A/N: Another chapter-enjoy! Thank you to everyone who supports GSR!
Gil Grissom's Romance
Chapter 3
Six months later, much to his surprise, Gil Grissom was flying back to San Francisco as primary speaker for a three-day regional training conference. Nearly all of the area's law enforcement members would be rotating through the conference which meant he would give his presentation on insects as evidence three times.
And Sara Sidle was meeting him at the airport assigned as his official host for the meeting.
As the jet approached the airport, his ears reacted to the change in atmosphere causing him to pull on his ear lobe. From his aisle seat, he could not see much more than a sliver of sky and missed the beauty of flying above the bay area. But an aisle seat meant a quick exit.
Closing his eyes, he tried to think about what might happen on this trip. As he recollected on his previous visit, he knew it had been a long time since he had experienced such—fun. It had taken him weeks to arrive at that simple three-letter word—fun—but that's what he and Sara Sidle had done for one afternoon, two nights, and most of another day.
The climb to Coit Tower, eating pizza, walking—they had walked for hours one night, riding the ferry across the bay and spending a day on the Berkeley campus, and eating food wherever they were had given him a renewed sense of life. He had laughed more than he had in years. And in all the hours together, she had maintained an almost child-like delight in showing him around. He had enjoyed every minute of their time together.
Growing up as an only child with a hearing-impaired mother, Gil Grissom had always felt alone. He spent his youth studying, finding his peers immersed in frivolities that held no interest to him. So he learned to be a ghost, invisible, until he shifted his focus to solving problems—turning his attention to helping those who could not help themselves. In his case, it was the coroner's office. From there it was a simple step to the crime lab.
His life became easy—he learned quickly; his natural affinity for science made work his primary reason for existence where he focused on the problems at hand.
And Sara Sidle, with her giggle and ability to make him laugh, had shown him a new—and different—way of life. She was intelligent; she was confident and secure, and, unlike his friend and co-worker, Catherine Willows, who managed to put sexual innuendo in most of what she said, Sara talked about everything but never insinuated any sexual aspect in her words—other than quick flirtations they both enjoyed.
On this visit, he had decided he would 'date' Sara Sidle. He would take her out to eat; he had theater tickets, and, if things went well… No, he thought just as the airliner's wheels touched down. He would not take her to his hotel room. This was repayment for giving him a personal tour on his last visit; for reminding him there was a life away from work.
They had talked on the phone and corresponded with emails with increasingly regularity—at all times, they had remained pleasant and professional—and he enjoyed the developing friendship. He had encouraged her to apply for a crime scene investigator position, which she had gotten, suggested she volunteer for the conference; they had shared cases, sometimes talking for hours about the minutiae of crimes.
There was more than a decade between their ages; he could be her mentor, her teacher, her coach, and her friend. But not her lover; he had doubts about his skills based on his experiences with women, and, at his age, he could not hope to fulfill the desires of a healthy, wholesome young woman. So friendship it would be.
Walking up the jet bridge, he was surprised to see the young woman in his thoughts standing at the doorway, next to the airline agent's desk. Arms crossed, a smile spreading across her face, wearing a pair of slim jeans, and a blue shirt—his thoughts of 'friendship' dissolved. She was simply beautiful; sexy without the trappings, without pretense or posturing. His stomach churned. He managed two breaths of air before she spoke.
"Hey! I thought you had backed out on me! Let me help you with a bag." Her smile continued to spread as she removed the strap from his shoulder. "It's going to be a great conference—completely filled—and your sessions are popular!"
Soft laughter as he tried to retrieve his bag while pulling his rolling suitcase.
"I've got it", she said. "Do you have checked bags?"
He shook his head, "no."
"Onward, then!" She said, matching her pace to his. "I've got a car—we have time to eat something before getting you to the hotel. And all the presenters are having dinner together tonight. It's a great place from what I've heard—and the hosts get to go too. Tomorrow your session is at nine—I guess you know that." She paused for a breath and Grissom laughed.
She said, "I talk too much, don't I? How was your flight? Anything you need?"
With a grin, he said, "Flight was fine. Lunch would be terrific—and no, you don't talk too much." Before she could say anything else, he asked, "And how did you manage to meet me at the gate, CSI Sara Sidle?" He grinned, "You didn't flash that new badge to anyone, did you?"
Giggling, she grabbed his arm and brought her face to his, her mouth almost touching his ear. "I did! And they thought I was on a case," she pulled away, laughing. "No, a couple of the security guys know me and I said I was meeting a VIP for the conference."
He gave her an amiable grin, lifted an eyebrow and asked, "VIP? Do we have a limo?"
Sara laughed; her hand gently closed around his arm. She said, "Yes, Dr. VIP—we have a 1998 reasonably clean Dodge Caravan with a full tank of gas. Standard issue to a level one criminalist who has the responsibility of driving Dr. Gil Grissom anywhere he'd like to go for the next four days!"
"Lunch would be nice—some place local, good food that fills me up. If this dinner tonight runs the usual, its dried baked chicken, beans and potatoes—and so much talking that most of us won't notice how bad it is!"
A few minutes later, they were out of the terminal and in the parking garage where Sara quickly heaved his suitcase and shoulder bag in the sliding door before he had time to protest.
"You like seafood," Sara stated, "and I know a great place, rarely visited by tourists."
By the time he got the seat belt buckled, Sara had accelerated out of the garage after flashing a laminated card at the attendant and they were driving along streets in a way that only familiar drivers did. He said nothing, not even trying to relax as he observed the driver's skills.
They drove through a residential neighborhood—older houses built near the street, separated by narrow driveways and low growing scrubs—and, after several winding turns, Sara pulled the vehicle into a small gravel parking lot. Suddenly, Grissom could see the Pacific Ocean spreading below a high bluff to the horizon. He was still gazing out the van's window when she opened the door for him.
Inside the restaurant, barely larger than a postage stamp, with a capacity to seat six customers, Sara waved to two women behind the counter. Calling out to two others who were cooking, she said, "Hey, guys! I've brought a real VIP to eat your daily special!"
Greetings were returned, calling her by name, from all the employees and two people eating at the counter.
Grissom's mouth was already filling with saliva from the appetizing aromas and when his eyes saw the dessert carousel, he had to swallow to keep from drooling.
"Two specials coming up!" One of the cooks replied as he motioned to another door. "I'll bring them out to you!"
Sara knew the system; she paid, picked up plastic cutlery and napkins, grabbed two large plastic cups and motioned for Grissom to make his choice. Opening another door, a rush of salty air met his nose as Sara waved to picnic tables set up in the sun or shade.
"Sun," his first words since arriving at the place.
Taking steps set into a rocky bluff, they found an empty table on a small patio that seemed to be a thousand miles from the city.
"It's—it's beautiful here," he said as he watched two birds with long bills search among rocks below them. "How'd you ever find this place?" He chuckled, "Where everyone knows your name?"
Sara stuck straws into their drinks, laughing, as she weighed now napkins with a small rock on the table. "I've known about this place since I was—I must have been twelve—I lived near here. Still do—live near here."
He turned to look at her, suddenly realizing how little he knew about the young woman who had shown him around the city, talked to him for months, and not once had she shared a detail about her personal life.
Asking, as he sat next to her, facing the ocean, "Did you grow up in San Francisco? Do your parents live here?"
The startled look on her face told him he was prying into her privacy; for a long moment he did not think she would answer.
"My mother lives east of here. We moved around a lot. But, my—my father died when I was young."
Before she could say more, the cook was standing above them, singing a song from the sixties, as he carried a large tray down the steps.
Sara said "This is perfect!" as the guy placed food before her.
Grissom didn't say anything as his eyes took in the platter of food before him. Fish, shrimp, crab, and calamari spilled over the edge of the plate. A few fries were stuck among the seafood. Two small bowls contained shredded cabbage.
Adding three bottles to the table, the man asked, "Anything else? Sara, anything you want, just ask." He touched his forehead with a finger. "She's a special customer to us, Mr. VIP!"
With a soft laugh, Sara replied, "Joey, meet Dr. Gil Grissom from the Las Vegas crime lab. He's a speaker at our training conference."
"Eat! Dr. Grissom—enjoy!" He winked at Sara, adding, "This girl knows the best food in the city." With another wave, Joey headed back up the steps.
Sara grabbed one of the bottles, explaining, "This is for the cabbage—I think its Russian dressing, but they put it in their own bottles. And it is really good." She poured orange sauce into her bowl and handed it to Grissom. "The white is tartar sauce, the red is cocktail sauce.
He popped a shrimp into his mouth, chewed for several seconds, and made a low sound of satisfaction.
At that moment, Sara opened one of the bottles and red sauce exploded with the release of the cap, spraying across her plate and onto her blue shirt. Instantly, "Damn!"
Grissom grabbed napkins, but all their blotting did little for the stain on the shirt.
After a few minutes of frenzied wiping, Sara said, "Let's eat—it's not coming out. I'll have to—I can change before I drive you to the hotel."
"It is good food—great food," said Grissom. He picked up another shrimp and held it out to her, smiling as he asked, "Will this help?"
His offer caused Sara to laugh. "Eat it. I have plenty. Joey thinks I don't eat enough so he always piles on extra food when I come in."
They ate leisurely, watching birds floating in the air and diving into the water. Sun warmed their skin and made the ocean glitter with diamonds. Far below where they sat, rolling waves provided a gentle background for their meal. Grissom made appropriate complimentary comments when one of the women arrived with refills for their beverages. In the end, all that was left were crumbs and crumpled napkins.
Sara, looking at her ruined shirt, said, "I'll need to make a quick stop—only a few minutes—to change. It won't take but a minute."
Grissom touched her elbow as they headed up the steps. "I am in no hurry."
Sara turned on the narrow steps so that he had to look up at her. Quickly, his breath caught in his throat as a vision of this young woman flashed into his mind—just as quickly, he glanced away.
She said, "There is a pre-dinner gathering at the hotel and a short walk to the restaurant. I don't want you to be late. That would not look good for the local host!"
It was a short drive; two blocks and a left turn before Sara pulled into a narrow driveway. The house was small, near the street with flowering vines, potted plants, and tall trees filling every available space.
Stopping the van before an even smaller building at the end of the driveway, Sara said, "I live up there—it won't take a minute."
He looked up, seeing four windows of a second floor dwelling. Stairs, under an arch of thick weaving vines, went up one side. Watching her leave the vehicle, he decided to stand outside, near the van, knowing the many flowers would attract an abundance of insect activity.
Attracted by the bees, always fascinated by their constant motion, he was engrossed in their activity when he heard a phone ring, the sound coming from the open windows of Sara's apartment. It rang twice, then three, four times, before Sara's voice said "Hello, Mom."
He listened to her voice, one side of a prolonged conversation, for several minutes before walking to the street, finding another blooming plant and carefully studied it. This one contained no insects but he pretended to find it interesting until Sara appeared on the steps wearing another shirt, a pale pink pullover. There was no smile on her face as she walked to the van. Her eyes were faintly red.
The phone call, he thought. He did not ask, assuming her life had its ups and downs.
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "Took longer than I thought. I'm sure you're ready to get to the hotel. Forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive. No hurry," he said, smiling, adding, "We have plenty of time." His voice was low and gently as he opened the door for her to get behind the wheel, extending a hand in a simple gesture of assistance.
The act, or his words, undid her. A hand wiped across her eyes, catching tears, as she leaned her head against the open door of the van. Her shoulders jerked once or twice and he realized she was crying. He placed his hand on her shoulder, unsure of what to say but some version of "please don't cry" came to him.
Then he was startled when she turned and pressed her face against his shoulder as she wept silently. Carefully, he held her for several minutes, finally fumbling a hand into his pocket and retrieving a handkerchief.
After several minutes, she let him go, and used the white square to hide her face, turning away from him. She said, "I don't know what to say."
"You needn't say a word."
"It's—I have—my mother has problems—trouble. Trouble I can't fix."
"And you're her only child?"
Sara nodded, blew her nose, took a deep breath, and exhaled. "She calls me, says things she doesn't mean." She shrugged, turning to face him again. "She's mentally ill—she needs more help than I can provide—forgets to take her meds. That kind of thing."
Grissom asked, "Would it help to talk about it?"
Another shrug, another breath exhaled. "I expect you've heard the story before—she can't keep a job. She needs her medications then she thinks she doesn't so she stops taking them."
He nodded. "I have seen this before—if it helps, my mother has—has another kind of problem but it's difficult for me as her only child to—to deal with—with it."
A smile reappeared on Sara's face. "Thank you. My frustration quickly passes. I know there is only so much I can do." Her smile broadened. "Let's go—I will be held up to much ridicule and scorn if I don't deliver my speaker on time."
"You okay?" He asked and when she nodded, he winked; another smile appeared.
Walking around the van, he stopped at the flowering vines covering a fence. Gently, brushing aside several bees, he broke off one trailing vine covered with small yellow flowers. Standing outside the van, he quickly tied the ends of the vine together.
Smiling, he opened the door, climbed in and held the circle of flowers between his fingers. He said, "When in San Francisco, I have an urgent need to see a girl wearing flowers in her hair."
With a giggle as lighthearted and animated as he had ever heard from her, she took the vine and wound it around the top of her hair. Still laughing as she backed the vehicle out of the driveway, she began to sing the song: "If you're going to San Francisco be sure to wear some flowers in your hair…"
A/N: A few real life interruptions may occur as we write this story-but please, stay with us! Thanks so much for reading, and especially thank you to those who review and give so much encouragement to us!
More to come...