them. He had seen enough of Chicago in the last three days to know that it would shortly turn into slush, but for now it was beautiful. "Its been doing this since we got in town," he said, just thankful to be talking to someone he knew.

"And we havent been able to stop and enjoy it once," she murmured, her attention more on the snow than on Grissom.

"Ive seen snow before," he told her, though it bordered on a lie.

"But have you ever thrown a snowball?" she asked, turning toward him with a small smile on her lips and her hands suddenly behind her back.

"Dont," he said seriously, bracing himself.

"Have you?" She had her head cocked to the side now, watching him.

He retreated back toward the doorway. "No, I havent."

"Im not going to throw this at you." She brought her hands in front of her and smoothed the surface of the snowball while she watched him. "I was just seeing if I could still pack a deadly Sidle snowball." He raised an eyebrow and she continued, "Okay, not 'deadly,' but I did almost knock my boyfriend unconscious one winter."

He wondered for a brief moment if that winter, that boyfriend, had been before or after they met. He watched her hands, neat nails and long fingers, shape the snow into a small but compact form.

"Make a snowball." He ignored her request. "Humor me, Grissom."

He sighed before quickly bending down and scooping a handful of snow from the cement. He felt the cold bite into his hands and quickly fade into a dull sting, and realized that nowhere in his memory had he ever put his hands in snow.

Sara watched, grinning, as Grissoms loosely packed snowball cracked in two and fell back to the snow under his feet. "Here," she said, walking over to him then, taking some snow and placing it in his cupped hands. She covered his hands with her own and helped him to craft the snow into an almost perfect sphere.

"This is one of those totally useless skills," she told him, speaking softly, "that you want to pass on to others." She could feel the heat from his hands even though they were covered in snow. She did not know why, but she kept talking. "To make them useless, too, if for no other reason."

Instead of paying attention to what Sara was saying, Grissom was watching her, feeling her palms against the backs of his hands. He noticed a few stubborn flakes of snow that opted to cling to her hair rather than melt. Her eyes were focused on the snow in their hands but still sparkled.

Her very presence felt so reassuring to him, something normal. The last few days had been stressful. It was not just that he did not enjoy politics or the intricate rules of social contact that a function like this required, though that was enough. It was really his hearing that had ruined it for him. He had tried to avoid taking questions after his lectures, and the huddled cliquey conversations in the ballroom had been difficult to follow at times.

"I have no idea what you just said," he admitted, finally realizing she had been speaking. He could hear her, but he had not been listening.

"It wasnt important." She smiled at him. "Here, be careful." She let go of his hands finally, leaving him holding their snowball.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked, his hands suddenly feeling cold without her.

"Throw it. Pretend its a baseball."

He gave her an indecipherable look, then pitched the snowball against the stone wall of the building, enjoying the resulting sound. He picked up another handful of crunching snow and quickly fashioned a rough snowball and threw it. He could feel the tension leaving his shoulders, the frustration finally starting to fade. He understood now why Catherine enjoyed the punching bag at the gym.

He turned slightly away from Sara and continued to make and destroy the small capsules. With the fourth, he felt a single tear burn in his eye. It instantly turned cold.

Sara watched him silently for a few minutes, then finally noticed his hands shaking as he reached for more snow. "Grissom, are you okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah, finally," he mumbled. He threw a last snowball before noticing someone other than Sara watching him. He turned back to her, and discovered that she was now only inches from him. "That...helped."

"I know." Her breath was warm on his cheek. He had no idea when she got so close. "Your hands look really cold," she said, taking them in her own and gently rubbing his fingertips.

He sighed, enjoying the feeling of her hands, of the simplest contact with her. He lowered his face slightly to make it level with her own and surprised her when, instead of speaking, he covered his lips softly with her own.

Her fingers stilled, then tightened on his hands. It was the most chaste kiss she had taken part in in over a decade, their hands pressed together between them and only their lips touching. She was amazed at the sensation, and had an odd thought about that being how you kissed your friends, at least if you planned to kiss your friends.

She slowly pulled her lips back, then moved her face to brush her mouth briefly against his cheek. He moved his fingers along her wrist, just enjoying the feeling of her skin.

"Stop trying to take my pulse," she breathed in his ear before they were interrupted by a young man standing behind Grissom.

"Dr. Grissom?" he began, causing Sara to laugh and turn away. "We were wondering if you would join us."

He hesitated, but Sara nodded without looking up. She watched as he went back inside, still feeling his breath on her lips.

She loved the snow.