A/N: First-thank you to the wonderful, caring readers who have stayed with us and a special place is waiting in heaven for those who have reviewed, sending us encouragement, thoughts, and smiles during this marathon!
This chapter brings to an end our story of Gil Grissom's Romance (parts 1 and 2). We honestly never imagined it would write itself into this many words and chapters.
We've also brought our story to an ending that mirrors what the creator of CSI said about the future of Sara and Grissom!
Read on...and remember...review!
Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2
Chapter 36
That night, after a dock side meal, after a slow drift along the coast and a quick drive back to the apartment above the gallery, Grissom, with a bit of embarrassment, showed Sara the place he'd called home for nearly two years.
Different from the surrounding commercial areas, the neighborhood was quiet, with sidewalks narrowed by plants; a small café was shuttering its patio as they passed and both people working waved and acknowledged Grissom by name. A few minutes later, he was working a combination lock on a gated entry to a flight of stairs.
Once the gate was opened, Grissom took Sara's hand, apologizing for the state of the upstairs apartment, and led her up the stairs. At the top, another lock stopped them for a few seconds and then he switched on a light.
"It's not really put together," he said as he guided Sara inside.
She looked around in amazement. From where she stood, she could see an open living area with a compact kitchen to the right. Large windows, uncovered, lined walls on three sides with double doors in the middle of one wall. A door on her left led to one bedroom; another door was probably another bedroom. Furnishings appeared comfortable but were sparse—a table with two wooden chairs, two upholstered chairs, and bookcases everywhere else. Books, papers, rolled up maps were stacked in three of the chairs, on the table, and falling out of over-filled bookcases.
Grissom disappeared with her bag and rushed back into the room, moving books from one of the chairs. He said, "I told you it was—it is a mess. A lot of the time, I'd stay overnight on the boat."
"And your mother bought this?" Sara asked as she wandered to different windows. She wasn't sure what she'd expected to find but this was a surprise.
Smiling, Grissom said, "She did. Around the time the area was in a real decline—almost demolished, but enough people protested and spent the time and money—so now, its—it has become quite an investment."
"I can see the water—the canal."
"Just across the side walk—we get tourists walking around and a few small boats, but mostly it's quiet."
He headed to the kitchen and took two bottles of water from the refrigerator, carrying one to Sara. They moved to the padded chairs and sat in silence for long minutes. Grissom leaned back in the chair and covered his eyes with his hand.
"I got up early—I'm sure you did." He waved a hand in the direction of one of the two doors. "I—I put your bag in the bedroom—the bathroom is between the bedrooms." He chuckled, saying, "I have one bed and no sofa."
With that, Sara laughed. "I came to see you planning to sleep with you, dear."
And the way he looked at her left no doubt that sleep would be postponed for a while.
Standing, he pulled her into an embrace; a kiss lasted until he bumped into the bed.
"This bed isn't very big."
"It's fine."
He kissed the corner of her mouth, then moved to her neck where he gently tugged on her ear lobe. Reaching under her shirt, he unclasped her bra, murmuring, "You've got on too many clothes."
He slid his hands around her and found her breasts, making a soft satisfying sound as his fingertips played over her nipples.
"Are you sure this is okay?"
A soft giggle from Sara. "Yes. Direct question 'can I have sex?' and answer 'by all means—as often as possible' so that's why I came." Another giggle. "One of the reasons."
Hands closed around her breasts, tenderly. Grissom said, "I don't want to hurt—you or anything."
"You won't."
Need and desire unfurled as her mouth sought his, each greedy as the other. He managed to get out of his shoes and pants, sliding off her shirt as his feet pushed away his pants.
She slid fingers into his hair and for a time, their panting moans were the only sounds in the room.
"The bed," breathless, whispering as he maneuvered them around the end of the bed, kicking books away from their feet.
Sara quickly kicked off her pants and shoes as they fell into the bed. Even as their mouths met, he pushed her panties off. Hands skimmed over her breasts; his lips moved past her ribs until he bent to nuzzle the triangle of hair between her legs. By the time he parted her thighs and got between them, his tongue was making sweeping strokes around her sex.
"Gil," a gasp as she reached for him.
He rose to her, intense but his expression was one of longing. His erect penis probed, found her and, as he made a low sound, buried himself completely. His shuddering sigh became an echo of hers.
"All I've thought about," he whispered, breathing against her neck.
She clenched.
"I can't take that."
She did it again and he began to move. She arched her hips and rocked with him. He groaned, remembering his dreams were nothing to compare to the real thing.
A month later, Sara Sidle married Gil Grissom for the second time. Driving to the courthouse, Sara called several friends extending an invitation to meet them, giving fifteen minutes notice. All five made it in time and Jim Brass brought a bouquet of flowers for the bride.
He would never tell that he had taken most of the flowers from a huge vase in the lobby of his workplace. Sara was thrilled. Grissom looked sheepish.
The newlyweds did not leave home for a honeymoon, having more pressing things to plan and do.
A week later, Sara submitted her resignation to Sheriff Willows, offering one name as her replacement.
Later, Grissom asked, "What did she think about Greg?"
"She'll put him in—Catherine's smart and she knows Greg is smart."
"Did you tell her anything—about—you know," he said, nodding his head toward her belly.
"No announcement until five months."
Grissom dropped his book on the floor and rolled to her side. Placing his hand on her stomach, he gently stroked a slight rise above her pubis. He said, "I'd think Catherine might guess."
"She didn't say anything—I think she was surprised by my resignation and then when I told her we were moving, she was pretty much speechless."
He chuckled. "It takes a lot to make Catherine speechless."
As things turned out, Sara's fifth month of pregnant was the same week of two other events; Greg was named lab director only days after Catherine accepted the position as Sheriff of Clark County until the next election which gave her two years to plan her campaign.
As Sara had already planned a party, the group of old friends met to celebrate promotions and new directions—and to hear for the first time that Sara Sidle Grissom was well along in a healthy, viable pregnancy.
Her way of announcement came when she stood, saying, "We've got another big event to celebrate." A broad smile on her face, she opened her concealing jacket to reveal a tight fitting stretchy shirt. When she turned to reveal her silhouette, arching her back and throwing her arms behind her, there was no doubt what she was showing off.
With open-mouthed surprise still on faces, Grissom added to their astonishment by saying: "And we're having two—healthy twins—boy and girl."
With shouts of surprise, back-slapping of Grissom, questions about pregnancy to Sara, it was several minutes before anyone counted backward.
Greg was first, saying, "This—this happened right after you returned?" He pointed first at Sara and then at Grissom.
By the time Sara went into the hospital, a month before her official due date, she had experienced an incredibly healthy, high risk pregnancy. She was meticulous in following recommendations and care instructions; she had gone on official maternity leave at seven months, and lived in a kind of surreal state. Sleeping late, napping in the afternoon, resting under a shaded awning, walking along the streets of their neighborhood, days and weeks passed as her body changed before her eyes.
And she and Grissom made life-changing decisions. Sara had seen the peace Grissom found on the water; she insisted he keep the boat. With contacts among environmentalists along the coast, he worked from home as he searched for the right group, for the right cause.
Deciding to move from Vegas, to a place near the coast was decided when Sara decided. "Full circle," she said thoughtfully.
They called the Davis law firm and set in motion wheels to return to the area where Sara had lived as a small child, the rural, protected area north of San Francisco. The old attorney who had safe-guarded a trust with consistent integrity had a deep passion for conservation; he found the Grissom's a new home in weeks. And he'd been the one to point Gil Grissom to a small environmental group who needed a person with a boat.
They sold the building Betty Grissom had purchased twenty-five years before her grandchildren were born. The house in Vegas was getting a new owner—owners; the new lab director and his soon-to-be bride had made an offer which was immediately taken and settled with handshakes between current and prospective owners.
As Sara settled into a room, hooked to monitors for a few days before delivery, she had one major issue to resolve. A name.
She had, with quiet approval of her husband, decided her daughter's name would be Elizabeth. A name for their son was still—undecided. After viewing their first sonogram, Grissom had given the names "Bean" and "Bud" to the fluttering little forms; "Bud" stuck.
"He's not going to be called 'Bud'," Sara insisted.
Grissom and Jim Brass had a short laugh until she threatened to have them thrown out of the room.
"And I'm thinking about Gilbert James—or James Gilbert," Sara said as she shifted pillows in an attempt to shut them out of her view.
With that, Brass said, "James Gilbert sounds just about perfect!"
At the same moment, Grissom said, "Not Gilbert—he needs his own name."
From the bed, Sara mumbled, "I think Gregory Nickolas is perfect."
Much huffing and puffing and chuckling came from the two men.
Later, in the quiet hours of the night, Grissom, sitting beside the bed, holding the hand of his uncomfortable wife, read from a favorite book of poems and sonnets. He stopped in mid-sentence.
"I'm not asleep," Sara whispered.
A quiet chuckle. "I didn't think you were. I've been thinking—about names. I like William. It's a good name for our son."
Sara squeezed his hand. "Elizabeth will be probably be shortened to Beth or Lizzy or—or Betty…"
"Not Betty."
She laughed. "So are you okay if William becomes—Will?"
"Will Grissom. Beth Grissom." Lifting her hand, he kissed her fingers. "I think Will and Beth will be perfect."
Nearly a year later, on a beautiful day of soft spring air and chilly sun, Gil Grissom experienced an overwhelming sense of satisfaction as he surveyed all within his view. Three flowering trees provided weak shade for two plastic swings, a blue and a red one. Looking beyond the trees, as far as his eyes could see stretched a sheet of yellow wildflowers—goldfields, he had learned the name—with the reds and oranges of wind poppies and Indian paintbrush interspersed among the yellow.
They had been in the house for six months and it had quickly become where they belonged. A home adjunct to acres of California's public land, it was a prize find for real estate and one well-suited to a growing family. Grissom's boat which he used to survey the coastline for flora and fauna—the biota of fifty miles—was moored a few miles away, among local pleasure and fishing boats.
Rocking back on his heels in a rush of happpiness, he kept his gaze on the gently sloping prospect. In the mid-distance, the delicate pink of a redbud tree appeared to arch downward; all as still as a painting. Peace. It was hard to come by.
And then, the quiet stillness was broken with high pitched squeals, delighted giggles of babies and the soft murmur of his wife's response. He turned from the pleasant view of nature to the beauty of his family and hurried to the shade of the porch.
"Come on, little buddies. It's spring time." He kissed Sara and lifted his son into his arms. His daughter was babbling sounds as she released her mother's finger, making her own way into the backyard, headed to the swings.
"This way, Beth!" He called as he lifted the latch on a gate.
In the way of those learning to walk, the toddler eventually made her way to the gate. When his wife walked through the gate, he gave her another kiss on her cheek.
"You are beautiful, dear."
Turning her head so her mouth met his, she returned his kiss. Shifting his child to his hip, he extended his hand; his eyes twinkled. Sara was more beautiful than ever; motherhood suited her, he thought.
"Let's find some flowers."
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