A/N: Thank you so much to Chick Lit for the lowdown on Marina del Rey!

Part X

"Yeah, how long must you wait for him?
Yeah, how long must you pay for him?
Yeah, how long must you wait for him?"

--Coldplay, In My Place

She woke to the sound of scraping and thumping. Sara sat up in bed, her neck slightly stiff, and blinked as she took in her surroundings.

So it hadn't been a dream.

The floral, dated room looked different in the sunlight; somehow it was more homey, more welcoming. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and got up out of bed. At the sudden rush of cool air on her lower half, Sara remembered her state of undress and rushed to the bureau for something to wear. After slipping on panties and sweatpants, she followed the sound that had woken her.

Grissom was in his childhood bedroom and in the process of hauling one of the twin mattresses out from under the debris. There was a large black trash bag by his knees, full to bursting with the wooden planks that once held up the top bunk.

"Do you need any help?"

He looked up at her, surprised. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

Brushing her messy hair behind her ears, Sara shook her head. "Do you need another garbage bag?"

Grissom looked down at the one he had filled up. "Um…"

"I'll go get it," she said. As she turned to go, Sara realized she had no idea where the garbage bags could be found. "Uh…where are they?"

"In the laundry room. Off of the kitchen."

"Okay."

She managed to locate the laundry room with relative ease. The washer and dryer, like every other appliance in the house, looked ancient but very well-cared for. There were shelves to the right that housed detergent and fabric softener along with big, black contractor bags. Sara extracted two from the box and then returned to Grissom.

"Here you go--"

"Don't come in," he said quickly. "You don't have shoes."

She looked down at her bare feet.

He took the bags from her hands. "Thank you."

She nodded. "I'll go get shoes on so I can help."

"No. No, don't worry. Why don't you just relax? Get some breakfast. I can make you pancakes," he said, moving towards her.

"No. I can take care of it," she said, frowning. "I'll go."

"Okay."

Sara fixed herself a bowl of oatmeal and ate it, alone, at the kitchen table. She cleaned the dishes in the sink and then left them on the rack to dry.

The racket from the bedroom continued. Sara suspected he was moving furniture, but decided against intruding. She didn't want to offer her services again, just to be rejected one more time. And she didn't want to keep putting him in awkward situations where he'd have to politely push her away. It wasn't fair to Grissom. The poor guy's childhood bedroom was in ruins, thanks to her. The pristine room that had probably not seen a change in decades was now without a bed. She pictured his mother choosing every last piece of furniture for her only child's room, designing it with care so it could accommodate a growing boy. He probably had lots of great memories of that room, had probably thought lots of interesting thoughts as he stared up at the box spring above. The trashed bunk bed was now just a symbol of what Sara Sidle did to Gil Grissom's life:

She ruined it.

She only ever wanted to make things better for him. But it seemed as if he would've been better off if she had never agreed to stay in Las Vegas, if she had never bothered to pick up the phone when he called her in San Francisco…if she had never attended that seminar almost a decade earlier.

If they had never met, he wouldn't be cleaning up what was left of his room. He wouldn't be wasting his time in Marina del Rey when there were cases that needed solving in Las Vegas.

And maybe she'd be better off too. If they had never met, Sara wouldn't know what she was missing.

Sighing, she shuffled to the master bedroom and began to disrobe. It had been a long while since she had showered, and her odor was beginning to bother even her. She stepped under the scalding hot spray and let the water hit every inch of her body, let it beat against her skin until it was so numb, she couldn't feel the heat anymore. When she was sufficiently soaked, Sara reached for the shampoo and squeezed some into the palm of her hand. As she worked the soap into her scalp, she inhaled deeply, recognizing the scent of the shampoo she had always used in Vegas.

He had remembered.

Blinking away the tears, Sara rinsed her hair and then looked down at the conditioner and body wash that were sitting by the shampoo. Both were her favorite brands. Grissom must've slipped them into the cart the day before without her realizing. She wasn't sure why she was surprised. He was a considerate man, and it's not like he would've gone out of his way to not buy the correct shampoo and conditioner.

Still, she was touched. The fact that he knew such an insignificant yet intimate detail such was proof that he loved her once, and proof that, though his feelings had obviously changed, he still did care for her.

It didn't change much about her situation, but it would make the days ahead less painful.

Sara finished her shower, dried her hair, and dressed. She found Lady pacing the floor by the foot of the bed.

"Do you want to go out, girl?"

The dog paced faster. Sara sighed and pat her hip to let Lady know to follow as she walked out of the room and down the hallway towards Grissom. He had made much headway. The room was practically bare -- alarmingly so.

"Where's all the furniture?"

"Front yard. I'm getting rid of it."

"Oh." She watched as he swept up some dust, avoiding the two cardboard boxes that housed some belongings he probably wasn't planning on getting rid of. Sara spotted the Dodgers poster, neatly rolled up, and almost smiled. "I'm…going to take the dog for a walk. Her leash is by the doorway, right?"

Grissom stopped what he was doing and looked at her. "Um…maybe I should walk the dog. You don't know the area and…"

"I'll do it," she said, as firmly as she could without sounding mean. "She's my dog now and I'm responsible for her." When he frowned, she did her best to smile. "We won't go far."

With that, she left. A long walk was just what she needed, but Sara was well-aware that spending more than a half hour outside would have Grissom convinced she was on some suicide mission to the sea. She kept the walk brisk and short. Lady enjoyed it, and Sara was able to explore a bit, to take in a place that wasn't Las Vegas or Tomales Bay, to absorb surroundings that didn't trigger despair and sadness inside her soul.

When Sara and Lady returned, Grissom was waiting by the front door.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, confused.

He took the dog's leash from her and unhooked it, shooing Lady back into the house. "We need to go shopping. I've got to get paint and supplies."

"Paint and supplies?"

"For the room. It hasn't been painted in years. It needs a fresh coat. And I've got to get a new bed."

"Oh."

"Come on, let's get in the car."

Though she didn't see why she had to go along with him, she didn't feel up to objecting. They drove to the Home Depot in Playa Vista and Sara trailed behind Grissom as he grabbed a cart and started loading up on paint and paint gear. As he paid for his purchases, Sara pursed her lips and stared at the items he was buying. "So…you're going to do this all yourself?"

He regarded her for a moment. "Yes."

She said nothing more. Grissom never struck her as very handy. Oh, she knew he wasn't clueless, but she never really pictured him swinging a hammer or wielding a paintbrush. Magnifying glasses and a pointy pair of forceps seemed like a better fit.

Their next stop was a nearby furniture store. He spent all of five minutes picking out a dresser, bed, and nighstands in a plain mahogany. Sara almost opened her mouth to object when Grissom, a man who had reveled in his king-sized bed in Vegas, ordered a queen. She checked herself quickly, though, reminding herself that this sleeping arrangement was temporary, and that he wouldn't be sharing the bed anyway. Eventually, Grissom would be back to Vegas and his bed, and she'd be…somewhere. She couldn't trespass upon his goodwill for very long. Sara knew she'd have to formulate a plan so she'd have a place to go when it was time to leave Marina del Rey. She had some savings, but not enough to stay jobless in California for an extended period of time.

She'd have to come up with a plan soon.

"We're done here."

"There's a feelin
But you're not feelin' it at all
There's a meaning
But you're not listening any more
I look at that open road
I'm gonna walk there by myself"

--Annie Lennox, Dark Road

Sara turned to look at Grissom and blinked. "What?"

"I said we're done here. Let's go."

She nodded and followed him to the parking lot. "We're not taking anything with us?"

"They're going to deliver everything in two days. That should give me enough time to get the walls patched up and painted," he explained as he got into the car.

"You're going to do all that yourself?"

"What do you mean?" he asked as he started the car.

"Do you need any help? "

"I know what I'm doing."

Sara folded her hands in her lap and exhaled. "You can have the big bedroom. Really, you should," she said quickly, before he could open his mouth. "It's your house. I can…sleep on the sofa. I spent most of my time sleeping on the couch in my cottage anyway."

Grissom kept his eyes on the road. "No."

The moment they returned home, he retreated to his old bedroom with the supplies. Sara sat with the dog in the kitchen for about an hour, staring at the patterned wallpaper, before getting up to go to the living room. She had watched hours of television while she was holed up in the cottage, and figured a few more wouldn't kill her. She searched for a remote for several minutes before realizing that the old TV probably didn't come with one. Sighing, Sara walked over to it and switched it on.

Snow.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The cable had obviously been disconnected, seeing as the house wasn't exactly lived in. She sighed and stood back, looking around the room for something to do. There were a few coffee table books on art lined up on a side table. She grabbed one on the Renaissance and began to flip through it.

Boring.

She picked up the one on DaVinci…

Boring.

…and then the one on Native American art…

Boring.

…and then the one on churches built during the Middle Ages…

More boring.

Art was definitely not her thing. She put the books back and then got up off the couch to wander around once more. Sara could hear movement coming from the other side of Grissom's bedroom door, but she didn't stand around to listen. He didn't want her help and she didn't feel like wallowing in that fact. She walked past the den and stopped at the doorway, staring at the books that lined the shelves. They called out to her, beckoning her for a closer look.

Sara skimmed the titles, coming to rest on "A Practical Course on Botany." Furrowing her brow, she ran her finger along the gray spine. It looked old -- older than all of the other books. Sara moved to pull the book off of the shelf before freezing. These weren't her books.

She took a step backwards and then frowned. There was nothing to do, and she wasn't remotely tired. Sleep was a long ways away.

Sara swallowed and left the room, walking up to Grissom's bedroom door and knocking softly first, and then louder when she didn't receive an answer.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"Yes."

She opened the door and coughed, squinting her eyes at the inordinate amount of dust in the room. "I thought you were painting."

His thick beard was covered in dust and looked practically white. "I'm evening out the walls, spackling and sanding. I don't want to paint until they're in good shape."

"Oh."

Grissom looked at her for a long moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Did you need something?"

"Oh, right. I forgot. Um…would it be okay if I read one of the books you have in the den?"

He furrowed his brow. "Of course."

"I'll put it back when I'm done."

"Sara, just take them," he said, turning back to his wall.

She nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

TBC…