A/N Thanks to Cyrbo for proofing the wrong chapter and to Danese for hanging in there.
The old fashioned black phone rested loosely in Sara's hand. Her face appeared serene but her voice was agitated and tense.
"Mother, you get your ass back hear right now!"
Grissom kept his eyes shut; the covers were pulled close to his ears. He wasn't awake nor was he asleep. Laura had called after breakfast with Brass to say they were going to movie. At dinner, the dinner, they were supposed to have with Grissom's mother, she called to say she and Brass were going to a show. At midnight Grissom had taken that they were having a night cap and not to wait up.
Now it was 7AM and he hoped that his daughter did never have to incur the wrath of Sara Sidle. Hopefully she would be Grissom by that time but then but it was not looking promising. He couldn't even get their mothers in the same part of town let alone the same house.
He wasn't angry with Laura. She deserved a life. Sara, however, was a different story.
"Mother you get your ass back here right now!" she repeated.
"Sweetie. I'm sorry. I can explain." Laura said from somewhere on the strip.
"I don't want you to explain mom. I really don't. You know Jim had to work last night. The man has never missed a day of work as long as I have known him."
"Jim works nights." Grissom mumbled to no in particular. Sara smacked hip lightly on the hip. That was the second time he'd been assaulted by a woman he loved in less than a week. He wondered if he prayed very hard if God would give him a boy. It was only fair.
"Stop taking her side." Sara said crisply.
"May I speak with Gil please?" Laura tried.
"No you may not Mother." Sara drawled the last word out in a long low accusation. "Get your ass back here right now. Better yet put Jim on the damn phone."
Sara listened to muffled sounds for ten or so seconds until her mother came back to the phone.
"Jim is apparently afraid you honey." Laura said adopting a more motherly tone. "I must say honey, it does concern me that a man who stares life and death in the face is afraid of my daughter. Perhaps we should talk to about your anger issues honey."
Sara flopped back on the bed like a dead fish. The woman was exasperating. She was out of her fucking mind. "Mom! I don't' have an anger problem. A problem would denote that it's out of line with what is reasonable. My mother disappearing with my husband's best friend for 24 hours doing God knows what is not normal. Normal mothers don't do this. They do what Grissom's mother is doing right now. They cook breakfast and knit and putter. You have got learn to putter Mom. You are about to be a grandmother."
Laura spoke softly. "I don't know how to putter. What does one do when one putters? I can try and learn," she replied gamily.
"Listen to me lady. Grissom's mother is making a huge Italian because she assumes that we are normal people You are going to be here in no less than 20 minutes. Do you understand me? These are normal people Mom. This woman plays the slots, and bridge and paints. They do normal things. There will be no talk of auras or spirits or seeing her dead husband."
"Is his name Peter?" Laura interrupted. "Because I keep seeing someone name Peter standing behind Gil. He doesn't talk very much but he seems like a nice man. Very Jimmy Stewart."
"See. That's what I am talking about. None of that. And after breakfast Mom, we are going to church. Where you will not engage the priest in theological debate."
"Debate?" Gratefully Sara heard car doors closing and an engine start. "I love clergy. I love church, there are always so many good auras. Though I must admit that sometimes I get confused about who's actually living. I can usually tell by the clothes. For example Gilbert's father always wears this natty bow tie. So what I will do is wait for you to speak to the person before I start talking. How's that?"
"No auras. No talking to dead people. Turn it off Mother. Today you don't see dead people."
Sara hung up the phone and listened to Grissom breath for several minutes. He next words drove Sara from the bed in tears.
"Did you just refer to me as your husband?"
OOOOOOOOO
Laura Sidle took care to face Maria so that the older woman could see her lips fully. They had not met the day before. Laura had dropped Sara off and dashed off to give Grissom his package.
She took in the woman's trim frame. She still wore green silk pajamas, matching robe and slippers with white M's in the center. Already she'd managed to put on a bit of makeup and emerald earrings. She gestured towards the stove where several skillets of food rested on flameless eyes.
"Do you eat meat? There's a wonderful little shop a couple of blocks where they make the best sausage. The owner's father, he's from Piazza."
Laura studied the mounds of steaming food and nodded enthusiastically. "I will eat anything that that's dead and relatively cooked."
Maria spooned eggs, sausage, and several marinated peppers onto a plate. She added some type of pastry to the mixture. Laura's slim nose flared a bit as she savored the peppery aromas conjoined with the heady smell of strong cappuccino. She let out a thick moan as she took the first bite. She shoveled two more bites in quick succession.
"I am sorry." Laura said after wiping her mouth. She took care that Maria could see her lips. "It's just that I'm famished. Jim and I ate last night but Sara summoned me back before we had breakfast."
Maria took a small bite of food and spoke. "Jim? Gil's friend the policeman?"
Laura blushed and gave a small smile.
"Ah," Maria said easily. "Love IS in the air. Perhaps I should move to Vegas."
The two women smiled at one another as they ate. "So tell me about you and Jim. He always seemed like a nice man."
Laura cast a glance to the back of the door that lead to the rest of the house. The smell of pain still lingered in the air.
"I think they're fighting." Maria said quietly. "I think my son has said something stupid-AGAIN."
"What happened?"
"I felt what could have been a door slamming at least twice and Gil doesn't miss any meals so I think they may be fighting."
"Sara either." Laura added. "They could be-oh dear. This is what Sara is talking about. I do talk too much."
Maria's chewed thoughtfully. "They have a lot of sex don't they?"
Laura laughed and nodded. "No wonder they got pregnant."
"Last night during dinner. Well let's just say I don't want to know what was going on under the table. They insisted on doing dishes and they stuffed everything in the dishwasher and bolted out of here."
"When they were at my house. It was the same way after lunch and dinner. And they try so hard to be polite and pay attention."
"What they are fighting about?" Laura wanted to know.
"My guess? The lack of Mrs. in front of Sara's name. All this sneaking around is getting old. Why doesn't he just do it?"
"Says he wants to make a grand gesture." Laura added.
"Well I guess he can sleep in one of those rooms he had built on. At least he won't have to sleep on the couch."
"How many rooms did they add?"
"One bedroom and bath upstairs, and one of each downstairs, and an office for Sara that connects with Gil's."
"He really is a sweet man. You raised a good boy."
"He's very sweet man. I thought I would never have grandchildren. You?"
Laura shrugged. "No, I knew they would get married. I saw it."
"Saw it?"
"Yes. I am-oh dear. Sara said I shouldn't say anything." Laura's eyes flitted to just behind Maria.
"Sara's doing a lot of censoring isn't she?"
"She thinks we are weird." Laura sighed. "That is she thinks I am weird and I think she may be right. I am supposed to act normal."
"Tell me what you aren't supposed to tell me." Marian encouraged.
"Well-" Laura hedged trying to ignore the pleasant face that had just appeared over Maria shoulder.
"I see things sometimes." The blue eyed man gave a smile that was part serene, part imp.
"Did you uh…" Laura thought better of it.
Mara looked over her shoulder expecting to see Gil or Sara. Confused she turned back to Laura.
"Is something wrong?"
"Did you husband, Gil's father, did he wear bowties?"
"Why- yes he did. Did Gil show you pictures of Peter?"
Laura shook her head slowly as the man. He was doing this on purpose, making her feel the fool. Men.
"He's here."
Maria turned her head from side to side. "Gil?"
She turned back to Laura. "No. Peter. He's here. You see-" Laura chewed her lip. "Sara's right, I sound like a nutcase. I have visions. I'm psychic AND I see dead people."
Maria blinked and stared. She was silent for a several long moments. "My aunt Victoria had the gift too. It scared me when I was a girl."
"Oh dear, forget I said anything."
"That last time I was girl you could buy soda for a nickel. Now does he need to tell me anything? Will he talk to you?"
Laura took her eyes from Maria again. She titled her head and released her chewed lip. "I don't think so. People who haven't left anything unsaid rarely have anything to say. They just pop in every now and then. He probably told you he loved you everyday. His affairs were in order when he died?"
Maria gave curt nod and dabbed at her eyes. "His will was written and he left us enough for me not to work for a bit after he died. Actually I could have stayed home a bit longer but Gil got older and I got bored. I needed to get my mind off of it."
The ghost, Laura never new what to call them, receded.
"He's going to check on Gil. He does worry about him I think, though less now with Sara and the baby. He's very proud of him. He likes to play jokes on people. Surprises." Laura nodded her head towards the door. "That's what he doing now. I think he was with Sara and Gil and he heard me, for lack of a better word."
"Oh, he's an awful joker. Impish. When I lost my hearing it was harder for him to pull them on me. It's true what they say. Your senses do get keener. I would notice if something was out of place like a book. He didn't just play tricks. He brought me little gifts. We weren't rich, but we did okay. He was a botanist. He bought me some very nice jewelry I am going to leave for Hannah."
Laura broke into a rueful smile. "I don't' have very much to leave her. I just got on my feet."
Maria patted her hand again. "You'll have more time."
"Yes, I guess I will. You have quite awhile yet."
"You see that?" Maria asked hopefully.
"Yes."
"Good. Now while the lovebirds are fighting tell me about your Jim."
"My Jim?"
"You aren't the only one that sees things."
"I guess…"
Maria waved her fork. "Tell."
"Well I just went to breakfast. You know I don't see things about myself much. That is an eternal blessing but I had this good feeling all the way to Vegas. After breakfast everything just snowballed. He asked me if I would spend the day with him. Then he called in sick. Then there was dancing."
"Real dancing?" Maria was excited by the prospect.
"Cheek to cheek He even knows how to waltz AND tango."
"I dated a man once who could tango. It seemed promising. I tried to ignore the fact that he wore too much gold jewelry."
"What happened?"
"I kissed him"
"Bad?"
"Awful. What kind of kisser is Jim?
"Well, Mrs. Grissom-" Laura laughed.
"Just cause the barn door is up doesn't mean all the chickens have left. Don't tell Gil but I have a gentleman friend in Italy. I have tried telling him but I could see he didn't want to even think about me having a romantic life." Maria wisecracked. "Now what kind of kisser?"
"Weak in the knees, please don't let this end. Please God, don't let this end kisser."
"Good for you. You were right not to come back here. I had about 45 minutes with the horny duo before they bailed out on dinner. It would have been a waste of time. I went and played some poker."
"How'd you do?"
"Broke even. I am better at blackjack but they say once you are old you should do different things or your brain turns to mush and I have a granddaughter to help raise. Is it to too early for a drink?"
"Chianti from your family's vineyard."
"Yes indeed."
"I'll make an exception."
21 years later
Micha Mura twilled a lock of wiry black hair around a thin index finger. He was trying to formulate a style he'd seen in a men's fashions magazine. He'd bought the publication on a whim after he'd noticed to young women about Hannah's age ogling the honey hued model that graced the cover. He'd chucked the issue in with the fish and vegetables he was making for several of his friends. Micha had a keen, unusual style. He picked up clothes from vintage shops and paired them with solid staples that would carry him past his thirties.
He wore good shoes. His father, the immigrant son of a cobbler, had taught him that. He paired black pants with crisp white shirts, unusual suspenders and outlandish ties. Before Hannah, he was young and hip and blindingly brilliant.
Now he was fiddling with his hair and second guessing every piece of clothing in his wardrobe. Before Hannah, he barely noticed the thick curls that covered his scalp. He had great hair his mother had said. Don't mess with it. Keep it clean and conditioned. Now he wondered if his shoes were too stodgy and if his hair was out of date. All because of Hannah Grissom.
It was Hannah's first day as Micha's assistant. She wasn't sure why he picked her. True, she'd applied for the job but she had done that because he'd asked her too. What did that mean? What did any of it mean? Did he want her because she was cleaver and contiguous or was there something more? Perhaps now that she was nearly finished with her undergraduate work and no longer his student he was… what? Was he making a move? Did he want to make a move? Did he just like her a friend?
She'd taken a few advanced math courses because she liked math but in the end it wasn't her passion. At the end of the day she'd realized she was doing it to please her scientist parents. Thinking that was what they wanted from her, to be more like them, more analytical and less free.
She'd been relieved when her father had said, "Why are you focusing on math classes? You always loved English so much."
Micha had been disappointed when she'd told her decision but they'd remained friends, having the occasional cup of coffee. Taking in the odd movie. He was always very respectful. His physical distance reflected warmth and never reflected romantic interest. His hand was always near her back or elbow. She'd not told her parents. She'd not told anyone but her best friend Jamal Brown. Over and over again she warned herself that she was walking over very thin ice finally convincing herself there was nothing to be worried about.
The hand on her wrist surprised her.
"Why didn't you use your key?" Micha asked.
"I uh-forgot I had one."
She followed him into the spacious office reserved for the Farris math professor. It was endowed by a minor nobleman whose 15 year son, a math prodigy, died of leukemia a decade before. The position was set aside for math professors who had the potential to create new theories and methodology in the math field. Many considered it a precursor to the Nobel Peace Prize.
She watched as he went to his priced cappuccino machine and fired it up. Slowly she crossed the room until they were shoulder to shoulder in front of the gleaming machine.
"I should be doing that."
"You're my assistant, not my step and fetch it."
"I make better cappuccino than you do." Hannah said easily walking to where he stood.
"I've never had your cappuccino." His voice was low and even.
"But I've had yours." She said taking the canister of coffee from him.
35 Years Before
She looked at her lover wondering what she ever saw in him. Wishing she had kept the baby and swearing to herself that she would never let herself be bullied by any man again as long as there was breath in her body.
The door of his office rattled a bit. Tim barked out an invitation. "Come."
Dark hair, a bit like Sara's own appeared first then those eyes. "You still up for drink?" Gil Grissom said, stopping short when he saw Sara. She was given a perfunctory greeting.
Tim stood and glanced at his watch. "I promised Abby I'd put together that awful dollhouse of hers."
Sara ducked her head and pressed her shoulders close to her. She wasn't aware when Tim left her room so fixed was she was she on the image of his dark haired daughter waiting for her hero father.
"Miss Sidle?"
Sara turned her eyes up to a handsome face and kind eyes. They were gentle too but mostly they were kind. Like her mother's and her friend from sixth grade, Bess.
"Yes."
"I don't think you are old enough to drink but maybe you would accompany me to O'Malley's for a pint. That's a pint of soda for you."
Sara narrowed her eyes. "It's not soda. It's pop. I'm 21 and I prefer Guinness."
Grissom grimaced. "Since when are you 21?"
Sara held her one hand with splade fingers. "Five days ago. I think you should know that I will allow you buy me exactly three drinks. I know about you reputation."
"I have a reputation?"
He raised his eyebrow. She raised hers. Sara won.
"What makes you think that you are even my type? Ms. Sidle."
"Are you going to buy me a birthday drink or not and I want food too."
"Why don't you just plan the rest of my life?"
She stood and picked oddly colored green leaf from his shoulder. "I have some time to kill."
After their second round of drink and before the greasy appetizers arrived Grissom realized just how absolutely adorable the knobby kneed young woman was. She was talking nonstop and he savored the flashes of pink wet tongue that occasionally appeared between her gab when she smiled. She smiled a lot. He told himself that she was far too sweet for Tim. He hoped Tim had not gotten his hands on this one.
"What did your uh-your-"
Sara lineless forehead creased.
"What did your boyfriend get you for your birthday?"
Sara looked down at the scared oak table they occupied. "I've been sick," she said sadly. Self conscious hand slid across her empty womb.
"Oh. I'm sorry. You're feeling better?" His hand touched hers without him realizing that flesh had connected.
"Well yes, I am. Thank you."
"Was it serious?"
"I suppose it was. Thank you for asking."
"The boyfriend wanted to wait until you felt better?"
Sara was confused for an instant. "No. I think we're over."
"Were you done on your birthday?" Why was it so important? Knowing every needling detail about this young Sara.
"I guess we were."
"I'm sorry," he said again. So this is what it was like. To want to fix everything. To want to take care. Sex as a second or third thought.
They ate fish and chips with gusto trading anecdotes through mouthfuls of salty mush. Grissom ordered two brownies with hot fudge, French vanilla ice creams and candles. He insisted the staff sing Happy Birthday to a giggling Sara. They finished with Bailey's and coffee. They walked back to her dorm commenting on the odd bit of Boston Architecture. At the end of the week he left without saying goodbye. The white gold hoped earrings came with a card. The links of the bracelet were connected with surreal ovals of peridot.
Dearest Sara,
I have enjoyed the dinners, the coffees and the conversations. I have acquired a taste for Guinness and a friend. Thank you for allowing me to be your friend.
Happy Birthday
Grissom