TRUSTING THE TEAM

CHAPTER SIX

With all that was going on in their lives, Grissom and Sara barely crossed paths for over six weeks. Gris put his townhouse up for sale, and with the housing market booming, he had offers within days. That put additional pressure on both of them to hurriedly prepare for their moves and find a new place together. One that suited them both, and though their wants were similar, their tastes were not so much, and it was difficult to balance them.

They had to go house-hunting separately to accommodate their busy schedules, and then arrange for the other to see the ones they each liked. It was harder to communicate by phone than in person, especially when one or the other or both were distracted with work or sorting or packing boxes.

Grissom was still drawn to big empty spaces and rooms like the ones he had been living in--though he thought he could imagine a place like Sara described. She became frustrated trying to describe to him what she imagined and why the ones he liked didn't fit. Sara felt uncomfortable in big white echoing rooms–exposed.

"What about that one on Walnut?" Grissom asked one afternoon, as they were eating a hurried meal.

Sara bit back an exasperated noise. It looked and was laid out exactly like his townhouse.

"Honey. I see the ones you like...," she tried to think of some way to communicate this without insulting him. "And I...they feel like institutions. Like living in a hospital."

"Ah!" Grissom responded, finally getting it. "Okay. Hmm. How about...you take over this week? Go around and get a good look and a feel, and then–I'll go later."

"Okay," Sara said. "I'll do that." She had wanted to suggest this, but didn't want to be too demanding.

"We need to look at them together though, if possible," she suggested. "We must be able to find the time somehow."

"You're right. I know I respond...differently when we're not together. I seem to keep going back to my bachelor ways."

"And I to my spinster ways," she joked, and the tension lifted.

Though Sara tried to picture all these empty houses cozier with all their furniture and collected books and specimens and rugs and stuff on the walls–it was hard. She'd never shopped for a house before, only apartments, and with those there were only a few questions to answer. How much is the rent? The utilities? How far is it to work? Will my stuff fit? That was pretty much it. Simple.

Now there were many more questions. How much is the mortgage? Sara had never had a mortgage and the whole idea made her feel dumb and vulnerable and nervous. What's the neighborhood like? The neighbors? What kind of shape is the house in? Plumbing? Wood frame? Foundation? Electricity? Insulation? Do all the appliances work? Does it need a contractor? Inspections? Is it up to code? Are there carpenter ants or termites? Does the roof leak? Sara realized that she'd grown accustomed to calling the landlord or super whenever anything broke–it was all so easy.

She also knew that she was pretty easy-going with neighbors and was asleep during the day or working at the lab all night, so she didn't have much contact with any of them.

But with both of them living there, wanting to be free and open and loving with each other, noise or windows or modesty be damned, there might be more conflicts.

Grissom struggled with all these questions and many others too. He also worried how to make them both to feel fully at home. What about privacy? Traffic? Noise? How hard would it be to sleep during the day? Is it too small? Cramped? Would he and Sara be getting in each other's way? How much of his belongings, his insects and specimens, would he have to give up? How secure are the locks, how safe the neighborhood? Is there a bad smell? Mold? Is it too far from the lab? Would they be delayed by narrow streets or construction or tourists to get there in a hurry?

On and on. They puzzled together and alone, and the joy of making this step of commitment dimmed, from all the demands and questions.

Fortunately, money was less of an issue than it could have been. The realtor insisted that Grissom ask much more for his house than he ever would have dared; and none of the prospective buyers blinked an eye. In fact they started bidding, higher and higher, and the winning bidder paid a sum that boggled his mind. Grissom told Sara happily they could afford anything she--they--wanted. Naturally, she was delighted.

So she set out with fewer restrictions in mind. And the possibilities and problems of breakdowns and upkeep could be taken care of by professionals, not by them, and not in their limited free time. She hunted in the nicer neighborhoods, the ones with parks or other amenities nearby. She looked at houses she might only have driven by before with an envious sigh. She checked the Internet and the newspaper listings with an eye, not of extravagance, but of comfort and great extra features. A Jacuzzi in the backyard. Or a pool. A high fence for privacy. An established garden. A fireplace. A great view. Granite counters. A state of the art kitchen. Internet access in every room. Extra bathrooms, with lots of space. Wood paneling. A balcony. Nothing had everything, but every one of them had something to recommend it.

It was almost fun, if she didn't have to keep leaving for work or to run back to her box-filled apartment and sort through all her belongings, and bring up all those memories, and decide what to get rid of, and do all the drudgery and labor involved in moving.

Nick helped. A lot. He shuttled between their homes and volunteered his precious free time with each. Grissom and Sara usually had to sleep separately as they packed their stuff until they collapsed in exhaustion, grabbing a few precious hours of sleep before going in for another long arduous shift. It was all grueling.

Sara dealt with her lease and finally hired a moving service to pack up everything that was left and put it in storage. She lived with Gil again, a relief to both, and they could deal more efficiently with the house-hunting and moving out. He hired the same service to come over every couple of days and remove everything he was going to keep, to the same storage place. That got rid of most of the aggravating clutter and gave them some breathing room.

He let Nick have his choice of whatever he was going to get rid of, and enjoyed how Nick reacted, picking stuff he could give to his extended family and friends (and not have to Christmas shop for a full year) and a few modest things for himself. Sara gave him some of her stuff as well, redundant kitchen supplies and books or journals and DVDs, and they felt less guilty about using their good friend's help and strong back.

Sara burst into Grissom's office one evening all excited. Grissom knew. He had to get rid of Catherine tactfully and shut the door, barely containing his own anticipation.

"I found it, Gil. You'll love it," Sara told him in a loud excited whisper.

"Yeah?" His face was lit up.

"Yeah." Sara was grinning.

"Think we can sneak away and have a look?" Gil said slyly.

"Only if the boss doesn't catch us." They snickered.

"Ah, don't worry about him. Oblivious jerk," he joked. Sara giggled.

"Hm. Meet you at your car in 15?"

"Don't be late!" Sara dashed out. It was her night off and no one minded–she was always popping in and out whether she was on shift or not.

Grissom checked in with all the team perfunctorily, brushing off Catherine's suspicious inquiries. He just told her he had some personal business to attend to and left before she could ask any more questions.

Sara described the house as she drove.

"It's big–but not too big. Exterior is old-fashioned, kind of European villa style. Great neighborhood. Stone floors as you go in. Welcoming foyer that opens out into a wide sunny room, with a staircase going up and a view of the yard. A pool! A hot tub! Privacy fence! And a view of Vegas, it's on a hill. Then a big–comfortable-sized--living/TV/music--room to your right. Polished wood floors. Kitchen is in the back. Wait till you see that! You'll go nuts. Two rooms of equal size to your left. His and hers offices!"

She glanced from the road at him. He looked fascinated and very impressed.

"The staircase leads to the master bedroom, with the same back view, and a balcony. Huge. Closets for days. Master bath. Deluxe! The guest bedroom is down the hall to the right. It's sweet. Nice bathroom right next to that. And another room to the left–it's shaped like a tower!–could be the library?"

"God, Sara! It sounds ideal!"

"I know!" she yelled, delighted.

"There's a full basement. With a dirt floor–sounds icky, but I've always liked the smell, you know? Shelves and shelves, floor to ceiling."

"For my bugs!" Grissom cried out. Sara laughed.

"The driveway–gravel--is long. It's all set back, so you can't see it from the road. It curves back to the road, so you don't have to back out. A two-car garage!"

Grissom cheered.

"And there's no neighbors–not close ones anyway. It's on a cul-de-sac, so no through traffic. Community center, park, trails, all within walking distance."

"How far away is this dream house?"

"Ah. It is a drive–45 minutes, an hour?"

"I don't care," Grissom said heartily. "Maybe they'll get used to me–us–not showing up in the blink of an eye when we get called in." Sara giggled. "And a commute? It's not so bad. I get a chance to gear up before work, think stuff over. And decompress afterward."

"Yes! I know what you mean," Sara said. "My apartment in Frisco was 5 minutes from the lab. I thought it was great when I got it. But it was...too quick. I'd still be in personal mode when I got there, and in work mode when I went home. Unsettling. And of course I was on call and expected to show up instantly."

"This is it," she said eagerly, turning into the street. Sara drove smoothly up the drive, the gravel crunching under the tires. She pulled to a stop at the entrance.

Grissom sat in the passenger seat in awe, looking all over, up and down and around. Sara watched his reactions with pleasure.

"Wow," he finally said. "I love it already."

And they did.

TBC