A/N: Another chapter-beginning a sad, uncertain time for Sara and Grissom. Because he loves her, Grissom continues to shop for Sara! Thanks for reading (and your reviews!)
Shopping for Sara
Chapter 9
Regular, Super, Ultra
When Grissom opened the large cardboard box on his desk and saw the meticulous scale model, he felt a physical punch to his gut. The killing had not ended with Ernie Dell. The multiple deaths of high school students and mass murders of show girls followed quickly, taking a toll on everyone on the team.
Grissom shaved his beard—or Sara shaved it for him in one of those delightful pleasing moments shared between two people who are so much in love they are blissfully unaware of events shaping their futures. For a few hours, the appearance of Heather Kessler as a victim disturbed the private joy shared by the two lovers, but a sheepish grin, an explanation from Grissom and an exaggerated eye roll from Sara stopped any potential petulant words between the two.
They were happy, indescribably so if any one had noticed. But they were careful, or so they thought. None of their team seemed to notice when Sara did small things for Grissom, or when he showed up with dinner or to help her on a routine investigation. Later, everyone realized there had been one person watching Sara when Grissom caressed her arm, when he wiped a tear, when he placed his arm around her.
Before tragedy struck with a horrifying vengeance, Sara and Grissom spent hours together, reading, talking, walking, and always with Hank. They drove away from Vegas, not sure what they were looking for, yet feeling it permissible simply to enjoy themselves. They found isolated places and played with Hank. They found magical patches of desert flowers between rocks, saw wild burros bounding from bush to bush along their path, and discovered mysterious tracks of coyotes. Transparent insects whirred past their faces, and in one marshy place they came across dozens of newly-shining young frogs. A very confused Hank stood, rooted to one spot as the tiny frogs jumped in every direction. Sara laughed until tears rolled down her face at the perplexed dog.
Disturbing events did affect them, but they pushed these aside and they made plans. Something different, they promised. Grissom, his own miniature scale model of his office completed, was spending too much time searching for a serial killer. Sara worried about Greg, she said, when she was actually worried about Grissom. He had not been sleeping well; and neither had she. Grissom overheard conversations between Sara and her mother, about her mother, and knew Laura Sidle's health condition was deteriorating.
They needed something different, he said, outside in the sun. They had a perfect day for it—a day with blue skies and a golden sun but not unbearable heat. They took a picnic of fresh bread and cheese and tomatoes, apples and water. Hank stayed with a new dog sitter. They took nothing to remind them of work.
The drive to the dam was easy, familiar, and beautiful this time of year with rampant wildflowers blooming everywhere. They had not expected the flowers and Sara said it was a good omen for the day's adventure. A turn from the major highway zigzagged into the canyon below the dam; several signs directed them to their first destination. When they stopped in a small gravel lot, Grissom was out of the car, jamming his straw hat on his head and pulling the picnic cooler from the back seat before Sara had cut the engine.
The old man coming out of the small building shouted Grissom's name. "Got what you asked for! Won't be many out today—to early for most."
Minutes later, the two were pushed into the flowing Colorado River in a bright red canoe with the man shouting "Be sure you reach the pick up point before nightfall! Don't want to have to send out a search party!" And as they paddled away, his last shout came, "Remember, cell phones don't work!"
At first, Sara helped with paddling, but Grissom, having done this before, had more skill, and seated in the back, with the aid of moving water, his paddle acted as rudder. Once she stopped paddling, he headed the canoe to a stretch of flat rocks so she could rearrange cushions, move the food, and reposition herself so she could face him with one hand on solid ground. They were back in the middle of the river in minutes.
Grissom watched as her hand trailed in the water from her position. Layers of rock stretched high above them and the sky became a narrow strip of cerulean blue. All along there were fissures and crevices splashed with hanging green vines, clumps of yellow or pink flowers, and an occasional precariously placed tree trying to grow among boulders.
They talked about the dam, the new bridge, the river, Lake Mead, trash that had collected in small whirls, but never mentioned work. After a long silence, Sara caught Grissom's eyes, blue and full of life under the brim of his hat. He winked at her. She was startled to think it didn't just seem that way; for him it was.
"Perfect," she said, and leaned back against the seat, spread both arms wide, and dipped her fingers into the cool water.
At one point the river grew wide and a pebble beach had formed along the water. Grassy weeds grew nearer the sheer rise of the canyon and huge rocks were scattered around like blocks from a toy box.
"Lunch time," Grissom announced and he managed to paddle the canoe into the gravel landing with enough force that Sara stepped over the side without getting her shoes wet. He made no attempt to keep his feet dry, jumping into knee-deep water and pulling the canoe out of the river. "Don't want it to float off without us."
Understanding his reasoning, Sara looped a rope over a large boulder to anchor the small boat. She knew the river was a powerful muscle underneath its surface. "It's like a big snake, isn't it?"
Puzzled, Grissom looked at her.
"The river—how it moves, against the cliffs, moving around rocks, pushing against submerged stones like a giant serpent."
He pointed his thumb toward the cliff face. "I got to pee."
She laughed. "A male snake!" She laughed again as he disappeared behind a rock the size of an Airstream trailer. She spread an old bed sheet over the rocks, stacked their life jackets to use as cushions and opened the cooler containing lunch.
"Where are you?" She called out.
The sound of crunching gravel underfoot caused her to look up as Grissom rounded the large boulder. "Come quick," he said, beckoning with his arm. "Hurry! Bighorn sheep everywhere!"
Quickly, she followed to an area covered with all kinds of smooth stones in colors from deepest jet black to pale, chalky white and then stepped around the sharp point of an outcropping of rock, they saw a dozen sheep drinking from the river's edge.
She gasped at the sight as Grissom's whisper to be quiet filled her ear. The animals made no attempt to move, or even appeared to hear the arrival of their watchers. They stood quietly for a while, watching the sheep take long drinks. A young one snorted and butted his head against a large rock, kicked his back legs and strutted along the edge of the river.
"A young bull," Grissom whispered. He pointed to the obvious indicator of sex. When Sara giggled, three of the sheep looked up, found their watchers to be harmless, and went back to drinking.
Lazily, they ate their picnic lunch and floated back into the river. Eleven miles passed quickly and they arrived at the take-out beach an hour before the old man arrived in his beat-up truck. Riding back, Sara sat in the center of the bench seat and leaned her head against Grissom's shoulder. She woke up when the truck stopped in the gravel lot where they had parked the car. The hours spent on the river would fade and diminish in memory because of what was to come; weeks later, they would remember the day as an interlude of happiness.
Grissom's frustration over the miniature serial killer consumed him. Going over the list of Dell foster children, trying to bring some kind of sense, some connection with any of the names, he was interrupted by Hodges. Shortly, Brass called with the name and address of another Dell foster only to be found dead in his bathroom. Near the body was a small doll, the size and shape used by the miniature killer. As he left Sara at the scene, he called her "dear" in front of Dave Phillips.
Grissom knew the killer's behavior had changed; he could not know how nor would he ever have predicted the coming events. By the time he asked Sara to pick up dinner, they were so near to the identity of this serial killer, he was almost celebrating. At some point he had become an enthusiastic consumer of a certain cornbread and bean casserole prepared and served at one of the small vegetarian restaurants near the lab; she said she would get it for dinner.
Quickly, a fingerprint was identified—Natalie Davis worked on the lab's cleaning crew. Then he found the red car with a small doll underneath it—the doll dressed in a detailed reproduction of Sara's clothing—in miniature. He knew how the killer had changed. The shock he had felt upon finding Barbara Tallman's miniature was a pat to his back compared to the sucker punch he felt now.
...Sara almost died; Grissom knew no other victim would have survived.
He stayed by her hospital bed for three days while she was hydrated, x-rayed, scanned, prodded, stuck, and patched up. Her skin had been stripped, scraped, cut, and blistered. Her body was hideously bruised and broken in places both obvious and hidden.
"I have to go home, Gil," she begged early one morning. "I'll die if I stay here another day."
He took Sara home before noon, signing a dozen forms and making more promises for her care. He was nervous and once home, Hank was jumpy and edgy until he could curl in bed with her. All Sara wanted to do was sleep. Grissom had to wake her to get medications and fluids into her body.
Gently, he pushed her hair away from her face and coaxed her awake. "You need to drink something, honey."
She groaned, painfully, and tried to turn, handicapped by the binding weight on her arm. Her groan became a cry.
"You are okay—it's your arm. Let me help." Grissom slipped an arm behind her back and gently lifted her.
Tears filled her eyes. He had been told to expect this.
She whispered, "I'm sorry." Tears flooded her eyes and ran down her face.
"It's okay, Sara. You're going to be fine." He placed a glass of water to her lips. He felt her go limp before she took a third sip.
She tried to move, groaning again as she did. "I'm sorry, Gil." She struggled against his hand.
"Shhhh—honey. You are home now—in our bed."
Her head nodded. "I—I've messed up the bed—my period started." Her words came with more tears.
"Oh" he understood what she was trying to tell him. With extreme tenderness, he helped her from bed and into the bathroom. When she tried to remove her pants, he said: "Let me."
She stood obediently as he wiped traces of blood from her thighs, and then, with a clean warm washcloth, he bathed the rest of her body. Sara watched his strong hands as the cloth moved down her arm and across her breasts, then turned so he could wash her back. She remained where she was while he got fresh clothing and returned to the bathroom.
"Now, what next?" He asked as quietly as if he were speaking to a baby. "Where do you keep—those—your tampons?"
"Bottom drawer," she whispered, and for the first time in days, she almost laughed at the man who had been painfully shy about her monthly cycle. But when he pulled an empty box from the drawer, she started crying again.
"It's okay, baby—I'll go buy another box. It won't take but a few minutes." He was flustered for a minute. "Let's get you—bed, back to bed. I'll change the sheets when I get back."
She nodded. "I'm sorry—I have some in my kit—in the bottom."
Her kit was at the lab. He sighed. "What about a pad—do you have any thing like that?" He hated himself for not knowing what she needed.
Shaking her head, she leaned against him. "I'll be okay. Could you get an old towel or something—for the bed?"
He folded another sheet over the bed and helped her to lie down. "I'll be right back, quick—stay in bed, okay."
"Thanks." Her eyes closed.
Grissom hurried, getting to the store in record time, reading aisle signs until he found the right one. A state of panic stopped his steps. Both sides of the aisle, stacked higher than his head, shelves were filled, box upon box of what was labeled 'feminine hygiene products' caused him to blink—several times; his hand went to his face. He paced, found the tampon section—still overwhelmed, he tried to remember the color of the box. What he remembered was an empty cardboard box.
Words advertising the products swirled before his eyes. Scented, unscented, pearl, compact, leak-guard, form fit, sports, regular, super, super plus, ultra, in blue and yellow and pink boxes. He had no idea what those words meant for the products advertised. He lifted one box—super, he thought—did super mean size or something more in line with a dictionary meaning. And what did 'pearl' mean? He took another box from the shelf—regular with a flushable applicator.
"Hell," he whispered. Why had he not thought to call Catherine? He knew why—she would have insisted on coming to the house and right now, he did not want to talk to anyone. He snatched another box, a pink one, from the shelf. Two boxes would provide an option. Before he checked out, he picked up three bags of candy and two small containers of ice cream.
…Sara opened her eyes to the most beautiful man she had ever known. His hair was a mass of curls—more gray than a few months ago, she thought. Perhaps being with her had aged him. Sleeping he had the soft appearance of a child, his face relaxed for the first time in hours. She wanted to lift her hand to his face but the way her arm was wrapped prevented her from moving it in the right direction.
He had been so sweet and kind when he returned with two boxes of tampons, sponging her clean again, and opening the box of her preferred brand. She managed the rest of the process with one hand and actually walked around the house while he insisted on changing the bed sheets without help. Her eyes drifted closed and her last conscious act was to tuck her legs next to his.
In this way, the first of long strange days and nights began. Sara insisted on returning to work when Grissom did, and insisted she change to swing shift. When they were together, Grissom could almost believe the trauma of kidnapping had disappeared, but, at times, he knew there was hidden pain. He had found her in the bedroom, windows darkened because of a headache, she said. He could count on one finger her previous complaint of headache.
In bed, she met him with passion, fierce as his own, as she opened herself, stroked his hair and kissed him. As he held her, he thought of her as molten liquid moving through his fingers, as waves from the sea swirled around him. Waking after a deep sleep, he discovered her face against his shoulder, and his shirt wet from her tears.
"Sara," he whispered, but she gave no indication that she was awake or felt his caress.
A few days later, he discovered bees in the walls of a house and spent two more days setting up hives in a sheltered environment provided by local beekeepers. He was succeeding in convincing himself Sara was recovering, returning to her old self, and enjoying more sunshine. When she walked into the tent wearing a full-beekeeping outfit, he could not stop smiling, thinking she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He loved her more than life.
A/N: Another chapter! Quickly! Now, review-some of you are reading and reviewing-thank you very much-that's our reward. Others are reading for free-so we request the favor of your review! Now-review! And another chapter will appear!
