Notes: This is the first fic I've written as a response to a fanfiction challenge. I am writing this to enter into the May/June 2011 GSRForeverOnline challenge and am utilizing option 6, the college reunion. This is a rather lengthy one-shot in which Sara and Grissom work through a rough patch in their marriage. Please let me know if you like it! Thanks!
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The alarm clock blared obnoxious talk radio at a ridiculous volume. Beside it, stretched out under a mess of tangled covers, Sara Sidle stirred. She reached out to shut off the alarm, scraping her forearm on the edge of the bedside table as she did so.
Sara grouched as she sat up, rubbed sleep out of her eyes, inspected her very mild injury, and thought about how it was Grissom's fault. Yep, it was definitely his fault she just got hurt. That was a completely reasonable conclusion, seeing as how he was the one who insisted she not get enough sleep before work because they just had to talk over Skype before he had to go to bed. He would still get to go to bed on time, all because he decided she didn't need to worry about getting enough sleep. Who cares about Sara, the one risking her life for justice on a daily basis? Surely it was more important for a lecturer to get his beauty sleep. And if she hadn't had to wake up only three hours after going to bed, she never would have been disoriented enough to scrape her arm.
She sighed. Already mad at him. Great. They'd been mad at each other a lot in the past few weeks. This whole long-distance marriage thing was harder than they thought it would be.
Sara spent her fifteen minute shower reasoning with herself. She wasn't being fair and she knew it. How could Grissom have known she'd fall asleep right after work instead of waiting to sleep until after they'd talked? It's not like he had known she'd just pulled a double on an extremely stressful dead child case. Then again, it's not like he'd have cared if he had known. It seemed like Grissom's interests these days only included bugs, lectures, and French Barbie dolls (how all those French girls stay skinny with all those baguettes was beyond Sara, but she had started calling all the little Parisian flirts Gil taught "Barbies" a few months ago… it irritated the hell out of Grissom, which is probably precisely why she kept up the habit).
With her hair toweled dry and hanging in damp curls around her face, Sara turned on her webcam and connected to Skype. Grissom wasn't on yet. "Urgh! That man will be late for his own damn funeral!"
Fuming, Sara grabbed a glass of water and the small pile of mail off the kitchen countertop. By the time she had returned to her laptop in the family room, Grissom had signed on.
"Hi Sara. Honey, you look awful."
"Gee, thanks, Gil. It's good to see you, too."
"Oh, come on, I didn't say it to be mean. I just mean you look really worn out. Are you okay? How was work today?" Grissom tried to get himself out of the hole he'd already managed to dig for himself in the first five seconds of their conversation. It seemed he was always trying to get himself out of trouble with Sara these days.
"Why do you ask?" Sara's tone was laden with skepticism.
"Because I care."
"Really? The Barbies haven't been filling your head with enough stimulating conversation?"
"Sara, please. First of all, stop calling my students Barbies. None of them are half as thin and gorgeous as you are and second of all, you know I'd rather talk with you, but we're on different sides of the world. I can't take you out to dinner, you know."
"What?" Sara's voice was shocked and angry. "Now you're taking the Barbies out to dinner? Great. Just effing great."
"That's ridiculous, Sara. I never said that. Okay, look, let's just drop it. Can we start this conversation over? Please?"
"Fine." Sara was determined to continue to be angry at her husband, regardless of whether or not he wanted to call a truce. He'd apparently been dining with French girls after all; she had a right to be angry.
"Okay, so, how was work last night, honey?"
"Well, Nick, Greg, and I all pulled doubles working a horrifying case involving a dead five year old girl, arson, and a love triangle. I basically collapsed when I finally got home to this nice, empty townhouse and had to set an alarm to make sure I made it to this conversation on time, even though you couldn't manage to do the same."
Grissom sighed. He had been three minutes late. Not thirty. Three. Reminding himself to pick his battles, he decided not to argue about his "lateness" and instead replied, "Oh, Sara, I'm sorry you had to work that case. I know how hard it had to have been on you. Are you going to be okay?"
"I'm fine, Gil. Nick worked the body so I wouldn't have to and Greg interrogated the mom for me." She emphasized her friends' names knowing that it would hurt Grissom to know that yet again, the guys were there for Sara, but he wasn't.
Feeling slightly ashamed of herself for giving her husband a conversation filled with undeserved hostility, Sara ran her hands over her face, took a couple of deep breaths, and tried again. "Look, Gil. I'm sorry. Listen, how about I go through the mail now?" Opening their mail while they were video-chatting had become a bit of a comforting routine for both of them. For whatever reason, the simple chore kind of made them feel like they were actually living in the townhouse together for a few minutes.
"Sounds good to me. Is it all junk?"
Sara tore open the first envelope. "Electric bill. It's a bit higher than last month's because it's been so damn hot I had to turn the A/C down so Hank didn't melt in here." Grissom smiled, but before he could ask about Hank, Sara cut him off with, "This is junk. More junk. Hmm, something from Harvard. They probably want me to send money." She opened the envelope and was surprised to find not a request for donations but a request for her presence at her class' 15 year reunion. "Ha. Yeah right."
Grissom's voice caught Sara off-guard, as she had forgotten he was watching her. "Yeah right, what?"
"Oh, it's just an invitation to my class reunion. Who'd want to go to one of those?"
"I don't know. When is it?"
Sara eyed Gil suspiciously. Why did he care when it was, especially since she didn't even want to go. "August 11th through the 13th. Why?"
Grissom chose his words carefully. He wanted to respond in a way that didn't make Sara angry, and well, that was easier said than done. "Well, you know how I was asked to do a guest lecture at Harvard on criminology? It's the week before your reunion. I'd be done lecturing on the 11th. We could both go. Think about it… it'd be less expensive for you to fly to Cambridge than to Paris and my airfare will have been paid for by Harvard." Grissom hesitated; he wanted Sara to know how much he needed her, but didn't particularly want to sound lonely or whiny. He added, "Sara, it's just… well, I'd just love to touch you again. It's been too long."
"It has been a long time, but I'm fine, really. I mean, I'm planning to visit you in September as it is. Do I really need to spend more money going to Harvard for a weekend?" Sara was way too full of pride to let Grissom know how much she desperately wanted to touch him, too.
Hurt by Sara's callous words, Grissom asked, "What, do you and Greg have plans for that weekend already? Why can't you make the time to see me?"
"Oh for God's sake, Gil, don't be ridiculous. If it means that much to you, I'll come to Harvard. But just for the record, I am still not thrilled about going to the reunion. I mean, who wants to stand around all weekend listening to people you don't even know anymore ramble on and on about their spouses, kids, and jobs? First of all, I just don't care, and second of all, everyone will be lying through their teeth, trying to be the best and most successful out of all of us."
Grissom smiled at Sara's rant. She smiled back. She added in a much calmer tone, "All right, then. I'll see you in Cambridge, stranger."
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The Boeing 737 landed, four minutes ahead of schedule, at Boston Logan International Airport. Sara had been fortunate enough to find a reasonably priced direct flight from Vegas. She walked quickly down the jet way, simultaneously thrilled at the prospect of seeing Grissom for the first time in two months and anxious about greeting him. They'd been arguing so much and had been at constant odds with each other for the past several weeks; should she passionately kiss him like part of her wanted to or should she give him the cold shoulder like the other part of her wanted to? She ran out of time to choose as she entered the concourse and immediately saw him. Grissom was standing a few feet away, smiling shyly at her; it seemed he was struggling with the moment of their meeting, too.
"Sara." Grissom's belly had done a bit of a back flip when he'd seen his wife approaching, and he mused that the saying "absence makes the heart grow fonder" may very well be true; every time he'd been reunited with Sara, her beauty seemed to intensify.
"Hey." Sara was suddenly overcome with a desire, not to smack Grissom, but to cry. Curious. She typically wasn't one to cry. She quickly dropped her bag and wrapped her arms tightly around Grissom, hiding her face in his chest just in case a tear or two was shed. "I missed you."
"I missed you, too. God, Sara, you smell so wonderful." Grissom breathed in the scent of her hair as he hugged her close. He backed away slightly so he could kiss Sara, and their lips met briefly. Grissom broke free, feeling as awkward as he had after their first kiss, and asked, "So, how was your flight?"
"Fine. No turbulence. Let's go." Sara knew Grissom had pulled away from her because he felt as adolescent as she did, and even though she knew this mutual awkwardness was just as much her fault as his, she couldn't suppress the wave of anger that coursed through her. Marriage wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be happy.
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The first evening of the reunion boasted a black tie affair in the Ballroom of the Malkin Athletic Center. Sara and Grissom had readied themselves in the bathroom of Grissom's hotel room, separately. The hotel room was just as quiet as it had been the entire week previously when Grissom had been staying there alone; Sara and Grissom were each silently lost in their thoughts. Neither had been brave enough to break the silence or to be the first to make a move toward intimacy.
They had walked hand-in-hand to the ballroom, and while Sara had appreciated the gesture, part of her couldn't help but think he was only holding her hand because everyone else would be arriving at the reunion holding hands.
A student in a tuxedo greeted them at the door, asking for their names. "I'm Sara Sidle. This is my husband Gil Grissom." Sara was secretly glad for the surge of pride she'd felt when announcing Grissom as her husband; she had waited so long to call him that.
"You ready for this?" Grissom asked. He knew how little Sara was looking forward to what she thought would be a "brag fest," but she sure did look stunning in her little black dress. Frankly, he was looking forward to showing her off. Maybe reunions weren't such a bad thing. He sighed as he wondered whether Sara would be proud to show him off to her old classmates; maybe she was embarrassed by his age, his grayness, his not-so-cut abs.
"Sure. If it's horrible, there's nothing keeping us here. We can just leave."
Shortly after entering the ballroom, a roving waiter offered them glasses of wine. They each took one, simply to have something to do with their hands. As they were slowly meandering through the crowd toward a table near the windows, a loud, warm voice caught their attention.
"Sara Sidle? No way! How are you?"
"Oh my gosh, if it isn't Mark Francis!" Grissom was rather surprised by the excitement in his wife's voice. Who was this Mark character? "It's been such a long time! How are you?"
"I'm doing great, Sar, really great. I've got a wife right here… Molly, meet Sara Sidle. She was my girlfriend once upon a time."
Girlfriend? Grissom was more than a bit annoyed now. He needed to get Sara, his Sara, away from this creep; she did fly here from Vegas to see him after all- not to reminisce with old boyfriends. Grissom listened with a keen ear as Mark and Sara chatted animatedly. He was certainly not going to miss anything either of them said. He was pleased that he was the first person Sara mentioned while talking to Mark, but once she got past the short introduction, she quickly dropped him as a subject and moved on to Vegas, the lab, and their friends. Grissom nearly stopped paying attention while Mark was babbling on and on and on about his three perfect children, massive house in Cape Cod, and perfect job, but suddenly, his senses were on high alert again as he heard Mark start to meander down memory lane.
Mark turned to his wife and spoke. "Honey, do you remember me telling you about that time Sara and I went canoeing on the Charles River? That was the funniest damn canoe trip I've ever taken." Mark was all smiles as he spoke.
His wife, Molly, was smiling, too. She had obviously heard this story before and found it as funny as her husband did. Sara, however, was blushing as Molly answered, "Oh my gosh, yeah, I remember! You fell out and Sara gave you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation even though you were clearly not dying. God, I wish I had been there to see that. Talk about a funny way to score some down-and-dirty romance!"
Turning red and fuming, Grissom mused that Mark and Molly were hardly as "high class" as they seemed to think they were. Sara was bright red, and mumbled, "Yeah, not one of my better moments." Taking a wild stab at changing the subject, she added, "So, Mark, how did you end up with Molly?"
Neither Sara nor Grissom really listened to a word Mark spoke in reply. Both were trying to contain their embarrassment and anger, and both dearly wanted to get away from Mark and his wife. Eventually, Sara's surreptitious scanning of the room yielded the results she was hoping for, and she was able to say, "Oh, Mark, I've just seen Callie Jones. I've got to introduce her to Gil; he's been dying to meet my old lab partner. It's been great catching up with you. Really. See you around?"
"Yeah, sure Sara, it was great to run into you. Maybe we should go canoeing again sometime, eh? You can bring Grissom along and give him some mouth-to-mouth!"
Sara forced a fake laugh, grabbed Grissom by the arm, and walked away from the disaster zone that was conversation with Mark Francis. Why did she have to run into him? Of all people, he had to be the one to find her. Figures. She knew she hated reunions. Why had she even bothered coming?
Instead of talking to Callie Jones, Sara marched right past her and out the doors, into the open air. "God, Gil, let's just leave. Can we?"
Not getting a response, Sara turned around to find that she couldn't see Grissom anywhere. She'd only let go of his arm moments ago; where the heck was he? "Gil?" Nothing. "Grissom?" Nothing. "Gilbert Grissom, where are you?" Sara demanded an answer from the beautifully manicured courtyard around her, but no answer was given. Furious, she plopped down onto a bench to wait for her missing husband. If he was off chasing a grasshopper, she was going to have to kill him.
Fortunately for Grissom, when he and Sara made the choice to live on different continents, they had upgraded their mobile phones to Smart Phones with internet connectivity. He had snuck off around the side of the building; a quick internet search and three phone calls later, he was ready to get this Mark Francis guy out of his head.
Strolling back toward the front of the Athletic Center, he spied Sara seated on the bench. Her arms were crossed, as were her legs. Grissom knew he was in trouble, and he hoped the little plan he had just formulated would get him out of the proverbial "dog house." Approaching Sara from behind, he gently placed his hands over her eyes. Sara immediately shrugged his hands off and whipped her face around toward her "attacker." Grissom had forgotten how easily Sara went into fight or flight mode when agitated; it was a still-present effect of being kidnapped, and Grissom mentally kicked himself for forgetting something so essentially Sara. It had only been two months since he'd seen her; why was it that he had to learn her all over again?
Sara reached up and smacked Grissom's arm. "God dammit, Gil. What'd you have to do that for? And where the hell did you go?"
Grissom opted for a white lie as a response. "I, um, got distracted. There was, uh, a fascinating species of cricket near that fence."
Sara rolled her eyes. Cricket or grasshopper, she had been right, hadn't she? Grissom reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. He tried to convey strength and warmth with his touch and as he stared intensely into her eyes, he said, "Sara, I'm sorry I frightened you. Do you trust me?"
Both immediately thought back to the first time those words had been spoken between them. Sara had spoken them then, but this time it was her turn to answer, "Intimately." She smiled coyly.
"Good. I need you to come with me."
Grissom led Sara to a waiting taxi. She looked at Grissom curiously when the driver pulled out into traffic without asking where to go. Being an adept CSI, it wasn't exactly tough for her to figure out that her husband had snuck away, not to chase a bug, but to make a phone call. Figuring out why he had done so was an entirely different story. Grissom answered Sara's quizzical glance with nothing but a smirk. She decided against giving Grissom the pleasure of teasing her with mysterious responses, so Sara simply didn't ask anything. The ride was spent in silence. It had been a while, fifteen years in fact, since Sara had cruised the streets of Cambridge, so it took her until the last few minutes of the drive to realize where they were heading: the Charles River popped into view as they rounded a bend, and a small livery came into sight shortly thereafter.
Sara glared at Grissom. "Seriously, Gil? The canoe livery? Just had to embarrass me even more, huh?"
"No, no, we're not here to torture you. Just trust me. You said you trust me."
"Fine." The arms were crossed again. Grissom sighed. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.
The two got out, Grissom paid and thanked the cab driver, and then led the way to the livery's office, where they were greeted by a cheerful, rosy-cheeked woman. "Hello, there, you two. Don't you look smart? I assume you're Mr. Grissom, then, am I right sir?"
"Correct. Do you have our expedition ready?"
"We sure do sir. Just sign these here release forms, and we'll grab you two a couple of life jackets and oars, and then we'll send you on your way." With the formalities taken care of, Grissom and Sara were led to a canoe. When Sara noticed the deli bag sitting in the canoe, the woman commented, "That's just the dinner order your husband had one of my guys pick up for you two. From our conversation on the phone, it seemed like your man here was putting together a nice date night, but I'm thinking he's got you two a bit overdressed. You know, most people wear swimming trunks or bikinis." Sara marveled inwardly at the efficient effort Grissom had put into planning this spur of the moment ordeal. She was touched, although she wasn't overly excited about the prospect of canoeing in heels.
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Five miles downriver, the sandwiches and cookies had long since been consumed and Grissom's suit coat, shoes, and socks lay huddled in a pile at the end of the canoe, along with Sara's shoes and handbag. The awkwardness between them had slowly dissipated. Genuine laughter was coming from Sara when she suddenly shrieked, "Gil!" She had just used her oar to flick water onto Grissom, who had ducked out of the water's path, lost his balance (or so Sara thought), and toppled into the water.
Grissom's head popped up above the river's surface. "I'm going to need some help here." He was grinning as he added, "You know I'm not a good swimmer. I'm probably drowning here."
It really wasn't very easy to get a soaking wet Grissom back into the canoe, especially since both Sara and Grissom were laughing too hard to focus on the task at hand. Once they'd collapsed together, giggling like children, on the bottom of the canoe, Sara was all too happy to "rescue" Grissom with "mouth-to-mouth resuscitation." Their canoe drifted aimlessly down the river as they remained on the canoe's floor, making out like the college students who made up most of the livery's clientele. Eventually, as the sun was setting, Grissom mused, "I thought this trip was only supposed to take two hours… how long do you think we've been out here?"
Sara checked the time on her phone. "Um, over three hours. Guess that means we missed our stopping point, huh?" Instead of worrying about this little detail, they simply locked eyes and laughed. Upon finding a sandy patch of bank to pull the canoe onto, Grissom called the livery and arranged for them and the canoe to be picked up (for an extra fee, of course). As daylight faded to dusk, a soaking wet Grissom and his equally wet wife sat against a log, Grissom's arm around Sara's shoulders in a futile attempt at protecting her from the chill the breeze created on their damp skin. The sunset over the opposite bank of the Charles River had turned the sky various shades of pinks, purples, and yellows.
As he gently pushed a stray tangle of wet curls off Sara's face, Grissom half-teased, half seriously queried, "So, my dear, who do you think of now when you think of canoeing?"
Sara chose to answer seriously. "You, Gil. You really are my one and only. I love you."
"And I love you." Grissom plucked a wildflower from the base of its stem, handed it to Sara, and added, "Can I move in with you? Permanently?"
Sara's momentary silence wasn't worrying; her grin gave her feelings away. Eventually, she managed to say, "Please do." The college kid from the livery who came to pick up the "lost" customers found them snuggled together against the log, sharing a long, slow kiss and looking just as happy as a couple could be.