Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"
Note: this is a sequel to "Rollercoaster", which really should be read first. It is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters.
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Grissom woke with a feeling of anticipation that was familiar, but when he considered it he realized that the last time he'd felt this way on Christmas morning had been about forty years previous. The edge of delight, he though happily, shifting his shoulders on the mattress of the foldout couch, which was lumpy but bearable. He glanced over at the clock on the wall; it was only about seven-thirty. He knew his mother would soon be up to attend Mass again, and in fact, as he rolled over, he heard her door open and the bathroom door close.
Sitting up, Grissom stretched a little and scratched his beard. I know last night was real, he thought with dry humor. Otherwise, I'd be sleeping in the guest apartment. But it doesn't feel real.
He'd resigned himself to a Christmas without Sara--to have her turn up and surprise him like that--I imagined it, but I didn't know. I couldn't know how good it could really be.
Shaking his head, Grissom stood, stretching out the stiffness and then stripping the sheets from the bed so he could fold it back into the couch. He piled the sheets on a chair for the moment and padded into his mother's kitchenette to start some coffee. The elderly machine sputtered, and Grissom eyed it with disfavor, but took heart in the knowledge that one of the gifts Rosalie would unwrap later was a brand new one.
I wonder if Sara's awake yet? He knew she didn't sleep much, but she'd been palpably exhausted the night before. Maybe I should go check. He glanced down at the holey t-shirt and worn sweats he was using as pajamas. Maybe I should get dressed first.
The coffee machine wheezed to a stop, and Grissom poured himself a cup; as he heard the bathroom door open, he poured another. Rosalie, wrapped in a thick velvety robe but her hair coiffed, came into the kitchen and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning," she signed.
Grissom passed her the cup and signed back. "Merry Christmas, Mom."
Rosalie took a sip and then set the mug aside. "Is Sara up yet?"
He shook his head. "I haven't looked."
"Well, take the girl out for breakfast or something while I'm at Mass, and then we can open gifts later. Don't take her downstairs, the breakfast here--"
"Is terrible, yes, Mom." It wasn't really, but it wasn't wonderful, and Rosalie grumbled about it constantly. Grissom actually considered that a good sign--there was nothing worse for her to complain about. "Don't you want me to go to Mass with you?"
She gave him a sharp look. "And leave her here by herself? Don't be rude, Gil. The van leaves for church in half an hour." Sniffing audibly, Rosalie picked up her cup again and sailed back to her bedroom. Chuckling, Grissom found the shopping bag he'd filled the night before and headed for the bathroom.
When he emerged, wearing a polo shirt and slacks, the apartment was empty; he filled another cup with coffee and added sugar and half-and-half before heading down the hall to the guest room. The short trip was long enough to let doubt in; he began to wonder how large a part fatigue had played in Sara's decision the evening before, and just how awkward this first meeting would be…
Grissom knocked quietly on the door, lightly enough that he hoped not to wake her if she were still asleep, but within seconds it opened, revealing a Sara up, dressed, and sparkling. Her grin--how he'd missed that grin, the last three years--was wide and full, and before he could say a word she'd drawn him into the room. Grissom had just enough time to set down the cup on the small table by the door before his arms were filled with her.
Awkwardness wasn't even a question, and Grissom abandoned worry as he felt Sara's hands slide into his hair and her lips land on his. The kiss was warm and enthusiastic, a delighted sharing; by the time they pulled apart, his confidence had returned. "Good morning to you too," he said, a little breathless.
"Merry Christmas," she said again, and gave him one more quick kiss before pulling away and picking up the cup. "Ooh, thanks."
The fact that she walked away seemed to be his cue to step deeper into the room, so Grissom did so, a little bemused at the changes wrought. His belongings, though neat, had been spread out over several surfaces the night before; they were now stacked tidily on the small desk the room boasted. Sara's suitcase was open on a chair, and while there were no other items placed around, the room was somehow permeated by the scent of her, apples and warmth. A hint of steam in the air told him she had recently gotten out of the shower, though the hair under his fingertips when he'd kissed her had been dry.
It occurred to him hazily that if anyone else had moved his stuff, even Rosalie, it would have annoyed him; but it was Sara, so it was fine.
She sat down on the bed, which she'd made, and drank, smiling at him over the rim of the cup. Grissom stuck his hands in his pockets, suddenly both amused and shy. "I can't quite believe this is real," he commented.
Sara snorted. "Join the club," she said dryly, and put the cup down on the nightstand, patting the bedspread beside her with her other hand. Grissom walked over and sat down, hooking one knee up onto the mattress to face her.
But she surprised him, sliding closer with a twist of her hips that pushed his leg off again, and then she put her head on his shoulder and burrowed close. Touched, Grissom held her tightly, suddenly knowing with the insight that he sometimes had into her thoughts that she wasn't as confident as she appeared--that she needed reassurance as much as he, if not more.
And just whose fault is that?
He pulled her a little closer, and they were still for a while, just absorbing. It felt so good, Grissom thought, to hold her at last without reservations; so good to savor the press of her body against his, the way her head fitted so neatly beneath his jaw when she bent her neck
How could I have ignored this need? How could I have pretended it didn't matter?
Well, regrets were useless, as Catherine would have pointed out. The best thing he could do now was make it up to Sara with all that was within his power. He'd gotten his second chance; there was no way he was going to waste it.
After a while Sara sighed, and pushed away enough to look at him, but before she could speak Grissom captured her lips with his own, trying to put as much of his thoughts and feelings into the kiss as possible. She made that soft little sound again, the one that stirred both his heart and his groin, and let him kiss her.
When he broke it she was smiling, a small dreamy smile that mixed smugness and bliss. "I always knew you'd be good at that," she remarked before opening her eyes.
"Why, thank you, Ms. Sidle," he deadpanned, then cocked his head to consider her at close range. "Are you hungry?"
The laughter in her eyes told him she caught the dual meaning of the statement, but her smile became demure. "People are always telling me I should eat breakfast."
Grissom let her go and rose, holding out a hand to help her stand. "I consider it my official mission to feed you, then. Mom's gone to morning Mass, and I'm under orders to take you out to breakfast."
It being Christmas morning, many places were closed, but the local Waffle World was welcoming customers, so they went there. It was a quiet meal, with Sara mostly talking about work and Grissom telling her a little more about his mother. Nothing unusual for them, except that their hands kept linking somehow, creeping across the table while they weren't paying attention. Grissom found himself losing his train of thought on occasion as he just watched Sara, disbelief and triumph dueling behind his eyes. She really is mine. She really chose me.
Judging from the dazed little smile that kept flitting across Sara's face, he wasn't alone in wonderment.
X
Grissom ordered a bag of muffins to go, and took it with them for Rosalie. Sara watched him as he pulled bills from his wallet for the check, absorbed as she had so often been before in the deft, unconscious grace of his hands; it was a strange feeling to realize that if she wanted to reach out and hold one, she could, with no barriers or mixed signals to worry about.
In a way, it was tremendously freeing to have made her decision. Ed was right. The real reason I was holding back was me. Grissom had brought doubts with him when he'd stumbled back into her life, but he'd proven himself several times over since.
Now...it's time to prove us.
Grissom pulled her arm through his as they left the restaurant, even though his car was mere yards away, and Sara found herself grinning a little foolishly. "Careful, Griss, or I might think you're feeling possessive," she teased lightly.
Grissom glanced over at her, lips twitching. "Is that a bad thing?"
"Not as long as I get equal time."
He unlocked the car, and opened the passenger door for her. "Feel free to possess me whenever you like," he said with mock solemnity, handing her into the seat and making her laugh.
They found Rosalie in the lobby with friends when they got back to the facility, and once again were displayed. Rosalie again glowed with restrained pride as she introduced them to person after person, and Grissom shot Sara another apologetic glance as they shook hands fragile and crabbed with age. She pursed her lips at him, a silent signal that she didn't mind. Sara knew Rosalie didn't get to see her son often--why shouldn't she show him off?
Eventually, though, they escaped upstairs, when Grissom reminded his mother gently that she needed to eat breakfast. As they reached Rosalie's apartment door, Sara halted.
"I'll be right back--I need to get something," she said carefully, making sure that Rosalie could see her face. The Grissoms nodded, and Sara slipped back down the hall to the guest apartment to collect the packages she'd brought with her. She'd given Grissom his main gift before he'd left, yes, but there were a number of smaller things she'd been saving until he got back, and the day before she'd made enough time in her tearing hurry across the country to pick up a small gift for his mother.
In addition, there was Grissom's own gift to her; haste had kept her from opening it, and now she was intensely curious as to its contents.
Dropping the items on the bed, she pulled out her cellphone and hit the speed dial, smiling as Ed's voice answered. "Whoa. You must've really slept in."
"Not exactly," she replied. "But I'll tell you about it later, I'm just calling to say Merry Christmas."
"To you too, sis," came the cheerful reply. "Hang on a sec, I'll get the spawn."
There was a moment's pause while her small relations were summoned, and then Joey was squeaking excitement over the humongous truck he'd received. After his effusions came Kimmy's slightly calmer glee.
"Thank you sooo much, Aunt Sara!" In her mind's eye, Sara could see Kimmy bouncing up and down as she spoke, and had to laugh. It had been such a simple matter to arrange.
"Hey, I always wanted to learn to ride a horse when I was a kid. Now you can teach me once you learn." She was a little sorry to have missed the look of surprise and delight on Kimmy's face when she'd opened the envelope promising riding lessons, but-- That's life. At least I can give her what I didn't get.
Sara listened to Kimmy babble on a moment longer about her other gifts, and then Ed got the phone back. "Next thing you know she'll be demanding her own pony," he complained, though Sara knew his heart wasn't in it.
"That would have happened anyway," Sara pointed out. She wasn't about to take his dismay seriously; while her own gift had been the lessons, Ed had supplied the necessary equipment, including gift certificates for a helmet and proper riding boots.
"This is true," he said peaceably. "Look, they're gearing up for a game of Ultimate here, I gotta go."
Sara grinned. "Me too. Take care of yourself and I'll see you next week, okay?"
"Deal," Ed answered. "Say hi to Doctor G for me when you talk to him, 'cause I know you will."
Sara held back a snicker. "I'll do that."
When she returned to Rosalie's apartment, she was greeted by the scent of fresh coffee wafting out through the door, which was slightly open. Sara pushed it wide and looked in; Rosalie was seated in her armchair with a plate of the muffins, talking to her son in between bites. The movement apparently caught her eye, for she looked up and smiled, gesturing. "Come in," she said loudly.
Sara slipped inside and shut the door, smiling back but still feeling uncertain. Grissom signed to his mother, and rose from the couch. "Be right back, Mom."
Sara held out her bag to him a little awkwardly as he approached. "Um. Presents."
Grissom raised both brows. "Go ahead and put them under the tree. Do you want some more coffee?"
"No, I'm good." Under the tree was something of a euphemism, Sara realized as she approached the corner that held the artificial fir; it was far too small to handle even the presents now set around it. She added her own to the stash.
When she straightened, Rosalie waved her again to the couch. "Did you sleep well?"
"Very," Sara answered in sign, that being one of the words she'd learned so far, but went on with her voice alone. "It's a comfortable room."
Grissom came back from the kitchenette with his mother's refilled cup and set it down on the side table next to her chair, then took his seat next to Sara. It was a fairly wide couch, it had to be to accommodate the pull-out bed, but somehow he managed to place himself so that their thighs were brushing--not so close as to crowd her, but close enough to touch.
It felt great.
Sara kept her delight to herself, and chatted lightly with Rosalie and Grissom as his mother finished her muffin. It was fascinating, Sara realized, to see how much more open Grissom's face became when he was signing; it was necessary for communication, but it also offered a glimpse of him that she had not seen often. Then Rosalie tapped her lips daintily with a napkin, folded it and set it down, and pointed at her son.
Grissom rose again, to crouch next to the tree and begin distributing packages. Sara watched, a little bemused, as he sorted them into three groups, one for each of them; in the Sidle household, unwrapping was done in turns, with the person who had last opened one choosing the next from under the tree. But apparently the Grissoms had a different tradition. Sara sat for a minute or so after Grissom rejoined her, watching as Rosalie carefully peeled the paper from a tall box that turned out to hold a new coffeemaker, and Grissom opened a package of barbecue-flavored roasted mealworms. He immediately unsealed the box and popped a few in his mouth. "I'd offer you some," he said to Sara, a little indistinctly, "but I'm assuming your vegetarianism extends to Class Insecta."
"You're so right." Sara carefully did not look closely at the contents of the box, though the grubs at least lacked…legs. Rosalie was also not watching, Sara noticed.
At last she turned to her own small pile. Grissom had apparently had the same idea as Sara; the one she had brought with her had been augmented by two more with Grissom's handwriting, and one with Rosalie's. She picked up one from Grissom and started removing the paper, curious.
It was a pair of high-quality headphones, the kind she'd mentioned wanting for work, so she could listen to evidence tapes or music without disturbing her colleagues. "Oh, sweet! Thanks," she said, beaming at Grissom.
He squeezed her hand and picked up one of her gifts to him in turn, nothing more than a leaf-patterned envelope, but when he opened it a surprised smile bloomed over his face. "Thank you," he said softly.
Rosalie poked him gently with one foot. "Let me see," she demanded, and Grissom handed over the card that Sara had placed in the envelope. On it she had written Good for one tarantula when you're ready for a new one.
Grissom's mother laughed, and handed back the card. "You've got his number, dear, that's for certain."
They kept opening. Rosalie and Sara each gave the other a gift card for Borders, which made them all laugh again; Sara had also brought a praying mantis mousepad for Grissom, and Rosalie gave him a handful of opera CDs and--apparently to his surprise--a framed abstract that she had owned for years. "You've always liked it," she told him loudly. "You should have it."
Grissom had also gotten Sara a new subscription to the Journal of Forensic Sciences, but before she could thank him again he was unwrapping her main gift to him. The nineteenth-century entomology book was not a true rarity, but the illustrations were splendid, and Sara had thought that it would interest him. Judging from his broad grin and instant absorption in the pages, she had been correct.
Rosalie leaned forward for a look at the book, then threw Sara a wink, which startled her, and signed something that took Sara a second to translate. Good choice.
She smiled back at the older woman. Thank you.
The overhead light began to flash on and off, and Rosalie pushed stiffly to her feet as Grissom raised his head. "Excuse me," she murmured, and walked off towards her bedroom.
Sara looked to Grissom for an explanation, and he shrugged. "Phone call. She keeps her TTY in the bedroom." He gestured to the low table in front of the couch. "You've still got one left."
It was the small heavy box that Sara had almost opened the day before. She picked it up, and Grissom frowned. "There should be a card with it."
"I opened it. That was, um, kind of what made me come out here."
"Oh." His ears were pinkening, but that adoring look was back. Flushing with pleasure, Sara looked down at the package, and slid a finger beneath the gold foil.
The box beneath bore the same sunburst logo as the box that had held her birthday present, but when she lifted the lid her mouth dropped open, because its contents were far from the casual necklace.
Sara set the lid aside and lifted the bracelet out. It was heavy and gleaming; links of silver were set with pillows of polished amber, its orange-gold translucency containing flecks and flaws. It was extravagant, rich, the sort of piece that one would build an outfit around, and she fell in love with it instantly. "Gil…this is…"
She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but Grissom saved her the struggle of finding words. "I saw it and thought of you."
It's too much, it really is--but there's no way I can tell him that. It was a gift of love, she knew that much--a symbol as much as a present, telling her that Grissom was entirely serious about this. As if I didn't know by now.
Sara shook her head, and turned her arm to fasten it around her wrist. The catch was stiff, and Grissom leaned over to help, his deft fingers fastening it easily. The fit was slightly loose, but the color was perfect against her skin, making a light-catching and exotic statement.
"I knew it would suit you," Grissom said, his voice a little husky, and Sara looked up from her admiration of the golden gems to cup her other hand around his nape. Words might have failed her for the moment, but the kiss told him what she couldn't say.
X
He really couldn't remember being this happy. The simple delights of childhood, even filtered through memory, just didn't compare, and while Grissom knew that this overwhelming quiet joy would subside into a more manageable sweetness over time, he ignored the fact, choosing to savor while he could.
His mother had finished her phone call and lain down for a nap, and while Grissom had suggested a walk, somehow he and Sara had never moved from the couch. Instead, they sat together, Grissom half-reclining against the arm with Sara half on top of him, and shared slow lazy kisses, learning the texture and flavor of each other.
In truth, he hadn't known it was possible to be this happy. He'd managed to be content a large part of his life, secure in his work and routines and friendships. Loneliness had been a part of him for so long that he rarely even thought about it as an adult, simply accepting it as the way things were for him. His few attempts to alleviate it had not gone well.
Sara Sidle had torn a hole in his bubble of contentment, making him aware for the first time since adolescence how deep and hungry yearning could be. And after years when shy hope turned to hopelessness, when all his chances had seemed lost beneath the weight of his self-doubt, now his heart was aching with the glorious pain of a dream made real. The core of his need was rubbing her nose against his beard, setting her head down on his shoulder, sighing in--he hoped--equal bliss.
Grissom let his fingers tangle in her hair, so silky under his palm, and cradled her a little closer. Part of him wanted to keep them forever in this moment, together and at peace, before work or argument or some other disturbance interfered. Then Sara purred under his hand and he chuckled, delighted that such a simple touch could please her.
"Love the way you smell," she muttered, her fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. "Always have."
"It's just soap," Grissom felt compelled to point out, but Sara snickered.
"Soap and you. Secret ingredient."
Grissom shook his head a little, and stroked her hair again. "I love your hair," he said softly. "I've been wondering for years what it felt like, when it wasn't being whipped into a frenzy by a helicopter."
"It's just hair," she teased gently, then lifted her head so she could look him in the eye. It came to Grissom as he gazed at her that he'd never seen her look so happy either, but before he could pursue the thought she gave his chin a quick kiss.
"We are in serious danger of becoming sappy, here. I think I'd like to take you up on that offer of a walk."
Amused, Grissom sat up with her. "Do you really think that will save us?"
Sara snickered again. "Probably not. But honestly, the weather's so gorgeous compared to the East Coast that it seems a pity not to enjoy it."
"True." Sara beat him to standing and offered her hand to pull him up, and Grissom let her, not yet used to the idea that he could in theory touch her whenever he liked. "Let me write Mom a note, and we can go."
Sara was right; the day was warm enough to require nothing heavier than sweaters, and they wandered hand in hand along the marina for a while, sometimes talking and sometimes simply listening to the wind and the water. Eventually they reached the shoreline, and Grissom took Sara to the spot where he used to go for the best specimens for dissection. Perhaps fortunately, there were no candidates available that afternoon.
They chose a good flat boulder and sat again, and Grissom put his arm around Sara's shoulders and watched the sun glittering on the water. After a while, he spoke.
"When I was seventeen years old, I used to sit out here at sunset, if I wasn't working, and dream."
"About what?" Sara asked, hugging her knees.
"You." Grissom felt her puzzlement at that, and laughed a little, looking back at memory. "Not you by name, Sara, but the idea of you. At seventeen I was a total romantic." He sighed. "I was looking forward to the day when I would bring my true love to this beach and sit with her, and know that we meant more to each other than the juvenile pairings I saw at school."
A small shorebird hustled past their boulder, busily hunting something in the wet sand and ignoring them completely. "I didn't think it would take so long."
Sara shifted in the circle of his arm. "Well, you just had to wait for me to catch up," she pointed out practically.
"That's not what I meant, Sara. I..." He stroked the curve of her shoulder with his thumb. "If I hadn't been such an idiot, we could have been here five years ago."
Sara was silent for a few minutes, and when she replied, her voice was thoughtful. "I'm not sure we could have been. I still had to grow up some, and you--" She shrugged. "I don't think you were ready."
He considered that for a while. It wasn't flattering, but it did make some sense. "Maybe you're right," he said at last.
Sara let her knees go and put her arm around his waist. "To me, all that matters is that we're here. We made it."
"We did," Grissom agreed. "And you're far more than I imagined then, believe me."
Sara chuckled and leaned her head on his shoulder, and they sat in silence for a while longer before deciding it was time to head back.
As they followed their footprints in the sand back to the road, Sara stopped and turned, and Grissom halted to see what she was doing. She faced the rock, and lifted one hand in a wave to the empty beach. "Keep dreaming, kid," she called softly. "You'll get there."
This is why I love her.
Deeply moved, Grissom took her by the shoulders and kissed her. Twice--once for himself and once for the lonely boy in his past.
X
They ate dinner in the dining room of Rosalie's facility, early that evening; the big room was decorated for the season, and Grissom and Sara weren't the only visitors joining the residents at the tables. Sara was amused to observe as much intrigue, gossiping, and subtext as in any high school lunchroom, though she hoped it was without the malice that she remembered from adolescence. The vegetarian options were scanty, but the salad bar was decent, and she based her meal on that.
Grissom and Rosalie did most of the talking, and Sara was content to sit and observe for the moment. Rosalie didn't eat much, a habit that obviously bothered Grissom somewhat, but his gentle bullying didn't seem to have much effect on his mother. Sara watched, and wondered what it would be like if her own mother were still alive to be fussed over--and whether Sara would want to, after all this time.
Moot point. The thought held only an old twinge now; reforming a family with her brother had eased some of the pain of loss and terror from her childhood. And it was...nice...to be ordinary for a while this way, to experience a little of what it could be like in a family not torn apart.
Well, he did lose his father. But he and Rosalie seem to have a pretty good relationship. Sara speared a crouton with her fork and watched Rosalie giggle as Grissom teased her. And it's fascinating to see him so relaxed.
They skipped the carol singing after dinner and went upstairs for, as Rosalie put it, "cookies and conversation". "Tell me about your family, dear," she said almost as soon as they were seated, and Sara found herself not only describing her brother and niece and nephew, but fetching the photos from her wallet. After a while she coaxed Rosalie into telling stories about Grissom as a child, much to his embarrassment, and then Rosalie made him fetch her a couple of photo albums.
It was delightful to see at last the young Gil whom Sara had imagined, and she'd been right--she saw an impish little boy with brown curly hair, a lanky young man with serious eyes and a quirky smile. Sara saw baby photos and graduation photos, and even at the back of one album a few from the Vegas lab--Catherine looking startlingly young, Grissom looking mischievous, a woman Sara didn't know who had apparently been the nightshift coroner before Robbins decided he liked that shift best.
Sara shook her head over a picture of Brass with more hair and less humor. "He doesn't look very happy."
"He wasn't," Grissom confirmed. "Jim's always been a friend, but he didn't really like running the lab's nightshift, and it showed."
"How is he?" Rosalie asked. "He was so nice when I was last there."
"He's doing well. He's reconciled with his daughter, and the last I heard he was actually dating someone, though he wouldn't tell me who."
The last photo in the album was a group shot, one Sara recognized as having been taken for the lab newsletter soon after she'd been hired.
"You all look so happy," Rosalie commented, and it was true--they were all smiling at the camera, even Grissom, though he looked impatient to be back to work. Sara felt a pang as she remembered the first year in Vegas. The shift was split now, and there were new people she'd never met on nightshift, and as for herself--
Things change. I did what I had to do. And look where it's finally got me...
Rosalie went to bed not long after that, and Grissom rummaged in her freezer and found them both some ice cream. "Is she usually this tired?" Sara asked as Grissom spooned the confection into bowls.
"She usually takes an afternoon nap, but she doesn't usually go to bed so early," he said judiciously. "But the holidays usually mean more excitement for her." He put the carton back in the freezer and came out to the living room with the two bowls, handing Sara one before sitting down next to her with a smile and picking up the TV remote. "Want to see what's on?"
They watched an old 1940s Christmas movie, having a little fun catching the incidences where the closed captioning didn't quite match the audio track, and simply enjoying being together. There was a certain triumphant pleasure, Sara found, in leaning back against Grissom and feeling his arm behind her head, of resting her hand on his thigh and listening to his somewhat acidic commentary on the film. Nothing heavy, nothing emotionally difficult--just the two of them, together, without tension or separation.
Just them.
This really is the best Christmas I've ever had.
See Chapter 14