A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 7

Remember, this is pre-Las Vegas, pre all the work and blood and kidnapping and other stuff that went on for seven years! And we want Grissom to care this much again!

When the plane landed, he almost took the return flight without leaving the airport. Instead, he rented a car, driving in the pre-dawn light to her apartment and finding a parking space a block away.

The apartment was locked and dark. He had the key from his previous visit and unlocked the door. Inside, he found the apartment looking as if she had left it twenty minutes earlier, dishes washed, bed made, towels hung up. Three socks were on the floor by the bed. He grinned at the only disorder in the entire place. No Sara, no evidence of where she had gone. He was an intruder but he was also an investigator.

A flower draped from a vase in the window, a few petals had fallen on the sill. The dish towel was dry. He backtracked to the bathroom and felt the towels. Dry. The sink was dry. Her toothbrush in a cup felt dry to his fingertip. He opened the cabinet and found aspirin and her birth control container. He sighed as he closed the door—nothing told him where she had been for twenty four hours. And more possibilities played around his brain. Should he call her boss? Should he call her former roommate or the hospitals? Or was this a fool's errand and she had left a message he had not gotten.

In her refrigerator, he found a bottle of juice. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. Catherine had handed him a sandwich hours ago. He wished he had a drink—the kind he and Jim Brass shared after work. He took the juice outside, leaned back against the door, and emptied the bottle.

Fatigue, lack of sleep, worry joined with rising warmth of the morning sun and minutes after finishing the juice, Grissom's head slumped against the door and he was asleep.

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Sara stopped to buy enough food for later. She wasn't hungry but knew she needed to eat before work. She swung the bag over her shoulder and almost danced up her street. One huge burden had been lifted from her life. She wanted to talk with Grissom, to laugh with him as they planned a visit Las Vegas. He did not have to know everything about her mother—just that she was in a good, safe place. She might take him there one day. Sara even let herself think about moving away from San Francisco. She lifted her face to the sun and smiled.

Her walkway was shaded all day. Only her little second floor porch got morning sun so she did not notice the person stretched across her landing until she was taking the first step. Familiar legs, she thought, a recognizable jacket, and a very well known face—asleep on her porch. What is going on, she thought. Why would Grissom be sleeping on her porch?

She quietly climbed the steps and sat down facing him. He stirred and opened his eyes. She smiled. "Rip Van Winkle?"

"Sara Sidle," he said.

She snickered—not a giggle, but half laugh and half snort. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled, picked up the empty juice bottle and said, "Drinking your juice. Taking a nap on your porch."

This time she giggled. "What are you doing here?" She leaned forward and kissed him, quickly. "What's going on?"

Grissomshut his eyes for a few seconds, gavea sigh, saying "I was worried." When he opened his eyes, she saw the worry and fatigue etched on his face. She waited for him to continue. "You called and left a message. I—I left you several messages. You didn't call back—for hours." He dropped his face. "I guess my imagination went into overdrive."

"You came six hundred miles because you were worried?"

He nodded. "I left work. I flew in on a gambling plane early this morning, rented a car and drove here." This time he kissed her. "I'm sorry, I unlocked your door and went inside. I—I didn't know what to do—we have talked every day for months—I didn't know where you were."

Sara had taken his hands in her own. "Oh, Grissom—this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me." She kissed him again caressing his face, letting her fingers play into his hair. She broke the kiss, smiling. "Did you really come because you were worried?"

"Does it sound crazy?"

"No." She stood up. "Have you eaten? I'll fix some eggs." Once inside, she asked, "Why didn't you stay inside?" She saw his bag on the sofa.

"I didn't want to frighten you when you open the door." He poured water in her coffee maker for two cups and leaned against the window watching as she cracked eggs in a bowl. She had not told him where she had been—he had no right to ask. She reached for a pan and waited for butter to melt before pouring eggs into the hot skillet. He recognized an experienced egg cook; he was one too.

Sara turned as she lifted the edges of the eggs. "Ask me where I've been! Oh, never mind. I have to tell you." The pan tilted and eggs slid onto a plate. "Toast in a second." He watched her place a slice of bread atop melted butter in the same pan, flipped the bread, and placed it beside the eggs.

"You aren't eating?" He placed two cups of coffee on the table.

She shook her head. "Part of where I've been. Sit. Eat. I don't know where to start." She sat across the table from him.

"Tell me." He ate.

She gave him a broad smile. "Did you really fly all this way just because you were worried?" She touched his face as he ate, dropped her hand when he nodded again. "I told you about my mom—she's always had to have assistance, help, you know." She found it impossible to describe her mother's life. "Yesterday, I went to this appointment about her—living in a community, where she will have others to help her. I mean, she's doing really well. She's been there a year, but they had to vote to say she could stay. She's happy—content, I think." She placed his plate in the sink and returned to her chair.

"Grissom, she gets to live there—for as long as she wants to stay."

A/N: Next chapter is total smut, not graphic, just don't read if you don't want a hot sex scene (tastefully done we hope!!) and that's the last chapter of this story.