Remembering Forward Again
Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone in regards to CSI; the show and its characters belong to a bunch of people who aren't me. I am merely borrowing the characters for my own amusement. Dance puppets, dance.
Author's Note: I have officially hit the one year mark in fic writing. Hooray! I wrote my very first story last year, and now have eleven posted stories to date. For my anniversary, I decided to give my first fic "Remembering Forward" an overhaul because it…it's, well…let's just say it needed it. Badly.
To all the lovely readers who have left reviews, I thank you. Your kind comments and words always make me smile :) And they keep me writing. So there are plates and plates of cookies and waffles for you all. Thank you.
And I am forever indebted to the uber-talented, super cool, my comrade-in-fluff EllipsesBandit. I couldn't ask for a better beta or a better friend. Also, the lovely Mingsmommy has leant her hand (well, eyes I guess) as a beta. She is rather cool person herself, and I am happy to have met her.
Chainsaw.
No, that wasn't right. The pitch was off; a chainsaw had a higher sound than this. While this noise was definitely loud, a chainsaw was surprisingly more deafening.
A car engine, maybe?
That was wrong too. The sound can change depending on gear shifting or revving the motor. Also, car engines weren't half as annoying either.
An airplane propeller? No…
What else could it be?
A lawnmower! Yes!
That accurately described Gil Grissom's snoring.
Sara groaned and rolled to her right side. Propping herself on her elbow, she watched the man next to her sleep peacefully…and snore loudly. The sound was steady from Grissom's open mouth, and had been occurring for at least an hour and a half. She surmised he must be mowing one big yard. Hopefully, he hadn't killed any of his insect friends in Dreamland.
Almost eighteen months together had taught her he only snored when he was extremely exhausted. They had just come off a thirty-six hour shift so it was to be expected. But still, she needed sleep too.
When she had imagined her life with Grissom, this wasn't what Sara had in mind. Sure he would be quiet and aloof, but she always envisioned them spending the day reading books together, enjoying a relaxing dinner, then falling asleep wrapped in his solid arms. This fantasy life didn't include him flat on his back, taking up most of the room in their bed, apparently providing the soundtrack for someone cutting the grass at Wrigley Field.
Though, over two years ago, Sara would have been more than grateful for her current situation
June 2005
"Do you know what today it is?"
"The twenty third?"
"Yes, but I'm talking about what day of the week it is."
"The day before Friday?"
Sara smirked at Greg's mock scowl from across the table in the layout room. Deciding to indulge him, she finally answered, "It's Thursday."
"Exactly!" he beamed. "And you know what that means?"
"That there are one hundred and ninety one days left in the year."
He let a few photographs fall to the table with an annoyed huff, and this time Sara did laugh. "I know what today is," she told him, "It's the team breakfast day."
When he nodded eagerly, she continued, "And you get to choose the restaurant this time."
"Yes! I've found the perfect place too. They serve the best waffles in the state," he proudly declared.
"What's it called?"
"The Waffle Hut. It's next to a set of shops near the Monaco." His eyes brightened with the mention of his discovery. "They have all kinds of waffles; blueberry, strawberry, tripleberry, chocolate chip, pumpkin--"
"Sounds great," she interrupted before the newest C.S.I. got carried away.
He looked expectantly at her. "So you'll be there, right?"
"Of course."
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After shift ended, Sara rode with Greg to The Waffle Hut. During the ride he happily chattered away about the plethora of waffles. While he debated between getting the apple-cinnamon or the chocolate-caramel, she silently hoped for a regular buttermilk waffle.
They walked into the restaurant to find Warrick and Nick already seated at a booth.
"Where are Catherine and Grissom?" Greg asked as he and Sara sat down.
"Catherine had a robbery in Henderson so she'll be a little late and Grissom is just finishing up the assault at the MGM," Warrick informed them.
The nightshift team had been having weekly breakfasts for over a month now. It started when Nick returned to work. The six of them, along with Brass, had gone out as an unofficial celebration to having Nick back and their crew reunited. At the diner, Greg suggested they do this more often, and everyone agreed to meet once a week. Catherine came up with the idea that someone got to choose where they went each time.
A few minutes later Grissom walked in the door, and just as they were ready to order, Catherine and Brass joined the group. The conversations stayed animated and cheerful as they discussed their weekend plans, the latest movie releases, and other non-work related topics.
After the waitress placed the bill on the table, Greg pulled out his wallet, and announced, "Well, I have to be going now. I have to pick up my suit for my big date tonight."
Nick looked skeptical, but he gave the young man the benefit of the doubt. "Your suit? Where are you going that's so fancy?"
"Venezia Tower," Greg answered haughtily.
"So you managed to score yourself a sugar mama," Warrick deadpanned.
Sara smirked at the remark. "Either that or he's really bribing the girl."
"Actually," Greg said as they chuckled, "her name is Doctor Emily Gardner, head of neurology at Desert Palm. She is one of the most sought out neurologists in the country." At Nick and Warrick's dropped jaws, his smile turned more devilish. "And this will be our fifth date." With that, he stood up, dropped a few dollars next to the bill, and sauntered out the door.
The silence that had taken over the group was broken when Brass said, "She must not be that great of neurologist if she's going out with Sanders."
Sara had been so distracted by Greg's exit that she forgot she didn't have a way to get back to lab. When she asked for a ride, Grissom was unsurprisingly the first to volunteer.
"We'll have to walk to the MGM because I left my car over there," he informed her.
"You left your car at a hotel, full of evidence?"
He made a sour face. "Of course not. The dayshift C.S.I. took it back to the lab."
"Just checking."
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It was only ten a.m., and Sara was already sweating. At least in San Francisco the rain offered some reprieve from the blazing sun. Grissom seemed unaffected as they made their way to the hotel.
Over the last the couple of months, they had slowly begun to rebuild their friendship. She wasn't sure when the shift started, but she noticed Grissom coming to her often with new journal articles she might find interesting. He also assigned her to work more cases with him. Then there was the one occasion where he came and had lunch with her in the break room. Of course, no more than twenty words passed between them, but he had been there nonetheless.
Sara was thrown completely off guard when Grissom approached her the night Nick returned, asking her to meet with him after breakfast because he needed to speak with her about something important. The meeting never occurred as she had been paged to another scene. They tried again a couple of days later, but this time Grissom ended up in court all day and left her sitting at a booth in the diner for half an hour before he got a chance to call her.
The sidewalk led the two by the Monaco Hotel and Casino. Sara unconsciously slowed her steps as they passed the entrance. She glanced wistfully at the roof, thinking of the day she arrived in Las Vegas. At the time she had been thrilled to work with Grissom again, but she wondered if she knew what awaited her during the last six years, would she have come at all?
Grissom slowed down with her and appeared to be deep in thought, his brows were drawn tightly together. Turning her head to the left briefly, she saw him trying to control the emotion in those powerful blue eyes. Was he thinking about that day too?
As they passed a large group of tourists lingering at the entrance, Sara decided to speak. "You think they're waiting to see some dummies fly off of the roof?"
"Possibly," he answered with slight amusement. He stopped by a small garden of bright flowers. "You know, the hotel wanted me to come back as an act."
"Gil Grissom and his Amazing Falling Normans."
He gave her a crooked smile. "According to a certain source, when Norman fell, he deserved it."
"I didn't say he deserved it," she defended. "But Mr. Roper wasn't the greatest husband."
"Mrs. Roper always forgave him."
"For reasons unknown."
He frowned for a moment, then stated, "She wasn't the only one. There was Louise Jefferson."
"That's one I never understood!" Sara exclaimed. "George was horrible; always teasing her and being a pain in the ass."
"Marge Simpson," he continued to point out.
Shaking her head in exasperation, she groaned. "Homer was probably the worst one. If he wasn't being an insensitive clod, he was squandering money or drinking or totaling the family car or losing his children."
"Why do you think those women stayed with those men?"
The question made Sara's breath catch in her throat. The conversation was taking a different turn. She debated on the best way to answer without letting on to her feelings. Finally she came up with, "Even though it's T.V., the women knew the men…cared about them."
"You're right," he agreed quietly. "Those men at one point or another showed their wives they meant something to them."
If only the same was for true Grissom. She took a deep breath to control the wave of sadness that passed through her. He finally looked at her and opened his mouth…but no words came out. After several attempts, he finally managed, "I'm sorry, Sara."
Now she was stumped for a response, but eventually asked, "For what?"
He sighed heavily. "For…for…being like those men." Grissom closed his eyes, clearly frustrated with himself. "I mean, I never squandered your money or totaled your car or…I just…I never showed you that…I wanted…" Stopping again, he balled his fist to regain some composure.
"Grissom, what are you trying to say?" she whispered. Her heart was optimistic, but her head was trying to be sensible.
There was that fish-out-of-water impersonation again. She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but common sense told her to be quiet. For once.
"I know." Another breath. "I know I can do this," he clarified, pointing to both of them. "That's what I've wanted to tell you." He swallowed, and kept going. "There will be times where I'll be aloof and I'll need some guidance. But I can do this."
Sara thought there might have something wrong with her ears because she couldn't believe she heard those words. From Gil Grissom. This had to be something from television or a dream, right? But the sweat trickling down her neck and her pounding heart told her she was in real life. That awkward scientist she adored for the better part of ten years was actually standing there telling her his feelings. She might have cried, but the fact the man looked like he was going to pass out caused her to fight a laughing fit.
"And Sara, I do…you are spec-I do…care about you," he finished in the most sincere tone.
That did it; she had to use every ounce of her self-control not to break down. The incredibly light feeling that washed over her was overwhelming because it was the first time she didn't feel burdened with doubt. He cared about her; not as co-worker, not as friend, but as something more. She suspected he had other things to say, but all the blood had drained from his face and he must have gathered all of his courage for this. And honestly, she heard what she needed.
"Okay," she said after they stared at each other for a moment.
"Okay?" He repeated her words as if he couldn't understand it.
A sob mixed with a chuckle escaped Sara's mouth. "Yeah."
Grissom balled both of fists again, the knuckles turning white. He clenched his jaw as he appeared to use the last of his strength to pull her into a gentle hug. His timing couldn't have been better because Sara's knees had been ready to give out.
His body was softer than she imagined, but it possessed a certain amount of strength. She had never seen him hug any one else-not even Catherine-so at one time she wasn't sure if he would even be affectionate. But his arms were wrapped around her tightly, silently reinforcing his words.
After what could have been hours, Grissom put his lips to her ear. "What happens now?"
Shivers went down her spine from his low voice. "The audience applauds at the man's apology."
Even though she couldn't see him, she knew he was grinning. "So now should promise I won't let my tarantula come between us?"
She laughed into his shoulder. "I think I hear the laugh track now."
Sighing, Sara continued to watch the snoring man. It turned out Grissom was right; he didn't spend of his free time drinking beer and watching television. And he didn't try harboring circus animals. He did have aloof moments, and needed to be helped more than once.
But like her female counterparts on television, she never doubted his feelings for her.
This was ridiculous. She was never going to get any sleep at this rate. She considered banishing him to the couch, but the ring gleaming from his left hand reminded her of their vows. For better or for worse, right? Gently rubbing his shoulder, she tried waking him up. "Gil…Gil…Gil…" she whispered.
He gave a sort of final snort and opened his bleary eyes. "Hmmm?"
"You-you're snoring, sweetie. You need to roll over."
"Mrrrrmmm," he mumbled, preparing to go back to sleep without changing his position.
"No, you need to move." She tried again as she gently tugged at his side. Taking the hint, Grissom grumbled one last time while he settled on his left side. The snoring was soon replaced with deep breathing.
Sara rolled her eyes. She often wondered why she had such infinite patience with the quiet, stolid, enigmatic Gil Grissom…
With her back toward him, she had just closed her eyes when he put an arm around her waist and nuzzled his face into her neck. His pleased rumble vibrated against her back as he fell asleep again.
…and now she remembered.
TBC
