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.
Many thanks to Anne, for reminding me about Thursday morning poker, and to Golden Phoenix Exotica (goldenphoenixexotica dot com) for details concerning bugs.
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Sara padded out to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker with the ease of practice and the confidence that its quiet sputter wouldn't wake Grissom. Her muscles were stiffening again, so she filled a glass of water and swallowed another pain pill. Normally she would eschew such things--they fuzzed her brain--but she was reasonably sure that Grissom wasn't about to let her go to work.
Normally, too, she would fight the idea of staying home. But she did hurt, and she hadn't gotten much sleep. And besides, the case isn't urgent.
And, deeper inside, she didn't want to fight with him even over something so minor. Her guilt still burned a little, even though she knew he'd forgiven her for her mistake the night before.
It's only one. The recommended dosage was two pills; one would take the edge off without muddling her head too much.
Sara rolled her shoulders carefully, guarding against the pull of her bruises, and couldn't help smirking a little. The endorphins will help.
Grissom had been very gentle, a few hours before; in fact, it had taken quite an effort to convince him that she was well enough to make love. But after his astonishing question--
Well, he didn't exactly ask, now that I think about it. Not that it matters. Sara wrapped her arms around herself, still a little dizzy with surprised delight. She would take Grissom any way that she could get him, but the idea of marrying him was satisfying far beyond the practical considerations.
It wasn't that she doubted him. Sara had been certain of Grissom's devotion from the moment he had wept while apologizing to her. But he was still not convinced that she meant to stay; last night had proven that. Promising him that I'll stick around for the rest of our lives…maybe that'll do it.
And if not, well, she would just have to keep convincing him.
A step behind her made her turn. "You're supposed to be sleeping," she scolded Grissom gently.
He scrubbed at his hair and gave her a drowsy grin. "I was. Then I woke up." He tugged the belt of his robe a little tighter. "I could say the same for you."
Sara shrugged. "I slept for a while." The coffeemaker gurgled to a stop, and she pulled down two mugs.
"Well, you…I'd rather you didn't go to work today." Grissom opened the refrigerator for the half-and-half.
"You mean you're not going to keep me prisoner if I do decide to go?"
Grissom gave her a dour look, and Sara couldn't hold in a snicker. "I'd already decided to stay home, actually. But just for today."
His shoulders relaxed, and Grissom shut the fridge door. "Thank you." He pushed the small carton across the counter and opened a cupboard. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, speaking more to the shelf in front of him than to her.
Sara, pouring coffee, frowned absently. "I don't think so. I don't have any meetings scheduled today."
"That's not what I meant." Grissom closed the cupboard door, and as Sara set the pot back into the machine he put his arms around her from behind. Sara leaned back into his embrace, but before she could fold her arms over his he had taken her injured left hand in a careful grip. Sara felt her mouth drop open as something cool slid over her ring finger.
The gauze didn't quite hide it. Sara stared down at it, the white bandage, Grissom's strong fingers; the sparkle and gleam, red, white and golden. She hadn't forgotten, exactly, she'd just put it from her mind, and she'd been distracted last night…
"I know it's patriarchal and chauvinistic and all that, Sara," Grissom said quietly behind her, and his voice was a little hoarse. "But I just want to…"
He trailed off. Sara took one more second to absorb the ring, its delicate beauty and the achievement and love it represented, and then turned in his arms.
Grissom's face was flushed, and his forehead was creased with worry. "If you don't like it--"
Very carefully, very gently, Sara took his face between her hands and kissed him silent.
"What do you want for breakfast?" Grissom asked a little while later, as Sara poured them both second servings.
She kept her grin to herself. "Whatever the guys are bringing, I guess," she said demurely, and handed him his mug.
Grissom stared at her blankly for a moment before comprehension dawned, and shook his head. "It's Thursday, isn't it?"
"Gotcha." Sara added half-and-half to her own cup and stirred. "We have about enough time to get dressed before they turn up."
"I could cancel--" he began, but Sara shook her own head.
"Why? It's not like you have to keep an eye on me, Gil. I've got a couple of books I want to catch up on, and if I feel like a nap, I doubt you guys get very rowdy." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Just open the sliding door to let the smoke out."
Grissom rolled his eyes, but relaxed. The Thursday morning poker crew brought not only breakfast but a selection of fine cigars, the only time in the week that most of the players indulged. Grissom usually set a box fan in the back door to clear the air afterwards, so that just a ghost of fragrance remained by the time Sara got home. "All right. You could try to sleep some more, you know."
She shrugged. "I might. Now, are you going to get dressed, or are you going to play in your bathrobe?"
Grissom snorted.
Within half an hour they were both dressed, and Grissom had carefully cleaned and redressed Sara's palm for her. Looking at the wound made her a little queasy; it was the red of outraged tissue, but showed no signs of infection. Grissom himself was a little white about the lips by the time he rebandaged her hand, but Sara suspected it was more from emotional distress. The feather-light kiss he placed on the gauze, though, made her smile.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked in a low voice.
Sara slid into his arms, holding him tightly for a long moment and feeling very, very lucky to be just there. "I'm fine. It could have been worse, but it wasn't."
Grissom exhaled slowly, squeezing her a bit before releasing her. "If you need anything, say so," he said sternly, and Sara gave him her best grin.
"I will."
The doorbell rang, and she hopped off the bathroom counter where she'd perched and started gathering up the medical debris. "I'll get that," Grissom said, stopping her. "Can you answer the door? I need to finish up here."
"Sure." Sara gave him a last quick kiss and went out to open the front door. Nick was on the other side, balancing a bakery tray of pastries and bagels, and he grinned when he saw her.
"Hey, Sar, whatcha doing home today?"
She stood aside to let him in. "Taking a personal day. Geez, how many people are you expecting?"
Nick shrugged and strode over to put the large tray on the breakfast bar. "We all eat like pigs, so we take turns bringing munchies." He popped off the clear lid. "I think Greg's bringing the chips and dip."
Sara snickered, and chose a bagel. The tray included tubs of cream cheese; as she opened one, Nick frowned. "Hey, what happened to your hand?"
She glanced down; the fresh gauze hid the ring from his view. "I just cut it at work. Nothing major. Hand me a knife, would you?"
The answer seemed to satisfy Nick, or perhaps the ring of the doorbell distracted him. He went to let in Brass and Vega, who had apparently arrived together. Grissom emerged from the bedroom, and in the chatter of greeting and the bustle of setting up Brass took Sara aside. "How are you doing?" he asked quietly.
She patted his arm with her good hand, the fingers of the other still encumbered by the bagel. "I'm okay, Jim, really. A little sore this morning, but that's it."
He nodded. "Good. I thought Grissom might want to skip this week, but he never called. You two…are you doing okay?"
Brass, ever observant, would have noted Grissom's tension the night before, Sara realized. An imp of mischief seized her, and Sara transferred the bagel to her other hand so she could flip the wounded one over.
It amused her no end to watch Brass' eyebrows slowly go up as he looked down at the ring. He studied it for a moment, and she glanced up over his bent head to meet Grissom's eyes; her fiancé winked at her across the room, and she smiled back. Then Brass laughed softly.
"The genius finally got a clue, huh? Felicitations, doll." He leaned in to drop a kiss on her cheek.
"Thanks." Sara couldn't help another quick glance at it herself; she'd never seen a style quite like the ring's fluidity, but she loved it.
"You going to join us?" Brass asked in a more normal tone, as Nick opened the door to let Greg in.
Sara shook her head. "Not this week, maybe some other time." She enjoyed the occasional hand of poker, but the weekly meet was something of a male ritual, and she didn't want to disturb the balance.
Brass nodded. "Take it easy, then. You know--"
Whatever he was about to say got lost as Greg bounded up, spilling over with energy. "Sara! Are you going to play today too?"
"How much coffee did you have, Sanders?" Brass grumbled without rancor.
Sara, laughing, shook her head at Greg. "I'm not playing, I'm going to retreat to my room and spend the day doing secret woman things. No--" as Greg assumed an overly hopeful expression-- "you can't come along."
He pouted dramatically, making both Sara and Brass chuckle. "Okay, okay. C'mon, Brass-man, I've got my eye on your last bonus."
Greg headed for the table, which Grissom had pulled away from the wall and surrounded with chairs. Sara laughed again. "He's definitely hyper today. Is he actually any good at this?"
Brass snorted. "Actually, yeah, we have to watch our backs. Wish me luck."
Sara watched as he stole Greg's chosen chair and Grissom opened the door to admit Warrick and Doc Robbins, and then she headed back to the bedroom, still smiling. She wasn't about to go around telling everyone that she and Grissom were engaged, but there was one other person who deserved to know right away.
Ed was at work, as she expected, but she knew he wouldn't answer the phone if he didn't have time for a conversation. His "Yo" was only slightly distracted, and Sara, lying back on the bed, smiled at the ceiling.
"Hey, Ed. How's it going?"
He sighed. "Remind me why I work for the government again?"
She snickered. "Because they let you do what you want and pay you for it. What's the matter?"
"Budget woes, nothing new. What's up? You actually have free time at work?"
"I'm not at work," Sara admitted. "I was in a car accident last night coming back from a scene--I'm fine, just a little banged up--and I'm taking the day off."
Ed hissed slightly, but didn't scold. "You'd better. Banged up how?"
Sara lifted her bandaged hand so she could see it. "Bruises from the seatbelt, and I cut my hand. It needed five stitches, but I didn't even lose much blood." She sighed, and lowered her arm again. "See, I'm telling you now so you can't scold me later for not telling you."
"Good girl," he said with asperity, and then softened his tone. "I'm glad you're okay, sis. Was anyone else hurt?"
"Just the guy who hit us," she answered, a little dry. "But he'll recover."
Ed blew out his breath. "Cosmic justice?"
She pursed her lips. "I dunno. But I have other news."
"Oh yeah? Give."
Sara grinned at the ceiling, feeling again the incredulous joy. "We're going to get married."
Her brother's whoop made her jerk the phone away from her ear for a second, but didn't reduce her smile. "About time!" Ed crowed. "Congratulations! So when is it?"
Sara chuffed in amused protest. "You want a date already? He just asked me, Ed."
"There's no time like the present," Ed pointed out hopefully. "We could hop a plane, be there this weekend…"
Laughing, Sara rolled her eyes. "Ed, remember that advice I gave you about planning a wedding? It applies for me too."
"Damn. Okay," he conceded. "Can I tell the kids?"
"I'll call them tonight. No spilling the beans." Sara snickered at his "aww". "You can tell Gracie, though."
"You betcha. Seriously, Sar, I'm happy for you."
"I'd never have guessed," she teased gently. "Thanks, Ed."
"For what?"
Recalling the memory of a hasty cross-country flight, Sara smiled. "Good advice."
x
A few hours later, she left the bed and Grissom's sleeping form and tiptoed out to the front door, passing the remnants of the poker game on the way. The doorbell sounded again as she reached the door, and Sara shut off the alarm system before opening it.
The delivery man outside was nearly hidden behind a huge, extravagant bouquet of flowers, blossoms of many colors rioting out of a heavy vase. Sara signed for it, somewhat bemused, and set the massive thing down next to the pastry tray, which now bore only one drying danish.
The card was almost hidden in the foliage. Sara opened the small envelope, enjoying the scent of the flowers but confused by their delivery. Grissom's gifts of flowers--he'd resumed the Monday morning bouquets, and occasionally brought her other blossoms--were generally elegant and restrained, not…explosive.
But while the handwriting on the card was the careful, impersonal print of a florist, the message was pure Ed. Congrats again, and tell him from me he'd better keep you happy--he'll know why. Love, Ed.
Sara grinned, put the card back in the envelope, and reminded herself to call her niece and nephew before her brother exploded.
xxxx
Grissom peered through the glass, trying to come to a decision. So many choices, and all of them enticing. There were blonde beauties here, brunettes, raven-haired charmers; they all had long shapely legs, rounded backsides, and bold demeanors. One had even strolled up to the glass and was eyeing him back. It's going to be hard to choose.
A hand touched his back. "Is she flirting with you?" Sara asked in an amused voice, and Grissom smirked at the glass.
"You're anthropomorphizing, Sara. The idea of a female tarantula flirting is inaccurate, since it is the males that seek out their mates, and as for cross-species interest--"
Sara whapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Fine, Gil, she's hoping you have a snack in your pocket and you're not just happy to see her. I'm going to go look at the lizards."
Grissom swallowed his chuckle and accepted her kiss on his temple. "Okay, I'll be here for a while."
Sara wandered off, and Grissom went back to his contemplation of the tarantula display. They each had their own terrarium, and he mentally knocked some tanks off his list and remembered others for closer examination as he made his way along the shelves. The exotic pet dealer that he favored for his bug purchases was over an hour's drive out of town, but the trip was worth it; Grissom knew that the business was reputable and took good care of its merchandise. He'd finally decided to make use of the gift certificate Sara had given him for Christmas, and was not surprised at all when she chose to accompany him.
Grissom glanced over his shoulder; Sara was talking with one of the employees, a skinny young man in a smock who was gesturing expressively with both hands. A small iguana was clinging to the lapel of his smock, looking not at all disturbed, and seeing the smile on Sara's face, Grissom wondered if they would be returning home with a reptile as well as an arachnid. Well, there's plenty of space for another terrarium.
He turned back to his contemplation. He'd had a number of spiders over the years, and his last one had died of old age almost five years before. For a time he'd even had two, one at work and one at home, but his work schedule would soon be too erratic to keep a pet in his office. Besides, it's Abdul's office too. And not everybody wants a spider the size of a plum on their reference shelf, even in a cage.
Grissom had narrowed his choices down to three by the time Sara returned; she was smiling, and wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet was a vividly colored snake in bands of red, white, and black. "It's a red milk snake," Sara said, stroking the slowly pulsing coils.
Grissom took a moment to appreciate the picture she made, her gentle expression, the sparkle of her ring as her hand moved. Her palm was nearly healed now, a week after the accident, bearing just a line as vivid a red as the snake. "He likes you."
Sara made a wry face. "He likes me because I'm warm. But he's gorgeous."
Grissom reached out to run a finger along the smooth scales. "Going to take him home with us?"
"Nah, I just like looking at them." Sara curled her hand gently around the snake's body just behind its head; snake faces are not made for expression, but Grissom fancied that the creature looked…content. "Have you decided on the lucky lady?"
Grissom pointed at the contenders, two Curly Haired and one Grand Canyon Black. "One of these three."
Sara leaned in for a closer look, then shrugged. "No offense, but they look kind of the same to me."
"I guess that's the type I'm interested in this time, then," Grissom agreed.
"Why not get two, then?"
Grissom shook his head. "They're solitary, for the most part. And one is plenty for now." He looked down. "Hey, your friend is trying to escape."
Sara glanced at her arm and took a firmer grip on the snake, which had apparently decided that it wanted to explore the floor. "I'll go give him back."
By the time she had returned, Grissom was holding one of his choices, the Grand Canyon Black, handed out to him by another employee. The spider sat placidly in the palm of his hand, unalarmed, and Grissom found that he'd decided.
The employee, a stout woman, put the tarantula carefully into a traveling carton, and Sara paid for her and the mealworms that Grissom also selected. As they left the store, Grissom pulled her gently to a halt and kissed her. "Thank you."
She gave him a pleased smile. "Merry Christmas. Are you going to send a picture to your mom?"
Grissom cocked his head. "That's not a bad idea, actually." He called Rosalie at least twice a week, and she had asked him a couple of times whether he'd used Sara's gift yet. "It'll certainly amuse her."
"Does she like tarantulas?" Sara asked, unlocking her car as they approached.
"In photos," Grissom admitted, making her laugh. "Actually, she doesn't mind them as long as they're behind glass, but I could never get her to hold one."
"They do take some getting used to."
Grissom contemplated Rosalie as Sara drove them back. She'd been overjoyed when he'd told her that Sara had agreed to marry him, and had immediately bombarded him with plans and suggestions, not all of which were practical. He had gently deflected most of them by telling his mother that Sara was in charge of wedding decisions, but the truth was that they hadn't really discussed anything yet. We have time.
Sara helped him set up the terrarium when they got home, and watched as he gently transferred the spider into its new home. The arachnid hid under a piece of bark almost immediately, and Grissom flattened the carton for recycling as he watched. "She needs time to get used to the environment."
Sara nodded. "Makes sense. What are you going to call her?"
"I'm not sure yet. Maybe Pu-keh-eh."
Sara blinked. "Um, what?"
Grissom smiled. "She's a figure in a Havasupai legend--she floated in a box on the Colorado in the Grand Canyon, and later became the grandmother of humanity."
"Well, that fits," Sara said, laughing, then winked at him. "You can call her Pooky for short."
Grissom rolled his eyes.
See Chapter 36