(Not) Your Usual Ups and Downs
What Sara didn't tell Catherine about her and Grissom's time back in Vegas.
Prequel to Feint of Heart.
Takes place post episodes 1601/2 "Immortality,"
circa Thanksgiving week November 2015.
xxxxxxx
"Any day spent with you is my favorite day.
So today is my new favorite day,"
Winnie the Pooh
A. A. Milne
xxxxxxx
One: Pancakes, Plants and Photographs; or It's Good to be Home
Sara woke that Wednesday with a start to find herself back in her own bed in her darkened Vegas apartment.
Alone.
Her heart sank.
Dream, she thought, clenching her eyes shut in disappointment.
Grissom here. The boat. California. Paris. It had all been a dream. A wonderful, beautiful, unbelievable dream. One far, far too good to be true, let alone actually real.
Only not for the first time, could she practically smell him in the sheets, despite the cool of the fabric beneath her questing fingertips.
That and a familiar warm, sweet scent she vaguely registered as pancakes. But then she'd woken to that phantom fragrance before, too many times before.
Too bad wishing couldn't make something so.
If so -
No, Sara would not let herself finish that thought.
Just another day, she sighed as she switched on the lamp before swinging her feet over the side of the mattress.
Once her breathing finally returned to normal, she would rise and start another day.
Shower. Dress. Work.
There always was plenty of work.
Las Vegas was ever good for that. About the only thing she had liked the city for for quite some time now.
It kept her too busy to miss him. Or at least allowed her to convince herself she didn't have time to miss him. Which she did and she did.
Then as she went to brush her sleep mussed hair back behind one ear, Sara felt it, that as yet unfamiliar presence, the unaccustomed heaviness on the third finger of her left hand.
She glanced down to find a narrow gold band glistening in the faint light. Sara stared at it for a long moment unsure if she could trust what her eyes were telling her.
Yet there it was, real as anything: her wedding ring.
She grinned; nearly wept all at once.
Not a dream.
Real.
Real.
She hadn't imagined him in the sheets; hadn't conjured the sugary redolence of sizzling pancakes.
Still, her not quite calm query of "Gil?" escaped her lips before she could call it back.
And his voice, both unsurprising and not, floated through the crack in the door: "Kitchen, dear."
Sara let out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. One that turned into a laugh as Hank eagerly nudged the bedroom door open.
"Hey, buddy," she happily greeted the boxer once he, admittedly a little stiffly, yet no less eagerly, clambered onto the bed beside her.
Sara gasped as he slathered her in sloppy dog kisses.
Stroking him behind the ears, she said, "Good morning to you, too."
"Come on," she urged after a while, "let's see what trouble your daddy's up to."
Although Sara had no clue how she could have possibly missed it: the busy puttering of someone trying - albeit failing - to be quiet in the other room. All of which was what had probably woken her in the first place.
That and the hunger inducing whiff of her favorite breakfast.
Himself hopeful when it came to being fed, Hank gladly lumbered out in the lead. Sara, however, lingered in the now open doorway, caught up short at the sight of her undershirt and pajama bottom clad, dish towel draped over one shoulder, distinctly disheveled, yet completely composed husband adding a pancake to the growing stack on a plate before returning it all to keep warm in the oven.
That and he was humming of all things.
Sara flushed with fondness at the man she had chosen to spend the rest of her life with: her best friend, partner, lover and once again husband. Her heart nearly burst with it.
Some realities really were far better than any dreams.
As he rose, his eyes met hers and Grissom gave her one of his patented lopsided smiles of the sort Sara never could resist.
How she loved that man.
Still beaming, she leant in to brush a kiss along one scruffy cheek and murmured, "Good morning, Gilbert," into his ear.
Not missing the tease, just not rising to it, Grissom replied, "I was just about to bring you breakfast," by way of greeting.
While he had been tempted, sorely tempted, to linger a lot longer in bed that morning, he knew there would be no return to sleep for him. As he hadn't wanted to wake Sara, she needing the extra sleep with all the stress of the upcoming trial, instead he had slipped silently from the sheets, tucked the covers back about his still slumbering wife and summoned a very reluctant Hank out of the bedroom.
Noticing how the batter bowl was already empty, Sara observed, "Someone's been busy."
Grissom merely shrugged as if to say Idle hands and moved the bowl to the sink to be washed.
"And they do smell good - As usual."
Sara smiled, realizing in that moment that somehow in just a few days, the mere presence of Gil Grissom had managed to transform her lonely old apartment into quite the cozy honeymooners' love nest.
Again, he shrugged. "You know what they say -"
"No, what?" she laughed.
"'He who goes to bed hungry dreams of pancakes.'"
"Really?"
Before he could reply, her mirth seemed to morph more into mischief and Sara reached across him to turn the oven down as low as it would go.
At his quizzical look, Sara said, "While you do make great - and I mean great pancakes, they're not what I'm most wanting to have in bed this morning."
"And what," Grissom asked his own voice going a little breathless, "is it you're wanting in bed instead?"
This time her words buzzed against his lips.
"You -"
So as there could be absolutely no mistaking what she intended, Sara tugged at the ties to his pajama pants. Grissom took the hint and readily followed his wife back to her - or rather their - bedroom.
Besides, pancakes really did make an equally delicious dinner.
xxxxxxx
Sara was halfway to the front door of the Las Vegas Crime Lab when Grissom called her back to her Prius.
While she was very nearly verging on being late for her morning meeting with Deputy District Attorney Andrea Yeager, Sara couldn't help but be far more amused than annoyed at the summons. After all, it was awfully hard to be upset when you were the one who insisted on returning to bed - and then to that overlong shower together afterwards.
Figuring a few more minutes wouldn't make any difference, she trotted back to the car.
"You forgot something," Grissom said once she had popped her head in the driver's side window.
Sara's brow wrinkled at this.
"Lunch," he supplied, passing a plain brown paper sack to her. "Your usual," he added at her continued perplexed expression.
Which Sara knew meant a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a bag of baby carrots and a handful of grapes, all quick and easy items to eat, just in case things got really busy, which they did frequently tend to do.
"And this -"
To which to Sara's surprise Grissom drew her in for a rather lengthy kiss.
But then he always was full of surprises.
"Play nice with the other kids," he said once they'd both pulled away.
"Yes, Gilbert," smirked Sara.
It was Grissom's turn to look askance. Two Gilberts in one morning meant either he was in some sort of trouble, the nature of which he couldn't even begin to fathom, or he had been doing something very right indeed.
From her grin, he figured it was far more likely the latter than the former, that and the simple I love you she signed behind her back as she strode back to the office.
Sara was nearly at the door when her phone pinged to announce an incoming text. She drew out her phone to read:
Grissom
Today 8:58 AM
Don't work too late.
Sara nearly snorted at this.
Rather hypocritical, she thought, considering how many times she had had to remind him of as much over the years.
Though her rue didn't last past the next part of his message:
Grissom
Will keep those pancakes warm
for your return. Unless you're
already tired of them
Sara swiftly typed a reply:
Sara
Tired of your pancakes?
Never. Have fun with Eli.
Try and stay out of trouble
while you're in Vegas this time
To which Grissom gave her a perfunctory:
Grissom
Year, dear
Sara, far too intent as she was on her phone, missed the way three of her former coworkers simply stood there in the parking lot gawking after her.
xxxxxxx
The small city park was empty by the time Grissom and Hank settled in for the morning. A fact which didn't bother either in the slightest. Hank, contentedly curled up at his master's feet, was soon fast asleep. Grissom set aside his daily crossword puzzle for a moment to concentrate on his sketchbook.
Easily locating his bookmark, he flipped to his current sketch, one begun only a few days before. Unlike most of his drawings, hastily dashed off in half an hour or so as they were, as this one was of a memory he particularly savored, Grissom was in no rush to complete it.
That morning, he focused on the detail of Sara's left hand curled about the covers, the wedding ring he had slipped on her finger only hours before gleaming in the faint morning light of their first morning as husband and wife - the second time.
His wife -
While he might never say as much to her, Grissom rather liked regarding Sara that way again.
He never really had managed to wrap his head around the whole her being his ex-wife thing, even if he had been the idiot who had asked for the divorce in the first place.
She was just Sara. His Sara. Or at least she once had been.
Thankfully, she was again.
Which made things a lot simpler, and kept him out of trouble.
The previous month when they had both been back in Paris together, Grissom had, out of old habit or perhaps wishful thinking, managed to forget the whole ex thing entirely and proceeded in his usual easy French to repeatedly introduce Sara as his wife without even realizing it.
They had been down in Sainte-Chapelle's lower chapel when upon saying adieu to yet another of Grissom's former natural sciences colleagues, Sara had finally called him out on the habit.
"Gil, you do realize that's the third time you've introduced me as your wife tonight," she said, though she sounded far more amused than annoyed.
"Old habit, sorry," he hurriedly apologized. Which was partly true. As every other time they had been together in Paris she had been sa femme, the introduction had just happened to roll naturally off the tip of his tongue.
"It's... It's... fine," Sara said, smiling slightly and looking for all the world like she really didn't mind at all.
Grissom supposed he could have introduced her as son amour. They were after all definitely lovers: they loved each other; made love to each other. Perhaps in France he might have, but truth or no, one did not announce such things in the United States. Lover, however apt, sounded horribly salacious in English. D.A. Monroe had certainly made that perfectly plain during Natalie Davis' sanity hearing.
Sara was certainly more than his "girlfriend" - a phrase he'd never used when thinking of her.
Ultimately, he settled on presenting her a la British fashion as his partner to his various American scientific acquaintances. Which Sara was, in every sense of the word.
Not that it wasn't plain even in the way he said her name that they were far more than mere work partners, though they were that, too, and truly equals again like they had been those last few years together in Vegas.
But these days Grissom could now return to calling Sara his wife with all the attendant pleasure and pride of it.
As he continued to pencil in the particulars, he recalled that morning, not even a week before now: him returning to bed to find her still asleep and slightly snoring - and barely covered, the sheet having slipped from her shoulders to reveal the soft swell of a breast and the smattering of freckles which tickled down the slight slope of her spine, only to pool in the sweet hollow at the small of her back, one of his favorite places to kiss.
Grissom knew he would never tire of that sight.
En déshabillé, bareback and sprawled (not unusually) across the king-sized mattress with her honey hued curls haloed about her head along the pillow, Grissom had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
Once, he had told her as much, on a morning much like this one, the one after they had been married the first time, when he had discovered her nearly very much the same, that Sara would be even more beautiful when she was old and grey.
For she certainly was even more comely now than she had been the first time they'd met and she had struck him as beautiful even then.
Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be...
His mind supplied. However frequently taken completely out of context, Robert Browning's oft-quoted words still rang true and Grissom relished in their possibilities.
That first morning all those years ago had, even more so than that of the wedding day before, had been one of the happiest days of his life. It felt like that now too, the morning after their second marriage.
He felt beyond happy. Fortunate. Grateful. This reality being beyond anything he knew he ever deserved. He knew, too, that this - this morning - this life - was what he wanted more than anything and he was glad he hadn't waited a minute longer to do something about it.
That morning as the faint dawn light crept about the curtains, Grissom had happily returned to her warmth in the bed, burying his face in her curls as he molded his body into hers. Breathing her in, he'd held her close.
Yes, this was what he wanted - for always.
That morning he smiled at the feel of her fingers threading through his, her gold band brushing against his own.
With a sleepy sigh, Sara nestled deeper into him, content to linger here and in the pleasurable memories of the night before, when well past sunset they had finally managed to make their way back to their hotel room.
At that hour, an exhausted Hank was eager to do nothing more than climb onto the covers to sleep.
While Grissom had readily bent to let the boxer off his leash, both he and Sara lacked Hank's hurry. The two of them lingered in the open doorway, neither able to take their eyes off each other or smother their smiles.
"I should carry you across the threshold," Grissom murmured at last.
Sara beamed. While romantic, the thought was utterly unpractical.
"Kiss me across it instead."
Albeit technically she was the one who kissed him first, full, hard and long on the mouth.
When they both finally came up for air, Grissom was pleased to find himself pleasantly pinned against the newly closed door.
With both hands he brushed back her windswept hair. His thumbs caressed her still pink with the chill of being out on the water cheeks and while her eyes were bright, her smile proved even brighter.
"I love you," he said simply, straight from the heart.
"I know," Sara beamed. Then her expression turned tender. "Good thing your wife loves you, too."
At the word wife, Grissom's entire face lit up more luminous than any Vegas skyline.
She had chosen him over everyone, anyone. How - why - he never knew - would never know, nor understand.
But despite everything, she had.
He found words failed him, like they so often were wont to do when it came to Sara.
This time though Grissom knew exactly what to do about it: he kissed her.
Soon slow and gentle gave way to hungry and wanting and then to weak-kneed breathlessness.
Both wanting closer, wanting more, they began unwrapping each other between ever more urgent kisses.
In the midst of all the closed-eyed, completely consuming kissing, Sara's fingers fumbled to find the zip to Grissom's jacket. Eventually, there came the distant rasp of metal. He released his hold on her only long enough to let the heavy fabric fall to the floor. The buttons to his oxford came no easier. Though at least his undershirt readily came over his head. Grissom tugged off her sweater then clumsily - though endearingly as ever - popped the clasp to her bra. The two kissed skin on skin close before they scrambled out of the rest of their clothes.
They were both naked and him inside her by the time they made it to the mattress.
In that moment, Gil Grissom poured all his love, his hope, his joy into her; she returned it love for love, hope for hope, joy for joy, kiss for kiss.
And they made love with all the earnest eagerness of those lost - and found.
Waking the following morning curled up beside him, had for Sara at least, done little to diminish the unreality of it all.
"It still feels like a dream sometimes, doesn't it?" Sara murmured feeling as safe, warm and content as she ever had in his arms as they lay in bed together for a while enjoying the closeness, neither quite ready to surrender to the day just yet.
"All of this -"
As Grissom nodded into her neck, Romeo's ill-fated words drifted through his mind:
I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
Only Sara would not let that morning slip into melancholy, even momentarily.
Answering her own question, with a quiet "Yeah" of her own, she said, her palm trailing up the length of his bare arm, "Only you feel pretty real to me."
At the contact, Grissom's eyes closed, electric as always between them.
"And awake," Sara grinned. Wiggling a little mischievously against him, she relished in his body's immediate reply, his certainly not so innocent biological response impossible to mistake - or ignore.
But then as Gil Grissom well knew, this particular woman naked in the bed beside him did tend to have that particular effect on him.
"Very awake, Gilbert." She practically purred his full name.
Grissom had never felt more real and awake in his life.
He groaned at the grasp of her hand on him; let out a long low moan at the tease of her touch. Sara simply smirked thoroughly enjoying the hitch and catch of his breath, the rumble in his chest, the gasp into her hair, his pleasure plain.
"Sara -"
Those two syllables were all it took for her to roll over in response and pin him as firmly to the mattress as she had to the door the night before.
Grissom certainly wasn't about to complain, couldn't in any case as her mouth currently covered his in a heady kiss, one he readily returned.
Long, sweet and tender, they made love that morning as newlyweds were wont to do.
xxxxxxx
The past few days, like the past weeks and months had passed in unexpectedly happy blur for Gil Grissom. Things had changed - and not. He still did his Jacques Cousteau thing, only it wasn't only Hank who accompanied him onboard the Ishmael, but Sara as well. Sara who had taken to life aboard ship as a fish does to water - at least once she had gotten her sea legs back beneath her again.
Dramamine she claimed worked wonders, at least for keeping the not so occasional bout of seasickness at bay. That and the ginger candy she took to sucking when the swells rolled particularly high.
Like the heady scent of lavender or the honeyed perfume of orange blossoms, the piquant hint of spice would from then on at least on his part come to symbolize the sweetness of a life lived together again.
Said life began to return to some semblance of a regular rhythm as they spent the weeks following Sara's arrival in San Diego prowling the Southern California coast for poachers. All too easily they fell into that old familiar camaraderie.
The loving one another that had never left.
It wasn't about not being alone, their being together again. It was about wanting to be with each other, about needing to be with each other.
Both reveled in the present present, the gift of days and nights spent once again side by side.
Frequently, they worked late into the dark, the hours passing so fast that before they knew it, sunrise had snuck up upon them again: bright and bold and gilding all the world in gold.
In Vegas, working the Graveyard shift as they had, both had nearly always been up with the sun but so seldom ever had the chance to savor the sunrise. The two of them certainly cherished them now. That and being able to slip off to sleep together as the day began. The Ishmael's snug double bunk naturally led to being cuddled close. Neither one complained.
Well into the afternoon, when they finally clambered out of bed, the time would often find Sara engaged on deck in her start of the day yoga, while below Grissom, busied himself in the galley with breakfast. Thus, it would all begin again.
True, they were still negotiating what a life lived together might mean. They still had their problems. Everyone did. That wasn't going to instantly change.
Perhaps it wasn't happily ever after, that perpetual peace that fairy tales promised, but it was happy here and now which mattered most. The future they would work to build together.
While Grissom might still not always have the words to tell her all his heart, he took Sara's advice and showed her as much as he could every day.
Perhaps coming so late in life to love had made it all the more precious; having lost it, only to find it again, doubly so.
That day she had shown up so unexpectedly at the marina he had resolved to love Sara Sidle the way she deserved to be loved: mind - body - heart - and soul. No more fear. No more holding back. And most definitely no more good intentions.
Ever since then, Grissom set out to make a concerted effort to be more here and present, particularly with her, to not allow himself to yet again get over-involved in his work. Something which he soon found proved far easier to do with Sara back beside him.
Sure, Sara was a horrible distraction. But then she always had been.
Despite that, she rendered the work easier, the load lighter, the days brighter.
Yes, it really was better than Grissom ever could have imagined it, spending their days and nights together.
So while Grissom might not have been all keen on returning to Vegas when Conrad Ecklie had called him in to advise on what became the Betton bombing case, when the subpoena for the Freeman trial came, he went willing with his wife.
Sara may not have said much about the case, she didn't need to. The way her jaw set and her eyes which had been bright mere moments before hardened into dark, told him all he needed to know.
Despite the summons coming at the height of shark research season, he hadn't questioned their needing to go, wouldn't have in any case, instead he only set to arranging to leave the Ishmael in the project leader's more than capable hands and booking a flight for the three of them from SFO to McCarran.
Grissom and Sara had agreed, perhaps not in so many words, that there would be no more long distance this time; no more him one place, her another; no more days and nights spent apart. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it together.
Of course Hank hadn't exactly been thrilled about spending the day traveling in a crate, but a slight sedative, a few extra treats for good behavior and several generous belly rubs afterward and all was pretty much forgiven. The boxer seemed far too content to have his two humans happily back together again to mind much in any case.
For Grissom, his returning with Sara proved no real sacrifice at all, as at the end of the day, where he really wanted to be was anywhere with her.
If the last few years spent attempting to live without her had taught Grissom anything, it was that no amount or kind of work in the world could make up for simple pleasure of Sara's company.
At any rate it was only for a few weeks and then the two of them would see what the sea would bring.
Besides, Sara hadn't protested when he had mentioned his needing to go to Paris.
It had been at a fairly late breakfast Sara's first morning aboard, when not entirely sure how to best broach the subject, Grissom simply stammered it out all at once: "I... I have to be in Paris in a few weeks. Lecture. International Symposium on Marine Conservation."
To which all Sara could manage was a hesitant "Oh -" before asking, seriously struggling to keep her tone neutral, "How long?" as her heart had begun to hammer hard in her chest again.
"Two weeks."
She nodded. Sara supposed she could always use the time to tidy things up back in Vegas. Paperwork. Paperwork. Paperwork. There was always plenty of that. Plus, she really did need to pack up her apartment.
The time would crawl as it always did when they were apart, but he'd be back. This she knew.
Still, the idea of being separated again - and so soon -
Sara was so lost in her own musings that she almost didn't catch Grissom's "We can stop over in Vegas on our way over if you want.
"Give you a chance to pack properly this time."
"We?" she echoed, the only word she had managed to hear.
"Yeah. You didn't think I wanted - I guess I probably shouldn't have assumed - I just thought that -"
Then abruptly realizing what he probably should have started with, Grissom said in a voice rendered a little husky out of unaccustomed nervousness, "Come with me -"
Sara beamed with pleasure and relief at the invitation.
This didn't mean she was above teasing him about it.
"I don't know, Gil," she began. "You, me, autumn in Paris - You might have to persuade me."
One of his eyebrows went up at the inherent challenge. Grissom was tempted to ask persuade you how? only Sara had been unable to keep up the pretense any longer and laughed.
"Of course I'll come," she said. "Besides, I probably shouldn't leave you all on your own at a conference."
"Why not?" he asked.
"You might meet someone," said Sara ever matter of fact.
Instinctively getting where she might be going with this, Grissom replied with a knowing sort of smile, "You mean like San Francisco?"
"Yeah, like San Francisco."
And they both knew how that had turned out.
Nor had Sara balked when Grissom had first mentioned that he and the boat were committed to a six-week survey and tagging project of one of the world's largest great white shark populations just off the coast of San Francisco.
Not being particularly selanchophobic, and this not actually the craziest of adventures Grissom had ever suggested, Sara simply shrugged her why not.
Sharks, she maintained, were nothing after Vegas.
So Grissom was content, more than content, to spend his morning with Hank in the park with his puzzle and his picture and the pleasure of thinking of his wife.
It may not have been what most people had in mind when they spoke of second honeymoons, but Grissom wasn't about to waste this second chance.
xxxxxxx
Unfortunately, Sara's day wasn't proving quite so peaceful.
She had to admit that being back at that lab after her two months away felt both familiar and foreign all at once. No wonder Grissom had been a bit overwhelmed on his return; he'd been away the better part of half a decade.
Of course she'd known it wasn't going to be a good day. She and the Deputy D.A. were scheduled to meet with the victim's parents. Sara had wanted Jan and Marty Freeman to see the photographs of their daughter's graffitied body for the first time in private and not in presence of the accused, judge, jury and attendant crowd. They deserved that dignity at the very least.
Though it hadn't proved any comfort. Sara honestly hadn't expected it to.
Ten months after their daughter's death and both parents were still having a hard time wrapping their heads around any of it.
As Sara escorted the stone-faced father and still teary-eyed mother out, Mrs. Freeman shook her head. "I don't know," she began. "What are you supposed to do? Keep you kids locked up so nobody can -
"I mean at some point you have to trust them to make good choices," Jan Freeman insisted. "And then just be there when they don't."
"Your daughter didn't chose this," Sara said gently. Then her voice hardened. "Those boys did."
Marty Freeman sighed resignedly, "When I was in school, jocks were gods. They could have gotten away with murder. And they will -"
Sara's tone and gaze turned steely. "Not yet they haven't."
And they won't, she swore to herself.
Half her heart and thoughts were still with the hapless Freemans, when Sara returned to layout room to finish up the last of the preliminary evidence review with Andrea Yeager.
Only when she arrived, Sara found the look the attorney gave her even graver.
When the D.A. pulled another photo from her files, it was of the last face Sara had ever expected to see.
xxxxxxx
It was late by the time Sara finally managed to make it home. With a weary sigh, she mechanically dropped both her keys and her messenger bag onto the kitchen counter.
She momentarily brightened as Hank sauntered up to greet her. With only just a barely forced grin, she stroked him behind the ears and indulged him in a brief belly rub. Her husband, however, apparently was nowhere to be found, even though he had to be home as the car, she knew, was currently parked in the lot below.
Hearing the commotion in the kitchen, he called "Sara?" from the bedroom.
"You expecting someone else?" she asked as she opened the bedroom door to find Grissom perched on the edge of the bed busy folding clothes of all things.
"Hardly," he replied as she leaned in to place a kiss on the top of his head.
Grissom glanced down at his watch, startled to find it well after seven. He must have lost track of time while out with Eli that afternoon. He had been certain there would have been plenty of time to finish the laundry before Sara called for him to take her home.
Only he couldn't recall having heard the phone ring. He drew out his cell, suddenly worried he had somehow missed her call. But no, there was no message apart from her brief earlier rather cryptic text of Will be late. Sorry.
"Andrea gave me a ride home," Sara supplied.
"I would have come to get you."
"I know." Sara's smile began to falter. "We had some things to discuss."
"That sounds ominous," Grissom observed.
Sara shrugged.
"Tea?" he suggested.
Tea sounded perfect right about now. "I'll get it," she offered. "You finish up here," she said indicating the nearly empty laundry basket.
"You sure?" Grissom certainly didn't look it.
Sara gave him her best attempt at an encouraging nod and sidled off to the kitchen.
She had filled the kettle, placed it on the burner, gotten down two mugs and unearthed two tea bags from a canister on the rear counter before she finally spotted it: a bit of bark decked out with a slight rug of spag moss, all speckled a vibrant violet with some of the tiniest orchids Sara had ever seen.
That she had initially missed it came as no real surprise. The entire arrangement could easily fit in the palm of her hand.
As she bent to get a better look at the minuscule blossoms, her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff of something she didn't expect. Orchids, as a rule, seldom had any scent, but these ones did.
"They're supposed to smell," Grissom piped up behind her. "Hence its scientific and common names: Schoenorchis fragrans or fragrant Schoenorchis."
At this, Sara started, her husband having yet again managed to sneak up behind her.
Perhaps it really was time for that bell, she silently rued.
"You could find them all over in Chiang Mai. Made me think of you. The orchid hunter," he teased, using one of the monikers she had been dubbed with back in the camp where they had worked together in in Costa Rica, Sara's years of experiencing spotting the tiniest fragments of trace having proved handy for far more pleasant purposes out in the rainforest.
"Of course I couldn't bring any back then. Customs and import rules being what they are," Grissom shrugged. "So when I saw some at the florist I couldn't resist."
Sara did however resist asking him what he was doing in a florist's in the first place.
"It just seemed strange," he said quietly by way of actual explanation, "you without your vegetation."
Her apartment certainly lacked that.
After the divorce, once Sara had moved out of the house and went back to working even more obscene hours than usual, plants proved unpractical.
Initially, she had passed off her need to find homes for her small collection of greenery with the excuse she was currently so busy she had begun to forget to water them. But mostly they had been an all m too painful of a reminder of the life she had so recently lost.
Thankfully, Barbara Russell had been more than happy to take them off her hands and without the asking of too many questions. But then Russell's wife had always been like that, at least in the times she and Sara had occasion to meet.
"And I know just the place for it on the boat," Grissom was adding cheerily.
"What's the occasion?" Sara asked, touched beyond words at the gesture.
"Does there need to be one?"
"There usually is one with you."
True.
As she patiently waited for his reply, she picked up the small envelope propped up beside the plant and pulled out the card. Of course there was a card.
And of course it said what it always said. Not all traditions were bad.
Despite the day, Sara smiled.
Noticing this, Grissom said, "That's why."
Then he began in that knowing tone that signaled the start of one of his many quotations: "'But just to keep alive is not enough. To live you must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower to love.'"
When Sara didn't recognize the speaker he supplied, "Hans Christian Andersen."
"They are beautiful. Thank you."
When her smile swiftly faded, he asked, "Honey, what is it?"
Her lips twitched at the endearment.
She might as well tell him now. He would hear about it soon enough.
"They know," Sara said simply.
Grissom didn't ask the obvious Who knows what? He merely waited for her to get it out.
"You know Mark Ellington - the big shot defense attorney -"
He did. Ellington had been a royal pain in the ass even during Grissom's day.
"Somehow he managed to track down my mother's case file."
xxxxxxx
"I assume she's your mother," Andrea Yeager had said indicating the now thirty-one year old booking photo of one Laura Sidle.
Sara didn't see the point in denying it.
"Yeah."
Nor did she see the need to ask where Andrea had gotten it. Mark Ellington was known for playing dirty. Real dirty. He certainly had the winning record - and the six figure paychecks - to prove it.
"Came over slipped into part of the defense discovery," Yeager offered anyway. "A threat?" she asked.
"Definitely."
"You do know where he's going with this don't you?"
Sadly, Sara did.
Though it broke her heart to do it, Sara offered, "I can hand the case over to another C.S.I. if that's what you want. They won't be able to testify to the actual evidence collection, but the detective can do that.
"As for presenting the tests and results to the court, Morgan would be my best suggestion. She knows the protocols as well as anyone.
"And you'll definitely want a woman to do it."
"I want you to do it," Andrea countered. "Ellington wants you to quit. You're too good. Your evidence is too good.
"And he knows it.
"Besides, I refuse to be cowed by the likes of that slime bag."
Sara had the sneaky suspicion Andrea probably had another name for Ellington, one definitely not suitable for work.
"Sara," Yeager was saying, "I stand by your work. The district attorney stands by your work. And I know the sheriff does.
"I... I just didn't want you to get surprised on the stand."
So for the next four hours, the two of them discussed how to deal with whatever bullshit Mark Ellington might attempt to fling at them. It was exhausting, disheartening, frustrating, but equally necessary work, this Sara knew.
They were still at it when Andrea offered to give her a ride home.
It wasn't until Yeager had put the car into park outside Sara's apartment, that she said, indicating the thick stack of file folders in Sara's lap, "Don't bother with those tonight. Worry about the case tomorrow - well not tomorrow - wait until Friday. Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. Eat Tofurkey, or whatever it is you vegetarians eat instead of turkey."
Chinese take-out, Sara thought, but did not say.
"Enjoy the time with that husband of yours."
While Andrea had never met Dr. Gil Grissom, having joined the District Attorney's office a few years after Grissom had left the Las Vegas Crime Lab, she had certainly heard of him even before she had started asking around after Sara had mentioned him in passing that Monday during their initial meeting.
Interesting guy from what she had readily discovered. A veritable legend in the field up until he retired to do what she didn't exactly know. It was rumored to have something to do with a boat, but Andrea hadn't managed to summon up the courage - or perhaps the nosiness - to ask Sara.
Sara, for her part, couldn't help but smirk. Yeager's little talk sounded an awfully lot like one of her husband's old Sara needs to get a life outside of work speeches from back before they had finally gotten together. So much so she had to choke back her smart-ass Yes, boss comeback.
"I'm in Boston until late Sunday night," Andrea reminded her as Sara got out of the car. "Dinner with the family. Fun, fun, fun."
Gamely, Sara wished her luck with that, grateful that she wouldn't have to face her own mother-in-law until Friday and thankfully, that was just for a single meal.
It wasn't that Sara disliked Betty Grissom. Once the two of them had cleared the air a bit about the nature of Sara's relationship with her son all those years ago, mother and daughter-in-law had managed for the most part, to get along just fine.
That didn't mean that Sara didn't find Betty still to be intimidating as hell.
Plus, her sign language had after far too many years of lack of use actually devolved into somewhere near the level of field mouse.
At least her husband was sure to be there this time. Good thing too as neither of them had yet broken the whole We got married news to her yet.
"Oh and Sara -" Yeager called through her open driver's side window. "Don't worry. We're going to get them."
Yes, they certainly would, if Sara had anything to say about it.
xxxxxxx
"I guess I'm more surprised it hasn't come out before," Sara was saying as she and Grissom sat on her sofa sipping tea. "Only it will be Megan who ends up paying for it."
"When the defense can't attack the evidence -" Grissom began sagely.
"They go after the people who collect the evidence," she finished sadly. "Criminal Defense 101. Yeah, I know."
"He's desperate."
"He's smart," Sara countered. "It will play to the jury: me as an overzealous vigilante on a witch hunt that ended up ensnarling two innocent boys in a vain attempt to enact some sick sort of revenge for how her own life was ruined."
"Ridiculous."
"Maybe, but it will play to the jury. And Ellington knows it.
"He doesn't have to prove the boys didn't do it, just suggest there's reasonable doubt.
"My mother's mental history gives them that doubt. After all, like mother like daughter."
"So what are you going to do?" Grissom asked.
"Testify just as before. I have to," Sara said. "Finn and I were the only ones who physically worked that case. Since his son had ties to the team, Russell had to recuse himself and everyone else was busy out on other cases. With Finn dead, that just leaves me.
"And someone has to speak for Megan Freeman."
Ellington could attempt to drag Sara through the mud if he wanted to, but there was no way in hell Sara was going to let him do that to Megan, not in front of a jury. The girl had already been let down enough as it was.
Grissom nodded, thinking as he did so how he had meant what he had told Heather Kessler back in that interrogation room the September before: Sara really did restore his faith in the human being.
Sara set down her cup. She seemed to be steeling herself to say something.
"I'm... I'm going to tell the rest of the team at breakfast on Saturday. I... I'd rather they hear it all from me and not from Mark Ellington."
"You sure?" Came Grissom's concerned query.
To which Sara replied with a resigned sigh, "Yeah. It's time anyway. Probably long past time."
However Sara may have finally made peace with her mother, that didn't mean she wanted the whole world to know what had happened that night so long ago now.
Except now that her past was about to be part of a very public record whether she liked it or not, about the only thing she could control was who knew when.
Sara told herself she hadn't said anything to her coworkers and friends because she didn't want them to suddenly look at her - treat her - any differently. She had had enough of that when she was growing up, her turning into the girl whose mother murdered her father. She hadn't wanted that at the lab, too: the looks - the whispers.
But then Grissom hadn't treated her any differently once she had told him the truth all those years ago. At least not bad differently. He'd simply stayed and dared to love her anyway.
Though Sara had to suppose her continued silence on the subject was based on more than that. That sense that if she could keep it secret, keep it all under lock and key, it could be like it never happened. Or at least she could pretend it didn't matter. The past could be past, gone, done, over with and she didn't have to be that twelve-year-old girl ever again.
So much for that.
Of course her mother wouldn't be the only thing the defense would use to call Sara's qualifications into question. She and Andrea had discussed this, too, and at length.
Only Sara didn't mention to her husband that her recent, precipitous departure from the lab would likely come up as a point against her. That she had left the field permanently and why. That it wasn't the first time.
There would be accusations of burn out, which would further bring her capabilities under scrutiny. It didn't matter that her going had been far more a matter of the heart than the head.
Sara knew all this, was prepared for it. She certainly didn't regret her choice. Not for a minute. Though perhaps she should have made it a lot sooner.
But the defense didn't need to know that. In any case, Sara was not about to let Mark Ellington turn her life with Grissom into something sordid or condemnable however hard he might try.
No, she didn't tell her husband this. He would only worry and she didn't need him to worry - or be concerned.
There was something she did need though.
"You'll... You'll come to court?" she asked.
It would be good to have him there in the gallery, to know she had someone out there on her side no matter what.
Without hesitation Grissom replied, "Of course."
"Thanks," she said and meant it. "And for the flowers."
"My pleasure."
It did indeed appear as if it really was.
That is until Sara said, "Just don't think that either of those things get you out of having to be the bearer of good news."
When Grissom shot her a bemused What good news look? she took up his left hand, the one displaying his recently replaced wedding ring.
"Ah, that good news," he grinned. Although he thought more of it as great news.
"So what do you think?" she asked. "Should we lead off with the good news or the bad?"
Grissom was heartened to hear that his wife did sound slightly more cheered when she asked this.
xxxxxxx
Sara was replacing the last of her freshly laundered underwear into her top dresser drawer when her fingers brushed along something solid in the very back.
With a slight smile, she carefully unearthed the small butterfly shaped puzzle box, the one Grissom had given her as a Christmas gift that holiday they'd spent in Costa Rica nearly seven years before.
She'd almost forgotten that was where she had opted to secret it, instead of packing it up with most of the rest of her things when she had moved out of her and Grissom's Vegas home. With a pang, she realized she hadn't once taken it out since.
Filled with a hundred different and conflicting emotions all at once, she held it for a moment before locating the push button key.
The box fell open in her hands to reveal several photographs atop an amber pendant, the one Grissom had also once given her.
Setting the box on the dresser, she selected the topmost photo, lingered over it.
Worn and well thumbed, it was obviously equally well loved. One of Grissom and Hank curled up together asleep on the couch. Hank's head in Grissom's lap; Grissom with a book half-propped open and his reading glasses perched precariously on the very tip of his nose.
For a long time, the photo had sat in pride of place on her bedside table.
As her and Grissom's times together gradually grew fewer and far more far between during their years apart, Sara had taken to carrying it with her in her bag, needing the comfort, hence its present wear about the edges.
"I've never understood what it was with you and that picture," Grissom said, coming up behind her.
Sara smoothed it fondly.
It was simple really.
"It's home," she said.
"It's good to be home," Grissom agreed.