Slip of the Tongue
Summary: When David bangs his head, how does Grissom end up in the gutter?
A/N: Possible little spoiler for 'Xx'. Part of the weekly Improv challenge from Unbound. The starting and ending lines of the story are supplied, and you have 1,000 words to weave a tale around them. Thanks to Ann and Burked for their beta services!
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the show, and I'm sure that makes the producers very happy.

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"So, how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" Brass asked.

"A woodchuck would chuck as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood," David answered easily.

The EMT treating his injuries flashed him a grin and chuckled at his response. "No sign of a concussion."

"Good. You gave us a scare," Sara exhaled, squatting down in front of the sidewalk David was sitting on.

"But I don't know whether answering the detective's question like that was a good sign or not," the EMT teased as she started putting away her equipment.

David blushed at all the attention being directed his way, especially from Sara. "I have always been good at tongue twisters. When you're not any good at sports, being able to recite several versions of 'Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers' is one way of gaining the respect of your peers in grade school."

"Athletic ability is overrated," Sara told him, causing David's blush to deepen as he smiled shyly at her.

Grissom frowned as he watched Sara place a reassuring hand on the assistant coroner's knee. A decomposing body had been found in the attic of one of the city's older homes. David had arrived before them, and he'd started to make his way up the building's only staircase. Partway up, a small section collapsed, and David had banged his head.

While his injuries were checked out, Grissom had examined the periphery of the structure impatiently. They had to wait until the building inspector allowed them in, and he was certain their evidence was being trampled.

Letting out a sigh, he headed towards the sidewalk; the fire company still hadn't showed up with a ladder that would reach the top floor. He couldn't very well complain that his team wasn't working when they couldn't get to the scene.

That didn't mean he had to like the amount of attention Sara was bestowing on David. He never knew she found tongue twisters impressive.

"Don't blame marmota monax for this. They don't masticate deciduous cellulose. This was the work of Reticulitermes hesperus Banks," Grissom said, moving forward with a telltale piece of wood.

"Huh?" Brass asked.

"Woodchucks don't eat wood, but western subterranean termites do. There's probably a dripping faucet or pipe around here. The water attracts them," Sara translated, blushing when she noticed the others had turned to watch her in amusement. Nick must have told them about her entomology text.

"A lady who knows her termites," Brass quipped.

"I read a lot," she said, clearly indicating that was all to the conversation.

"About bugs?"

She shot Brass a warning look before turning back to David. "How many versions of Peter Piper do you know?"

Brass sauntered over to Grissom, who watched in irritation as Sara and David grinned while querying the location of – and the number of pints in – a peck of pickled peppers. The detective put a paternal look on his face as he crossed his arms. "They'd make a cute couple, don't you think?"

"No," Grissom said, trying to sound dismissive. "They're just friends."

"Best way for a relationship to start," Brass said, grinning as he went back to join the others.

Grissom scowled as Sara started laughing, holding up her hands in defeat. He inched his way forward to find out what she found so entertaining.

"I can't do that one," Sara said, shrugging self-depreciatingly.

"Which one?" the detective asked lightly.

"She sells seashells by the seashore," David answered.

"Too many esses."

"Sara Sidle can't do esses?"

"Not when I was kid. The braces didn't help," she groused. "And, yes, I did have braces. Not that you can tell now."

"I think the gap is cute," David offered.

"Thanks."

"You still can't say it?" Brass teased.

"No, I can't do that one. Call it a mental block. I was traumatized by my brother for not being able to say it," she said sarcastically, giving David a mock-bow. "I admire anyone who can handle that many esses."

"Moses supposes his toeses are roses," said a soft voice behind her.

Sara turned around in surprise to stare at Grissom. She didn't know if she was amused or irritated by his injection. A grin finally formed as she cocked her head at him. "You don't say."

"Actually, I do," he answered with a small smile. "Moses supposes his toeses are roses, but Moses supposes erroneously, for Moses he knowes his toeses aren't roses, as Moses supposes his toeses to be."

"Dr. Seuss?"

"Gene Kelley."

"You going to try that one?" Brass asked.

"No."

"Sara Sidle – defeated by a simple tongue twister. I never thought I'd see the day."

"If you think it's so simple, you do it," she dared the detective, frowning when he repeated it perfectly. She directed a dirty look at Grissom, who merely shrugged.

"Okay, guys. I have one for you," Sara said with a wicked smile. "Try this: I am not the fig plucker. I am the fig plucker's son. But I will pluck figs until the fig plucker comes."

David blushed, and Brass chuckled.

"Grissom?"

"Hmmmm?"

"You going to try?"

"What? Oh, the pig fu …" Grissom caught himself in time. Looking around, he saw the EMT biting her lip as she packed her gear into the ambulance. David looked like a cooked lobster, and Brass was coughing to cover his laughter.

Sara flashed a full smile at him. Normally, he was delighted to be the recipient of those, but this time he decided the risk of further humiliation was too high.

"David's the tongue twister expert. I'll leave it to him," he said, nodding to the younger man.

Sara turned to him expectantly, a playful grin spreading across her features. He winced as he put the ice pack against his head.

The End