A/N: Thank you for reading, for staying with us! CSI writers did not tell us anything about Sara's absence except that she was visiting her mother. We know there was more going on-and certainly more involvement by Grissom. More to come-and remember to send us a comment!
Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2
CHAPTER 3
Sara was waiting for Grissom when he arrived at the San Francisco airport. What a difference a week had made; to be exact, it had been nine days since he had watched her get on a plane and leave Vegas. The change was remarkable.
When he saw her, he stopped and stared, saying, "Look at you!"
"What's the matter?" Her smiled broadened; her arms spread outward.
Grissom grinned so that his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Nothing at all. You look great. San Francisco must agree with you."
Sara laughed softly, stepped forward and, as his bag dropped to his feet, their arms went around each other. He had not forgotten the gentle, yet physically remote, embrace on her departure. She had found it difficult to look at his eyes. This was different, almost back to normal.
Today, her eyes appeared to dance with bright joy yet he had the feeling that she was using every ounce of energy to keep up a front of function. Before many words passed between them, Sara had plucked his bag from the floor, put a slim arm around him and steered them both through the doors of the airport.
They kept looking at each other; a smile forming as arms tightened until they reached a small faded-red car, old by any standard, where Sara lifted the hatchback and placed his bag inside.
At the question on his face, she answered, "It's my mom's and runs great." They buckled up and she cranked the car, moving into traffic quickly, speeding toward the city. "My mother is thrilled you've come." A moment's hesitation, before adding, "She's doing good—real good—but she's still nuts."
Traffic slowed; they lowered the windows for air.
Grissom said, "It really is different here. One forgets how the glare of the sun changes things. Here—even in the city—the air is different."
A few minutes later, Sara exited the freeway and headed west, driving through neighborhoods that were a mix of gentrification, restoration, and tap-hammer repairs.
Smiling, she said, "The first thing Peg did after picking me up was to take me to the beach. I can't wait for you to meet her—she really is good at what she does." A tremulous smile gained hold and became a solid grin.
"We stood at the edge of the waves and she told me to match my breath to that of the ocean; in and out, in and out." She maneuvered the car into a parking space without so much as a backward glance. When she switched off the engine, she leaned forward, looking at the sky. She said, "For the first time in a long time, I—a sense of calm came over me, Gil. I—I felt like I could breathe without this darkness waiting to swallow me."
Grissom leaned over and kissed her cheek. They had talked on the phone numerous times in nine days; he had heard her words and now saw the effects. He said, "I could use some of that calm." He squeezed her hand.
With a slight nod, she released his hand and opened the car door.
A swirling salt-scented breeze swept through the car. Sand stretched in front of them and, as they held hands, they walked toward the water. He caught sight of the Golden Gate Bridge and stopped to take it in. He had forgotten how beautiful it was.
For a long minute, he tilted his face skyward and let the breeze tickle his eyelashes. Birds engaged in their own conversation behind them. In front, he heard waves lapping rhythmically against the coast. Within his hand, he felt the warm palm and slim fingers of the woman he loved.
He could taste the salt in the air, a sensation that he had forgotten. Holding hands, they walked along the beach, stopping frequently to watch waves. The sun had set hundreds of lights shimmering on its surface, rising and rippling with the breeze.
Walking back to the car, easily, Grissom's arm went around Sara; hers circled around his back. She smiled as she tucked her head against his shoulder. And when they arrived at the car, he kissed her again, deeply, and got the hoped-for response.
A few minutes later, he asked, "When are we expected by your mother?"
"Not for a while. We can eat. Then an appointment with the shrink—psychiatrist—at two for about an hour. We should have a couple of hours before we meet my mom." She giggled. "And I think I have a plan for those hours."
Grissom's eyebrow arched. He asked, "A ride on the famous cable cars?"
Sara pointed to the passenger side of the car. "Get in. We're going to eat. Seafood and vegetarian sushi."
His shrimp salad tasted better than anything he'd eaten in two weeks. He told a few stories about the lab that caused Sara to laugh. She divulged a few of her mother's eccentricities—her refusal to use a potato peeler because it did not trim as close as a knife, her backyard feeding station for neighbor's cats, the way she had decorated the postage-stamp size patio. Grissom laughed which pleased Sara and she laughed with him.
After another short drive, they were walking into an office building, non-descript, decades old, but recently renovated, climbing stairs that were open to a spacious, light-filled foyer. Small signs directed visitors to specific offices. Sara pushed open a door near the back of the building, holding it for Grissom to enter.
He was surprised. The walls were lined with bookcases and large photographs of mountains, oceans, forests, rivers, and waterfalls. It felt more like a library in a comfortable home than a professional office. A couple of rocking chairs and a sofa were placed around a square table.
There was no secretary, no receptionist, but in seconds, a woman appeared in the doorway set in the center of the bookcase lined wall. He recognized immediately this was Peg, social worker or psychologist, he wasn't sure, who had met Sara at the airport. And he knew why Sara liked the woman.
A smile started at her mouth and moved across her face so every crease seemed to move upward. Her hair was wild, untamable, and red—and her dress—Sara had called it something else—billowed around her like a multi-colored paisley cloud. And it swelled and engulfed him as the woman reached for his hand and made a rapid movement that caught him in a greeting that was somewhere between a handshake and a bear hug. Over Peg's shoulder, he saw Sara bite her lip to keep from laughing.
In all the noise of introductions, he missed the second person's arrival until Peg stepped away and, with a familiar wave of her hand, Peg said, "Dr. Grissom, Dr. Cassandra Peters."
Even though Sara had described the physician in detail, Grissom was still surprised at the appearance of the tall, distinguished woman who took his hand very formally. Sara had described the two women as "opposites attract" and for all the exaggerated appearance of one, the other was discreet, a minimalist. He understood why Sara had expressed relief and admiration for both.
They moved into an inner room, one that had the appearance of a pleasant and welcoming sanctum, providing a sense of retreat, a sanctuary. There were a few photographs, a magnificent bouquet of flowers near the wall of windows, comfortable chairs arranged for conversation. There were no diplomas, no plaques of commendation, or awards of achievement.
Peg dropped into one chair while Sara headed to one next to her which put him between Sara and Dr. Peters.
For more than an hour, the two women talked, explained, and asked questions. They were thorough, they were kind, and, best of all, they voiced hope and recovery.
Dr. Peters described a plan of care that involved individual and group counseling. "Most people come through my door because of a crisis—a loss of something or someone—a change in life. One has to adapt—and Sara has become an expert at that. The childhood trauma Sara experienced set the stage for another traumatic event—such as she experienced recently—to put her into a tailspin."
Quietly, the psychiatrist explained therapy and treatment in detail; Grissom had read pages of medical information and research papers since Sara has left Vegas. Yet, Dr. Peters revealed her expertise in her descriptions of appropriate therapies.
"Sara wants this to work and she'll work hard to do it," she said.
After ninety minutes that included a quick bathroom break and a round of tea and small, sweet cookies, Grissom and Sara were back in the faded-red car, exhausted from the intensity of what they had heard.
"It won't be quick," Sara finally said. She took Grissom's hand and kissed each knuckle. "Three months."
Grissom shook his head, saying, "Three months will pass quickly—even if it's longer—we'll get through this."
"Thank you, Gil." Her eyes closed for a few seconds. "I—I don't know if I can handle the virtual reality therapy—trying to recall the time I was a child…"
"I know you remember a lot of details from that night."
Sara's choked response caused him to blink away sudden tears. She said, "I don't know if I remember anything that happened that night—or if I made it up."
A few minutes later, her face showing anguish from her thoughts, she started the car.
Grissom said, "Why don't we get a shaved ice—I haven't eaten one in years—but I saw a place near the restaurant."
A faint change came over her face as she nodded.
Retracing their route, they found the place with a large painted cone of shaved ice out front, found a parking spot nearby, and ordered large sizes—a red—cherry—and a green—watermelon—flavored cones. When the man behind the counter handed their treats to them, both laughed at the size, easily as big as Grissom's head.
Somehow, eating finely crushed fruit-flavored ice while sitting on an old wooden beach changed the mood. Sara laughed as he told her about Hank taking over her pillow; he did not tell her how the dog mourned her absence.
Before they had eaten half of their shaved ice, Sara said, "I need to pick up my mom." She sighed, "She's nuts, Gil."
He tossed the melting remains of the ice into the trash. "Let's go pick her up."
A/N: Thank you! We look forward to hearing from you.