A/N: A fast update to continue Grissom's visit to San Francisco. If you are reading, we'd like to hear from you!
Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2
CHAPTER 4
Grissom had met Laura Sidle on two occasions; both times in Vegas when she'd visited Sara. He recognized the older woman wearing a floral dress and a yellow sweater who came out of the large warehouse building that contained the commercial laundry and dry cleaning business where she'd worked for years. There was an uncanny resemblance between mother and daughter at first glance but closer study dismissed the similarities as coincidence; two women who had brown eyes, a wide smile, a slim build.
Laura Sidle walked with a limp and carried a cane. She'd informed Grissom she carried the cane to indicate she moved slower than most people. But the differences in the two women went beyond how they walked—Sara's mother had taken first generation neuroleptics for years and as a result, suffered from tardive dyskinesia. Life had not been easy for her, Grissom thought, suddenly realizing that Laura Sidle had been younger than Sara when she had been institutionalized.
She was also an alcoholic who occasionally lapsed into days of indulging in cheap liquor. Living in a supportive group home for several years had helped, but he knew Sara worried about her mother; trying to maintain a connection with a woman who had been absent for more than a decade, re-entering Sara's life when she was an independent adult, was difficult on a good day. Even if the two did not see each other but a couple of times a year, Sara quietly kept tabs on her through several long-time friends.
Waving, smiling when she saw them, Laura seemed to be delighted to see them waiting for her. She came toward Grissom with her arm stretched in his direction.
"It's so good to see you, Dr. Grissom!" Her voice trilled like a young girl's.
Grissom shook her hand; no attempt of a hug from a woman who had experienced domestic abuse for years and spent another decade in a place where physical contact wasn't part of treatment but she did briefly touch Grissom's shoulder as he held the car door for her.
After a few minutes of light-hearted discussion about what to do, Sara drove to another small café so her mother could eat. Her workday started at sunrise, she explained to Grissom, and usually ended with a nap in her recliner before the sun set.
Grissom, knowing Laura's history, was surprised when they walked in to a place that appeared to be more of a bar than a place to eat. But the waitress knew Laura and within minutes delivered a plate of food—"the daily special"—ham, rice covered with gravy, and peas which looked pretty tasty to Grissom. A glance at Sara and he ordered a beer.
Laura Sidle ate slowly, with the table manners of an etiquette expert; an elaborate ritual of cutting small bites of food, placing her fork beside her plate as she chewed, Grissom thought. She was looking out of the large window at the street in front of the café, not making eye contact with him even though he was across the table.
Grissom watched mother and daughter for a few minutes; their eyes seemed to follow whatever was moving outside. Turning he glanced out of the window and asked, "You two are watching the same thing—what is it?"
A quiet chuckle came from Sara. Her mother grinned. She said, "I'm watching peace, Dr. Grissom." She had placed her fork beside her plate and folded her fingers together.
"I've been coming here for years." Glancing at Sara, she continued, "At one time I came in to drink—too much most of the time—but I don't do that now. I like to watch what's going on—wind blowing the trees across the street, people catching the bus, the flowers—it's calm and peaceful." She glanced again at Sara, smiling. "And now my daughter has come for a visit—you've come for a few days—it's nice to have visitors."
"It's nice to be here," Grissom said and settled back with his beer.
Sara breathed a sigh of relief; he already knew Sara had decided not to tell her mother the truth around why she was in San Francisco. Not yet—it would come, but not today.
"It was horrible what that woman did to Sara," Laura said as she patted Sara's hand. "Everyone at work saw the news." She picked up her fork before continuing, "But I knew my girl was strong—and smart—always, from the time she was just a little thing—she was smart and could do anything she set her mind to do."
Grissom looked at Sara and smiled.
Laura Sidle suddenly laughed, quickly glancing at Sara, beside her, and at Grissom who sat across the table. She laughed as she said, "You two are trying to keep it a secret, aren't you?" In an unconscious breach of etiquette, she pointed her fork at Grissom, saying, "You love Sara!" Turning to her daughter, she added, "And you—you—why didn't you tell me?" Chuckling, she stirred her rice and gravy and scooped up a forkful. "I think that's great." Silently, she laughed again and before putting the food in her mouth, she said, "It's about time she has a serious guy. Now, maybe I'll get to be a grandma!"
Sara managed to speak before he did, saying, "Mom, don't start…"
Grissom chuckled. "I'd marry your daughter tomorrow, Mrs. Sidle. But she's got an independent streak a mile wide." He shrugged, "I haven't convinced her yet to be Mrs. Grissom."
"Call me Laura," the older woman smiled as she touched Sara's arm with her elbow. "He's a good man, Sara. You don't have to get married now-a-days." Looking at Grissom, she winked, exaggerated by keeping her eye closed longer than necessary and wrinkling up one side of her face.
After that, Laura relaxed, offered Grissom a piece of ham and a roll. Laughing, he turned down her offer but the atmosphere changed to one of affection and geniality, somewhat stilted yet pleasant.
Later, Sara drove to the small house her mother shared with three other women. All of the women, at one time, had been incarcerated and confined to state-ordered treatment facilities, released after decades of isolation; their home was partly supported by state funding which included visits by a social worker.
One of the fears Sara had expressed was what would happen when state funding ended for this innovative program. As they got out of the car, Grissom saw the house as a home, enjoyed by its occupants from all appearances.
The small front yard was covered with plants, blooming flowers, cactus, trailing vines, along with a few tomato plants, Grissom noticed. Everything was a jumble in the way of small gardens yet the place looked tended. Someone liked growing things.
When invited inside, Grissom was almost overwhelmed with—stuff. Not in a hoarding way, but walls were filled with shelves holding pottery—bowls, plates, cups, small animals, vibrant mixes of colors—and where there was no pottery, there were paintings. As his mind tried to take in the room, the women were talking, introducing him to two of Laura's housemates.
One woman, Janet with dyed blonde streaks in short, graying hair, pumped his hand. "So good to meet you! Sara's friend—we think of Sara as belonging to us." Changing topics, she turned around, waving a hand at the pottery. "We take pottery classes, Dr. Grissom. So we display anything we can't sell at the craft market." The woman laughed, "We don't sell much of it from the looks of things."
A few minutes of friendly chaotic chatter surrounded them as the women welcomed Sara and Grissom into their home, inquired about health, Las Vegas, Sara's 'vacation', how long he would be in the city. They moved from a living area to sliding doors that were opened to catch a breeze.
The back yard was similar to the front, only slightly larger, with a cluttered patio, a vegetable garden, several bird feeders, and the cat feeding bowls. It took a while with three women often talking at once, sharing and then contradicting how a certain pot or piece of pottery had been placed in the yard. Finally, Sara managed their departure after Grissom suggested taking everyone to dinner the next day. Leaving the women to decide where they would like to eat, Sara and Grissom took deep breaths after reaching the car.
"Do you come here every day?"
Sara laughed. "Every day—and on my mother's days off, I'm here until I can talk her into going someplace—a park, the beach, a bookstore. Her life is very…" She paused for a few seconds, "Her life is very sheltered—very narrow—from here to work to the café, sometimes a stop at the grocery store."
Grissom's intuition kicked out his thoughts. "The yard is your mother's—she doesn't work on pottery or painting."
Sara grinned, saying, "I won't ask how you figured that out."
As she cranked the car, he yawned, saying, "I don't know about you, but I could use a nap." He did not voice his thoughts—wondering how Sara could stay in the small house for longer than a few minutes at a time.
She laughed, pulling into the street, saying, "My plans do not include a nap, dear!"
He recognized a nervous edge, a tension that had not been there earlier. His hand touched hers. "I seriously need a nap—and a shower. A shower then a nap. Then we'll get to your plans."
"The place is small."
"A bed and a shower will do."
She smiled; it was hesitant. A frown puckered her forehead for an instant. Her eyes stayed on the street ahead as she said, "I have to do this, Gil."
"I know you do. We are going to get through this, Sara." He leaned over and kissed her cheek causing a smile—not radiant but it would do for now, he thought.
The hotel suite was small; a small kitchen, a sitting area, a bedroom with a king size bed, and a standard sized bathroom. It smelled clean, looked new, and, Grissom knew, the blanket on the bed was one Sara had purchased. Little else was personal—a photo of he and Hank, two books, a newspaper turned to the crossword page. He managed to hide the overwhelming feeling of sadness he felt by saying:
"This works, dear." His arm went around her as he tossed his bag toward the sofa. He brushed a dark curl behind her ear. "You've got a physician who's among the best in the field for treating post-traumatic stress." He hugged her gently against his chest. "We know you need to put these ghosts to rest and then—then we'll decide what to do next."
Sara decided what to do in the next hour by pushing him into the bathroom as she unbuttoned his shirt. He protested, halfheartedly.
"I've missed you, Gil."
"I've missed you too." Looking at her closely, holding her face within his hands, he said, "It's funny—I feel as if you've been in my life forever—the best part of my life." Gently, he brought her into the circle of his arms, kissing her tenderly until she responded to him. And then it was blistering.
Standing in the small bathroom, they undressed with great speed, suddenly urgent to be intimate. With loving hands that touched, stroked, explored, and brought her to a fever of excitement, he covered her with a citrus scented body wash, held her close as she kissed him with an intense, building passion. Water cascaded from the small shower, rinsed their skin, wrinkled fingertips, made them whisper lovers' words.
Quickly, out of the shower, with an attempt to dry before tumbling into the bed, they could not get enough of each other. Grissom luxuriated in the nearness of her, in the knowledge that she longed for him as much as he needed her. Sara's dark eyes brimmed with longing—for him.
His body felt hot; he had wanted her so much, wanted her to want him, and now he felt as though he would explode. Her eyes followed his hands, over her shoulders, her arms, as he began to kiss her. He felt her long fingers in his hair, stroking, smoothing, massaging his neck and shoulders. A soft moan seemed to surround him as his lips touched her breast.
Whispering, "I want to kiss every part of you," he heard her murmured response, "I'd like that."
He slid down the bed, brought his mouth to her core, flicking his tongue against her feminine bud, tasting her. Her response was immediate as she grasped his shoulders and gasped his name.
Before he could stop, stretching his body over hers, he took her suddenly, moving swiftly, hearing her gasp with surprise and pleasure as her legs wrapped around him. Over the rapid beating of his own heart, he heard the soft plea, the tender demand that merged with his. Sara's warm body thrust up to him, welded to his. Everything blurred as the glory of her orgasm ripped through her, released as a strong, welcoming explosion until he shuddered, stunned again by his feeling of love for this woman.
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