Red Tape

Author wobbear
Rating General/K+
Pairing Grissom/Sara, with guest stars Catherine and Lindsey Willows.
Disclaimer Nope, still not mine.
Spoilers Set after 9x09 19 Down.
Author's note Many thanks to smacky30 not only for the super speedy beta, but for coming up with the title. I may have taken some liberties with the layout of McCarran airport. Just go with the flow.

Summary The best-laid travel plans can sometimes go awry.

December 17th, 2008

"C'mon, Gil, you gotta admit. It's ironic." Catherine's barely stifled laughter was making it hard for her to talk, and Grissom could almost see her now, rubbing her mouth in an effort to wipe the smile off her face.

It wasn't funny, not at all. There was at best a bitter irony, and no attempt at humor could change that.

"I mean … you finally decide to make the grand gesture and you could be legally barred from traveling." A nervous giggle escaped her lips, and Grissom started to wish the call would get dropped. Where was a tunnel when you needed one? He glared at the red END button for a couple of seconds and decided against cutting her off. Catherine was irritating him, but it was his own fault. If he'd remembered to do one basic thing, they wouldn't be having this conversation. Catherine was also resourceful and a good lateral thinker. Maybe she would come up with something he hadn't thought of.

Behind him the curving concrete, glass and marble edifice of City Hall stood impassively, oblivious to his annoyance. The neat and orderly planting of ornamental grass in the landscaped area out front was too tidy. His carefully-laid plans were a messed-up shambles and there stood the clumps of grass, without a care in the world, mocking him with their military precision. Grissom shook his head and sat heavily down on a bench. Closing his eyes to avoid the xeriscaping, he took a deep breath. After a moment he remembered to exhale and repeat the procedure, as he tried to think calm thoughts. Breathe slow and deep. Slow and deep.

"Uh … Gil?" Her voice was hesitant now, her levity leaking away as he silently concentrated on lowering his pulse rate. "I wasn't laughing at you, ya know. I was laughing … with you. In sympathy with you." Her voice trailed off. She must've realized how stupid that sounded, Grissom thought.

He sighed out the latest deep breath on a big huff of air. "I wasn't laughing. And I didn't call you looking for sympathy, Catherine."

After a pause, Catherine spoke again, her tone conciliatory. "So … your passport's expired and it'll take how long to get a new one?"

"Two weeks, and I leave on New Year's Day. But there's Christmas in between. You know that'll delay things." He could feel his heart starting to race again. "I have to get there on the first — the Sirenian is leaving Puerto Ayora on the second and, after that, they'll be at sea for weeks."

"Yeah, it could be tight. But isn't there an expedited service? You pay a bit more for a faster turna—"

"Two. Weeks. Is. The. Expedited. Service." He felt like he was going to scream, or collapse into a sobbing heap. Neither option would be pretty. "I've just had that drummed into me by the world's most officious bureaucrat. Some moron in the City Clerk's Office. And he couldn't say what effect the Christmas holiday would have."

"Ah."

"Yes, ah. You have any bright ideas that I haven't thought of?"

"If Sam were alive …"

Grissom pursed his lips. "I will not stoop to bribery. He's dead, anyway."

There was no response, and it suddenly struck him that his comment was distinctly lacking in sensitivity. Catherine regularly rode roughshod over his feelings — she called it giving him a reality check — but he wasn't like that. Or was he? He felt like a very put-upon, petulant person right now.

"Sorry … I meant …" He meant something which sounded better than what he had said.

"Yeah, I know. Forget about it. Anyway … you never would've known." She added, "Ignorance is bliss."

"How does that make it all right?"

"Hey buster, if you were flying off to surprise Sara, I hope you'd be thinking of other things than how you got your passport in time."

"True. Still … any ideas not involving illegality?"

"There's the obvious — talk to people in power. The Sheriff, the Mayor, your Congressman …"

"God."

"D'you reckon you still have an in with him? I thought you lapsed long ago?" He could hear the grin in her voice and one corner of his mouth turned up, a tiny bit.

"It was a blasphemous expression of displeasure, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Mmmm. Look, Gil, it's worth a try. But you have a problem being polite to politicians at the best of times."

"And this is a really crappy time." He agreed with her; how could he not?

"You said it." Enthusiastic now, she rushed on. "I'll make a few calls for you. It can't hurt."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

December 20th, 2008

Grissom was lying on his big sofa, a bottle of Southern Hemisphere in one hand, with Hank was curled on the floor nearby, his wrinkled head conveniently in petting range of the other hand. Grissom had officially resigned right before he made the announcement to the team, and now he was using up some of his many weeks' vacation time to sort things out at home, while hoping against hope he would have his new passport by January 1st. He was working on switching to a day schedule, and since 7 p.m. was no longer his breakfast time he'd allowed himself the beer.

A few minutes ago he had started to write a to-do list, which had plunged him into a world of gloom over what would happen if he didn't get his new passport in time. In a fit of pique, he'd flung the note pad under the coffee table. The spiral binding was just visible under Hank's hind quarters.

His cell rang. It was a new phone, a personal one. He'd turned in his work phone when he left the lab last week. Grissom contemplated not answering, but when he saw it was Catherine calling he flipped the phone open.

"I'm no longer a city employee and I don't want a consulting job. If it's insects, Nick can handle the basics and you can call in Cheryl Peterson from UNLV for the in-depth work."

"Whoa, Gil. You're officially on vacation, remember? But this has nothing to do with CSI. Graveyard shift hasn't even started yet."

"Oh … uh … sorry, I'm listening." Contrition seemed appropriate.

"No promises, Gil." Her words were non committal, but her tone was eager. "You know they can't promise, but Harry Reid is going to do what he can." Catherine sounded a touch smug, as well she might.

"Harry Reid?" Harry Reid was Nevada's senior senator. "You're not kidding, are you?"

She snorted. "Trust me; you're in too sensitive a state for me to kid you about anything at the moment."

"I don't know how to thank you, Catherine." He was starting to feel he might just be able to leave as scheduled. "I appreciate your efforts more than I can say."

"I know you do. And you can thank me by coming to my New Year's Eve party and having fun. Plus, since you sneakily avoided the whole cake in the break room thing, you can say goodbye to everyone there."

He should have seen that coming. Grissom rolled his eyes at Hank, who cocked his head quizzically. "I should've seen that coming."

"Yep, you should've. Hey, if you want to thank me in a material way, you can buy the champagne. I'll expect a case of Moet."

"Move, Hank." Grissom knelt down on the floor, stretching to reach the note pad and trying to nudge the dog off of it. "Damn," he muttered. His beer was now making an amber pool in the hollowed leather cushion where his backside had been a moment ago.

"Grissom?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. I'm writing it on my list."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

January 1st, 2009

"Catherine, thanks for bringing me to the airport," Grissom said as they walked into the Esplanade area of terminal 1 at McCarran.

"It's hardly a chore. You know Lindsey's coming back from her vacation with my sister in Montana; I have to be here anyway."

"Ok then, thanks for the party." Grissom tilted his head as a surprised smile came over his face. "I enjoyed it."

"Yeah … it was a good night, wasn't it? I'm glad it turned out so well. And thanks for the champagne."

"Thanks for making those calls." His eyes were sparkling with warmth and Catherine realized she hadn't seen him so happy in ages.

"Enough with the thanks already." Catherine chuckled. "You haven't gotten this far to miss the plane." She was feeling strangely maternal towards Grissom this morning, and it seemed her large child needed a nudge. "Go on, go check in."

Grissom stirred himself, saying, "Yeah … I've got a bag to check."

"Go ahead. I'll just stick around here."

Catherine waited, watching as Grissom gradually got closer to the counter, and her face softened as she remembered him the night before. Moved by the unexpected tributes from his friends and colleagues he was biting his lip and fighting back tears, as he sought words to express his gratitude.

Sometime after the midnight flurry of kisses and hugs she caught sight of Grissom sitting in a quiet corner, paging through the album they had presented to him. Inside were photos of every person he'd worked with in the crime lab, the morgue and a significant smattering of police, ADAs and a few judges. Each had autographed their picture, often adding a personal message. She paused for a moment, thinking of the two special people who were no longer with them.

At the back was a special section of candid shots of Grissom, most taken surreptitiously at recent crime scenes and around the lab, to which Nick and Greg had added irreverent captions. "Our fearless leader and his trusty Maglite" was one of the few that actually described the content of the photo. There was even a photo ― complete with paw print ― of Hank, who Brass was going to look after for the meantime.

Catherine brought herself back to the present and checked the arrivals board. While she'd been reflecting, Lindsey's flight had already landed, some 20 minutes ahead of schedule and it was going to park at gate D14. Then she spotted Grissom, now carrying only his computer bag and hat, striding back towards her.

After another thank you and a firm hug, Catherine gently shoved Grissom in the direction of the security checkpoint. Again she watched as he showed his boarding pass and brand new passport to the official and joined the snaking line moving slowly toward the X-ray machines. He was going out through concourse D, which was handy for Catherine. She kept half an eye on his progress as she scanned the arriving travelers coming through the passageways on either side of the security zone. No sign of Lindsey yet.

Changing her focus she looked beyond the machines and lined-up passengers, as far as she could see down the concourse. For a moment she thought she spotted Lindsey's pink and purple ski jacket, then it was lost in the throng.

She glanced back to check on Grissom, who had mysteriously disappeared. As Catherine frowned, wondering how she could have missed him passing through to the other side, he stood up holding his hiking boots. For some reason he'd decided to wear them. Saved packing space, but what a hassle at security, thought Catherine. Soon he was loading his belongings into plastic trays and waiting to push them onto the conveyor.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It's still January 1st, 2009

Lindsey Willows' seat was in the second row so she was among the first to get off the plane. In the jet way, she slipped past the elderly couple with way too many carry-ons and soon she was in the terminal following the signs for baggage claim and the way out. As she trekked along the multi-colored carpet, Lindsey wondered if her mom would be there to meet her. If the New Year's Eve party had gone too well, she might have to phone Grandma for a ride instead.

Her progress slowed as travelers from other flights fed into the main concourse. As the crowd neared the barrier separating the waiting friends and family from arriving passengers, they split into two, heading for the exits flanking the security area.

Twenty feet ahead of Lindsey a woman stopped in her tracks, holding her cell phone out and staring at the screen in disbelief. There was a ripple in the crowd as annoyed people quickly diverted around the obstacle. Lindsey watched as the woman suddenly became conscious of her surroundings again, and looked for a gap in the throng to edge out of the way. Moving over by the wall, she appeared to be embarrassed ― the one cheek Lindsey could see was flushing beneath a light tan. The woman frowned at the phone, looking worried, then she shook her head and seemed to redial. The phone lady looked somehow familiar, but now she had turned away and all Lindsey could see was her back and a rough pony tail of dark hair.

Lindsey shrugged. There was now officially a traffic jam at the exits, nothing to do with the mystery woman. On one side doting grandparents were greeting a family with four or five little kids, completely unaware of the people backing up behind them; on the other a young guy in wheelchair, his plaster-cast leg sticking straight out in front of him and what also looked like an injured arm, was ignoring all offers of help and propelling himself very slowly through the doorway. Meanwhile an older woman was trying to come back inside, saying loudly, "But my bag! I left it on the plane. The one from Pocatello, Idaho." TSA personnel were blocking her access and the whole thing was a mess. Lindsey decided to hang back and let them clear out of the way.

She propped herself against the wall, and fished in her pocket for her cell phone. Might as well call mom and find out if she's here. Glancing idly across the concourse as she turned the phone on and waited for a signal, Lindsey realized she was directly opposite the woman with the phone. The lady's head was down as she began digging in her backpack searching for something. She was tall and lean, and Lindsey envied her long legs.

A beep let her know her phone was finally ready. Lindsey hit speed dial #1 and got through to her Mom. "Yeah, great, you're here. I'll be through" — she checked; the loud woman had been taken aside and people were starting to move again — "soon. I …"

"Linds?"

"Sara!"

"What?"

"Sara's here. Y'know, Sara Sidle."

"No! Really? You sure?"

"Mom, I swear, she's right here." Lindsey started across the wide space, dodging the people heading for the exits. "I saw her before, but I didn't really see her. Look, we'll be coming through soon. See ya!" She closed the phone, stuffing it back in her pocket as she approached. "Hey, Sara!"

Sara looked up from the depths of her backpack, startled. "Uh … Lindsey? Didn't you use to be blond? What are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask you that. I heard you were on a boat … somewhere … I forget. I've been snowboarding with my cousins in Montana."

"I ―"

Beyoncé's Diva sounded from Lindsey's pocket and she grumbled, "Geez, it's Mom again. I just spoke to her, like 5 seconds ago." She pulled her cell out again.

She rolled her eyes at Sara as she spoke, "I said we … oh … for REAL?!" The last word was a squeal and the girl bounced up and down, her face glowing. "Yeah … no … sure … middle lane, gotcha."

"Everything okay?" asked Sara.

"Yeah, fine. She just needed to … tell me something." Lindsey shot a glance at Sara, who was zipping her backpack closed, then did a speedy scan of the security lanes. Oh-kay. "Hey, the crowd's cleared over there. D'you wanna…?" She started off, beckoning Sara to follow and headed for the exit farthest from them. Sara looked at the closer doorway, then shrugged and followed Lindsey.

Suddenly Lindsey halted in her tracks, saying, "Hey, there's Mom. See there in the black leather coat?" Catherine, in the public area beyond the X-ray machines, was gesticulating wildly in their direction. Lindsey waved what she meant to be a pacifying hand at her mother. 'I've got it under control, Mom,' she whispered to herself.

Not understanding why Lindsey had stopped, Sara said, "Why don't we head on out to where she is?"

"Just a second." Lindsey realized she would have to be a bit more obvious. A lot more obvious. She stared pointedly straight ahead to where a man with curly gray hair was sitting on a chair, bent over to lace up his boots. Beside him a black laptop bag lay flat on the floor, on top of it a coarsely woven straw hat with a slightly turned-up brim. Then she peeked at Sara out of the corner of her eye, to make sure she was looking in the right direction.

"Uh, Lindsey, what …" And that precise moment Sara realized what, or rather who, she was looking at. With a satisfied smirk, Lindsey stepped off to the side to watch the scene unfold.

Sara took a pace forward, hesitated a second then said "Gil?" But she was so quiet Lindsey could barely hear her and Grissom didn't look up. Sara moved two steps closer and spoke more loudly this time. "Gil." Grissom started, looking right and left as though he didn't believe his ears. Sara moved to within a couple of feet of him and tried again. "Gil, look up."

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his head and finally saw Sara, her hands stretched out towards him and a nervous smile on her face. In an apparent daze, he stood up, putting his hands in hers as she said, "Happy New Year."

He was blinking, like he thought she was a mirage and she was going to disappear any moment. "Sara … but … I'm on my way to you."

"Shorter trip than you expected?" She was grinning broadly as he pulled her into a tight hug and then Lindsey couldn't hear their murmured words. Pretty soon though, they stopped speaking and started kissing. Lindsey grinned at first and then, as they continued, she started to squirm a little. It was kinda cute, but … they were old. And didn't they know they were in a public place? Great, now she was starting to sound like her grandmother.

A wolf-whistle rang out above the background noise, followed by a shout of "Hey Grissom, get a room!" Lindsey cringed, recognizing the voice, and felt herself turning bright red. So not cool. Her mother had somehow snuck right up to the other side of the metal detectors and was standing there grinning like an idiot. She flapped her hands in a desperate 'shut up' sign as she muttered, "No-o-o, Mom."

Catherine's yell had evidently gotten through to Sara and Grissom, who had ended the lip-lock but were still closely entwined, staring into each other's eyes. Above their mutual cheesy grins, Sara's cheeks were tear-streaked, and Grissom's eyes looked damp too. Lindsey had to admit, they did look pretty adorable.

A throat cleared nearby, announcing the presence of a tired-looking young woman wearing a security badge. "Folks, could you move away from the security area please?" She indicated the lines behind her. "You're holding other passengers up."

"Ah, sure, of course," replied Grissom, letting go of one of Sara's hands and bending down to pick up his things. Grinning, he set the hat on Sara's head. She wrinkled her nose at him but didn't take it off.

Lindsey saw he had left something on the empty seat beside where he'd been sitting, and hustled to pick them up. "Uncle Gil! Your boarding pass and passport."

He looked at them briefly as he said, "Thanks, Lindsey." Then Grissom chuckled, shaking his head, and said to Sara, "Funny how your priorities change."

Sara looked confused and asked, "What d'you mean?"

"Well, if you knew what I went through … long story. I'll tell you later." He gestured towards the right hand exit, where Catherine was now waiting, waving impatiently for them to walk through. "Shall we?"

They started to move, with Lindsey trailing behind.

"Sir! Sir!" An older man in TSA uniform, whose blond crew cut suggested past military service, held up a hand to stop them.

"Is there a problem?" inquired Grissom.

"You've decided not to travel today?" Grissom nodded, clutching Sara's hand a little tighter, it seemed to Lindsey. Then the man continued, "Did you check baggage?" He indicated the boarding pass and passport in Grissom's hand. "Traveling internationally, most people check a bag."

"Yes," replied Grissom slowly.

"Please step aside here, sir, and give me your documents. We have to get your bag off the plane."

Lindsey watched as Grissom started to protest, and Sara tugged him over to the place indicated by the official, saying, "You know they have to, Gil, for security."

Grissom grimaced, then closed his eyes for a moment. Letting out a deep sigh, he muttered with a half smile, "More red tape."

END