A/N: To correct a mistake in the last chapter- Greg wasn't supposed to get two assignments, I meant to send Warrick to the Trop with Cath.
Chapter 14
He woke up with Sara wrapped in his arms again, and marveled at the fact that he had lost count of the number of times he had woken up next to her. Since she had come home from the hospital six weeks ago, they had not spent a night apart. The first few times Sara had asked him to stay, but after that it just became an assumed fact. Grissom brought pajamas over, tired of waking up every day still dressed in his clothes. Sara had laughed the first time she saw him decked out in the blue striped cotton, telling him they looked like something her brother had slept in when he was little.
It was one of the few times she mentioned a family member. He asked her once, when she was curled against him after a chemo treatment, if she wanted him to call anyone, any family. Her response had been savage. I don't have any family! Wisely, he decided not to press the issue. Only recently had she told him the story of her childhood. The violence, the abuse, and the arguing, culminating in the night her mother killed her father. It was a revelation that cleared up so much in the mystery of who Sara Sidle was. The trauma of her childhood combined with the displacement of a adolescents spent in foster care had gone a long way to forging the woman before him. Her strength, her independence, her reaction to cases of abuse against women, her reluctance to let other people help her. It had been more then ten years since she saw a member of her family.
Sara woke up in the comforting embrace of Grissom's arms. It was funny, how quickly she had grown used to the feel of his arms around her. Now, she couldn't fall asleep until he had slipped into the bed with her. With him in the bed she was able to sleep longer and deeper then she ever had before. The other day he had gotten called out to a scene in the early afternoon, and she had tossed and turned, resting fitfully in the empty bed.
"Good morning." Grissom greeted her.
"Good afternoon," Sara corrected. Ever since the hospital, Sara had readjusted her sleep schedule to match Grissom's, falling asleep when he got home from work at 7:30 in the morning and waking up in the early afternoon.
"How are you feeling?" he inquired.
"Nervous." Last week had been Sara's last chemo treatment. Today she was scheduled to meet with her doctor and review the results of the battery of tests she had taken.
"Are you sure you won't change your mind?" Grissom had to ask one more time. Sara was insisting that she was going to go to the appointment by herself. He wanted to go with her, to support her no matter what the results were. To celebrate or to find out what happens next.
"We've been over this, Griss. I need to face today on my own, no matter what the doctor says." She placed her hand on his chest, absorbing the beat of his heart through her skin. It was hard to deny him his request, but she felt like she had something to prove to herself. She could face whatever happened, standing on her own to feet.
"You can take me out tonight, and we'll celebrate." If we have something to celebrate.
Grissom was resigned.
"Dinner. Any place in particular?"
"Surprise me."
Grissom decided to go into work when she left for her doctor's appointment. It didn't matter that it was more then six hours before graveyard started. There was always something to do at the lab. If he had to stay at home and wait for Sara to call, he would go crazy. So he buried himself in photographs and computer printouts, reviewing cases on his fish cork board in an attempt to busy his mind. Sometimes he would look up at his clock and find that an entire ten minutes had passed without thinking about Sara. He had switched from cold case files to crossword puzzles when his cell phone rang.
"Grissom."
"So, where are you taking me to celebrate?"
Celebrate. That could only mean one thing.
"Sara, honey, does this mean the tests..."
"...were all clear. Dr. Sheldon says I can officially be considered in remission."
Remission. Suddenly, it was the most beautiful word in the English language. He sunk back into his chair, his sigh of relief audible even over the phone.
"So, dinner?"
"I'll pick you up at your place in an hour."
He just barely made it in time. After he left the lab he headed straight to his townhouse. As he walked to the bathroom to shower, Grissom noticed a slight must smell in the air and the fine layer of dust that covered the bare surfaces. His home looked neglected, and he realized again how little time he spent there.
Freshly bathed and dressed in a charcoal gray suit, Grissom stood outside Sara's door with a bouquet of red roses in his hand. Normally he would tap on the door as he let himself in. Tonight felt different. It felt like a date, and it made him more then a little nervous. Funny, really. All that they had gone through, all the intimate moments, not to mention the nights spent in the same bed, and he was nervous because he was taking her out to dinner. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.
"The door's open. Come in."
Sara was sitting on the couch. Her foot tapped anxiously on the floor as she called out in response to Grissom's knock. It was silly, really, to be sitting here, all too aware of the butterflies in her stomach. But the butterflies only multiplied when the door opened and Grissom walked in. Wow. The man looked good in a suit. Damn good. It wasn't until she took in the sight of him in all his 'double oh seven' classiness that she noticed the flowers. Her heart melted.
"Are those for me?" she questioned, pointing to the roses.
"No," he replied sarcastically. "They're for the other beautiful woman I'm taking to dinner tonight."
"Over your dead body," she joked. "Which they would never find, 'cause I have knowledge."
Grissom laughed in response while handing her the flowers.
"Reservations for Grissom, party of two."
They were at a small Italian restaurant, one of those places where the lights were dimmed and the tables were covered with red checkered cloths. He held her chair out for her.
"Careful, Grissom, or I'll begin to think this is a date."
"Who says it isn't?" he asked, eyebrow raised and head cocked to the side.
Sara blushed. Who says it isn't. She and Grissom were on a date. They had never, in all the past months, disused their relationship. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them. Wait until we get throughout this. That moment was here now. They had made it through the worst, and with a little bit of luck the cancer was behind them forever.
They ordered pasta and champagne, using the drink to toast to her health. Their dishes had been cleared and they were waiting for dessert when Sara excused herself to the restroom. When she returned there was a long white envelope on the table before her.
"Griss?" she questioned, fingering the sealed edge.
"Open it." He smiled at her, that same enigmatic smile that he used at work when he knew what the result of an experiment would be before she did.
Sara tore the top off the envelope, pouring the contents onto the table. She looked at the collection before her, and then looked up at her dinner companion in shock.
"What? When? Why?" It was all she could get out.
"The what should be obvious." He picked up the hotel brochure and handed it to her. 'Marriot, San Diego. Relaxation on the beach.' He had thought long and hard before settling on San Diego, finally deciding the spring sun and low key atmosphere would be the best choice for them.
"The when is in two weeks. I put in for some vacation time, cleared my schedule for four days." That part wasn't hard at all. He had more then fifteen weeks of vacation time on the books.
"The why is you. If anyone deserves a vacation, it's you. This is a celebration, and celebrations call for presents. If you would rather go somewhere else, or with someone else, just say the word."
Sara couldn't help it. She started to cry. Just a single tear, but it fell down her cheek and dripped onto the table, landing one one of the plane tickets. Grissom looked alarmed, until she started speaking.
"It's perfect, Griss. Your perfect, and there is no one that I would rather go on vacation with. Somehow, you keep managing to surprise me." She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and leaned across the table to reach for his cheek. Pulling him towards her, appreciative of the small size of the table between them, she pressed her lips to his. Mindful of the public forum she kept it brief.
"Thank you."
To be continued... (for one or two more chapters, I think.)