Silverware clattered as Catherine Willows buried her hands into the sinkful of soapy water, the sounds of a domestic atmosphere hovering around her. The television droned on in the living room, Bert and Ernie arguing animatedly over paper clips and rubber ducks. The kitchen radio, glistening boom box perched upon the formica-topped kitchen island, played mellow lyrics by Norah Jones, while Catherine’s body swayed gently to the rhythms that floated through the kitchen.

/Come away with me...tonight.../

They’d had chicken for dinner, nuggets frozen in the shapes of dinosaurs and palm trees. Lindsey made landscapes with the mashed potato and broccoli trees, parading her tyrannasaurus rex over potato hills until Catherine warned her to eat before they cooled off. More chicken dinosaurs had gone extinct in the Willows household than anywhere else on Earth...growing cold on Lindsey’s plate after frolocing lively as their live predicessors once had.

Now Lindsey sat before the tv, playing with Crime Investigator Barbie and counting in Spanish along with Big Bird and friends, while her mother scrubbed laborously at the crusty china patterns beneath the sinkful of water.

"Mommy!" Catherine spun on her heels, shaking suds from her fingertips as her daughter called through the doorway, alarm tinging her voice as her mother moved into the doorway between the two rooms. "Mommy, I can’t find Entemologist Ken."

"Under the couch, sweetheart." She was accustomed to Lindsey’s abandoning her dolls in random areas of their home, and typically discovered hosts of them beneath the overstuffed ivory sofa, amongst dust bunnies and rock-hard Cheerios. "If he isn’t there, try behind the tv. You were throwing him around last week...I told you that I wouldn’t help you look for him if he got lost."

"He was chasing a butterfly, Mommy." And the answer, according to Lindsey, was that simple.

She ducked beneath the television stand and came up with a stiff Ken doll clutched within her grasp, dangling from her grip apon his shapely rubber ankle. Entemologist Ken was currently naked, save for a dried, crumbling leaf strapped around his waist with one of Lindsey’s hair bands, and at Catherine’s questioning look, the child shrugged. "He was on Safari."

"I see." Entemologist Ken was none the worse for wear, head speckled with signs of slight abuse. His once raven black hair had been splattered with bleach, when Lindsey had decided that he was going to be a ghost for Halloween, but couldn’t get him white enough. His blue eyes remained vacant and clueless, however, and Catherine chuckled at the familiarity of that particular brand of gaze. It seemed that plastic dolls and flesh-and-blood men did indeed have something in common.

"Sweetie, do you mind taking your dolls into your room? Mommy’s having company for a few hours."

"It is Grissom?" The child snatched up several dolls and scattered clothing, before bending at Catherine’s feet to retrive Crime Investigator Barbie.

"Mommy, can I say hello when he gets here? Will he play Barbies with me? I need someone to give C.S.I Barbie away."

"Give her away?" The clock above the couch read seven-thirty, and Catherine reached around her back to wipe sudsy palms apon her black sweatpants. "I don’t think Grissom can play with you tonight, Lindsey...but maybe some other time."

"You can bring him to the wedding. CSI Barbie and Entemologist Ken are getting married."

With a bounce, Lindsey swung the curly, blond-haired CSI Barbie from her fingers and trundled off in the direction of her bedroom, to the north of the vast living room area.

Catherine sighed, a smile gracing her features as she bent to retrieve a pair of tight, spandex doll pants, and headed for the front door as the bell chimed gracefully to echo throughout the house. Grissom was usually on time, and as she moved through the front hallway, she glanced at the grandfather clock that Eddie had left behind, and her smile widened. Seven-forty...he was five minutes early.

As she eased the door open, Gil Grissom stepped through, arms laden with paper bags and manila folders, familiar enough with the household to make his way into the kitchen as Catherine trailed behind.

"Enchiladas?" As he unloaded bags, she slid onto a barstool at the island and glanced up at him as he traversed the short space between countertop and refridgerator, dispersing goods.

"Grissom...I said I’d cook."

"And I said that you shouldn’t have to...you’ve cooked dinner for Lindsey." He tossed a sealed package of freshly grated cheese into her lap and gestured. "Open that."

"Yes, Master." She winked, holding a hand up to her head as he glanced at her questioningly.

As her fingers posed and wriggled, she wrinkled her nose and smiled. "Grasshopper."

"Ah." As her co-worker prepped dinner, she found herself once again swaying to the music on the radio, faster rhythm manifested in the form of Catherine Zeta-Jones crooning ‘All That Jazz’. "Is Lindsey in bed?"

"No. She’s getting ready for a wedding." At the perplexed look, she continued, chuckling softly. "Crime Investigator Barbie and Entemologist Ken. According to Lindsey, they’re getting married, getting Frookie, and having children...all within the course of this evening. I’m not sure what the kids will look like...I haven’t managed to buy her any smaller Barbie dolls yet."

"Frookie."

"That’s the explanation I gave her in the car yesterday. The song involving ‘nookie’ came on, and before I could do anything about it, she was asking me what a ‘nookie’ was, exactly. I was hard pressed for a better approach. And the bag of Frookies on the front seat gave me the perfect escape route."

"Ingenious."

"It was the ‘shove it up your’ part that I had a harder time explaining...especially where a Frookie was concerned. I finally settled it with ‘shove it down your throat.’ She’s a gifted kid, Gil...picks up on everything."

"Not at all unlike her mother." Grissom’s comment was off-handed, spoken as he began to deftly slice tomatoes onto a paper plate. Catherine leapt from the stool and wrapped her hands around his waist and pulled him into the center of the kitchen, swaying to the jazz and the excitement from the tiny speakers of the boom box. "Catherine?"

"Dance with me, Grissom...and forget the enchiladas."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and stepped closer, brushing her lips over his and running her fingers through his hair. "You know...you’re not a bad dancer."

"Thank you." He wrapped his own hands around her and held on, kissing her forehead and breathing in the faint scent of warm vanilla sugar that wafted through her hair as she moved. "If you let me finish those enchiladas, Catherine...we could finish off those Frookies for desert."

"Don’t you mean..." She rose up on her toes and whispered softly in his ear, breath warm on his skin. "...nookie?"

"Only if you know the difference." Their kiss was deep, warm and sweet, as they stood in the center of the kitchen, all purpose of being in that room forgotten.

"So...what do they have that we don’t?" Catherine’s query was soft-spoken, not at all the norm for her, bringing Grissom’s eyes to meet hers curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"Gil...at this moment, Entemologist Ken and CSI Barbie are locked in a passionate embrace...that, in Lindsey terms, is a brief session of holding hands before they continue their married lives living beneath my couch. You and I, however, have resumed our lives in the continuous dance...and at the rate we’re going, all of my daughter’s Barbie dolls will be in lasting relationships."

"Cath...I can assure you that I love you more than Ken loves CSI Barbie, Exotic Dancer Barbie, or any other Barbie in Lindsey’s collection.

"CSI Barbie used to be Exotic Dancer Barbie, Grissom." His palm came up to cup her face, and she pressed her cheek into it, the blue of his eyes as clear as a summer’s day as he stared at her.

"Gil?"

"Marry me, Catherine."v

"Gil...?"

"Was it me...or did Entemologist Ken look vaguely familiar?"

"Don’t let it go to your head...Lindsey plays in leftover bleach." Catherine allowed herself a sigh, and tilted her head gently. "Did you mean that?"

"Let the evidence speak, Catherine."

"Oh, I’m letting it speak," She responded, and rose on her toes once again to kiss the tip of his nose eagerly. "And it’s saying that it would like nothing more than to be married to the most renowned entemologist on the single market."

"You’re the evidence, then, I take it."

"Yes, I am." With a brief, fleeting glance down the hallway, Catherine met his lips with her own, and began to steer their bodies in the direction of her bedroom across the kitchen. "And while I think it’s perfectly fair that Barbie and Ken get their own privacy...we shouldn’t be denied ours. So, Gil Grissom...why don’t we just teach you how to follow the evidence... And don’t forget the frookies."

-End