A/N – Still have the cold, but it's slowly getting better. I'm not quite as cranky right now. However, waking up at 3am was not a happy thing. On the other hand, I got the last chapter written, and paved the way for this one. Let me know what you think. Thanks in advance for the reviews.
Disclaimer – I really really want to own the characters, just so I can make them do what I want them to do on the TV screen. Ooh yeah, baby.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Had he known it would require a stop every two hours or the dog would start howling, Grissom would have had second thoughts about bringing Hank. Having left the lab, Grissom made a quick stop at his house, threw some clothes together, and bundled up the dog's necessities. By six o'clock that morning, he and Hank were on the road.
Stopping only long enough to let Hank out to walk around, he made it to San Francisco in just less than twelve hours. Pulling up a map, he tried to figure out where she was staying. When she'd first gone, Sara had stayed in a hotel. However, after two weeks, Grissom reasoned with her that she'd be more comfortable someplace private, and convinced her to rent an apartment.
Grissom parked and looked at the small building in front of him. He knew she'd rented a small studio apartment, but from the looks of the building he figured it must be the size of a closet. Walking up to the door, with the dog in hand, he hit the buzzer. When he received no response, he hit the buzzer again. Looking down at the dog, whose tongue was now hanging out and looking back quizzically, he murmured, "She must not be home."
Grabbing his cell phone, he dialed her number. She picked up on the first ring.
"Gil," she breathed in relief, "I'm glad you called." Walking onto the front porch, she said, "I'm at my mother's house right now, so it's hard to talk. Can I call you back in a little while?"
"Sara, sweetheart," he murmured in response. He could feel the waves of tension in her voice, and knew what he needed to do. "Stay where you are. I'll be right there," he said, and ended the call. Smiling at the dog, he said, "Let's go rescue mommy, okay?" Hank barked once, sharply, in response.
When he reached the address he'd looked up before leaving Las Vegas, Grissom saw her standing on the front porch, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. The light from the front porch cast shadows over her, but when she moved into the light, he could see those features he knew so well. For a moment, he got out and stood there. He'd seen her in pain before. When she'd first talked about her parents and growing up in foster care, he'd felt pain pour from her. When his eyes met hers, a surge of exhaustion and ache from her washed over him. It wasn't until Hank began to bound towards her, that a small smile crept up, without reaching her eyes.
Never breaking eye contact, he climbed the steps, until he stood just inches from her. Running his hand across her cheek, he counted and gathered the tears. With Hank trying to pry between their legs, Grissom chuckled, as his mouth closed over hers. This time, when she breathed his name, it was with wonder. "You're here," she murmured. Sara wrapped her arms around his midsection, and leaned onto his shoulder. "When I asked you to come," she said, "I didn't think you'd make it so quickly. I figured you'd come a day or two early."
"I'd do anything for you, honey," he responded. Leaning his face into her hair, he breathed in her scent. The subtle smell of coconut mixed with her natural scent seemed to always sooth him – make him feel more human. With her he always felt… real.
That's how Laura Sidle found them several minutes later. For awhile, she just watched from the window, as the couple held on tight to one another. It wasn't until the dog began to prance about that they shifted, and Sara knelt down to pet Hank. With a mighty slurp to the face, Hank did something Sara wasn't sure could have happened at that particular moment – he made her happy.
"Are you being my little alarm clock?" she asked playfully, scratching just the right spot behind the ears to make him lie down and loll his head.
When Grissom knelt down with her, his hand reached out again to touch her hair. She hadn't straightened it. He knew she preferred it straight, but the curls fascinated him. Given an opportunity, he could and had spent hours just running the strands through his fingers. "You're beautiful," he murmured, before leaning over and kissing her gently.
When the tears threatened to spill again, he pulled her up into his tight embrace, and held. Looking up, he saw Laura standing in the doorway, and pulled slightly away, nodding toward Sara's mother. "I think we have an audience," he softly said, and instantly felt Sara tense.
Turning slowly in his embrace, she smiled edgily at her mother, as Grissom wrapped an arm around her. "Laura, I'd like you to meet my husband, Gil," Sara quietly intoned. Turning her head to see his face, she whispered, "Gil, this is my mother."
Releasing his wife, Grissom made the steps forward to shake her hand. "From what I've seen, you have a nice home here," Grissom said, and suddenly realized it was true. They stood on a lovely, wide wrap-around porch. A bench swing sat at one end, and a couple of comfortable wicker chair were huddled together, with a small table in front of them.
Laura eyed Grissom warily. He could understand the hesitance he saw there, as he was a stranger to her. I'm closer in age to her mother, he thought to himself, and oddly enough felt no discomfort at it. Sara was his wife, and as time passed, he came to realize what a significant part she played in his peace of mind. Somewhere in the last couple of years, she'd become his best friend – the one person he could really talk to when things happened. While age may have played a factor years ago, it had meant nothing to him for a long time.
"Please, come back in, Sara," Laura said, "I didn't mean to upset you."
With a harsh laugh, Sara replied, "How was hearing the details of how you killed him not going to upset me?"
Standing behind her, Grissom wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her ear, "Do what you want or can. I'll be here no matter what."
When she turned her head, she murmured, "It's so damn hard. I feel like I'm being shredded into a million little pieces. The more I learn, the more it hurts."
"Let yourself fall apart, honey," Grissom replied, "I'll be here to help you put the pieces back together. All right?"
On her nod, Sara stepped out of his embrace and headed towards the front door. Grissom stood where he was – he didn't want to intrude. Regardless of their marriage, what most people didn't understand was their levels of independence. Sara was her own person, and made her own choices. He was the same. Grissom had understood the desire to seek solace in life, even if meant going it alone, as Sara had chosen.
It wasn't until she stood in the doorway, reached out her hand, and asked, "Are you coming?" that Grissom and Hank walked through the front door.
The interior was warm, with a feeling of comfort permeating the air in direct conflict with the stiff set of the two women's postures. When Sara walked into the living room, she took a seat on a Queen Ann sofa. When Grissom settled himself next to her, he watched Hank wander over in front of the fireplace and lay down, soaking up the heat emitted from the burning logs.
He looked at Laura Sidle, and took notes in his head, like he would at a crime scene. He knew she was in her late fifties, a similar shape of face as Sara, with the same brown eyes. He could see streaks of brown running through the gray curls she adorned. At one point, she probably had the same hair as Sara. She held herself with a grace that surprised him, and had obviously spent a great deal of time trying to develop a sense of serenity in her home. She surrounded herself with antiques meant to create a calming sense of history.
Without a word, Sara reached out and received his hand before looking at her mother, who sat across the coffee table from her. "I want to show him pictures," Sara murmured, using her free hand to scoot the photo album across the coffee table to him. When he released her hand, she became cold. She started to wrap her arms around herself, so he pulled her close, placing her arm around him. "Hold onto me, honey," he whispered into her hair, and picked up the album.
"It has everything in there," Laura said. At his curious look, she added, "Good or… or bad. It's all in there."
There were black and white photos of a beautiful baby, followed by snapshots of her as a toddler. Her hair had been extremely curly, and he could see the laughter drifting from her eyes into the camera. When he traced a finger over the child's face, he bent his head to hers and whispered, "You were beautiful even then. I can see it in those serious eyes." And those eyes were serious. His mother would have called her an old soul.
The next pages had a six year old sporting a cast. When he raised his eyes to hers, she smiled sadly before saying, "I told everyone I fell out of my tree-house. I didn't tell them I lost my jacket, so he grabbed me so hard he broke my arm."
The next page showed Sara, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Page after page, he would see Sara in different settings, sometimes with bruises and sometimes not. More often than not, her face set in a blank, unsmiling expression. "Didn't anyone at your school every say anything?" he asked.
"Remember when this was… back then, nobody could really help. The laws didn't change until after I was part of the system," Sara explained. Thinking back to her teachers, she said, "I remember one teacher that tried to help. She was told to leave it alone by everyone – the school district, my parents, and even the police. That was back before child welfare was considered an important topic."
Grissom had been raised by a loving mother, and until he was nine, he'd had a father that doted on him. Being the child of a deaf parent, and a book worm had naturally made him something of an outsider. However, he'd always been cherished in his family. He'd never doubted for a moment that he was loved.
He peered at Laura. Something in his eyes must have triggered her to say, "I always loved her. Believe it or not, so did her father." Her eyes dimmed, as he had so often Sara's dim when she was unhappy. Quietly, she added, "I took whatever was heaped on me, because I loved him and I was afraid of the outside world."
"You should have protected her," he accused in a raspy voice, and turned back to the album, not waiting for a response. The next page made him laugh. In the center was a picture of Sara missing two front teeth at the age of seven. The caption below read, "Sara, right before singing 'All I Want for Christmas are My Two Front Teeth' at the Christmas program."
Looking over, he saw her grin, then laugh out, "I'd forgotten about that until a few days ago. Laura made that dress special. I remember being so nervous."
"Oh, honey, you got out on stage and were so beautiful. Everyone absolutely loved it!" Laura exclaimed. Grissom smiled, because he could just see her standing on a stage, the spotlight her own, happily singing about her missing teeth. He could also see her appreciating the extended gap that made her lisp with a sense of irony. In all the pictures he'd seen so far, there was always something older in the child's eyes.
Flipping the page, he found a picture of her with a bruise across her cheek. The brilliance of her eyes had died away, and a sense of recognition shone through. "That was the next day," Sara murmured. When she looked at Gil, she continued, "I don't remember what I did, but he threw me against the table. I hit the corner with my face. What you don't see is the brace on my sprained knee."
"I told people Sara had fallen down again. To my greatest shame, I blamed my child, instead of blaming my husband," Laura said. Standing nervously, she paced to the window seat that looked out onto the front yard. "At one point, he was a good man. He loved me, and he loved Sara. When we lost the business – our bed and breakfast – he changed. Bitterness seemed to drive him, and the drugs and alcohol made it worse." Turning back to face the couple, she said, "The drugs and alcohol I consumed made our lives and any chance of happiness impossible. I may have never become violent, but I was as much to blame."
Feeling his jaw grind, Grissom clenched his hands on his knees, his knuckles turning white. When Sara reached over and laid one hand on his, he took a deep breath and laid his forehead to hers. "I don't know what to say," he whispered into her ear. "I'm so goddamn angry right now."
"Maybe we better go," she said, and started to stand. Giving him a quick hug before heading off to find her jacket, she told her mother, "I need to hear the rest, but not right now."
When Laura walked back over to stand in front of Grissom, she picked up the album and held it out. "Would you like to take this with you?" she asked. He nearly said, "No," but then he thought of the picture of Sara laughing, and needed to know if there were more like it. "Yes, thank you," he quietly answered.
With a quick whistle, Hank was by Grissom's feet, and they headed out the door. "How about you ride with me?" Grissom asked. "We can pick up your car tomorrow."
"All right," Sara said, smiling, "as long as Hank sits in the back seat."
As they crossed the porch, Laura asked, "Can I convince you to come to dinner tomorrow night? My husband and step-daughter will be home. After dinner, we can talk some more. I know Dennis and April will understand, and take themselves off if that's what you want."
Grissom looked at Sara, and let her decide. When she nodded her head, he though, That's my girl. Tough as nails and never backs down.
Holding her hand, he led her to the car, and held her door for her, while Hank tried to crawl into her lap. Laughing, she finally pushed the boxer off her and over the front seat to the back. Smiling in response, Grissom drove off.
It was late by they arrived at their temporary 'home'. "Pull in behind the building, just down that alley," Sara said, pointing to a tight alleyway. Once parked, he shifted in his seat to look at his wife. The circles in her eyes had become pronounced, and the agitation in her movements obvious. Getting out, he went around and opened her door. Something frail had settled in her, and she seemed to be consumed with a torrent of feral emotions. While her grip was weak, ferocity counter-balanced it. He could see that thin hold begin to break down as he walked with her to the trunk to get his bags. Sara didn't often lose control, but something was about to give, and he only thanked God he was there.
Standing in the doorway, she fumbled with the key, and finally freed the lock. Upon entering, Grissom first noticed the scant belongings. The bed consisted of a mattress on the floor. Her small kitchenette was nothing more than a three foot counter wedged against the far wall between the stove and the tiny refrigerator. She'd still managed to make the space hers, though. He hadn't realized she'd taken so many pictures with her, or that she'd surrounded herself with them.
A soft light permeated the room when she flipped the switch, and he admired the sheer sage material she'd draped like a mosquito net over the bed, giving it an aura of intimacy. A small used desk, with obvious character, sat in the corner, obviously used for little chores like bill paying, he mused. A stack of mail sat on top of it. A closet with the same sage green, with red striping covered a section of the wall, and Grissom assumed this was the closet. A door on the opposite wall from the bed most likely led to the bathroom.
Padding his way into the apartment, Hank walked the perimeter, sniffed here and there, and obviously liking the scent, found a spot to call his own. Sauntering over to the closet, Grissom pushed the curtain aside and dropped his and Hank's stuff in there. When he looked back, Sara sat in the only chair in the place, wrapping her arms around herself, curling into herself. What surprised him was how white her knuckles had become. She was hurt, but even more… Sara was angry.
Standing next to her, she watched her regain her composure, and slowly uncoil, light a python. Once on her feet, she waited all of three heart beats before she turned around and slammed her hand so hard into the desk that everything on it went flying, including the lamp.
"Christ, Sara!" Grissom yelled, grabbing her and pinning her arms to him. Laying his cheek next to her, he felt vibrations rage through her, and whispered, "Breathe, honey. Deep breath. Breathe. Please." He was completely perplexed, because he'd never seen her like this before – he'd never seen her absolutely powerless over the fury coursing through her. When he felt her hot breath on his neck, he relaxed his hold, and brought his hands up to her face.
"You need to talk to me," he demanded fiercely. When she looked away, he pulled her face back and this time pleaded, "Please, baby. Talk to me." It was the endearment that finally permeated the haze she was in. It was so rare to hear anything but 'honey' or 'dear' or the rare 'sweetheart', that it stopped her in her tracks.
Trying to distract her, he leaned down and captured her lips – sucking and licking until he heard her moan. When she reached out with trembling hands, unable to unhook the buttons, he growled, "Go ahead," and felt her yanking. One by one, he felt buttons snap off, until her hands pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Her lips swelled, when she started running them over his rough beard.
Reaching out, he gripped her shirt, and pulled it over her head, revealing a nearly transparent black silk bra. As he started to run his hands down her sides, she pushed them off and left him where he stood. Sara had always been shy about her body. She enjoyed sex – she always had. However, she was never one for a show.
Walking over to the bed, she moved the netting off to the side of the bed, and turned back. Running her hand slowly between her breasts, down her belly, and into the top of her trousers, she tilted her head back and moaned. Slowly, she unbuttoned and unzipped the slacks, letting them fall away. Moving mechanically towards his wife, Grissom admired the view, wanting his hand and mouth to be every place her hands seemed to be rhythmically moving.
Running his hands over her shoulders and down her back, he helped her sit, and removed her shoes and socks. Sliding his hands from her hips to her feet, the pants fell away, until she lay back wearing a sheer kind of nothing.
"I want you," Sara whispered, reaching for him. Smiling, he removed the rest of his clothes and lay down next to her, running his hand over the patches of silk. She moaned and he reached over, removing each offending garment, until his hands flamed her skin, and his mouth followed, nibbling and licking.
When she pushed him onto his back, he smiled. She straddled him, and set back on him, settling him deep in her, and he gasped. With slow, methodical movements, she slowly tortured him, bringing him oh so close to the edge, but never letting him go over. Finally, he grabbed her hips and growled, as he reached up with his mouth to suck and lips her exposed nipples one at a time. When her moans turned to whimpers, he felt himself swelling harder, until her walls closed and clenched around him. A few more strokes, and he felt himself release into her.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her down, settling her face in the crook of his neck. He had to laugh when she asked, "If I have Catherine teach me how to be a stripper, will it get even better?" Smiling into his neck, she murmured, "I love you."
She only groaned a little when he jarred her sitting up in order to grab the blankets. "I'm glad you asked me to come here," Grissom whispered. With his eyes closed, he sighed, and added, "I'll provide as little or much support as you want." Using his hand, he tilted her face up when he said, "But don't ever be afraid of falling apart in front of me. I'll always stand with you."
Closing their eyes, they sought a peaceful oblivion in sleep.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N – Still have the crappy cold, but at least I'm not cranky anymore. Just tired. Wake me up by hitting the review button. That might just work.