Title: SOS
Author: wobbear
Rating: M/adult
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters aren't mine; the story is.
Author's note: Heartfelt thanks to smacky30 who not only beta'd this into shape but wrote a lovely passage where I was at a loss for words. Thank you again smacky!

Summary: Sara left in tears; now Grissom's visiting for New Year's. GSR


Chapter 7

It wasn't a good day for the beach, but they headed out for one last walk anyway. Grissom had an afternoon flight back to Las Vegas to work the evening shift. Their time together had passed all too quickly, and Grissom hadn't even met Tom and Dale yet—although that was soon to change.

The view from the top of the dunes was dreary, in keeping with their moods. Sporadic drizzle seeped from a cloud-crowded sky and a half-hearted breeze toyed with the rigging of the sailboats hauled up for the winter—the hollow metallic clanging seemed to be tolling that the hour of departure was near. Gray, sluggish waves wrinkled their way into the shore.

Grissom put his arm around Sara, taking her hand into his and dipping their clasped hands into Sara's jacket pocket. Together they negotiated the slope and started plodding along the beach. Sara reached her free hand around Grissom's back and tucked it into his hip pocket.

Thus linked, they meandered along the sloping sand, rarely speaking. Grissom pointed to a pair of black oystercatchers foraging near the water line; Sara stooped briefly to inspect a few shells—with a sigh, she left them where they lay.

Once they reached the sandy headland which jutted out into the bay, by silent agreement they turned back, reluctantly retracing their steps. Standing beside the car, Sara breathed in deeply, the moist salty air catching in her throat. "They're expecting us," lifting Grissom's wrist to check the time, "now."

"Yeah, we should go." Grissom opened the driver's door and handed her in behind the wheel.

Trying to dispel the pervading melancholy, Grissom said, "So, have I got this right? Dale is from Ohio, he's tall and lean, the quiet one; while Tom is short, solid with a crew cut. He's from New Zealand, and he's loud."

"Yeah, I think you'll be able to figure out who's who." Sara smiled faintly. "They usually cheer me up—hope their magic works today."

xxxxxxx

They walked up the bricked path to the bright blue front door, Grissom clutching the bottle of Champagne he'd insisted on buying. Sara raised the handle of the brass knocker and paused, looking at him. "You sure you're ready for this? They'll understand if you want to pass."

Grissom raised an eyebrow and said firmly, "Absolutely. You tell me they've been good to you and I'd like to meet them. Besides, we already rain-checked on New Year's Day."

January first had dawned wet and windy, and they had deferred their tentative plans to get together with Tom and Dale for lunch, instead staying in their cozy cabin by the water. Truth be told, neither Grissom nor Sara had been ready to share the other with anyone else, so they kept away from the world and got reacquainted. After two days of room service, gradually they ventured out, going to the Nick's Cove restaurant for a meal and for walks on the beach. Yesterday they'd made it as far as the Hog Island Oyster Farm, all of three miles away.

Sara smiled wanly at him and let the knocker fall, then rapped a few more times for good measure. They heard brisk footsteps approaching, and the door was flung open.

A compact man with a blonde buzz cut and piercing blue eyes bounced into view. No question, this was Tom.

"Oh my lord!" Tom's tenor voice stretched into falsetto as he beckoned them to come in. He frowned at Sara and wagged his finger admonishingly; Grissom caught the glint of levity in the younger man's eye. "You didn't tell me your man was gaaaw-jus!"

Grissom pinkened but held his hand out politely. Tom's really lively today, thought Sara. "Uh, Gil, this is Tom. Tom, Gil."

"No, no, no! A handshake just won't do!"

Sara rolled her eyes; she hadn't known Tom for long, but she was already well acquainted with his over-the-top style. It was strange; usually noisy, over-enthusiastic people annoyed her, but Tom was so warm and well-intentioned that she found herself going with the flow.

Tom continued in a conversational tone, seemingly oblivious to any diffidence on the part of the visitors.

"Normally I would bow to conservative convention and shake hands, but to mark the arrival of Sara's beloved—an unexpected hottie," he added in a breathy aside, "kissing à la Française is called for."

Grissom quailed internally—the recent airport scene excepted, he was very rarely demonstrative in public even with Sara—but resisting the younger man's cheeky enthusiasm would make him look awkward, self-conscious and … in other words, exactly how he felt. Meanwhile Sara was smiling, looking at Tom with tolerant eyes and Grissom didn't want to break the moment. He could do this.

Stepping forward, he lightly clasped Tom's shoulders. "Sara told me you've spent some time living in France," Grissom said smoothly, as he leaned in and quickly executed three light kisses—left cheek, then right, then left again.

Initially startled that his bluff had been called, Tom responded in kind, laughing delightedly as he did so.

Sara's was staring, stunned, as Grissom stepped back and turned to her, planting a warm, definitely invasive kiss on her mouth. Pulling back, he winked at her as she dissolved into a fit of giggles.

She shook her head, laughing. "Right, two variations on French kissing."

"Why are you all standing around on the doorstep?" Unheard by the others, a lanky dark-haired man had appeared behind them. Several inches taller than Grissom and Sara, Dale towered over his partner. "Sorry, I was busy in the kitchen. I'm Dale. Welcome to Aroha, Gil, it's a pleasure to meet you." He offered his hand to Grissom, who gratefully shook it, and then Dale gave Sara a solid hug.

"C'mon inside, get out of the drizzle. Brunch awaits!"

xxxxxxx

Brunch turned out to be a substantial meal, more like a full-blown feast. There was prime rib for Grissom and Dale, who was thrilled to have "another carnivore", as he put it, to cook for. They all shared the staggering variety of vegetarian dishes, from hot artichoke dip to zucchini fritters. Dale claimed he was reliving his European travels and his guests reveled in the journey.

Over mimosas made with Grissom's gift Champagne, which Tom described as the perfect aperitif, Grissom remembered something he'd been curious about. "I never actually heard how you three met." Pointing at Dale, he continued, "I heard about your muffins though. Sara raved!" Dale grinned modestly in response.

Sara explained that on her first visit back to Tomales, she had parked the car near Diekmann's General Store and wandered around on foot. She had been inexorably drawn to Dillon Beach Road, especially number forty-four where her life had changed so many years ago. "And I was standing along the street—"

"Lurking, you were, veritably lurking by the toyon hedge out front," interjected Tom. "I was weeding, I remember!"

"I was standing by the hedge, looking at the shiny new paint job and," she turned to Tom and said pointedly, "admiring what you'd done with the garden." Tom smiled sweetly, placated by her words, as Sara continued, "It looked so different, it had been transformed into a thing of beauty and I was amazed."

"Dumbstruck too, as I recall," Tom added.

"You said 'Gidday!'" Sara protested. "I wasn't sure if you were being incredibly formal and saying 'Good day', or you thought I was 'giddy' and about to faint or … what." Then she shrugged and admitted, "I hadn't thought about who'd be living here now. I had no idea what to say."

She went on, explaining to Grissom. "Then Tom, never the shy and retiring type as you can tell, continued, 'You're not from around here, are you?' in that accent."

"Hearing him, I shot back, 'I could say the same about you.' Then I realized that sounded kinda sharp, and that my memories weren't his problem. I told him that I used to be from here, a long time ago."

"And you waved vaguely at the house and looked uneasy, so I took pity on you," Tom picked up the story. "I smiled charmingly and admitted I was a transplant, but that I knew just about everyone in the area and had never seen you before."

"What you said was 'I'm pretty good with faces, especially pretty ones, but I've never seen you before.' I was sure it was the worst pickup line ever."

Dale now chipped in, "Lucky for Tom, I arrived home at that stage, and … the rest is history."

Later, when Tom was busy upstairs with Sara, getting her opinion on fabric for new drapes in the guestrooms, Dale filled Grissom in. "We learned the history, what happened with Sara's family here, when we bought the place—it was cheaper than market rates would suggest and after some digging I forced full disclosure from the vendor."

"Tom told me he just had a feeling when he first saw Sara, with her uneasiness, that she was that girl. After Sara left the first time, I asked the old lady two doors down about it, and she dug out some yellowed newspaper clippings, which included Sara's school photo. She hasn't changed much."

Grissom nodded.

"The next time she came we let her know, gently, that we knew her story. She looked … almost relieved." He looked at Grissom and shrugged a shoulder. "We don't talk about it. But she keeps coming back, and it seems to do her some good. It's strange, we only met about five weeks ago, and it's like we've known each other forever." He ended with a small smile. "We love her."

"It was something like that for me, too," Grissom said softly. "When we met, I was teach—" He stopped, hearing laughter as Tom and Sara thundered back down the stairs and sauntered back into the living room. Sara plopped down beside Grissom on the sofa.

Dale quickly changed the subject. "You missed some great fireworks New Year's Eve."

Grissom squeezed Sara's hand. "Yeah, sorry about that. I know Sara was looking forward to them, but I was exhausted so we went straight to bed." That was sort of true, albeit in a roundabout way, he reasoned.

Sara, thinking along the same lines, giggled and then regrouped, saying, "There's another big show for the Fourth of July, right?"

"Yep, sure is."

Grissom smiled. "We'll be here."

xxxxxxx

Too soon Grissom and Sara had to leave. Their bags were already packed and in the trunk, so after fond farewells they hit the road. As Sara backed the car out of the driveway and headed for Highway 1 south, Tom's "Y'all come back now, y'hear!" was ringing in their ears.

"That sounds fairly like a southern accent," said Grissom, amused. "Is there a reason for that?"

Sara snorted. "Oh yeah, of course. He likes to say he's from the South, 'WAY down south'."

Grissom sighed happily, feeling infinitely more cheerful than earlier in the day, despite the fact his flight to Vegas loomed ever closer. "That was great, honey. As you said, they're generous, well-meaning and interested without being intrusive. And entertaining." Tom's infectious good mood, balanced well by Dale's cheerful calm, had set the tone for the meal.

He chuckled at the memory of Tom's outlandish tales, ranging from how he as a boy shepherded 60 million sheep to him forcing Dale, the quiet American, to bungee jump off a bridge on their first date.

Sara's was apparently a mind reader. "Y'know that bungee-jumping story is true." Grissom raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Dale told me. He said he had gone to New Zealand looking for a change, a new challenge in his life, met Tom on the second day and he figured it was meant to be."

xxxxxxx

Grissom dozed a little on the way south, but he came to fully when they were going through Muir Beach. As they turned away from the coast toward the Golden Gate Bridge, he rubbed his eyes wearily and turned to Sara. He was running out of time.

"So … what about Laura?"

With Grissom's question Sara's relaxed post-brunch mood vanished. The very air was instantly charged with tension. Sara gripped the steering wheel more tightly as he shifted in his seat to look at her. Outside the rain was blowing over; inside her emotions stormed. She pressed her lips together and flipped the wipers to intermittent.

"Laura," he repeated. "Your mother. She's one of your ghosts."

Sara shook her head, a quick motion that could have easily been a muscular tic. Grissom sighed. He didn't like doing this, but he was going home in a few hours and he felt he had to try. "You … haven't contacted her yet, or you don't want to talk about it … or …?"

"Both," she blurted, and then looked surprised that she'd spoken.

He let that lie for a few moments, then ventured, "You know … the more, the longer, you think about it, the harder it seems to get." He bit his lip, not wanting to push her, but needing to say this while he had the chance. "Trust me. I have experience in this field." His feeble attempt at levity fell flat so he hurried on.

Grissom rarely swore, but he needed to get Sara's attention. "I fucked up my life—and yours—for years until I finally faced facts and acted, instead of thinking."

It worked.

Quickly checking the rear view mirror, Sara pulled the car off the highway into a parking lot and turned off the ignition. She stared out through the windshield blinking as she tried to find the right words.

"Griss, I … Can we not talk about this right now? I'm not avoiding it, truly I'm not. I--I just need to have these few days of joy with you, so I can keep them in my head, in my heart to keep me strong once you go."

Grissom tipped his head back, bumping it against the head restraint a couple of times then leaned forward, rolling his head to stretch his suddenly taut neck muscles. Decision made, he turned to look at her. What he wanted was for Sara to come back to Las Vegas with him, today. What he said was something else.

"Sara," he grabbed her hand off the gear shift. "Of course, you're right … you have to do it your way. Just … please keep in touch with me. I need to know how you're doing." He swallowed, feeling vaguely sick. "Since you left … it's been hell, not knowing … anything."

Sara squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying to stop her tears from falling. Her voice had vanished, gone with her happy mood. She whispered "I promise."

Grissom took a moment, drawing in a big breath and letting it out slowly. "All right, okay … good." He had done all he could. Time to change the subject. "So … uh … tell me about these classes you're going to teach."

It took a few moments before Sara was calm enough to speak, but gradually they returned to a semblance of conversation and got back on the road. But by the time the airport exit signs started appearing alongside the freeway, they had descended into a morose silence.

Grissom had to clear his throat to say, "Just drop me off at the curb, you don't need to come in with me."

Sara glanced across at him. Grissom had put his impenetrable mask back on, but the tightness of his voice betrayed him.

"Maybe I don't need to, but I want to."

Sara sounded determined, and Grissom didn't want to leave her yet anyway. He accepted without a fight. "I'd like that."

They lapsed into silence again as Sara drove to the short term parking. Check in via electronic kiosk went smoothly, and soon they were by a security zone. As Grissom checked the flight information screens to confirm the gate number, Sara rued the fact that this flight was on time, unlike his incoming one had been.

Grissom shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at his feet, gathering his resolve. Then he raised his head to see Sara's eyes, dark and serious, upon him. "Honey … this is hell for us both. I'm going to go through security, so you can go drop off the rental car."

"But—" she didn't know what to say; she just didn't want to him to go.

He talked over her objection, trying to stay on track. "Then you can go back to your apartment, relax. Why not take a bath, drown a book—you know you like doing that." He was trying to coax a smile from her, but suddenly they were both remembering their bath together.

Sara launched herself at his chest as his arms came up of their own volition to hug her tightly. "I miss you already," she mumbled into his cheek.

He closed his eyes and tried to memorize the feel of her against him, the smell of her hair, how her arms were clutching his head, his shoulders, the hitching of her breath as she fought back sobs.

He clutched her still more firmly, unwilling to break contact. Her tears were soaking through his shirt and he reluctantly let go of Sara with one arm in order to fish his handkerchief from his back pocket. Pressing it into her hand, he stepped back and watched her dry her face. When she would have handed it back to him, he shook his head.

"Keep it." His voice was tight and she could see the emotions swirling in his eyes. "I have more."

"Thanks." Sara gave him a tremulous smile. "Go now, before I decide to keep you here."

Grissom opened his mouth to say something but then changed his mind. Instead, he drew her to him and settled his lips over hers, letting his tongue sweep in to taste her. Pulling back, he let his hand linger on her cheek for a moment longer.

"I love you," he whispered. Then he picked up his bag and was gone.

xxxxxxx

Sara watched from the concourse as Grissom, in a lengthy line, slowly approached the screening machines. She could no longer speak to him, but until he turned the corner into the concourse to go to the gate, she would still be able to see him.

As Grissom was emptying his pockets into a plastic tray by the X-ray machine, he picked up his phone, turned to Sara and waved it at her.

Sara nodded and waved. Yes, there was always the phone.

xxxxxxx

Waiting for the elevator in the airport parking building, Sara had a complete blank about where she'd parked the car. Come to think of it, where had she put the parking ticket?

Grissom had just arrived at the seating area by his gate when his cell phone bleeped, announcing a new text message.

SS: SOS! Seeking one Saturn

He grinned at the phone. It wasn't the first time that Sara had done this.

GG: Sure of situation: level 3, row G

SS: Slick one, Sherlock

GG: Simply observant, sweetie

The car was, of course, where Grissom had remembered. As she reached it, Sara's phone pinged a low battery message. Great, something else she'd forgotten. There was no cell service at Nick's Cove, and she had neglected to charge it.

SS: Sedan on spot

GG: Sure of self

She could picture him pursing his lips, trying not to smirk, pleased despite himself of his near photographic memory. Before she'd figured out an answer, he came back again.

GG: Sara otherwise smart

SS: Save occasional slips

Grissom keyed "Sure of Sara"

He looked at that. Sometimes this SOS thing was too restrictive. But, he reflected, he was sure of Sara in every way, so he pressed the green key.

After getting in the car, she sent one last message.

SS: Signing off 4 safety. I love you.

Sara's cell chose that moment to die.

TBC

Aroha, the name of the B&B, means "love" in Maori, the language of New Zealand's native people.