Echoes
by Miss Jazz
Category: drama/angst
Summary: She was still searching, but she was home. GSR. Based on Season 9 spoilers.
Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. It all belongs to CBS.
Author's Note: I wasn't planning to write any more CSI stories, but I seem to be doing it anyway with hope that there is still interest out there. I guess I'm now becoming hopeful for more GSR in season 9. Thanks for reading!
She stood at the door, her brown hair longer and curlier than he had ever seen it. One glimpse, lasting only seconds, and he knew she was very different. But then again, so was he.
"Thank-you for calling me," she said, without moving, without emotion. She was as still as a rock, and he was starting to wonder if she was a dream.
"Are you here?" he whispered, voice hoarse.
Her suitcase dropped with a thump on the floor and with the smallest of movements, she flicked on the light. "Yeah...I'm here."
He stared at her blankly, the light helping him to confirm his hypothesis: she was different. Longer, curlier hair was only the start–her cheeks and lips were accented with make-up, she wore a dress, and she'd gained enough weight to look healthier than she'd looked in all the time she'd known him.
Different.
She nodded to him, curls bouncing on her shoulder, the only movement in the room. "I'm glad you called me. I mean, uh, thank-you...for calling me."
Still staring, he nodded back. For a second, he felt self-conscious, lying in his shorts in the bed they used to share. He was tangled in his sheets, sweating, pale. He hadn't planned on seeing her until later that day. Her key to the condo hadn't even entered his thoughts.
She sensed his uneasiness and shifted in the doorway, one hand reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears. "Um, look, I'm early, I know...I'll go..."
He tensed at the thought. "No," he said quickly. "I'll jump in the shower. I'll only be a few minutes."
She picked up her suitcase and turned to leave the room. "Yeah. Okay. No problem."
She was sitting with their very content dog when he appeared in the kitchen five minutes later. She seemed surprised at his khaki shorts and sports t-shirt but said nothing.
Different, he reminded himself almost sadly. No time, no motivation, no one else in the condo. That, and his suit was still at the dry cleaners. He would have to leave time to pick it up and change.
Time. The dog seemed to have no sense of it. He was acting like she'd never left at all, lounging on the floor at her feet.
"He's happy to see you," he said quietly, his hands shaking as he took two glasses from the cupboard.
"Yes. I'm happy to see him too."
"Can I get you a drink?"
"Water would be great. Thanks."
He poured, passed her a glass, hesitated, and then sat next to her at the table.
"I wanted to come and tell you in person," he said softly, slowly meeting her gaze.
"So did I," she replied, brown eyes locking on his.
He pursed his lips, searching for the right words for such a complicated reunion. Coming up short, he offered a feeble: "I know."
She dropped her gaze. "It hasn't been long. I was going to come as soon as I could. I just had to sort some things out first."
That was why she left in the first place, wasn't it? He shook his head. How long would it take for her to find what she was looking for? He had already learned that he couldn't help her find it. And that lesson had hurt.
He pushed the memory away. This wasn't the time. There was too much else to deal with.
"I'm sorry it had to be like this," he whispered, slowly reaching for her hand. It was all he could do; the only thing that felt safe.
"Don't be sorry. There's nothing you could have done," she whispered back. His fingers squeezed her's.
He sighed. "We just...ran out of miracles."
Slowly, she guided his hand to her stomach, placing it palm down, resting her hand on top. "No, we didn't."
He smiled briefly, feeling, searching, and finding nothing.
"You can't always feel it," she told him. "If you wait long enough, you will."
He looked at her with questions in his eyes–just like the old days. "How long?"
She knew what he meant. She hadn't lost her ability to read him like a book. "I don't know," she sighed, pain in her voice, emotion finally flooding her brown eyes. Before he could do anything, a tear slipped from her left eye. "I'm sorry it had to be like this too," she confessed, still holding his hand to her stomach. "I didn't want it to be like this."
He didn't doubt her. She was different today, but he still knew her. "I know. I know..."
"Grissom...believe me...please."
"I do, honey." He reached up to stroke her hair, but at the sound of her breaking, he re-routed, throwing both of his arms around her. She thrust her arms around him just as quickly, clinging to him for dear life as the dam broke."I should have been here," she sobbed into his shoulder, his neck, his chest. "God, Griss, this isn't right. Not him."
He'd been through this already: the disbelief, the fear, the anger. He'd expressed as little of it during their phone call as possible, saving it all for himself and his dark, lonely bedroom. He'd sat on the bed for hours and hours, trying to convince himself that everything would be okay. His world was falling apart around him.
But she had come to him. She was here, pressed against him, their baby growing inside her. She was real. And she was breaking. Again.
Some things may never change, he noted sadly. She looked different today, but she was Sara.
And she was home.
TBC.