Author's Note: Sara has to leave to deal with the trauma she suffered. What did she do when she was away? How did she cope? What if she decided to stay, after Warrick's murder? I followed the CSI story (and inserted my own words and ideas after Sara left in Goodbye and Good Luck) up until Chapter Nine, when my imagination took over. What might have happened after?
WHAT HAPPENS AFTER
CHAPTER ONE
Sara couldn't take it anymore.
So she left.
She left her life, her love, her work…her Gil. Her heart broke; but she had to get away. Not from him, not from the only real home she'd ever known, not from the people who'd become her family, not from the thrill of solving puzzles and nailing the bad guy, but…away from death. Away from rotting corpses. Away from murder.
She had to confront the ghosts that haunted her, both awake and asleep. Escape the screams in her head and the nightmares.
She had to escape from Natalie, who'd robbed her of her faith in humanity, who had hurt her so deeply, who had so nearly killed her. Natalie, who took her away from her team, her family, her lover. Natalie had placed a barrier between the two of them, Grissom and Sara, one that they never talked about. He was too protective of her after Natalie kidnapped her, and he never brought up the subject or avoided it when she did. So she buried it inside, where it festered.
"That night, in the desert, under that car, I realized something. Since my father died, I've spent almost my whole life with ghosts. I need to bury them."
She had to bury the victims who begged her for answers, whose screams of pain were as real as…anything. As real as stones or the sound of thunder or the feel of cut glass.
Cut glass. That's what it felt like, shards of glass in the chambers of her heart.
If only she could have had a little time to think. To breathe. If her existence was not constantly interrupted by chirping cell phones which only meant more death, more blood, more limp, twisted, and grotesque bodies, more pain which pulled her in pieces. Her zest, her zeal, had ebbed from her body, like a slow bleed.
So she left. Sara ran away. Like a stray dog. Running away from home.
"Our life together was the only home I've ever had. I wouldn't trade it for anything."
Away, she thought ruefully, away from Ronnie and her endless questions. Her perky enthusiasm. It was aggravating to think that Ronnie resembled her younger self, the Sara who dove into her work with gusto, who wanted so much to please her boss.
Was I really like that? No wonder Catherine made those snarky comments. "Gee,
someone likes her work." I did, too, to Ronnie. "Okay, you have twenty questions, max." "Are you serious?" "Nineteen."
She remembered the younger Sara, who always wanted to be the star pupil. The Sara who wanted to get the great Grissom to notice her, take her hand, and praise her.
The Grissom she wanted to take her heart, which she had offered so freely.
But now he had, and their love was intoxicating. Blissful. How sweet to lie in his strong arms, feel his warmth, listen to his breathing; to hear his words of comfort and love. I'm here. I love you. Shh, it's okay. You're going to be okay.
But it wasn't okay. She wasn't okay. Not even close.
It was hell.
Every night, every day.
And even Gil, whose love had sustained her through so much, couldn't help her anymore.
"Gil. You know that I love you. I feel like I've always loved you."
No one could help her.
She was going insane.
Was, she thought quickly. Was going insane. She knew that hearing voices was a sign of schizophrenia, so she had been careful not to tell her PEAP counselor about them. Having known what insanity looked like, felt like, sounded like, hell, even smelled like, she knew to flee.
"It smelled like lies," she'd told Grissom.
Like the lies you're telling yourself? The nagging voice asked her.
Stop. Not now.
Fifty years ago, they would have called it a nervous breakdown. That still seemed apt. Nerves breaking, the strain on them making them snap. Her will, her reason for living, snapped like a bowstring. Down, into the hell of madness.
The tangle of words and thoughts and images that streamed unbidden in her head, that went around and around in endless circles in her brain, like a trapped rat, seeking escape, seeking release.
Stop!
Her eyes had glazed over; she had gazed dispassionately at the struggling woman and the husband who wanted to kill her, right there in front of her, as distant and unreal as if she were watching them on TV. "I'm going to kill you, you bitch. You called the cops on me?" His words were distant, distorted. Unreal. It didn't matter that the cop and the EMT were struggling with him, that Ronnie was trying to pull the woman away.
Disassociative disorder, her rational brain told her.
I know what it's called. Not helping, here.
It didn't matter. Nothing matters.
Sure it does. It does matter that you ran away.
Giving her stuff away, that was a sure sign of a breakdown. Throwing out her boots because they had blood on them. Leaving it all behind, all her belongings and possessions, her welcoming home, her car. Hell, even their dog.
Leaving behind the photograph of the two of them, taken on the day that Grissom had come over and had finally opened up to her, allowed himself to love her, to show it, to act on his feelings.
"I think it was a Sunday."
That sweet day made of fantasies. The day her dreams had come true. The first day they made love. The day they had begun life together.
She left all that behind.
Left that photo in her locker and closed the door.
Clang.
Stripped off her name tag, and threw it in the trash.
You stripped off your identity. You threw it away.
Yes, I did, didn't I? I tossed it in the trash. I threw away my name. Sidle.
So if you're not Sidle any more? Who are you?
Let me think! Let me be!
Okay, for now. Just be.
CHAPTER TWO
I tried, Gil. I tried to talk to you. To tell you.
"Know that I tried very hard to stay."
I tried, and then that damn cell phone had chirped, with the news that Marlon West had hanged himself in his jail cell. Hannah West. The personification of evil, disguised as a little girl. Sara grimaced at the memory.
Sara had confronted Hannah with the news. That her sick plot to keep her brother, keep him to her herself, had backfired, and Marlon had taken the only way out. Sara had stood before the little girl, not knowing what to do with her hands. Then she had shown her the photograph and Hannah screamed and tried to hug her. Sara had pushed her away with repulsion.
You? You turn to me, for comfort? How dare you. You were the one that broke me.
Damn you.
Damn you to hell, you twisted freak.
Was Sara going to do what Marlon did? To end her pain in the only permanent way? She shivered.
No. No, I wouldn't do that. That's the coward's way out.
So what did she mean when she wrote that, in her goodbye letter?
"I'm afraid I'm going to self-destruct, and worse, you'll be there to see it happen."
Not commit suicide, exactly, but…what?
Go insane. Get locked up, like her mother. God forbid. God help me!
So you ran away. Like the coward you are.
I had to, she argued with herself. I had no other options.
Of course you had options, fool. You always did, you always will.
Like what, for instance?
Take a leave of absence. Quit. Get a different job. Get some help, some counseling, and some medication maybe. Talk to Gil, really talk, and tell him the truth. You want me to go on? I can think of dozens more.
No. I get it.
Remember what Catherine said? About the man who jumped from a high bridge, and survived?
"The moment he released the railing, he realized that all his problems were easily solvable. Except what he just did."
Yeah, that.
So?
So, running away from problems often makes them worse. "There are more problems in the bottom of a bottle than there are answers," Brass had told her.
Yeah, I know. I'm not a drunk.
No, you're not. But what are you?
A mess. That's what I am.
True. So who are you?
I'm…I'm Sara.
That's your name, not who you are.
I'm…I am…I can't answer that.
Yes, and that is why you ran away.
CHAPTER THREE
So Sara flew away. Back to California. Back to the place, the time, that haunted her.
"It's funny, the things you remember, and the things you don't. There was a smell of copper in the air. Castoff on the wall. There was a young cop, puking his guts. I can't remember the woman who took me away. I can't remember her name. Which was strange, you know? Because I couldn't let go of her hand."
"Well…the mind has its filters," Grissom had told her, his voice gentle, his eyes concerned.
"I became…the girl whose father was stabbed to death. Do you think there's a murder gene?"
"I don't think genetics are a predictor of violent behavior."
"You wouldn't know it, in my house. The fights, the yelling, the trips to the hospital…I thought it was how everybody lived. When my mother…killed my father…I found out that it wasn't."
Sara broke down in tears then. In front of Grissom, the very one she didn't want to see her fall apart. The one she feared would look at her with pity, would leave, would run out the door and not look back.
But he didn't. He looked at me with love, and held my hand.
When I stopped sobbing, when the tears finally dried up, he pulled me up and held me. God, I needed that. I needed him.
And he was different, after that. More gentle, more attentive. We were closer. As if we'd crossed some invisible barrier, and were different people. Just Sara and Gil, no titles or rules to divide us. Friends. Lovers? Much later. But two people who loved each other, sure. We had that. We had us, and each other. He saved me.
"Know that you are my one and only. I'll miss you with every beat of my heart."
And Sara did miss him, miss him with every beat. With every intake of breath. Miss him in every waking moment. And asleep, too, dreaming that he was here, beside her.
Oh God, Gil, I miss you. Where are you? Why couldn't you save me, this time?
The guilt wracked her. That she had left with just a kiss goodbye.
A Judas kiss.
She'd left him only a Dear John letter. No, not that exactly. She was sure she wasn't going to leave him forever. And they were still engaged. She smiled, remembering his marriage proposal while they were both wearing bee suits.
Would he forgive her? Welcome her back, after what she'd done? Would he understand why? Did he still love her?
You had to save yourself, this time. You had to put the pieces back together, alone.
Yes. I did. I do. I just wish…I wish I knew how.
You'll figure it out. You always do.
Like a crime. I can figure out what happened, put the pieces together. I'm good at that.
Yes, you are. Very good.
Okay. I'll be okay.
Sleep now, child. You'll have time to think about it more tomorrow. Go to sleep.
Yes.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sara wrapped her arms around her knees and looked at the ocean.
I've missed the ocean. The sound of the surf. The warm sand, and digging my toes in it. The salt in the wind and the gulls crying.
This was good. This was eternal, the waves breaking, so vast, all that blue. All the way to the horizon. To the curve of the earth, and the slow spinning of the earth in the boundless universe. Revolving and slowly circling the sun, in an endless dance.
Yes, think about the endless blackness of space and the faraway stars. Think about the moon which pulls the tides. Think about that, and not yourself for a change.
Look at that sun, slowly dipping down. The sun burning orange, then red, lighting the soft clouds around it. Think about peace. Welcome peace into you.
I'll try. I will.
Grissom loved the stars. Loved how they made him feel. So small, but so aware. That he was part of it, that the carbon in his body was the same as that throughout the galaxy. That all things were the same, made of the same material. He taught her that, like he taught her so much else.
Grissom.
How empty my life would have been, if we'd never met.
But how empty it was now, without him.
No, not that, not now. Watch how the waves curl and burst into white. Listen to the rumble and hiss, boom and hiss. The waves crash down, and the water slides back. Watch those little sandpipers, running forward and back. Think about the whales out there, singing to each other. Think about the crabs at the bottom of the sea. Think about how it would be to be a fish, suspended and supported effortlessly. A fish, floating in that blue water, like an astronaut in deep black space. So free. A flip, and you dart forward.
Think about what it would be like to be a bird, soaring on insubstantial air. Breaking the bounds of gravity. To fly.
I wish I was free.
But you are free. More than most people are. Not tied down. You can do whatever you want.
What do I want?
Gil.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sara had found a refuge, a place to heal, a time to think. She stayed in the bed and breakfast that her parents had run, on Tomales Bay. Her father was dead and her mother in prison, so it was run by strangers, but in some ways that made it better. She didn't tell them who she was. She made up a fake name. She didn't want the questions, and the looks in their eyes.
She didn't go into the kitchen, where the nightmare had happened.
Sara had never spent much money, mostly didn't have the time to spend money, so she had some savings to live on. For a while, anyway. Hopefully enough time to get better.
So she stayed there, slept there mostly, and spent the days on the beach. Sometimes swimming, sometimes picking up shells and flotsam, or jumping in the surf, but mostly just sitting on a thick towel and looking out at the blue water.
She called Gil from time to time and told him of her progress. He sounded so glad to hear her voice that she felt guilty.
When the walls seemed to close around her in her over-furnished room, Sara went running. Running had always been therapeutic. It got her out of her head for awhile; it stretched her balled up muscles, and it kept her fit. It also released endorphins in her brain, she remembered.
Three weeks after she arrived she ran further than ever before, even while in Las Vegas. She stopped when her lungs and legs were burning and looked around. Sara was in a small town she'd never seen before, just a gas station, a diner, some scattered homes; the usual. Ahead was a white clapboard church with a modest steeple. She was drawn to go inside, to rest and get out of the hot sun for awhile.
As she walked toward the church, she saw a sign outside that said, "God's Peace To All Who Pass By". God's peace. That's what I need.
The front doors were open and it looked welcoming. Inside it was cooler and the light was dimmer. There were stained glass windows and simple flowers and decorations, and fifteen rows of plain wooden pews. No one was around.
Sara had never been a religious person. Neither of her parents ever set foot in a church. They had been hippies, and all that went with that, with some New Age jazz thrown in. One of her foster mothers had been very devout, so she had been gussied up and dragged to church every Sunday while she lived there. It was boring, but her sponge-like mind had absorbed the basic Sunday school stories. She enjoyed reading about the lives of the saints, but didn't think deeply about theology.
Until now. Sara had told Grissom that she wasn't sure there was a God, but that wasn't entirely true. She did believe, in a vague sort of way, while dismissing the parts of the Bible that were contradicted by science. She knew about evolution, and fossils, and the Big Bang, and could not wrap her rational mind around obvious factual errors and the parts of the Bible that were misogynistic or homophobic. Nor could she comprehend the idea of a vengeful God.
She believed that God was love personified.
She was a spiritual person. She prayed, on occasion, and had her own set of beliefs and rituals cobbled together from different religions. She believed in energies, and ESP, and reincarnation, and souls, and life after death, and certainly in ghosts. Sara was open-minded and considered spontaneous human combustion and the like to have merit, even when Warrick scoffed at her.
Sara remembered that the definition of Islam is: "the peace that comes when you surrender to the will of God." Perhaps it was time to surrender to that, and ask for help. Especially as she had no one else and no one to talk to. On an impulse, she knelt in a pew and prayed.
Lord, forgive me. I haven't talked to you in a long time. I'm sorry. Lord, my heart is heavy. I am tormented by the souls of the murdered and dead. They surround me and populate my dreams. Help me to release them to your care.
You know their names and their stories, but help me to transition them to your loving care. I pray for Kaye Shelton.
I pray for Pamela Adler, and her husband Tom.
I pray for Cami, who died holding my hand.
I pray for Debbie Marlin, my doppelgänger.
I pray for Linley Parker.
I pray for Susanna Kirkwood, 16, raped and murdered.
I pray for Ashley James.
I pray for the victims of the Strip Strangler, and the Blue Paint Killer.
I pray for all the Jane Does and John Does, all the innocent children, all the victims of rape, neglect and abuse, of torture and murder.
I pray for all the victims whose names I cannot remember or whose faces are a blur. There are so many.
Tell them I have done all that I can to help them here. Though their deaths will extract no real justice on earth, their killers have been punished. I can do no more. Please, God, let them go. I cannot live with their ghosts any more.
Let me be free. Help me, God. I surrender to your will. Guide me.
I pray for the victims of Natalie Davis. Thank you for not allowing me to lie among them. Thank you for helping me to live another day. Help me to heal the many ways she hurt me, not just the ache in my arm but the loss of confidence, of trust, of peace of mind. She brought terror into my life. I need to let that go. She drove me away from Grissom.
Thank you for Gil and the love we have. Help him forgive me. Help us both heal, so that we can be together. I love him, God. Oh how I love him.
Hundreds of miles away, at a crime scene, Grissom stood and looked around himself curiously. He felt Sara's presence, and could swear he heard her voice.
CHAPTER SIX
Sara felt release after her prayers. It sounded like a cliché but a great weight was lifted from her shoulders. She began to pray every day, thanking God for his many blessings, and it became a nightly ritual. It gave her some measure of the peace she craved.
On the days it rained she stayed in her room, reading novels and whatever she could find, to escape. The owners served a huge breakfast, every morning, and that would last her all day. If not, she would walk down the shore to a little cozy restaurant and have some fresh fish or seafood and a glass of wine. Warm rolls, too, and rice, or pasta, and sometimes cheesecake with strawberries or some chocolate ice cream. It all tasted so good. She'd forgotten how good food could taste, when you took your time to enjoy it. In Vegas, she'd grabbed what she could, when she could, and regarded food as fuel to get her through the next shift, the next double, the next crime scene. Lived on coffee and adrenaline. No wonder she'd burned out, steamed like a broken radiator, and seized up.
She had been stranded by the side of the road, but had made her way out, her way back. To this place, to make new memories here, and heal the painful ones from her childhood. How long ago that was, but was yet with her.
"Your past is what made you what you are, who you are," Grissom had told her, in a moment of tenderness. "You are an amazing soul to have survived so much, so young. I admire you, and I love you for who you are." That was a good memory.
Here she could relax, and eat, and sleep.
She got her hair cut, as a way of becoming a new person. It was good to feel the sun on her face again after so many years in darkness. She basked in the sun like a lizard. Sara spent so much time in the sun that her hair lightened naturally. The moist air turned it curly. It was more blonde than brown now, a shade of warm gold. Her warm color was back, and the haunted look was easing. Sara didn't notice. She didn't pay much attention to her appearance.
"Since when do you care about your appearance?" Catherine had snapped at her. God, she was bitchy that day. "At a crime scene, I mean," she amended grudgingly.
Maybe she was on the rag. No, she had to be menopausal. Maybe she was jealous of Sara's youth and natural beauty. Probably. Catherine had to have had some "work" done, but it didn't help. Her face looked plastic. Her forehead was too smooth, too tight.
Sara wanted no part of that. Wrinkles and creases on her face meant she was still alive and had survived everything. The creases around her eyes and mouth meant she could still laugh. She didn't care if her hair turned gray. Perhaps it would relieve Gil's mind if she didn't look so much younger than him. Hodges, don't you know that grey hair can be very attractive?
Catherine and Sara were in that convenience store, miles from nowhere. Sara had given her a candy bar to shut her up. It seemed to help, and then finally David had showed up, and released the body. They could finish, and go home, to Vegas.
Sara mused on dozens of other cases, other scenes that replayed in her mind. Thought about what she could have done differently, how she could have built a better case, to get the justice those victims deserved. Yet, she had not done too badly. Her solve rate was good, excellent even. She was smart, and determined, and did her work well.
Do you miss the work?
In some ways, yes. The mental challenges. The puzzles that engaged her, engrossed her. Talking with her teammates, with Warrick, with Nick, with Catherine, with Greg. Getting their insights, and contributing her own. Solving cases.
She missed working with Grissom and the contentment that brought. Their unspoken communication and the ease of working with a gifted partner. Anticipating what he said and needed and trying to match his brilliant mind. Always a challenge. Always learning from him. She missed that, the strong connection they'd always had.
Figuring it out together, with the team. Examining the evidence and finding the vital clues. She missed Nick, his broad grin, his All-American boyish good looks, and the way he treated her like a sister. She missed Warrick, his smooth manner and easy grace, and how he oozed cool. She missed Catherine, because they had become close, and there were some things only women could talk about. She missed Greg, his manic energy, the way he flirted and teased. She missed Brass, his gruff voice, his funny comments, and how he treated her like a cherished daughter. Hell, she even missed Hodges!
She missed going out for a beer afterwards, or breakfast, laughing and teasing each other.
Feeling needed, and respected, and at home.
I miss my family.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sara had gone through the motions, and the acts she thought would help her heal. She had visited her mother in prison, and tried to learn what she needed to hear. Her mother was a broken woman, like a battered doll. Her hair limp and lifeless. Her skin was grey. Her eyes were dead. She barely looked at Sara in the eyes. She answered her in monosyllables. Her voice was flat and emotionless. She…she didn't have any answers.
Laura Sidle was gone. All that was left was a shell.
Sara thought about it, what had happened, and tried to forgive her mother. Maybe she was just protecting me. Maybe she saved me? Saved my life? Who knows? I know she couldn't take it anymore, the abuse, the broken bones, the shame, and the awful words.
I know I couldn't take much more. My father calling me hurtful names, trying to drag me down into his own pit, the hellhole he'd dug himself. Bitch. Cunt. Whore. You're worse than your mother. You make me sick. You think you're better than me? Think you're so fucking smart? See how you like this. Throwing me down the stairs. Hitting me with whatever was handy.His fists, if nothing else. Beating me with a thick leather belt. Kicking me with his big boots. The sharp pain of another broken rib, knowing it would be weeks until taking a breath didn't hurt anymore. Broken arm. Twisted knee. Broken jaw. Busted nose and eye socket. Concussions. All that pain and no one would help.
Drinking himself into a stumbling mess. An angry man, hurting all those that tried to love him. Telling me I was ugly, and worthless, and hitting me for no reason. Telling me I was a mistake. The bruises. Inside and out.
Feeling ashamed. Feeling lost. Abandoned, and unloved. Unlovable.
Until Gil loved me. Loved me, and didn't judge me.
Sara had gone to the cemetery and visited her father's grave. She poured out her anger, her pain, and her disappointment of everything he had become, to the silent grass, to the cold stone marker.
How could you. How could you hurt me, your child? How could you hurt your wife, your son? I'm glad you're dead, you sick fuck. Rot in hell.
You killed her anyway, you son of a bitch. Laura, your wife, my mother. I don't know where my brother is, or if he is still alive. At least he was older and got away from you. Then you just had me and Laura to kick around. But I'm still here. And I'm all the things you said I'd never be. I'm smart and pretty and talented and worthy and loved. I was not a mistake.
You lost.
You're dead, and I'm not sorry.
It helped, a little.
She was getting better. Better, but not there yet.
Who do I want to be? Where do I want to live? What work do I want to do? What can I do? Can I be with Gil, or not?
So many huge decisions. And so few good answers.
And then her cellphone rang. Greg's voice, sounding panicked, sounding so sad and hurt.
"Warrick's been shot. He…he didn't make it."
Thud. Her heart stopped for a moment. The room swam around her. They said a few more words, then disconnected. She gathered herself for a moment and called the airline.
"I need to catch the next flight to Vegas. It's an emergency."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The flight was a blur. She kept thinking about Warrick, and the last time she'd seen him. They'd literally bumped into each other at the locker room door. Warrick had dropped his pill bottle, and she saw that they were sleeping pills. They exchanged commiserating words on how difficult it was to sleep.
"It's no wonder," Warrick had told her. "You're just coming off graveyard. Takes a while to adjust." He rubbed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You're a tough cookie. You'll be fine."
As he walked out, she had called after him, "Sweet dreams!"
"Thanks," he had answered. "You too."
Sweet dreams. And now a bullet had ended them.
She thought about his brilliant green eyes, and his smoky voice.
God, how Catherine must be suffering. She loved him, and not just in a platonic way. And Nick? His best friend. Greg, who turned to Warrick for advice and was like his little brother. Grissom, who was like a father to the orphaned boy; who had saved him from his demons and from those who had tried to throw him away like he was garbage.
She had felt the chemistry between Catherine and Warrick, the attraction that was never consummated. Maybe they were just too good of friends to make the leap. Maybe Warrick was like Grissom, or emulated him.
Nick and Warrick had a great relationship. Competing like brothers for the same prize. Busting on each other. There for each other, always.
All of us. I'm glad we had a chance to forgive each other, after I had to investigate him for gambling, and for Holly's murder, and I recommended that he be fired. I did it for Grissom. I didn't want anything or anyone to hurt Grissom.
During the years after that Warrick and I built a bond of mutual respect and friendship. We had each other's backs. I trusted him. He was a good friend.
After all, I probably wouldn't have come to Vegas if it wasn't for Warrick.
I'll miss him. We all will.
Sara took a taxi to the CSI building. As she walked toward it, she suddenly became very aware of her surroundings. It seemed like years, not weeks, since she'd gone through the glass doors, but it was all so familiar at the same time.
Judy greeted her happily, but no one else was around. She saw Mandy crying in her lab, but gave her the privacy she needed.
Sara walked straight to Grissom's office. Sooner or later he would return.
Grissom came back, his shirt completely soaked with Warrick's blood. Hodges bagged his bloody clothes, and for once he was mercifully silent.
Grissom walked wearily into his office. He stopped, startled, to see her leaning against his desk. They hugged each other with so much emotion, so many feelings flowing between them.
"I caught the first flight out."
For once they had some privacy, and sat across from each other in his office.
"Tell me?" she asked shakily, stroking his hands, eyes brimming with tears.
"He didn't want to go. I was holding him. God, Sara, I could feel his life. I thought…I thought if I could just hold him tight enough he would be okay." Grissom's eyes were wet too.
"You know there is no place in the world he'd rather have been, at the end. He loved you."
"Yeah," Grissom answered, his voice a whisper. "I loved him too."
Catherine came in then, and Sara rose to hug her.
"At least we can all be together," said Catherine, her voice close to a sob.
Then Greg, and Nick, and they both gave her big bear hugs.
They stood in a circle, looking at each other.
Sara said, "I know I can't help with the case, but maybe I could take up the slack? Make the…arrangements?"
"I'll help," Greg said.
"I'd appreciate that. I guess we need a key, to his place?"
"I have one." Catherine said, "I got him some clean clothes, when he was in custody."
Custody? Never mind. I'll find out about that later.
Nick spoke up. "He once told me that he'd like to be buried with his grandmother."
"I went to her funeral, with Warrick," said Grissom. "She's buried in the Baptist cemetery."
They nodded. And Nick said they what they were all feeling, that they would not rest until whoever had done this was brought to justice.
Sara and Greg let themselves in Warrick's apartment. After he and Tina split up, he must have hurriedly moved into this space. There were still boxes everywhere.
"Looks like he never settled in," Greg said.
"Yeah."
Sara found a pair of tickets to a basketball game, that Warrick would never get to attend. The food, he would never eat. The clothes, his favorite faded jeans, he would never wear again. She looked at the photograph of all six of them, their arms around each other, smiling and handsome and happy. Sara looked at the photo of Warrick as a little boy, his eyes already distrustful.
She looked at his unmade bed, the one he had slept in, less than 24 hours before.
"You know, after going to so many victims' houses, I always made my bed and took out the trash before I went to work. Just in case I never came home."
"And now?"
"Since I left Vegas, I don't do that anymore."
Greg gave her a sad smile. He poked through the dresser, looking for a tie. Instead he found an envelope from a legal firm. Inside was an official document for custody of Warrick's son.
"Warrick had a son? Did you know?"
"He never mentioned it to me," Greg said.
They also found a videotape and brought it back to the AV lab. After watching for a few minutes, Sara sought out Grissom and insisted he watch it. The videotape was of Warrick being interviewed for a psych evaluation as part of his custody battle.
"The most important thing you can give a child is love," Warrick told the psychiatrist.
"And I've been loved. I've had a man in my life who always set me straight. He taught me how to forgive. How to move on. If I could have picked my own father, it would have been him."
They both knew Warrick was talking about Grissom. The sentiment seemed to comfort him, a little.
Sara clutched Grissom's arm in hers during the funeral. She watched him proudly, aching with his pain, as he gave a beautiful eulogy. He broke down when he described Warrick as a member of his family. That simple truth brought the release of tears to Sara, to Catherine, to Nick and Greg, and to Grissom.
Sara and Grissom went home and comforted each other, and grieved.
CHAPTER NINE
A few days later, Sara and Grissom lay in bed, talking about their future. Sara was nestled in the crook of his shoulder, the place she most felt at home. She toyed with their intertwined hands.
Sara said, "Maybe we could get away for a while. Take a vacation. Go back to the rainforest." She remembered an earlier conversation, when Gil had told her what he wanted to do before he died. He'd said, "I'd like to have the time to say goodbye to the people I love." I'm not ready to say goodbye.
I'm still not ready.
"Go on the Sea Shepherd. Visit the Galapagos. We could literally walk in the footsteps of Darwin."
"God, Sara, we're so short." Grissom sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Why don't you stay?"
"I can't. I can't stay here."
"Honey, don't decide tonight. Don't leave me again. Please?"
"You're right. We don't have to decide anything now."
She paused in thought. "I'll be here when you get home. I'm being selfish, thinking you can just up and leave the lab when they need you, so much."
"Thank you." He stroked her face. "I'm sorry, I'm being selfish too. It's just…I need you, so badly." His voice was husky. "C'mere, honey. Let me love you, tonight."
And they lost themselves in each other. Chased away the decisions, the life-changing moments, the what-ifs and the if-onlys for a little while.
CHAPTER TEN
When Sara awoke, Grissom was gone. There was a note on his pillow saying he had to go in to work early, and didn't want to disturb her.
Sara wandered the house. She walked Hank the boxer until he was worn out, and had curled up the couch to sleep, snoring softly. She tidied and cooked, cleaned and washed, and paced the floor. She couldn't concentrate on anything until Grissom came home, and then he was so tired that he just fell into bed.
The days dragged on. She was bored and frustrated. Sara had always worked, always exercised her mind. She was alone all night and most of the day. She'd never been alone this long either.
Finally one day she confronted Grissom.
"Look, I can't just hang around here. I'm bored out of my mind. It's not enough to run your errands and keep your house and just be a booty call when you get home. I feel like a kept woman."
"You're not."
"I know," she said irritably. "It's just how it feels."
"As far as our love life goes," he said uncertainly, "I certainly don't think of you as…as a piece of tail." She had to smile at that. He looked so cute when he was unsettled, and it was amusing when he was crude.
"I love you Sara. I want to make you happy. I can't wait to get home and show you how much I love you."
"I know. Don't mind me, I'm just venting. I love making love with you. It's not that…I never liked vacations much, and this one seems endless."
"What do you want to do?"
"Christ, I don't know. That's what I've been asking myself for months. I can't decide."
"Do you want to come back to the lab?"
There it was, the question that had dogged her.
"I…I guess I do. I miss working with you. I miss the guys."
"Do you want to go out in the field, or stay in the lab?"
"Um, I think I want to stay in the lab, for now. Get back on my feet."
"Good thinking. Do you want me to talk to Ecklie?"
"Yeah. There's no way in hell I'm going back on swing shift though. I'll take up knitting, or skydiving, or waitress at the Tangiers first."
"I think we can agree on that. Ecklie knows that you're an excellent criminalist. That he thinks you're a loose cannon, well, he and I have already worked that out.
We really do need you, Sara. The guys all miss you, and ask about you all the time. And Brass is tearing out his hair."
"The little he has left."
"Yeah," he laughed.
"We've been interviewing replacements, but it seems no one can replace you."
She laughed. "Oh, Gil, you always know what to say to me. God love you." She gave him a sweet kiss.
"So it's decided then?"
"Yes."
"I'll talk to Ecklie first thing in the morning."
"And, Sara?"
"Yes?"
"I'm really glad. I'm so happy you came back to me. And I'm happy that I'll get to work with you again." He smiled his crooked smile.
"Thanks. Me too." They kissed again, and again, and ended up tangled in bed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sara returned on a Monday. She felt rested and anxious to resume the life she had left. She was touched by the welcome she received, the hugs and the warm words, the jokes and the expressions of concern. Even Ecklie seemed glad to see her.
How I've missed them all. My friends. My family.
She kept looking around for Warrick, and waiting for him to saunter into the room like a big cat. Sara felt a renewed pang when she remembered he was dead. The others mentioned him in passing, and she knew they were dealing with their own grief process.
The team resumed the habit of going out to breakfast together when they could, and entertaining each other in their homes.
Sara stayed in the lab, grateful to not have to go to crime scenes, but instead process evidence and look for incriminating clues. It was good to discuss the cases with her colleagues again. It was great to know that Grissom was there when she needed him, and that they would be together, alone, at the end of every shift. He came looking for her often, on the flimsiest of excuses, and she lit up when she saw him. His face lit up too, and she felt their love deepen.
Life was good. The peace that she had welcomed inside grew stronger, day by day. She kept up the bedtime habit of prayer and thanks, and it helped. She felt a sense of purpose again, and it was good to be needed. The work tired her so she slept better. And the nightmares were few and far between. Grissom held her close every night. She welcomed his comforting presence. One night they fell asleep holding hands and their hands were still joined when they awoke.
Soon it was as if she'd never left, or had just taken the break she had needed to heal.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was a busy night, and Brass found her in the layout room, studying some crime photos.
"Hey!"
"Hey, Brass."
"Listen, Cookie, we have a routine B+E and there's no one else around. Think you're up for a field trip?"
Sara smiled. "And work with my favorite detective? Sure. Meet you outside in ten."
They drove to the small jewelry store. The back door had been forced, and the burglar had left his fingerprints everywhere. Sara even found a crumpled up application for unemployment that had his current address and contact information.
"Guess this guy isn't too bright."
"Looks like he wants to get caught."
Brass ran his warrants and found his criminal record. A thief, junkie, and burglar, released from prison a month earlier.
"Let's go scoop him up."
"Okay."
Brass and Sara drove to a crummy neighborhood and located his apartment. A uniformed officer accompanied them upstairs.
Brass and the officer drew their weapons and Sara stayed at the edge of the doorframe, holding her Maglite.
"LVPD! Open up!" The officer kicked in the door.
Inside was total darkness. Sara shone her light inside while the others entered.
BANG!
There was a burst of light directly in front of them. Brass and the officer fired until the man crumpled to the floor.
Sara felt a burning pain in her chest. Darkness. She collapsed like a broken doll.
"Sara!! Oh God, she's been shot. Call the paramedics!" Brass shouted.
He knelt by her side until the EMTs arrived, trying to stem the bleeding.
As the gurney was wheeled away, Brass pulled out his cellphone. His hands were stained with Sara's blood.
"Gil…Sara's been shot. It's not good. They've taken her to Desert Palm."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sara was dimly aware of being poked and moved around and loud anxious voices and her clothes being removed. She couldn't seem to open her eyes.
"Hang another liter of O neg! Get a crash cart!"
"Another shot of epi!"
"Sara, can you hear me? Sara?"
"Oh God she's coding!"
"Charge to 200! Clear!"
Blam!
Sara felt a strange sensation. She seemed to be above the commotion, gazing down. That was her body down there, her blood on the sheets, and her doctors and nurses frantically trying to save her.
She felt strangely impassionate. She felt nothing, no pain, no emotion.
If that's me down there, then who am I?
Grissom stood on the other side of the tempered window, hands outstretched on the cool glass, looking horrified.
"Flatline! Crack her chest and get the paddles!"
Sara's world dissolved into a grey darkness. She felt pulled by an invisible force, away from the bright lights, away from sound and fury. Then she was in a long dark tunnel, walking toward a welcoming yellow light. There was a figure ahead that looked familiar. The light behind him beckoned her.
Warrick.
"Warrick? How...? I thought you were, you're dead?"
"I am."
"Then am I dead too?"
"Not yet. But there's not much time."
"But I want to go there," she gestured behind him.
"I know, but it's not your time."
It's not your day to die. When it's your day, it's your day.
"Honey, Grissom needs you. Everyone needs you."
"But I have so many questions. What's it like? What happens after?"
"I can't tell you. You'd go crazy. You'll find out, like everyone does. Please hurry. Go back. Go back now or it will be too late."
Curiously, she felt herself backing away. Then she was spinning and flying backwards. The closer she came, the more pain she felt, the more her senses returned.
She could see, though her eyes were closed. She could feel, though she could not move.
Sara was sucked back into her unconscious body.
"We've got a pulse!"
"Call the OR, we need to get her up there NOW!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sara awoke in an unfamiliar bed. Her body felt limp and she hurt all over. There was a warm feeling in her left hand.
Gil.
Gil was holding her hand, his head on the bed, asleep.
She squeezed his hand and he awoke instantly.
"Sara! Oh God, I was so worried."
"I…love you." Her voice was a croak.
"I love you too, honey. I love you so much." He kissed her forehead.
"Wha…what happened?"
"You were shot. But you're going to be okay now."
A doctor came in and looked her over briefly.
"Good to see you awake, Miss Sidle. You gave us all quite a scare."
"Tell me about it?"
"Miss Sidle, I know you're a scientist, so I'm going to tell you more than I usually do. The bullet entered your chest just above your right breast. It narrowly missed your major arteries, otherwise we would have had a bad outcome. It exited out through your back muscles and your scapula. Your right lung was punctured, and your shoulder blade badly damaged. We had to crack your chest to revive you. And we put a tube down your throat to help you breathe. That's why your throat is sore and your voice is weak."
"It was touch and go for a long time, but you came through the surgery well. You're very strong, and you're lucky. You're going to stay here for a few weeks and then you'll need a long period of rehabilitation. Months."
"She'll get it. I'll take care of her," Grissom said firmly.
The doctor smiled. "I'm sure you will, Dr. Grissom. It's good to see such devotion. He never left your side, Miss Sidle."
"Thank you. Thank you," she told both men hoarsely.
"Rest now, honey," Grissom told her, and gave her a kiss. "I'll let the others know."
Sara drifted into sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The weeks went by in a haze. She slept mostly. At first she could only tolerate visitors for a few minutes at a time. The pain was excruciating, even with medication. It hurt to breathe. She felt breathless and oh so weak.
Nick and Catherine and Greg and Brass all visited often and brought her gifts. Good food, the kind she liked, flowers from Greg, an iPod from Nick, crossword puzzles and magazines from Catherine. They were all so kind. Brass sat by her side and commiserated with her on how it felt to be shot. He showed her his tattoo above his bullet wound and told her she should get one too. She giggled but it hurt to do so.
Mostly there was Gil. Day and night. She begged him to go home, shower, change, eat, and get some sleep. He reluctantly did so but returned soon.
They talked a lot in the hospital. One day when her throat was healed she told him about her near-death experience. Grissom listened with his usual quiet intensity. He smiled when she told him she'd seen Warrick and what he told her. He did not judge or interrupt. Grissom had read the theory that these experiences were just the result of random firing of electrical signals in a dying brain. But Sara was so certain, and so precise in her description that he believed her. He believed her anyway, always. She was so honest.
Sara felt better after she'd told him and he told her he believed her, because, he said, she was such a good scientist. She knew she could trust him. She could tell him anything and he'd never reject her. She felt more cherished and loved than ever before.
Another day Sara brought up the subject of her newfound faith, and how she had prayed for peace for the victims.
"God answered my prayers."
"God answered my prayers too. I prayed, nonstop, that you would not die."
"I thank him for you, every night. I thank him for this love we have."
"I do too."
They held hands and paused in thought.
"Maybe," Grissom said shyly, his brilliant blue eyes shining, "Maybe when we get married, we could have a church wedding?"
She looked at him wide-eyed.
"You still want to marry me?"
"Of course, honey! More than ever. Do you?"
"Yes, oh yes. I've always wanted to marry you."
"Good," he sighed. "My mother would have liked that, the wedding I mean."
"I'm sorry I never got to meet your mother."
"In a way, you did. I talked about you, and showed her photos, all the time when I visited."
"You did?"
"I did, till I just about wore her out. After the first time we met until the last time I saw her. She said I should stop thinking so much and make my move."
Sara laughed. "Sounds like she was a wise woman."
"She was. She would have loved you. So should we set a date?"
"Yes, Gil. When I'm back on my feet, okay?"
"Sure, honey. You'll tell me when you're ready?"
"You'll be the first to know." She gave him the famous Sidle smile.
One night he sat by her bedside and told her he couldn't sleep without her in his bed beside him.
"I know, honey. Hold me?"
He nodded and carefully crawled into bed beside her on her left side. They rearranged the IV and monitor wires out of their way. Sara was so slender that there was room for him to lie on his side and hold her. He sighed deeply, draped his arm across her abdomen and nestled into the warmth of her neck. He was asleep in minutes.
Sara watched him sleep and felt her love for him like a warm tide in her bloodstream. She fell asleep.
Hours later, a nurse came in to check her vitals. When she saw the lovers entwined, she smiled to herself and tiptoed away.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At last the days came when she could walk down the hallway without needing to stop and rest. As the days passed, she grew stronger and then she became restless and anxious to go home again. And finally the day came when she was discharged and pushed out of the hospital in a wheelchair. Grissom drove her home and tenderly tucked her into their bed. He crawled in beside her and snuggled close.
As promised, he was a devoted caregiver. Sara had never had anyone to take care of her before and she resisted at first. She became impatient when she couldn't do the things that had seemed so routine before. But she realized he wanted to wait on her hand and foot and the truth was she needed it. She felt blessed. He led her through the tedious physical therapy exercises and picked up her medications and drove her to her appointments. Grissom always seemed to know when the pain was bad and was right there with her pills before she even asked. Sara got better.
Sara told Grissom how handsome he was, how sexy, with a beautiful body. He was uncomfortable with her words, but then he'd never had much experience with praise, other than for his work. She told him he was a wonderful lover, too, and he accepted that happily and returned the sentiment warmly.
Grissom took time off work to tend to her until she was well enough to stay on her own. They had plenty of time, for once, to explore each other's bodies minutely and give each other intense pleasure. The connection they felt was nearly unbreakable. It had already transcended death.
She couldn't raise her right arm above her shoulder for very long, so Grissom daily and lovingly washed her hair and body in the shower or bathtub. He reverently kissed every one of her scars, her battle scars as he called them. He kissed the bullet wound above her breast, the stitches where the surgeons had gone in to repair her shoulder blade, the bullet wound on her back, the old scars on her back, thighs, and buttocks from her father's belt. He kissed the scar on her left arm; from the time she had broken it in two places to free herself from under that red Mustang. He kissed them all. He spent extra time on the long scar down her breastbone above her heart. The scar that had brought her back to life. The scar over the heart he loved like he'd never loved before.
As the warm water fell over them, they told each other with their lips and fingers how much they needed each other. They brought each other to orgasm in the way old lovers know how to do, but the day when they could make love again in a bed seemed frustratingly distant.
So when that day came, when her bones and injuries were healed, their lovemaking was sweeter than before.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Grissom returned to work, he asked each member of the team to visit her and keep her company. They eagerly agreed and competed with each other to visit Sara.
Sara welcomed the company and the intelligent conversation. They liked the uninterrupted interaction and they all grew closer.
The wedding plans moved forward. Catherine enthusiastically took charge. They told her of their wish to get married in a simple chapel, far away from the tacky downtown ones. Catherine hired a UCC minister, arranged for the flowers, reception, and cake, and helped Sara pick out a simple white silk dress.
On a beautiful sunny day they became husband and wife. Brass proudly led her down the aisle toward Gil, so handsome in his tuxedo. She carried a nosegay of wildflowers and had a circlet of tiny white flowers in her hair. Gil couldn't believe how lovely she was and how lucky he was to be marrying her. They exchanged heartfelt vows that they had privately written. Sara beamed her beautiful smile.
Catherine was her maid of honor, Lindsay was the flower girl, Nick was Grissom's best man, and Greg was the usher. Greg flirted and danced with all the single girls. Doc Robbins, David, Archie, Bobby, Mandy, Wendy, Henry, Hodges, Detective Vartann, Detective Vega, and other close friends were all there. Ecklie was there, and the sheriff, and other cops and detectives. Even Lady Heather, Teri Miller, and Sofia attended, and Sara felt not a pang of jealousy. Grissom was a gentleman, devoted and true, and now he was hers. The reception was riotous and fun.
Mr. and Mrs. Grissom went to Maui for a few days for their honeymoon and spent a lot of time on the beach and in bed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They returned to Vegas and Grissom went back to work. Sara could never be a CSI again; the work was too strenuous, the hours too long, and her damaged lung left her breathless. She received a full pension and a plaque (presented by Ecklie!) for her exemplary work. Health care, benefits, and insurance kicked in. Gil made a good salary and with his savings and investments they had plenty of money. Gil changed his will and power of attorney and Sara did the same.
The CSIs and friends threw her a big farewell party, with lots of champagne and sweets.
The question returned of what Sara wanted to do with her life. What would give her purpose and motivation? She felt contemplative now that she was 41, and dug out the journals she'd kept faithfully since she was a child. She read them through, in order. Some she had not read since they were written. It was a revelation to her, the stories of her life, almost as if it had happened to someone else. When Gil was home she read bits aloud to him. She read to him about the first time they met, at the Forensic Academy Conference at Berkeley. He laughed at how she gushed about him, and added his own memories of that fateful day.
Then one day she read aloud the story of her pain over the long years when he gave her the cold shoulder. How she wanted to leave. How she wanted to escape from their dance of closeness and then rejection. But she couldn't. She couldn't give up on him. He was the love of her life and she had to forgive and keep trying until he let himself go.
Grissom pulled her close. He nodded sadly and fought back tears. Again and again he apologized for putting her through that, and said what a fool he had been to resist her for so long.
"I threw away those years, when we could have been happy. We could have had children by now."
"No, Gil. I can't…I can't have children."
"Sara, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"Didn't you ever wonder why we never used protection?"
He looked at her innocent blue eyes. "I thought we were…trying?'
"No, honey. It sure was fun, though." She smiled. God he was adorable.
"Yes. It still is."
"And it will be."
"Yup."
"Seriously, though, it's OK. I'm pretty old for a baby now. I wouldn't be around for him or her to grow up."
"Gil, you're going to live a long long time. Like me."
"Yeah, but you know what I mean. Men my age have grandchildren. My knees are too bad to chase after a toddler."
She nodded and sighed. "I wish I could give you a child. Your brains, your character, everything about you, they should be passed down, with the Grissom name."
Her beautiful brown eyes were sad.
"And your beauty, my dear? Don't forget that."
She laughed and punched him playfully.
"Besides, I'm happy with the two of us, Sara. I really am. I never thought I could be this happy. You're all I need, and more."
"Thank you, Gil, really. I didn't have the heart to tell you, before."
"Tell me anything, Sara. Everything. And I'll do the same."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
One day Greg came to visit Sara, to share a beer and chat. He enthused about his new book on the untold stories of Las Vegas history. How the work energized him and gave him so much satisfaction. He brought his galleys over and Sara read them over carefully, writing notes in the margins and praising his work. He beamed at her.
"Sara, maybe you could write a book?"
"Yeah, right."
"No, really. Think about the stories you can tell. You tell a good story, you know. A simple event or a strange situation becomes riveting when you tell it. You've had a fascinating life. People would want to read it."
"I doubt that. Besides, writing a whole book seems so…daunting."
"Sara. Listen. I'll let you in on a little secret. If you write just one page a day, just a single page, and don't force yourself the days you don't feel like it, well, at the end of one year you'll have a whole book."
She looked at him dubiously.
"Really! Think about it. If you write one page a day and take 65 days off, you'll have a 300 page manuscript by the end of the year!"
She thought about it. The way he described the process, it didn't seem that difficult. Besides, his passion was contagious. I could write a book.
"Well, I do have these journals…"
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sara sat at her laptop, the gentle clicking of her fingers on the keyboard a soothing noise. Hank the boxer slept happily on the floor, his head resting on her foot. She had begun a novel, but abandoned that, as truth is always stranger than fiction. And her stories deserved to be told truthfully, just as they happened.
So she started an autobiography, but that seemed so selfish and narcissistic. Who would want to read that? It wasn't like she was famous, and people were clamoring to read about her life. So that draft was tossed.
Frustrated, she walked the dog, went for groceries, and then paced the floor.
Days later, Sara decided to write a nonfiction book about what it was like to be a CSI. But it quickly became too technical and she got tangled up in how much information readers would need to understand what she was writing about. She shut down her computer and flipped on the TV.
Grissom came home and she told him about her writer's block over dinner. He chewed thoughtfully.
"You know, there's this guy named Anthony Zuiker who's been asking to trail around after Vegas CSIs and see what they do and how they do it. We really don't have time to babysit him, and the officers want nothing to do with him. He says he's a writer."
"Really? Do you think he could give me some pointers?"
"It couldn't hurt. I'll give him your number, shall I?"
"Yes. Sounds like a fresh start."
Anthony Zuiker called early the next day. He was eager to meet with her, and he sounded genuine. So they agreed to meet at the CSI break room that afternoon.
"Mrs. Grissom? So nice to meet you."
"You, too, Mr. Zuiker. Please, call me Sara."
"Okay, Sara, I'm Anthony, then."
Sara introduced him to her former co-workers and they were flattered by his insightful questions and genuine interest. They had been badly burned when a TV show called "Real Crime" had taped them, years before, but this guy was different. That experience left them all feeling exploited and Brass was deeply offended when they asked him how he felt about accidentally shooting a fellow officer.
"Can I take you to lunch tomorrow?" he asked.
"Sure, why not."
They went to a vegetarian place near her neighborhood. Once the food was ordered, Zuiker leaned in and looked at her seriously.
"Sara, I'd really like to work with you. I have a great idea for a new TV show and I've already gotten Jerry Bruckheimer interested. Do you know who he is?"
"The name sounds familiar."
"He's big, trust me. The show will be called 'CSI.' It will be like nothing that has ever been on television before. I want to create a show that shows real forensics and how real CSIs and lab techs and everyone involved do their jobs. It will have mysteries and you'll know the truth about what happened by the end of every show."
"Um, you know I'm writing a book?"
"Yes, Dr. Grissom told me. That's why I especially want you to work with me."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you're not a CSI any more, since your injuries?"
"That's right."
"So you have free time, now?"
"Yes, but I still don't see how I could help you."
"You were a CSI for years, and your experience would be invaluable. I don't know anything about the job, so I'm sure I would make lots of mistakes. You could give us good technical advice. I don't want this to be just another cop show, bang bang shoot-em-ups, car chases, and cops beating up suspects during interrogations."
"I like the idea. I really do. Let me think about it a moment."
He ate and tried not to interrupt.
"What would my role be? My title, I guess?"
"Script advisor. You'd work closely with the writers. We have a fantastic team. And the pay is great."
She laughed at his enthusiasm. "I'll try it out."
"Fantastic." He banged his hand on the table, making the other customers jump.
"Let me talk to my husband, okay? I'll call you after that."
"Sure, sure. Whatever you need to do. I'll be waiting by the phone."
"Oh, and Anthony?"
"Yeah?"
"I want to include my story, mine and Gil's. I want to include our love story."
"You know what? That's a great idea. Viewers love a romance, and it will flesh out the characters. And then it wouldn't be just all blood and gore."
"Great. You know what? This is exciting!"
"It sure is, Sara. It sure is."
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Grissom thought it was a great idea too and encouraged her to go for it. She met up with the gang and ran it past them too, and they all seemed positive too. So, nervously, she called Zuiker, and asked to meet with him.
He told her to come down to the office and meet the writers. The project had taken off within days and it was all coming together. Sara met the writers, Carol Mendholsen, Sara Goldfinger, Ann Donahue, and the others, she couldn't catch all their names. They all were so welcoming and interested and grateful for her advice, and she really felt like she had started a new life.
"Guess what? Billy Petersen is on board, and he's agreed to be an executive producer, too," Anthony told the group.
The group oohed and ahhed and murmured in appreciation.
"William Petersen? The movie actor? He's done some great work," said Sara.
"Yes, the one and only. Of course, he will be Grissom."
"Great choice. I didn't think he did TV, though."
"No, he hasn't, until now. This will be his first series."
As a way of thanking her, Zuiker invited her to watch the casting process. She met Billy Petersen and was totally charmed.
"Mr. Petersen? I'm Sara Sidle, Sara Grissom, I mean."
"A pleasure to meet you, Sara. Please, call me Billy."
Okay…Billy," she said nervously. He looked familiar, but then she'd seen his films.
"I appreciate you helping us with this project," he said.
"I'm a big fan of your movies, Mr. Petersen, um, Billy. Especially Manhunter and To Live and Die in L.A.
"Thank you. To Live and Die was my first movie."
"Really? But you were the star."
"I know, I was really lucky. William Friedken took a big chance casting an unknown like me."
"You were great. I must have seen that movie a dozen times."
"Manhunter was tougher though. I had a hard time shaking off that character."
"I can see why. It was intense. You really became Will Graham. I loved the scene with you and your son in the grocery store. You were so honest with him. I wish my father had been like you."
"That kid was great, wasn't he?" She noticed how he deflected the compliment. Just like Grissom. Oh. My. God.
"I'd really like you to meet my husband."
"Of course! When can I?'
"I'll call him now."
Grissom arrived within minutes, looking around for Sara. When he saw her, his face lit up. She grabbed his arm and dragged him over to Billy Petersen.
"Billy? This is Gil Grissom."
The two men eyed each other for a moment.
"Dr. Grissom, I presume?"
That seemed to break the ice. They shook hands and chatted.
Sara looked from one to the other, amazed. They could be twins. It looks like Gil is looking in a mirror.
Petersen was a little taller, and more muscular. His hair was darker, and Grissom was bearded. The actor spoke with a faint Midwestern accent. The scientist had the neutral California accent. And Grissom wasn't bowlegged, but as Sara knew, his knees were arthritic. But they had nearly identical features, the same blue eyes, strong hands, broad shoulders.
Petersen asked Grissom to teach him about entomology, and timelines, and his forensic specialties. Grissom seemed eager to help.
"Your wife is a lovely woman, Dr. Grissom."
"Gil, please. She is. I'm a lucky man. Not many women would think sitting up all night with a decomposing pig to be a great date."
Billy Petersen laughed. "You are a lucky man. A pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise. I look forward to seeing you again."
Grissom turned to leave. Sara walked him out.
"Gil!" she whispered. "Remember Debbie Marlin? I think you've found your doppelgängertoo."
"Think so? I guess we do look alike."
"Honey, you could be his double. He's perfect to play you. And just as handsome."
"Thanks. You know I love you, don't you?" He squeezed her arm and kissed her goodbye.
"Love you too babe. See you at home."
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Sara watched the actresses auditioning for the character of Sara Sidle. When an actress named Jorja Fox came in to read for the part, she was riveted. Long legs, nice figure, beautiful smile, rich chocolate-brown eyes. She's gorgeous. But so real.
"Wow, she's great. But she's way more beautiful than me."
"Don't worry about that," Zuiker told her. "This is showbiz, everyone looks better than they do in real life. She's our pick. Would you like to meet her?"
"Yes!"
Sara didn't know what to expect, but was very surprised that Jorja Fox was down to earth and intelligent and very friendly. They sat down at a café and got acquainted. Occasionally a fan would come up to Jorja for a photograph or an autograph. Jorja was always kind and accommodating, and the fans went away, loving her more than before.
"That doesn't bother you?"
"No, not at all. I would be a nobody if it wasn't for the fans. I feel their affection and reflect it back to them. Besides, they're so sweet. I'm blessed."
"You have a very healthy outlook, Jorja." She's just as beautiful inside as out.
"I know some celebrities get bent out of shape when they are approached or when a paparazzi shows up, but if you just stop and let them take the photos or whatever they don't bother you or chase after you."
"You know, Sara, I'm a little nervous about this part. I was never very good at science. We had to dissect a cat in high school and I was traumatized."
"Yes, but the bodies you'll be working with aren't real."
"True. And they won't stink. But what about the terminology?"
"Wait, you were on ER, right?"
"Yes," Jorja said.
"You seemed to be comfortable with the medical jargon. You'll be fine. Dr. Maggie Doyle. Great character. I'm a fan too."
"Thanks."
"Oh, and Ellen. The Puppy Episode?"
"Yes." Jorja smiled.
"As the "attractive woman" in a gay bar. Not much of a stretch."
They laughed. She has a great laugh. You can't help but love her.
Jorja asked lots of questions about Sara's life and work. She paid close attention and asked if she could talk to Sara whenever she couldn't figure out the technical terms or to find out more about her life story. Sara happily agreed. She felt like they'd known each other for years.
When the casting was complete, Sara invited the CSIs to meet the new cast over a big dinner at a casino restaurant. She smiled when they paired off instantly and engaged in close conversation. Catherine was drawn to Marg, Nick to George, Warrick to Gary, and Greg to Eric. And Grissom seemed comfortable with Billy. She and Jorja had become fast friends. It was fun.
Sara told the writers the story of the investigation of Holly Gribb's murder, and how that led to her coming to Las Vegas to be with Grissom. The writers thought that was a dynamite way to start the show, but were hesitant to kill off a character in the very first episode. Zuiker reassured them that it was sure to generate buzz and establish the characters.
So the show was written and premiered on CBS. Grissom and Sara curled up on the couch and watched it. They both loved how immediate and real it was, and that the story was told so accurately. The casting seemed to be perfect too.
"I can't wait for the next episode. With the reunion of Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom," Gil said, with his crooked smile.
EPILOGUE
CSI was an immediate hit and got lots of good feedback from the critics and TV Guide. Some of those involved privately thought it would be cancelled after a few episodes, but instead it continued, and got stronger and better the longer it aired. Year after year it was Number One in the ratings.
Sara stayed on as script advisor and sometimes co-writer. Some of the episodes had little to do with what had happened in her years as a CSI, but she didn't mind. She concentrated on getting the long and tangled relationship between Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom right, and was very pleased with how well it was told. The Grissom/Sara Romance was the story arc that tied all the episodes and seasons together. And as Anthony Zuiker had predicted, the fans loved it.
Sara stayed until the 8th season. Jorja Fox decided to leave the show then, and most of Sara's interest waned with her departure. She cried during the airing of "Goodbye and Good Luck." It brought back a lot of memories of the darkest days of her life.
Then Gary Dourdan was busted for drug abuse and the writers killed off his character, Warrick Brown.
Sara thought Petersen gave an amazing performance in "For Warrick" and that he deserved an Emmy. They all deserved one. Especially Jorja Fox.
Finally, Billy Petersen announced that he was leaving as well. He wanted to go back to Chicago and do theater. Once "One to Go" aired, Sara Grissom resigned, packed up her desk and went home to Gil. She couldn't watch the show anymore without Grissom, as it was his show, and he was the leader.
They bought all the DVDs and often invited their friends over to watch them, and
to relive their memories, good and bad.
THE END