A/N: I would now like to share with everyone my experience with CSI Thursday night. Trust me, you need to know all this.
So, I'm sitting in my papasan chair with a rum and coke, RIGHT in front of the TV, all curled up and ready for an exciting night of new CSI. My husband was upstairs, watching it in his office while he worked, so it was just the cat and myself downstairs. So this scene with Grissom and Sara starts, and I immediately perk up since I haven't seen them in the episode so far. As their conversation progresses, my heart starts beating wildly, I start getting out of breath, and my palms get freaking sweaty, I shit you not. My mouth is hanging open, and there is quite possibly some drool leaking out of it. The scene ends, I scream "HOT DAMN!!!!!" at the top of my lungs (much to Mark's infinite amusement), and I immediately grab my cell phone so that I can talk to Leslie in Boston (aka ScullyasTrinity) about this new and uber-cool GSR moment. So we start texting wildly back and forth, and then I start praying for a commercial. I mean, really, people, who ever heard of WANTING a commercial during CSI? So I call her as soon as the commercial comes on and we pretty much spend the first 30 seconds shrieking incoherently, then we spend the next minute or so tearing the conversation apart, piece by piece, looking for any and all hidden meanings.
So the episode comes to a close, and I'm TOTALLY expecting some sort of follow-up, but nooooooo. TPTB blow goats and won't give us anymore. I can always pray for February sweeps, right?? So anyway, I've been on this total GSR high for the last two days. WOO!
PS—This chapter was written under the influence, and I really think it sucks. In fact, I'm really beginning to think that this entire story sucks, and I fully intend to wrap it up soon. At any rate, forgive me if the alcohol-induced rambling in this chapter essentially equates to jumping the shark. Consider yourself duly warned.
Dedication: To Leslie because…hell, do I need a reason? Just because she kicks ass.
The rehearsal was a quick and simple affair, thanks in part to the consummate professionalism of the staff at the Venetian, and in larger part due to Catherine the drill sergeant herding everyone through the motions.
Grissom stood atop the Ponte al di Piazza, better known as the bridge over the square, overlooking the Venetian's Grand Canal. Sara, flashing him her heart-stopping grin, was walking toward him with a bouquet made of the bows from her wedding gifts. She looked stunning in a crisp white button-down shirt and navy dress slacks, her arm looped through Jim's. When she reached Grissom and the officiate, they went through the motions of the ceremony for the second and final time. When Catherine declared that they were good to go, Grissom rubbed his hands together and said, "Ok, let's go get changed and eat!"
Rather than the traditional fancy-schmancy rehearsal dinner, he and Sara had opted for a backyard luau—in honor of their Hawaiian honeymoon—at their new house. Bright balloons and Hawaiian-looking flowers were floating on the surface of the pool, tiki torches were positioned strategically around the backyard, and lights were strung up from tree to tree. A caterer had prepared a long table full of all kinds of food. In addition to the wedding party, all of the out-of-town guests were invited to the luau.
Nick, Greg, and Warrick were the first on the scene. They stood in the backyard, deep in conversation, waiting on the others to finish changing and join them. After a moment, Grissom came bounding out the back door onto the patio, clad in an insanely busy Hawaiian print shirt, khaki shorts, and bare feet. He glanced over at the guys, chucked his thumb toward the food, and said, "What are you waiting for?" before bouncing toward the table.
The three men looked at each other with wide eyes. Warrick spoke first. "What the hell is wrong with that man? He's like, possessed these days."
"Yeah," Greg quipped. "Possessed by Sara."
Nick rolled his eyes and playfully punched Greg in the arm. "That was bad, Greggo. I think you're right, though. Sara has done something to him that I never thought possible—she pulled that giant stick out of his ass."
Warrick and Greg sniggered at this before simultaneously dropping their jaws. Nick quickly turned around, only to mimic their actions. Sara sashayed out the door clad in a strapless sundress in a red and white floral print, feet bare to reveal bright red toenails, and a large red flower tucked behind one ear. She had left her hair wavy and loose, and it framed her face perfectly. She looked absolutely gorgeous.
Warrick, Nick, and Greg watched in awe as Grissom immediately left the buffet and sauntered over to Sara, wrapping his arms around her. Oblivious to the presence of anyone else, he leaned in close and whispered something in her ear, causing her to give a throaty laugh.
Just as Nick was about to make yet another surprised comment, Catherine came around the side of the house with Lindsey in tow. "Hey, guys!" she grinned.
Warrick clamped his mouth shut to prevent his jaw from hanging open. Drooling on his own feet would most likely not impress her. She looked stunning in a tight white sleeveless shirt with a lime green sarong wrapped around her waist. She was wearing matching green flip-flops, and her toenails were a shiny pink color. She had pulled her strawberry blonde hair back into a loose knot, leaving a few stray locks around her face.
As Warrick concentrated on keeping his eyeballs in his head, he felt a quick jab in his ribs. He glanced over at Nick, who kept his eyes trained dead ahead as he whispered, "You're completely unconvincing, Warrick." Nick couldn't help the smirk on his lips as he needled his friend. "Just go for it already."
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Brass, who had been elected to go pick up the out-of-towners at the airport, was the last to arrive at the party. As he came around the side of the house with Ashley, Elizabeth, and the Durhams in tow, Sara took off running, launching herself into Ashley and Elizabeth's arms simultaneously. As the three of them laughed and cried, Grissom watched with interest. Ashley was a beautiful, freckled redhead who looked every bit the fun-loving Harvard roommate that Sara had described. Elizabeth was similar to Sara in her features—brunette hair, dark eyes, tall build, and those long runner's legs. She didn't look like Grissom's idea of a corporate lawyer, but then again, he wasn't really sure what a corporate lawyer was supposed to look like.
When Sara finally released her two friends for a moment, she turned to the Durhams—an attractive couple in their early sixties—and hugged them tenderly. Dr. Durham took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead gently, and Mrs. Durham took Sara by the hands and stepped back to get a good look at her, as if she hadn't seen her in years. Grissom knew that in reality, it had been less than six months since Sara had last visited them, but apparently, Mrs. Durham took her job as surrogate mother quite seriously.
Before Sara said anything else, she turned toward Gil and eagerly waved him over, grinning like a schoolgirl. Grissom returned her grin and walked over, eager to meet her "family." He was met with four bright, expectant grins.
Sara took his hand and turned back to the four guests. "This is Gil," she said simply, a face-splitting grin firmly in place. "Gil, this is Ashley and Elizabeth, and these wonderful people are Terry and Doris Durham."
Grissom wasn't sure whom to address first, but Ashley and Elizabeth settled it firmly. The Durhams stood by, grinning, as Ashley and Elizabeth simultaneously lunged at him. Ashley just gave him a quick hug, but Elizabeth hung on for a moment, quietly whispering in his ear, "So you're the guy who's had Sara's heart for years. 'Bout damn time," she winked as he pulled back.
Ashley grinned at him as Elizabeth released him. "So…" she began. "You're Gil Grissom. Never thought I'd get to meet you. Damn, Sara—you weren't kidding about the eyes!"
Under any normal circumstances, both Grissom and Sara would have blushed profusely, but tonight, neither of them could manage anything other than a simple exchange of lovestruck glances.
Terry Durham stepped forward and held out his hand, smiling warmly. Grissom, returning the smile, shook his hand with pleasure. "Dr. Durham," he began. "I am so very pleased to meet you. Sara has spoken so highly of you and your wife. Mrs. Durham," he nodded in acknowledgement.
Mrs. Durham placed her hands on Grissom's elbows and held him at arm's length, much as she had done with Sara. She tilted her head to the side, appraising him in a motherly way. "Ahh, yes, Dr. Grissom. Sara has spoken of you so often. The pleasure is ours."
"Please, call me Gil," he implored.
Dr. Durham smiled and shook his head. "Then I must ask you to call me Terry. Doris and I have been after Sara for years to call us by our first names, but she can only manage it for about ten minutes at a time before she reverts to her old ways," he grinned.
"Yes," he agreed. "Sara always refers to you as 'Dr. and Mrs. Durham.'" He smiled.
"Okay, okay!" Sara said in mock exasperation. "All right, Terry and Doris," she emphasized, "let me introduce you to everyone. You too, guys," she said to Ashley and Elizabeth.
As Sara led the Durhams toward her coworkers, Ashley and Elizabeth, who had met before on several occasions, hung back to talk to Grissom. They stopped him from advancing and looked at him mischievously. "Gil," Ashley began, "I really am glad to meet you, but Elizabeth and I have to tell you something," she said, smirking.
Elizabeth took over. "Sara has waited for years for you, and we're glad you finally got your damn head out of you ass and realized what was good for you," she winked.
'Why does everyone always phrase it that way?' Grissom wondered randomly.
"But." Elizabeth continued, "if you ever hurt her, we'll hunt you down like a dog and make you beg for mercy."
Grissom was pretty sure they were only half serious, but he understood their concern for Sara. "Ladies," he began cordially, "I assure you that I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening." He stopped and laid it all on the line for Sara's two closest friends. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me," he said quietly.
Ashley and Elizabeth nodded in unison. "Good—Sara deserves that kind of love," Ashley said.
Elizabeth walked on ahead, and Grissom took the opportunity to discuss something with Sara's former roommate. "Ashley," be began hesitantly, "I just recently found out about—"
"Yeah," Ashley interrupted. "I was wondering about that. When did she tell you?"
"The first week we were together. She told me later that it was the first time she'd told the story in 15 years," he mused. He clenched his teeth and braced himself for the question he wanted to ask her. "Ashley," he said, "how was she? I mean," he stumbled, "how bad was it? All I know is what she told me, but you were there with her. The thought of anyone hurting her kills me, but I want your version—how did she pull through it?"
Ashley tilted her head and looked at him, becoming more convinced every moment that this man that cared so much for Sara Sidle really was the best thing that had ever happened to her. "You love her more than anything, don't you?" she asked in a sudden moment of clarity.
Grissom's eyes were intense as he looked at her. "More than life itself," he uttered. "She is everything to me." He paused, willing himself not to tear up. "I would lay my own life down for her in an instant."
Ashley fixed him with a penetrating gaze. She was beginning to understand why Sara loved this man so much. Nodding, she said, "It was so hard for her. Not just emotionally, but physically, having to live with the constant reminders of the assault. You know that she had a bad limp for quite awhile after the rape," she said, making it a statement rather than a question. Grissom nodded. "That really pissed her off, I think," Ashley said. "She could deal with the broken wrist, the shattered cheekbone, the broken ribs. Those things all healed as quickly as could be expected—and they could more or less be hidden once the bruising went away. But the limp…" Ashley's eyes became unfocused and hazy as she thought back to her freshman year of college. Shaking her head slightly, she said, "The limp was just…there. She tried so hard to hide it, but there it was. I mean, when every muscle in your hip has just been shredded, how can you possibly walk normally? But it got better after awhile." Her eyes suddenly focused on his again. "You know about Michael, right?"
Another nod from Grissom, who said, "We actually invited him to the wedding, but his wife is due to have a baby any day, so he couldn't make it."
Ashley smiled. "Michael was a life-saver for Sara. He was so loving and patient with her. He never pushed her. I really think he would have been totally content if they had never had sex. He just wanted her to heal emotionally. And she did, Gil. I really think she did. Obviously, there will always be some lingering issues, but I really think Sara has done about as well as anyone who has been so brutally raped can be expected to do."
Grissom sighed with relief at hearing this assessment from someone who was so closely associated with her during one of the worst times of her life. His shoulders sagged visibly and Ashley couldn't help but smile. "Come on," she said, grabbing his arm. "Let's go have a luau!"
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Brass stood atop a folding chair positioned by the long buffet table and gave an ear-splitting whistle. As everyone looked at him, he said, "Time for the best man to give the traditional toast, so everybody grab some champagne." Glasses were passed out and filled, and the stout Brass stayed perched on the chair so he could be seen and heard.
When everyone was silent, Brass took a deep breath to collect his thoughts and let it out slowly as he looked at the two people standing a few feet away. "I've known Gil Grissom for a long time now, and he is easily my closest friend. I never thought I'd see the day when this man actually let his guard down enough to let someone in his life, but damn it all, here we are, and I, for one, couldn't be happier. I think that those of you who know Gil and Sara well will agree that they are truly meant to be together." Jim cleared his throat as he began to choke up. "I have felt privileged to witness the love that these two people have shared over the past few months." He paused. "I wish I had something incredibly eloquent and poetic to say, but I don't think any words from my mouth can describe their love as well as the looks on their faces this evening." He raised his glass. "So, Gil and Sara, here's to you. And Gil, old buddy, I've just got one thing to say to you." His voice took on a playfully exasperated tone. "It's about damn time, Buddy!"
Everyone laughed and raised their glasses in honor of the couple. Grissom gently clinked his glass against Sara's as he held her close with his free hand. He took a sip of his champagne and looked deep into her eyes. "You look beautiful," he murmured, his eyes roaming her body, taking in her long, bare legs, the bright lei around her neck, and the aromatic flower tucked behind her ear.
Sara smiled at him. "It's all for you," she whispered.
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Half an hour later, Sara had assembled most of the guests into two teams for a game of baseball in the large backyard. She had decided it was time to subtly showcase some of Grissom's more…surprising skills to the rest of their friends.
On the plane to Florida, Grissom had mentioned not being beaten up since eighth grade. When Sara finally thought to ask about the comment a couple of months later, he had revealed that when he was younger, he was frequently picked on due to his bookish nature, and that in the eighth grade, he decided to take up a sport to get the other boys to leave him alone. He had always loved baseball and thus decided to try out for the boys' baseball team. To everyone's surprise, including his own, he had turned out to be a hell of a pitcher, throwing 80-mph fastballs as a mere 13-year-old. It hadn't been enough to make his classmates notice him ("I was still a ghost," he had said), and it certainly hadn't been enough to make him popular, which was never his intent, but it had been enough to get the other boys to leave him alone. During practice one day, he had thrown a wild pitch that had drilled a teammate in the back—and that had been all it took to earn him the respect he needed. The large bruise the teammate had sported in the locker room for the next week was enough to convince the guys that Gil Grissom might be an odd duck, but he was indeed a force to be reckoned with.
Sara wanted their friends—the guys in particular—to see that there was a side of Grissom that went beyond forensics, insects, and Shakespearian quotations. Thus the "impromptu" baseball game. She divided the teams, chose the pitchers—Grissom for her team, and Nick for the opposing team, and got everyone started. Nick's team batted first and Sara watched with pride from her post at first base as Nick stepped to the plate, talked a little playful trash to Grissom, and drew the bat up to his shoulder. Grissom smirked, drew his knee up, and smoked a fastball straight over "home plate" and into Greg's waiting catcher's mitt. Everyone fell silent for a split second before the slightly-inebriated Nick let loose with a "Hot DAMN, Grissom!"
Sara thought her face might split from the proud smile she was sporting.
The "game" only lasted about a few minutes before everyone got bored in the wake of the thorough beating that Grissom's team was handing out. To liven things up, Warrick and Nick ambushed Greg, carried him to the pool, and tossed him in, clothes and all. Sara laughed wildly and began to unzip her dress, much to the shock of all those standing nearby. She let her dress fall to the ground, revealing a skimpy, strapless bikini underneath. "Gotcha!" she giggled before diving in after Greg. Grissom surveyed the scene before him and with a "what the hell" look, shrugged out of his shirt and dove into the heated water, as well.
Brass and Catherine exchanged a Look as Brass commented, "Damn wildest rehearsal dinner I've ever seen." Brass then proceeded to roll his eyes and unbutton his shirt before joining the others in the water.
"Oh, good grief," Catherine muttered before jumping in after them. Too late she remembered she was wearing a white shirt, and she swore under her breath. Nick and Warrick realized this fact at about the same time she did, and Warrick suddenly felt a sharp elbow in his ribs.
"I'm going, I'm going," Warrick mumbled as he pulled off his shirt, swallowed the last of his beer, and did a huge cannonball into the pool.
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As the rehearsal dinner/wild party finally wound to a close, Sara and Grissom stood shivering, wrapped in towels, as they bid their guests farewell.
The Durhams approached, grinning, and they each kissed Sara on the cheek before turning to shake Grissom's hand. "This was fun," they said with enthusiasm. "You two make a wonderful couple. Thank you for having us."
Grissom smiled warmly. "It was my pleasure to finally meet you. I hope we'll get more of a chance to talk tomorrow."
When everyone had left, save Catherine, Grissom and Sara went inside. "Honey," Grissom whined, "are you sure you have to stay with Catherine tonight?"
Sara held a finger up, effectively shushing him. "Of course I am. It's bad luck for you to see the bride on the wedding day," she sniffed haughtily. "So…meet me at 6 pm tomorrow evening over the canal at the Venetian. I'll be the one in the white dress with the big smile, ok?"
Grissom pulled her close and pressed his lips gently to hers. "Tomorrow is going to be the happiest day of my life, Sara Sidle," he murmured.
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When Sara had taken her things and left with Catherine, Grissom stood in the silent house for a moment before retreating to the master bathroom. He turned the hot water on in his sink and began to rummage in the cabinet beneath for the supplies necessary for her surprise wedding gift. She had never outright condemned his beard, but he knew enough to realize that she preferred his face clean-shaven. She had once made a comment about missing the little cleft in his chin, and he had made up his mind right then to shave his beard for the wedding.
He smoothed shaving cream on his face, picked up his razor, and set to work.