Title: Flight
Author: jenbachand
Format: short story
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Grissom/Sara & vague hints of Calliegh/Ryan from Miami
Disclaimer: I made no profit from the writing of this fic.
Spoilers: CSI 7x14 Meet Market with hints from commercials for 7x15 CSI: Miami 5x14 No Man's Land
Summary: Sara takes flight.
Author's Notes: This started out as a drabble for the Fly prompt and I couldn't leave it at 100 words, then I couldn't seem to wrap it up. It was the story that wouldn't quit, so I've had more betas on this one in than anything else in a while. Thanks to mingsmommy, phdelicious, and to brandie for all your help on this. This also grew out of frustration of trying to write Ryan & a fight for a prompt given to me by missandromache. Bit of angst to keep me from reading spoilers.
CSICSICSI
Her flight took her far away from Las Vegas, Nevada. As far away as she felt she could get without leaving the continent or the country. Miami's Crime Lab had a temporary opening, one that might turn permanent depending on how long their CSI took to convalesce from the gunshot wound.
She hadn't made a scene in the locker room. Merely sent out a group e-mail after she had gotten off the phone with Ecklie, and packed a bag.
Grissom's return hadn't made things better. His joyful face that first night back in the lab hadn't helped. If anything, the four weeks Grissom had been away merely cemented in her mind what he thought about their relationship.
A burden. A bother. An afterthought to the job.
It had made her think that all the years she had spent in the desert have been wasted.
It seemed government was the same all over. Two layovers had added several hours to her time. But she spent it perusing shops in the airports. She'd picked up a postcard to send to Greg. He was the only one who had called her before she left. Of course he had been the only one in the lab, having just wrapped up his homicide case.
She hadn't bothered to turn her phone back on since she'd boarded the first flight.
When the plane touches down in Miami, it brings thoughts of the last time she had gone somewhere on a temporary assignment. Hopefully this time will turn out better.
A woman with blonde hair and a huge smile stands, holding a sign bearing her name, at baggage claim with…well, the only way she can describe him is that he looks like Greg's beefed up brother, minus the bad hair. Their easy demeanor speaks of an intimacy she had once known with a coworker.
She shakes her head, trying to not make everything relate back to an emotionally stunted entomologist who had consumed her life.
"I'm Sara Sidle," she holds out her hand to the woman.
"Calleigh Duquesne & this is Ryan Wolfe." Calleigh's southern accent reminds her of Nick's.
The man shakes her hand and gives her a quick smile. She changes her mind on Ryan. He is what the offspring of Nick and Greg would look like if that were possible.
Chatting about cases and their colleague fills the ride to the lab. She is informed of her temporary living quarters, a furnished efficiency in a corporate hotel, and that their work is mostly days.
It will be good to see the sun again.
As they climb out of the Hummer, Sara shields her eyes and looks up at the Miami crime lab. Angles and steel and glass reflect the afternoon sun. And there sitting on a bench, is a figure so out of place, she has to rub her eyes to make sure she isn't hallucinating.
"He, uh, arrived just as we were setting out to get you. Said it was important that he see you." Ryan's voice interrupts the thousands of thoughts flitting around inside her head.
She sees him dialing his phone and talking into it. He hangs it up and hangs his head. Ducking around the back of the truck where he can't see her yet, she switches on her phone, and presses the voicemail button.
"You have 10 new messages."
Closing the phone and sliding it into her pocket, she strides towards the bench her supervisor is sitting on. That's the only way she can think of him now, because if she thinks of him as Gil Grissom, errant boyfriend, shy entomologist, quirky man, she'll cave in too easily.
"Grissom." Her tone is curt and he actually looks hurt.
"I, um, I," he trails off. He's looking up at her like a lost little boy.
"How did you get out here so fast?"
"Booked the flight myself, got a nonstop at the last minute. Why didn't you call me to tell me you were leaving?" His voice is soft and has a definite edge of hurt. "And you took your stuff home from my place. I had thought you'd stay there while I was gone."
"You left me, the person you were living with, to go teach for a month, and how did I find out? From Hodges. It was like being slapped in the face." Her voice is calm, but it has an edge to it. These are the things she wanted to call and tell him every day he was gone. But she couldn't dial his number for fear of showing her hurt. Of letting him know how much he had wounded her.
"Then you come to the locker room to tell me you'll miss me. No letters, no notes, no phone calls or e-mails. Just a stick and a cocoon Grissom." She crosses her arms over her chest, warning him of her hurt with her protective action. "I thought we had something, that I meant something. I figured it out; I was just an accessory to the job. So go home Gil. Go home." She squeaks out the last of it around the lump in her throat. She will not cry in front of new co-workers.
When she looks at him, really looks, she notices his eyes are glassy. It takes the wind out of her sails.
"I knew I'd mess up at some point." His voice is shaky and hurt sounding, and he keeps rubbing his hands on his pants. "When we got started I knew I'd mess up, I just didn't know I'd make you leave. I wrote you this long letter while I was gone. I knew that I'd messed up. I just didn't know how to fix it. I thought you'd call when you got the package."
"No note. No note at all Griss. What was I supposed to think? All I could think was that I wasn't even worth the time it would have taken to pen me an explanation."
"Oh Honey," he reaches out and takes her hands. His are shaking and slightly sweaty. "I, I knew I would mess this up. I know all these words written by poets and writers, but when I thought of sending them to you, it just felt like I was faking my emotions. I wanted to call you every day, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, because I knew if I heard you sound upset I'd be on the first flight home, and if you didn't sound upset, I wouldn't have been able to go home." He draws her a bit closer to him. She doesn't hesitate. "Does that make any sense?"
He's been stroking her knuckles with his thumbs as he speaks, and these gentle touches are probably what she's missed the most. His hand on the small of her back, his fingers entwined with hers as they drive somewhere together, or his arm draped across her waist as they sleep. She always got her fifteen minutes of human contact a day while they had been together.
"I have a job to do here Gil," she says with resignation in her voice. She steps closer to him and he looks up with hope. "I volunteered to help them out. I can't back out and run home because you've started to get a clue. Go home. Call me every day. Write me letters, even if it's just through e-mail. And when I come home, hopefully we'll be in a better place." She's gripping his hands tightly in hers, trying to convey her hopes and fears in telling him what she has. But she needs him to realize she's tired.
Tired of being second place to everything else.
"I'll fly out as often as I can," he says standing up and his arms enveloping her. "We'll work on us from here as well."
Tears are leaking out and her breath is shuddery, but his breathing is unsteady as well, and she feels they'll be good. She's waited too long not to give this her all. And now, finally they are on the same page. And who's to say they haven't always been on the same page…maybe just in different fairytales. One day of happiness could melt into two and then another and another until days become years and the years become ever after. Happily ever after.