Unveiled
Summary: Some things can't be kept under wraps. GSR. Mainly fluff. Yes, it's another Christmas-themed story. It came from a Christmas challenge.
Rating: PG-13 for a little language.
A/N: This is a story request from Wander52, who responded to a Christmas offer I made years ago. She wanted a story where Sara and Grissom revealed their relationship at a Christmas Ball. I was never completely satisfied with how the story turned out, and life got in the way, but it's beyond time I posted something.
A/N II: This story never had a beta, so please excuse the typos or grammatical errors. If you spot any, feel free to point them out and I'll fix 'em later.
Disclaimer: Does anyone actually bother reading these things?

Sitting in his car, Grissom silently cursed the traffic jam. He was supposed to have picked up Sara ten minutes ago. Not that they were in danger of being late – people would be arriving at the gala for some time to come – but he had wanted time to … well, inspect, was probably too harsh of a word to use.

For all her gifts and talents, and he could list many if he put his mind to it, Grissom knew tonight's affair required a wardrobe that went beyond her comfort zone. While she normally was always well put-together, as far as he understood fashion, her choices were sometimes considered outside of the mainstream. Well, that's what Catherine always said, and he willingly conceded her expertise in that area.

Not that he particularly cared on a personal level. Her outfits always covered all that social convention required. Her work clothes were practical, court attire professional and home outfits comfortable. She was meticulously neat and clean. As far as he was concerned, that was enough.

But his mother was on the organizing committee, and she had some rigid ideas about what was and wasn't appropriate. And that extended beyond clothing choices … Sara was going to be judged, and he wasn't sure how she'd fare.

It bothered him because his mother hadn't seemed too impressed the one time she and Sara had met. He didn't understand why; he had thought the dinner had gone well. But even he picked up on the tension between the two women. It was baffling. He'd loved his mother his whole life; he'd loved Sara practically from the time they first met. To Grissom, it was natural that they'd get along.

He'd been wrong about that. But Sara had been willing to attend Gilbert College's annual Christmas Dance fundraiser with him, knowing full-well it meant interacting with his mother. He just hoped she wouldn't regret the decision.

Finally getting around the wreck responsible for his delay, he hurried home. Hopes of a preview of Sara's attire faded as she walked to the passenger's side as soon as he stopped, hopping in and closing the door before he had had a chance to get more than a quick view.

What he saw didn't offer much information. She'd been wearing heels and her hair was done up more intricately than he'd recall ever seeing before. Those were good signs. But she was wrapped up against the winter night's chill in a large shawl. Sara held it too tightly for him to get any idea what she had on underneath. The brief glimpse of a leg did verify she'd been wearing a dress, but nothing else.

"Yes, I showered. Yes, I'm wearing an 'appropriate' outfit," she snapped harshly as she put on her seat belt.

"I never suggested otherwise," he said simply, wondering if something in his glance had given away his nervousness.

"Your mother did."

Ahh. That was an easy situation to defuse. Backing out of the driveway, he gave her an understanding smile. "You've just started learning sign language. You probably misinterpreted her meaning."

The temperature in the car seemed to drop several degrees.

"She sent an e-mail." Sara turned to give him a pointed stare. "Several, in fact."

"Oh." He licked his lips briefly before giving her a smile. "Well, she told me not to wear my Grinch tie. It's her way of looking out for us."

"Yeah, that is so the same thing," she muttered. After a beat, she turned to give him a questioning look. "You have a Grinch tie?"

"Not since high school." Sensing that his attempts at reassurance weren't working as he planned, he stole another quick look at her. "You hair looks very nice like that."

"It's a pain in the ass to deal with." She shifted in her seat. "This is plain sexism."

"What did I do?"

"Personally, nothing. But you can wear that same suit to court, to a wedding or funeral, on dates, to a fancy get together like this. All you need is a couple of suits, a few shirts and ties, and you're set for life."

He gave a nod of agreement. Male fashion was fairly straightforward. Once he'd gotten the hang of what ties were inappropriate, dressing for any occasion had been one of life's easier lessons. He tried joking to get her to relax.

"True, but I wouldn't look nearly as nice as you do in a dress."

"Cite your source."

"I don't think I need one for that statement," he said, catching her unsettling look.

"I don't know. Sounds like an experiment is needed."

He flashed her a grin, wondering how upset she was. "I don't think they make anything that would fit me."

"This is Las Vegas. Trust me, I can find you a dress that fits," she said with enough conviction that he swallowed nervously.

"I am on your side, you know."

Her chuckle wasn't exactly comforting. "This is all your fault."

Grissom sat quietly as he mentally reviewed the events leading up to tonight, trying to think of anything he might have done wrong. He couldn't think why she'd claim so.

"What did I do?" he finally asked.

"We could start with the fact that we've been together for months, and I never knew your mother even lived in Las Vegas," she said. "And she didn't know about us at all. Let's not even address that dinner."

He darted his eyes to her quickly, a genuine frown forming. "I thought it went well."

"Gil," she said calmly. "You invited her over on a day you knew I was working a decomp. Dead body, aerosolized human fat."

"Oh," he exhaled slowly. Right. Other people weren't used to the smells.

"And then she finds out I'm going to be showering in your home, changing in a bedroom we share."

"My mother isn't that easily shocked," he started to say, pausing at her glare.

"And then she got pissed because I wouldn't try the brisket she brought, because you also didn't tell her I'm a vegetarian."

"I don't think pissed is the right …," he said, stopping at her low grumble.

She looked over and after a long glance laughed. "You actually thought that dinner went well, didn't you?"

"I enjoyed it," he stated honestly.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asked, but her tone was gentle.

"Anything you want?" he offered optimistically.

"Don't hold your breath."

He gave a barely noticeable nod, hoping the rest of the night went smoother than this car ride was. Work was a safer topic; he understood that better.

"How did your court case go?"

"The creeps are probably going to walk," she said sadly.

"Why? The forensic evidence wasn't the strongest we've had, but it should have been enough."

"The forensics were fine. It was the damn ADA. They sent some rookie to handle a major child abuse case. He kept jumping around the evidence. I tried to keep things organized, explaining facts in the proper order, but he confused the hell out of the jury."

He gave her a sympathetic look, knowing how hard she'd worked to find the evidence necessary to convict the parents. It also suggested her anger had less to do with him than the case. "Don't sell the jury short. You're very good at explaining difficult things. I'm sure they had no trouble following you, even if the prosecutor didn't do a good job."

"I wish I had your confidence," she sighed. "I'm not angry with you. Not too angry, at least."

"I didn't think about the decomp when I arranged that dinner. Mom wanted to know if I was free, and I thought it would be nice for you two to meet," he told her softly. "I admit, I didn't think that one through too well."

"That's an understatement." She flashed him a quick smile.

They came to stop at a traffic signal, and light from a streetlamp gave him a slightly better view. Her makeup looked nice, although he always thought it did. He wasn't sure what his mother would think. The shawl appeared to be a lovely, soft gray silk with a subtle pattern woven into it.

"Do I pass muster?" she asked, a hint of warning in her voice. "And the light's green."

"You always do," he answered, pleased to see her smile.

"Gil, can I ask you something? Your mom works at Gilbert College, but no one knew you when we worked that homicide there."

"Mom was still at Gallaudet, in D.C., at the time. One of her emails mentioned the crime rate was getting worse and she was thinking of retiring. Dr. Gilbert had mentioned there was an opening here, so I forwarded the information to Mom. She's only been in Vegas for a couple years."

"And you never mentioned her," Sara said, flashing him another grin. "I guess I'm not the only woman in your life you keep under wraps."

"She's the only other one," he deadpanned. "In Nevada."

"Smart ass. So, how do you want to handle this tonight?" she asked suddenly as they approached the college.

"In what way?"

"It's not likely, but we might run into someone we know here. We're not exactly a public item. The times we've gone out, it been something that no one would question – lunch during a case, breakfast after a shift."

She stated the facts calmly, but Grissom frowned. Both of them were closer to homebodies than party animals, so they spent most of their free time at his home or her apartment. By unspoken agreement, they both had kept up some activities alone – Sara went jogging or trying out free gym memberships, while Grissom went on his roller coasters or to silent movies. It wasn't that he didn't want to be seen with her. They worked together and the occasional time apart provided a breathing space.

He thought it was working out well, but it sounded cold when she said it. They'd need to find a way of going out more often that wouldn't draw attention to their relationship.

"Gil?"

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"I said we could tell people your mother insisted you bring a date since it's a dance, but it's not a real date."

"I'll tell them you are my date," he stated simply. "I'm not ashamed of what we have. I don't like to talk about my personal life, but I don't expect you to lie to protect that."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," he said as he pulled into line for valet parking.

Putting his arm around her waist, they quickly went into the building. Stepping to the side, Sara finally let the shawl down. Grissom stared. The dress was black silk, simply cut, but it fit her body perfectly, showing some cleavage without being excessive. A long gold chain, matching bracelet and earrings were the only jewelry she wore, but they complimented the outfit to complete a simple, sophisticated look.

Grissom knew he was gaping, but he couldn't stop. She was beautiful; he knew that more intimately than anyone else in Las Vegas, but he'd never imagined what she'd look like dressed up in something so fancy. He wasn't sure if he wanted to encourage her to do dress like this more often, or blow this gala off so he could get her home to remove it.

Maybe a combination of both.

"Do you think your mother will approve?" she asked, and he sensed she was actually nervous.

He gave her a look of love and awe. "You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"

"Still hoping to get lucky tonight?" she joked self-deprecatingly, keeping her voice low so no one would overhear their conversation.

Grissom stepped to her side, standing slightly behind her so as to not block the view of her body. He pointed out the men turning to check her out. "If you don't believe me, what do you call that?"

"Unnerving."

He gave her arms a soft squeeze. She really didn't know how attractive she was. Given her childhood, he doubted she'd received enough compliments or encouragement growing up. Sara had no doubts about her academic achievements or her intellect, but she lacked confidence in more personal matters. That was something else he'd have to work on.

She smiled at him bashfully. "I'm not used to this kind of attention."

He rubbed his hands up her arms, gently pulling the fabric upward. "You could put the shawl back on."

"Won't you miss the view?"

"I can see it at home later," he whispered.

"You're still hoping, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said, giving a firm head nod. "But I'm not joking. You do look amazing."

"You clean up pretty well yourself," she said, slipping her arm into his. "Let's hope I don't break an ankle trying to walk in these heels."

He chuckled. "I'm the one who's off-balanced here. I've never been the envy of so many men before."

"Gil! Okay, you can get lucky tonight. Knock it off."

Grissom smiled as the blush rose up her cheeks when two men stopped their conversation to follow her progress across the floor.

"I'm not used to dressing like this," she admitted.

"You do it very well."

"You can thank the shopkeeper. I was totally lost on what to buy. I said I wanted to approach 'classic elegance' as closely as I could."

"Tell me where that shop is, and I'll buy you all these outfits you want."

"Yeah, I'm not planning on dressing like this on a regular basis."

"Oh, I was more interested in undressing you," he said in a hearty whisper.

"Gil!"

"What? It's the truth."

"Keep those thoughts to yourself. Incoming."

"That's Dr. McPherson from the hospital," he said, holding out his hand to greet the other man.

"Doctor, let me introduce you Sara Sidle," he said, flashing her a wide smile. "My date, and so much more."

The End