VI

She was screaming. Blindly, he tried reaching for her, hoping to silence her agonizing cries, wanting to still her. He watched her thrash before him, lost to some dark nightmare. Her screams continued to tear at his heart and he reached again, and again. He kept reaching but found only air. His heart racing, he reached again; nothing…again…nothing…reaching again…nothing, nothing but air. He kept reaching, but still nothing. Again…nothing. He flailed his hands out and they landed upon the bedding. He woke in a panic.

He was sweating. His pajamas were soaked with perspiration. So were his sheets. His breaths were coming out hard and fast. He gasped with each breath, choking down air as it tried to find its way in. He was hyperventilating, more carbon dioxide going out than oxygen coming it. His heart was beating so hard, he thought it might burst. His chest hurt. He clutched at it. His arm hurt. Is this what a heart attack felt like? The symptoms seemed right, but was this how it actually felt? Is this how it felt to actually experience one? Burst, he thought, just let it be over and for one absurd moment, he felt akin to Fred Sanford. Sara, I'm coming to join you. 1

Like Fred Sanford, it wasn't a heart attack, though unlike Sanford, he hadn't been feigning anything. He had felt the chest pain and had been hoping for an end, for some peace at last. Realistically, he knew the chest pain had been caused by anxiety, just as it had in past experiences. That damn nightmare, reaching for her and not being able to grasp her, waking to find her gone. He flopped onto his back as waves of his nightmare washed over him, dreaming of Sara caught in the middle of her own terrible dream. His nightmares had nightmares. What a horrific nightmare it had been, watching her in the throes of her own nightmare, unable to reach her, to help her, to comfort her. For a few brief moments, he couldn't imagine being more scared. Until he reached for her and came up empty. Until he woke up.

His breathing slowed, gasps for air coming softer, the change slight, but it helped. His lungs didn't hurt so much. His heart still did. The frantic pounding had stopped, but the pain from emptiness of the gaping wound had returned. He sighed and a tear slipped from his eye.

He began to shiver. The chill in the room attached itself to his wet pajamas, leaving him cold beneath. Turning to his side, he curled into a ball and continued to tremble on top of the bed. He reached for the extra pillow, her pillow, and pulled it to his chest, biting down hard on the corner and breathing over it. He closed his eyes and let himself imagine it was her. Think of something else. Think of something else.

Years before, Catherine had investigated a case where an elderly couple had died together in their sleep. The couple had died of cyanide poisoning, the cyanide being produced by a fire beneath an old layer of carpeting. It had drifted up to them in sleep and killed them, silently, peacefully, without suffering and in the arms of their love. While signing off on Catherine's case, Grissom had caught a glimpse at some of the case photos. After he had signed off, he'd gone back to staring at those photos. When the couple had died, the husband had been wrapped lovingly around his wife, his left hand over her hip. Grissom hadn't been able to stop staring at the couple, spooned together in sleep, then in death. His eyes had wandered over their left hands, both prominently displayed in the photos, and he had gazed at the sight of their wedding bands adorning their aged ring fingers. At that moment, he couldn't imagine a more peaceful way to go.

Earlier, he had thought he wanted a long, drawn out death, a chance to challenge himself in a way he hadn't before, a chance to immerse himself in a classic piece of literature once more, a chance to return to a place that had awed him with such wonder and such beauty, and a chance to say goodbye. He didn't need that anymore. Rethinking priorities before death, fulfilling those last wishes and bucket lists, it all came too late. Sara had shown him that. Being with her had reorganized his priorities. He'd taken the time to immerse himself in great literature once again, reading to Sara as they cuddled together on the sofa, she curled into him, he with his arm around her shoulders. She'd led him back to the rainforest and reintroduced him to wonder and beauty, not just the beauty and wonder of the majesty of nature, but the beauty and wonder of her. He had begun to challenge himself in ways he hadn't thought to before. He'd had all of that. He'd only missed out on one thing. He hadn't been able to say goodbye to the one person he really loved. He'd been robbed of that one, the one he actually needed. It didn't matter what time he had left anymore. She had died and he was dying, his one time wish for a prolonged death coming true, and he had found it was nothing he'd imagined, but agony instead. The pain he felt every day was agony. It held him in purgatory.

This long, drawn out death did not lead him to any truths, nor did it have him examining priorities. His greatest truth was Sara. He didn't need this prolonged agony to feel that. He didn't want go out fulfilling some meaningless bucket list. Since finding her, everything he had wanted to experience, he'd wanted to experience with her. Without Sara, there was no meaning. He wanted more time with Sara, to not have her life cut so short. If they had only had more time, time for Sara to live out the rest of her life. He would have gladly faced everything that came along with aging if it could keep him with her long enough for her life to be fulfilled. He would have gladly spent hours a day over the next several years relieving himself if, over those years, it gave him an hour a day of simply holding her. He would have held on for her. He would have died in such peace wrapped around her. He wanted that. He wanted what that couple got. He wanted to go back, to die with her tucked into his embrace, to not have to survive her, and to spare her the pain and suffering of surviving him. He knew the anguish in that, knew the anguish she would have felt, watching him die, having to experience that prolonged death he had once thought would be so ideal. He would have hated her to watch him die, to know this emptiness, to feel this…to have to feel.

The shaking of his shivering body grew more intense. Silent, aching sobs were pressed into the pillow. He rocked his upper body back and forth, grasping onto the pillow, his fingernails digging in deep. He thought of Sara dying alone on the cold, hard ground and he let out a wail. The concerto played loudly in his head. His body continued to rock and tremble until finally, the music began to fade and the trembling began to ease.

He could feel something on his temples, soothing and comforting. "Ssh," she whispered, her voice soft and comforting. He opened his eyes and blinked, and began to stare at the wonderful flakes of brown. Sara gave him a small smile. "Hey." Her hand cupped his cheek and he reached up, grasping her wrist and placing a kiss on her palm.

"Hi."

"Are you doing alright?"

"Yeah."

He watched as she stepped back and linked her arm with his. His eyes followed hers around the crowd of people. She leaned into his side. "It was a lovely service."

He felt himself nod.

"Do they always do a full mass for a funeral?"

Grissom's eyes moved from the gathering of mourners back to Sara. "Yeah, for both weddings and funerals."

Sara nodded. She turned and faced him again. Her arms wrapped around his back. Her head rested on his shoulder. "I really admire your mother. She certainly did it right."

"Hmm?" His arms wrapped around her. He craned his neck to look down at Sara. "What's that?"

"Growing old, aging as though she wasn't aging, remaining so active and independent, so dignified and so sharp, right up to the end."

He nodded. His fingers ran lightly over her back. "Is that how you want to do it?"

Sara lifted her head and shook it before allowing it to fall back onto his shoulder. "No. She had to do it all alone. I want to do it with you."

Grissom couldn't help the soft smile that appeared on his lips. His fingers stopped skimming over Sara's back, but landed flat and pressed her to him. He held her for a few minutes, but released her when he saw people approaching them. Sara by his side, he let his hand drift in circles over the small of her back as he listened and watched his mother's friends and colleagues offer their condolences. His hand only left her back to respond with thanks to the various people who'd approached him.

When the last of the group left, Sara tucked herself into his side and he could not help the soft smile that grew from his lips. His hand continued to graze over her back. He gazed at her for moments, and then turned to look back over the gathering. He caught the eye of one attendee and smiled, watching her as she approached.

A pleasant smile on his face, his hands moved in sign as he greeted Julia Holden and thanked her for coming, watching her nod softly. "Julia," he spoke and signed, "this is my wife, Sara." He paused and let his eyes glance between the two. "Oh, I'm sorry, I believe you two have already met."

They both nodded and politely greeted one another. Grissom's hand found Sara's back again, circling lazily as he watched the two converse. He was amazed by the warmth Julia showed towards Sara. For a couple of women who'd only met a few times before, it startled him, especially given the circumstances under which they first met. The warmth, however, was genuine and it left him in awe of his wife. He had learned early, never to underestimate her, but for her to have won Julia over…

He felt Sara give him a nudge and then realized he had drifted off while Julia was waiting to address him. He watched her hands and smiled as Julia spoke of his mother. When they had exchanged warm words, she wished him well and told him how happy she was to know he had married and had married so well. She let him know he was very fortunate to have found someone so compassionate and he found himself drawing Sara further into his side in agreement. He bid a fond farewell to his old friend and former sweetheart, thinking back to the pleasant days they had spent experimenting with being a couple and finding, that while they cared a great deal for each other as friends, they would never achieve the level of intimacy of his mother's hopes. Even then, he'd been waiting for Sara.

Turning her to face him again, he grasped both her hands in his. He stared into her eyes. "Sara, I want you to know…" He stopped. Sara stared up at him. "What?" she whispered, her voice catching a little, betraying her nervousness.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke softly. "I treasure you."

Sara cocked an eyebrow. Then, she smiled, wide and beautiful, her eyes dancing. He tugged on her hands and wrapped her arms back around him. His arms moved over hers, pulling her in tight. Sara's chin rested on his shoulder.

Wrapped around her, he glanced around and he knew Sara was doing the same.

"Feels kind of odd."

"What, dear?"

"Everybody milling around, not following her body to her burial site."

He nodded. "For the past several years, her home was here, but her place is beside my father. There will be another short grave site ceremony in Marina Del Ray tomorrow for all of her old friends back there."

He could feel Sara's arms tighten around him. "How long until we have to leave for the airport?"

"A few hours."

"Do you want to stick around here?"

He shook his head. "No, let's go home."

He could feel Sara smile against him. She stepped back, and reluctantly, he let her go. Her hand reached out to his and he wound his fingers around hers in a firm grip, lifting his hand to place a kiss on the back of hers.

Home.

"Planning on moving?"

Sara's voice carried into the kitchen, where he was making breakfast. He peeked around the corner to see Sara sitting on the sofa, flipping through a folder from the real estate agent, the folder he'd left on the coffee table, in plain sight, for her to find. He'd wanted to ask her about it, but didn't know how to go about doing it. He'd hoped finding the folder would allow Sara to broach the subject. Now he wondered if it was too soon, or if he was trying to make too many decisions at once. He'd just got the letter from William's College and still had to tell her about it. Stepping out into the living room, he shrugged. "Maybe."

Sara dropped the folder back on the coffee table and looked up at him. "What?" Her voice carried a tone of disbelief. "You'd sell the townhouse?"

He shrugged again. "I've been thinking about it. The market's right. It won't be for very long."

"You'd really sell this place?"

He let out another small shrug. She nodded and absently began leafing through the folder. He moved towards the sofa, nervous, his palms sweaty. He took a deep breath. It was time. A part of him knew he would likely be accepting the offer from William's College. Another part of him knew he needed something concrete to return to, or his month long absence from Sara would create doubts in both of them. He was finally just beginning to understand what he wanted with regards to her. He took another long breath. "Maybe, I mean, if I could find a suitable roommate."

Sara's eyes shot up to his. Her eyes wide, she stared at him. "Roommate?"

He nodded.

"You would actually be willing to share your space?" The skepticism in her voice bothered him, but he forced himself to look beyond it. He stepped around the coffee table until he stood before her, looking down into her eyes. "With the right person, yeah."

"Oh."

Sitting down on the edge of the table, he pressed his fingers together and watched as the tips turned red. "If that was something you would want. I mean, I thought we could just look around and see what is out there."

She smiled up at him. Her eyes were dancing. "A place of our own, together?"

He nodded.

She smiled even wider. "Yeah." She leaned forward and pressed her smiling lips softly to his. Cupping her cheeks in his hands, he deepened the kiss, breaking apart only to feel her smile against his lips once more. "You know," she whispered, "I think I'd really like coming home to you."

Home.

He stood next to the steps leading down into what would be the kitchen, scanning over the area.

"It won't be ready for occupation until the beginning of March."

Grissom nodded at the real estate agent and looked over at Sara. "What do you think?"

She was smiling. "New development, our own condo, a chance to put in the fixtures that we want, room enough for a big dog."

He nodded and turned to the real estate agent. "Can you give us a moment?"

"Sure."

The young woman left and he turned back to Sara. "So..."

"This place is great. Best place so far. I like it."

"Do you?"

"Yes." She cocked her head to the side. "Don't you?"

"I think the place is near perfect. We have office space, lots of room, the layout is nice, but..."

"But?"

"Do you just like it, or...?"

Sara laughed. "I love it. I love the idea of it. I love that it is new and we can start from scratch and do with it what we want, and I love that I can share it with you."

"It won't be ready until March."

"My lease isn't up until the beginning of May anyways, so even if the townhouse sells right away, we'll still have a place to squat. Your stuff will have to go into storage, though. There definitely isn't room at my apartment."

"So, this is it?"

Sara smiled and grasped his hand. "Yeah, I think this is it, our new home."

Home. He turned the word over in his head and glanced over at Sara. She leaned into his side. Yeah, he thought, home.

A/N: 1: Sara, I'm coming to join you is a knock off from the oft repeated gag, "Elizabeth, I'm coming to join you," from the television show, Sanford and Son.