A/N:Last chapter! Hope you enjoy this chapter! Enjoy! (And we honestly did not get this idea from another show who did 'flashbacks' this week nor did we write what happens in this chapter after Catherine's last episode!) All our ideas, just using CSI for names of our fav characters!

Fifteen Years

Chapter 10

A family

"Gil," Sara gently nudged her husband. "Gil, did you hear that?"

Gil Grissom grunted, turned, groaned groggily, and lifted his head from the pillow. "What?"

Sara, always a light sleeper, was already scooting across the bed. "I heard something." She reached for her robe and was out of the bed in seconds.

Grissom moved slower. "Stay—I'll go."

She was already around the bed, patted his foot, saying "I'm up—I'll go." She raked her hand through her hair, tied her robe, and opened the door. With four kids in the house, ages eight to thirteen, someone was always getting sick or getting something to eat or drink in the middle of the night. And sometimes the older ones were reluctant to wake her up even if sick.

From a short hallway, she entered the living room where a full moon cast a soft glow of shadow and light. Listening carefully, nothing seemed out of place as she crossed the wide room, instinctively avoiding furniture, checked the kitchen, and entered another hallway that led to additional bedrooms. The door of the first room was open—the room was a library of sorts, lined with bookcases and assorted chairs. She eased the door open of the next room—two forms appeared to be sleeping soundly—amid the accumulated book bags, shoes, and discarded clothing of her daughters' lives.

Her daughters—Sara paused just to watch them sleep—simple delight causing her to smile in the darkness. The girls had arrived unexpectedly at ages one and six when John and Will were five. She was still working and arrived at a horrific highway pile-up of a dozen vehicles, most mangled become recognition. A small young girl had been pulled from one of the cars and as the EMTs tried to comfort her, one called for Sara's help. In the confusion, no one had understood the crying child's plea for "my baby" until Sara realized she was asking about her baby sister.

After a frantic search among the dead and living, the baby sister, only a year old, was pulled from one of the cars, still buckled into her safety seat, unharmed, and smiling when the rescuer handed her to Sara. Hours later, a social worker for child protective services called Sara and said: "You and Gil are on the list—can you take the two little girls? A few nights—I'm sure there are relatives."

A few nights had turned into a month; the girls had no relatives. Gemma and Geena had become daughters, sisters to John and Will, proving that family did not mean blood, eye color and genes. She smiled as she quietly closed the door; she could not imagine her life without the two girls.

The door to her sons' room at the end of the hall was tightly closed and as she placed her hand on the door knob, she heard her husband behind her in the kitchen.

"All quiet?" he asked.

She nodded as she quietly pushed the door open. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and, as she quickly glanced around the room, an unusual movement, a pinpoint of light, brought her around in a quick half-turn. In an instant she heard a sound, saw a light and felt something hit her shoulder.

She made a cry of pain; her hand flew to her shoulder as her brain tried to process what she had seen with the pain she felt and by some instinct she knew she was bleeding. Pulling her hand away, she felt dampness, saw a dark wet fluid on her fingers, and then dimness, and immediate, total blackness…

"Mom?"

"Yes, dear."

"Mom, what are you doing here?" Sara was confused. Her mother had been dead for years, yet she was bending over Sara as her soft fingers brushed against Sara's cheek.

"Look who else is here." Laura Sidle's mouth was moving, her voice sounded as Sara remembered it. "We're fine—just watching after you."

Sara's dad appeared—a young man, exactly as she remembered him on a good day all those years ago. "Hey, honey. It's good to see you."

"Dad?" More confused than ever, Sara tried to move but felt she was tied with heavy weights to the floor.

Her father seemed to sense her struggle, and gently, helped her sit up. "I'm good, Sara. No more drinking; your mother and I are having fun watching you." He laughed, warmly, very much as she remembered. "You're having a great life, honey. We love you, Sara. You're a great mom!" He smiled again and as he did so, his face seemed to fade, replaced by Janice Roberts, the foster mom who had treated Sara as a daughter, and behind her, two more faces formed—Janice's husband Ronald, and son, Ron.

"I don't understand," Sara said. Her mind tried to recall what she had been doing to have this crazy dream.

Janice laughed as she seemed to understand Sara's thoughts. "You think it's a dream. But life is never a dream, is it. The best thing we ever did was take you into our home." The kind face laughed again. "And I see you are still using our little kitchen table—every time I see you working in the kitchen, I think of the hours we spent there. I'm so proud of you."

Ronald, an old man of seventy when Sara lived in their house, had not aged. "You are as smart today as you were the day you graduated from high school, Sara. And you've passed on those smart genes. Now don't be too angry about what's happened!" He chuckled and stepped away.

Their son, Ron, who had died before Sara moved to Vegas, gave her a 'thumb's up' signal. "You've done well, Sara. I'm not around much, but I hear all about you from Mom and Dad." Ron turned his head and suddenly, a boxer was licking Ron's face. "Hey, Hank—the first. You got here too!"

"Hank? Hank One is here?" Sara was more confused than ever. This had to be a baffling dream for Hank to show up with Ron when the two had never met in life. Just as suddenly, she was kneeling and petting the first dog she and Grissom had ever owned. Their current dog was Hank Three.

An unfamiliar voice said: "Thank you for all you did, Sara. I never got to live the rest of my life, so I've sort of taken yours on as my own." Startled, Sara looked up at the well-dressed young woman, recognizing her face.

"Pam," she whispered. "Pam Adler."

A smile broke across the woman's face. "I knew from the first we could be friends. I just didn't imagine you would remember me all those years—all those visits." She laughed, softly, lighter than Sara would have expected. "When I realized I could see you, watch your life, I was so delighted. It's been such a joy to see you—I was so happy Grissom found you; you got to see Paris! Have babies! And now you laugh with your own family." She laughed again. "You have your hands full, don't you?"

"Pam—I—I could not—did not help you and Tom! What about Tom?"

"Tom is fine—he watches his brother's family a lot or he would be here. He did what he had to do that day. And it wasn't long before he joined me and we're happy—very happy. It's a happy place."

Sara made a sound—grunted she thought—and attempted to stand. Hank was gone, as was Pam Adler. Another woman with pretty red hair was sitting beside her; for a moment, Sara had no idea who this person was, then realization hit her.

"Gemma and Geena's mother."

The woman smiled, saying, "I gave birth to both, but you're their mother. I had to leave my girls and I could not have left them in better hands. Fate, divine intervention, luck, whatever put you in their path was a wonderful act." Her fingers touched Sara's shoulder. "This will be over soon. You'll laugh again. But I wanted the opportunity to say thanks. You did not have to take my girls and I'm forever grateful. I'll be around—watching, making sure they learn the right things from you. You're a good woman, a good mother, Sara. Thank you."

Sara nodded. She was beginning to understand what was happening. She was being visited by ghosts in this dream; after so many years of dealing with the ghost of her father and the phantom of an absent mother, she had finally set herself free and now all of the meaningful people in her life were returning to her in a very unexpected yet comforting way.

"Why?" Sara asked, "Why are you here? Why is everyone here?" She must be dying, she thought; why else would she be seeing them?

Then a beloved face appeared, a beautiful grin on his face, green eyes sparkling, and the red haired woman disappeared as quickly as she had arrived. She tried to lift her arm to touch his face.

"Hey, Cupcake!"

"Warrick! Warrick! How? What's happening?" She knew this was a dream; it had been years since she had dreamed of him.

"You are going to be fine, beautiful! Look at you—I always knew you were beautiful and now—in your fifties, right? You don't look a day older than when we roamed the streets together!"

"Warrick, why am I having this weird dream? What happened?"

He laughed the laugh she had never forgotten after all these years. "I can't tell you right now but everyone's running around taking care of things and you needed a little distraction. So we came—all of your old friends. Even your parents passed me on the way in." He frowned. "You should have told me about your mom and dad. We would have understood—you're a brave girl, Sara. None of us realized how really brave you were until that night in the desert. I still remember how frantic Grissom was about you."

Sara snorted. "I hope all my ghosts are friendly. I don't want to see Natalie again." She coughed a couple of times.

"Hey, don't do much coughing—that's not going to help things. Those two boys keep you pretty busy, don't they? And then you added the two girls. I'd have never guessed Grissom to be a dad to four!" He laughed, the melodious sound was like hearing an old favorite song to Sara's ears. "And he's good, isn't he?"

"He is—we are. Can you see John and Will? And you know about Gemma and Geena? Are they okay? Gil says it's a lot like having us following him around in 2002!"

"You are a sweetheart, Sara. Everyone's fine. I'll let them explain what's going on in a little while." He laughed. "The girls are beautiful."

Sara could feel her body relaxing as if she were breathing fresh mountain air. She had always enjoyed talking to Warrick; his voice was so calm that somehow she knew he was okay. "We—we found out we loved having kids so when Gemma and Geena were pulled from that wreck and needed a place to stay—what else could I do? Remember Carol, the social worker who was around for years—she helped so much and then they really did not have anyone else. By the time we learned all of that, they had been with us for a month." She smiled. "It's easy, Warrick."

As he smiled, his eyes twinkling, she frowned. "Did this happen to you? The day you died? Did someone stay with you? Did you know Grissom was there?"

"No, honey. I went fast—and you're not dying, you know—but I went from my car to the arms of my mom and grandmother. Faster than a blink of an eye." He chuckled. "I did get back in time to stop Nick from shooting the asshole undersheriff." He shook his head as Sara laughed. "That was difficult but it was much better for Nick that he did not shoot the bastard."

"How does this work? Your return?"

His smile returned. "We only return for the good ones, honey. We can't stop the bad guys but we can visit the good ones, especially in times like this." He patted her shoulder and for the first time, she realized she could feel his hand. "You're going to be fine. But remember, don't be too hard on those boys—they are just like their dad, truth be told."

The pressure of his hand increased as his face faded.

"Don't leave. Don't leave! Talk to me," she pleaded.

But Warrick's friendly smiling face and laughing green eyes disappeared, replaced by two intense blue eyes, blurry at first, and then slowly focused to be the very worried face of her husband.

He was saying, "I'm here, I'm here, Sara! You're going to be fine!"

"Are you okay? Where am I? Where are the kids?" Sara asked her questions quickly, but Grissom seemed to ignore her words. Maybe, she thought, she was still dreaming. She struggled, trying to sit up, before realizing she was strapped to a gurney—and moving.

"Going to the hospital—you're going to be fine!" He gripped her hand in both of his. She was wrapped in a blanket yet he felt her shiver. "She's cold," he said to someone Sara could not see.

In a few minutes, she felt warmth seeping into her legs. "I saw Warrick," she mumbled.

Grissom's face was back above hers. "No, honey, you saw Nick. He got to the house just as the paramedics arrived."

"What happened, Gil? I think I was shot but I don't remember."

"You were shot—and you fainted."

"The kids?" She suddenly realized intense pain was coming from—her shoulder—that made her cold everywhere else.

"Fine, everyone's fine." He bent over her hand and kissed her fingers. "Rest, honey. We're almost at the hospital."

Grissom blew out a long breath. The past fifteen minutes had been bedlam—no, he corrected his thoughts. The first five minutes had been a nightmare before chaos. He had been standing in the kitchen thinking about eating when he heard a pop; he still wasn't sure what he'd heard, but he turned in time to see Sara sliding to the floor and his sons were shouting…

Lights were suddenly on. The boys were shouting—yelling in confused terror a better description—as he ran down the hallway. Sara was on the floor; his fingers sought a pulse. She was unconscious, a bright crimson stain spreading over her shoulder, her head at an odd angle.

He did not remember saying anything, but he must have because Gemma was in the hallway on the phone, talking to someone, saying her mother had been shot. And then he heard his son.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to—you know I didn't mean too." The boy was crying, saying the same thing over and over.

At some point, they were all around Sara—he was holding a towel to her shoulder; John was sobbing. Will was trying to explain something about a flashlight and a gun—the only gun in the house was in a locked box. Grissom could not understand what Will was telling him. And Gemma and Geena were crying as they leaned over Sara.

Suddenly, the noise of multiple voices seemed to explode in the house.

Grissom yelled, "Back here!"

The first person he saw was Nick followed by paramedics and a policeman. Grissom's brain was tripping over its self; what was happening, how had Nick arrived so quickly, who, what had shot Sara?

Nick asked, "What happened? Gun shot? Who? I recognized your address!" He stopped before he got to Sara, shocked, trying to process what he was seeing.

Grissom and the four kids backed away as the paramedics went to work. For the first time since he had watched Sara fall, his brain seemed to function. "Okay, boys, what is going on?" His question was followed by a full minute of silence.

Gemma reached for something on the bed. "I knew they were making these, but I never, ever thought one of them would shoot Mom!" She held out her hand.

Nick and Grissom quickly recognized a homemade gun, made from the tube of a flashlight and several easily obtained items—a coiled metal spring, a rubber band, duct tape, a little knowledge of chemistry and cap guns.

"We were trying it out—aimed at a pillow! Dad, we had no idea Mom was going to open the door!" Will cried. "We didn't think it would work!"

Grissom's eyes went from the object in his daughter's hand to the faces of his sons and for the first time in years, he was speechless.

Nick cleared his throat and glanced at Grissom, before saying "You know you're not supposed to make a homemade gun."

One of the paramedics spoke: "We need to get her to the hospital."

A look of overwhelming confusion crossed Grissom's face, his expression reflected in the faces of the four children looking at him.

"Go with her," Nick said. "I'll stay here and we'll sort things out." When Grissom remained in one place, Nick put a hand on his shoulder. "Pants, shoes—go with Sara. I'll stay here."

John had managed to stop his tears. "I didn't mean to, Dad. What can I do?"

Grissom turned to his son and pulled him tightly against his chest; several seconds passed before he released him. "She knows that. We'll talk about this later."

The kids followed the gurney to the ambulance while Grissom ran to the bedroom for clothes.

Geena, the youngest asked, "Why isn't she waking up? She's so calm—she looks asleep."

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Sara was placed in the back of the ambulance and Grissom climbed in with her.

"Back inside," Nick announced. "We need to get this story straight before they get home." He pointed at the two boys. "You two have some explaining to do." He wrapped an arm around Geena. "Your mama's going to be fine, sweetheart."

"Why wasn't she waking up, Uncle Nick?" she asked.

Nick shook his head, "Not sure, sweetie, but she probably hit her head when she fell and it's taking her a while to wake up." He hugged the little girl tightly, and as they entered the house, said "Gemma, can you and Geena fix us some drinks—water's fine—before we sit down with this officer and explain what happened tonight?"

Hours later, Grissom thanked the policeman who brought them home as he helped Sara out of the car. Still lightheaded from pain medication, her shoulder bandaged and her arm in a soft sling, Sara leaned against Grissom as he and the policeman talked about paperwork—or the lack of paperwork—for the events of the night. This was the same policeman who had arrived at the house with Nick and the paramedics and had given the parents the 'rest of the story' as he had called it when he arrived at the hospital.

"Nick feels safe," Grissom said as he opened the unlocked front door. "Guess he thinks a homemade firearm on the premises will scare away any evil doers."

"I still can't believe they made a gun and two bullets—and it worked!" Sara whispered as she pointed to two feet positioned on the end of the sofa. "I think Nick's tired."

"I'm tired," Grissom groaned. "And hungry."

"What are we going to do?" Sara asked. She opened the refrigerator, placed a container of yogurt in front of him and reached for another one. Lifting the trash can lid, she said: "Looks like pizza was delivered."

Grissom chuckled for the first time in hours. "Maybe everyone will sleep—for a long time." He peeled open both containers of yogurt, got two spoons from a drawer and nodded toward their bedroom. "Let's eat in bed—pretend we don't have to deal with this."

"I want my own clothes!" Plucking at the sleeve of hospital scrubs, Sara laughed, softly. "We'll deal with it—a homemade gun—from a flashlight." She stopped at the doorway to their bedroom. "Someone told me those boys were just like their dad." She pushed the door open. "Oh, Gil." Her words whispered out with a sigh. "Our bed is full."

A large dog was asleep across the foot of the bed; partly covered, arms and legs were tangled or sprawled across the bed. One of the boys had pulled a chair near the bed and was asleep, feet propped near his sister's head. The dog, Hank Three, lifted his head to look at her and, just as quickly, dropped his head.

Grissom wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Let's find another bed."

"Twin beds, Gil."

They slipped passed Nick who was wrapped in a pink and yellow blanket from Geena's bed. Closing the door to the girls' room, Grissom straightened covers on each bed and then ate his yogurt while he watched Sara as she picked up a stuffed bear, a jacket, and several other things belonging to the girls. He waved her to the bed.

"I'll sleep in these," Sara said. "I'm so tired I could sleep sitting up."

"Get in beside me, dear," Grissom said with a laugh as he crawled under the covers of Gemma's bed. "I'll keep you warm." Shaking his head, he smiled. "And I'll protect your gunshot wound."

Sara got into bed beside him, settling her back against his chest as he covered both of them. "What are we going to do?"

"Sleep."

"That's not what I mean, Gil."

He wiggled his hips against her butt. "I'll think of something," he mumbled. His arm wrapped around Sara's waist and his hand enclosed hers. "Try to sleep." His fingers caressed her fingers and played with the band on her ring finger. She had been unusually calm during the entire incident, he thought as her body molded against his. In a few minutes, he realized the pain meds were working and Sara was asleep. He hugged her tightly.

Epilogue

I look at my situation as a hobby—I don't feel pain, I'm happy, I can cause good things to happen, I can be there when people need a friend, need special attention. Most of them never know I'm there; only those with a powerful and passionate sense of essence can see me—and then only in extreme moments of stress and they usually think I'm a dream.

I continue to watch over Sara and Griss and their family. Of course, Sara recovered from her gunshot wound caused by a 'lead' bullet made from melted wire and enclosed in copper. A flesh wound in soft tissues that bled quickly and profusely as the homemade bullet entered her body. And she never again mentioned seeing me, or any of the others, when she talked about that night.

Geena and Gemma recovered from the trauma of the night quickly. By the next morning, Geena was helping Nick make pancakes while her sister was delivering a severe lecture to her brothers. I don't have to watch over them; their birth mother spends all her time making sure those girls learn everything possible from Sara. DNA isn't everything, you know.

As for John and Will, the two boys, deeply chagrined by the reprimand from their sister, dreaded the prospect of punishment from their parents. Their Uncle Nick had spared no words as he had explained the law—pretty much put the fear of wrong-doing in their brilliant minds—but then he and the policeman had gone outside to talk and, of course, they had not been taken to jail. Both of the guys knew this was a bad science project idea thought up by two twelve year olds thinking like most of us do at twelve!

The punishment was typical Grissom. He took the entire family to a shooting range, taught the kids how to shoot, how to handle a gun, and showed off his own marksmanship talents. The boys were impressed—stunned into silence when Grissom's target was pulled up—and then Sara fired. All of us knew Sara Sidle had bull's eye vision with a handgun and that day her children learned a well-kept secret—six bullets had gone into the center of the circle and she had never hesitated when pulling the trigger. The silence after seeing Grissom's target changed to an amazed admiration when they saw Sara's shooting skills.

And Gil—I actually knew Grissom was with me when I died but I did not want Sara thinking about those minutes when we were talking. I have walked beside him since that day, followed him to Costa Rica and a dozen other far reaches around the world. I can't predict the future, but I had my suspicions that he was looking for a wider, broader life—moving to another level—before he or Sara knew. People always talk about women 'nesting' into home life, and what I saw Grissom doing was 'nesting'—gathering around him those he loved, settling into a good life with Sara. I'm saying those two were made for each other and the love they have is so powerful, so persuasive, so good and strong, it had to be shared. I always thought of Gil Grissom as the father I never knew, and, over the years, he has become that man.

I'll always love him.

The End, Adieu, Farewell, So-long, Toodle-oo!

A/N: Now that this one is finished, we'd appreciate hearing what you think! We are taking a break, real life gets in the way, but, hopefully at some point we'll get back to writing about Sara and Grissom.

To all who review-thank you! You have become good friends! And we appreciate the time you take to do so. We're not saying a final 'goodbye' yet, so keep watching for another story.