AN: Another chapter for you guys, hope you like it…
Thanks to WalkerTRngr for the beta help!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI
Chapter 12
To Sara's relief, the week continues in the calm way it started. She gets caught up on things she's been neglecting at home during the last few hectic weeks, catches a movie and dinner with Greg and Nick before shift on Tuesday, and even spends an hour on Wednesday playing with Hank and Sam at the dog park. Grissom has to beg off, since he needs to grade finals, but they have fun without him.
On Friday, she gets ready as she usually does for a night at the Grissom house, and for some reason, she completely forgets about the 'formal' part of the event necessitating her babysitting until Grissom opens the door in tuxedo pants and a shirt, fiddling with his bow tie.
He doesn't quite take her breath away, but it's a close thing.
"Hi," he says, glancing up at her. "Sorry, I'm having trouble with this thing."
She swallows to get her voice working again. "What else is new? Here, let me…"
He lets his arms fall to his sides as she reaches for the offending garment. It doesn't take long to fix it, and when it's done, she smiles up at him.
She hadn't realized it, but she must have moved closer as she focused on the bow tie, or he did, because they're only inches apart. Their eyes lock, and for a long, frozen moment, she thinks this is it. This is the moment.
"Hi, Sara!"
Sam's excited voice as she appears at the top of the stairs down to the den breaks them apart, and Sara takes a step back. "Hey, kiddo."
Grissom clears his throat and turns away, ostensibly to check the bow tie in the mirror, but Sara can see the slight flush on his neck and knows he's not as unaffected by the moment as he tries to pretend he is.
"I should probably get going," he says, checking his watch and reaching for his tuxedo jacket. "There's a dish on the kitchen counter, and the oven is pre-heating. Wait another… ten minutes and then bake it for about forty minutes."
"It's spinach manicotti, and it's soooo good," Sam provides.
"That does sound delicious," Sara agrees, raising a teasing eyebrow at Grissom. "You sure you trust me to use an actual appliance?"
He rolls his eyes. "All you have to do is put the dish in the oven, take it out after a specific amount of time, and turn the oven off – I think even you can do that. And Sam's fairly competent in the kitchen, between the two of you, I trust you not to start any fires."
Sara winks at Sam. "Sounds like a challenge!"
"No, that was absolutely not a challenge," he retorts, but she can tell that there's a smile playing around his mouth. "Please do not take it as a challenge."
"Too late," she says, shooing him towards the front door. "Have fun!"
Sam's giggling when she closes the door behind him. "You're so funny!"
It's not an adjective Sara necessarily connects with herself. "I'm just good at messing with your dad," she corrects, which feels more true. "OK, let's have a look at this food I'm supposed to be cooking."
Sam happily leads the way into the kitchen, chattering about her last day of school and how excited she is about Christmas break. By the time she finally runs out of steam, the ten-minute wait time has passed, and Sara puts the dish with the food in the oven and sets the timer.
"I know you're good with this stuff, and we have the timer," she says, "but I still don't trust my bad kitchen mojo to not rub off on you, so what do you say about wiping my butt at chess while we keep an eye on the food?"
Sam sighs, a little exasperatedly, but shrugs. "Sure. I'll go get the board."
"Thanks, kiddo."
She disappears back into the hallway, returning a few minutes later with the chessboard from the den and the bag with the pieces.
They get set up at the kitchen table, Sam setting up the pieces.
"So, are you looking forward to going to see your grandparents?" Sara asks when they've gotten started.
Sam is quiet as she focuses on the board. "Yeah," she says when she's made her move and captured one of Sara's pawns. "I haven't seen them since we moved, so it'll be fun."
"And your friends from your old school?"
"Yeah!" Her face lights up. "I get to have a sleepover with Ellie for three days, and then we're staying at a really fancy hotel in Boston on New Year's Eve and watching the fireworks over the harbor."
"Oh, those are amazing," Sara says, remembering the New Year's Eves she spent in the city during college.
"Have you seen them?" Sam asks incredulously.
"I have, yeah," Sara confirms. "I went to Harvard for college, so I was in Boston for four years. It's a beautiful city."
"You went to Harvard? That's, like… really cool. Alex's big brother is seventeen and whenever I have dinner over there, her mom's always talking about colleges. She really wants him to go to Harvard or Princeton, but he doesn't have good enough grades."
"Well, that's too bad."
"Mmm…" Sam focuses on the board again, eventually making a move that leaves her queen unprotected, but Sara pretends not to notice.
"So, what are you asking Santa for for Christmas?" she asks.
The look Sam gives her is incredulous. "Santa's not real."
"OK, sorry, I wasn't sure if you'd had that talk yet and I didn't want to let the cat out of the bag. So, what are you asking your dad for?"
"Some Wii games," Sam replies. "And a scooter, and books. I thought about asking for a puppy, but I don't think Dad would give me one. Plus, I kind of have Hank."
Sara has to laugh at the last part. "Yeah, I don't think Hank would do that well with a puppy, so that was probably a good call."
She also makes a mental note to check in with Grissom about any Christmas wishes that haven't been fulfilled already, so she can get the girl something she'll actually want instead of wandering her nearest Target aimlessly and ending up with something that'll just be returned.
"He's happy."
Sara frowns, trying to figure out how the statement connects to their conversation and coming up blank.
"Who is?"
"Dad," Sam says. "I mean, he's still worried about Grandma, even though she's doing much better, but he's still happier than he's been, like, ever."
The words make something warm settle in her stomach. "Really?"
"Yeah." The girl chews on her lip for a moment. "At first, I just thought he was sad about Mom, you know, because I was."
"I'm sure he was," Sara says gently.
"Yeah, I know, he was sad that she… she died. But he wasn't really sad, not the way I was, you know? But he was never happy either, he just… was, I guess. Does that make sense?"
She nods, because it does. Because it's the way she would describe herself during those years when he was gone. There were dark days, and there were happy times with her friends, but there were also moments when she felt like she was just… existing.
"I mean, he seemed kind of happy when we were doing fun stuff, he smiled, but not with, like… his eyes. I think he just wanted me to think he was happy."
"Look, kiddo, your dad loves you more than anything, you know that, right?" she feels obligated to say, because she doesn't want Sam to think anything else.
"Of course," Sam replies with the conviction of youth. "I know that. And I know I kind of make him happy, but… do you know when I saw him really smile for the first time?"
"No."
"When he asked if it was OK if we moved here. And then he sort of tried not to look so happy, because he said if I didn't want to go, we wouldn't. And if he didn't look so happy, I would have maybe told him that I didn't want to go, but I just… I knew there had to be something here that would make him happy all the way, so even though I knew I was going to miss my friends and my school and Nana and Pop-pop, I told him that I wanted to go."
"How did you get to be so smart, huh?"
"Good genes. And then we met you and Hank at the park, and I recognized you from that photo, and I knew."
"Knew what?"
"That you're the thing that could make him happy all the way."
It's such a simple statement, but it still makes Sara's brain fill with static for a moment.
"It's your move."
Sam's voice pulls her back to the present, and she moves a piece at random.
"Checkmate!"
Sara jumps a little at the exclamation. "Seriously?"
"I'm really good," the girl says a little smugly. "Do you want to play again?"
The timer for the oven goes off at that moment, though, and Sara pushes her chair back. "How about some food first?"
Like she hoped, Sam's interest in a rematch disappears along with the food – which is absolutely delicious – and while Sara puts away the leftovers and loads the dishwasher, the girl goes to pick out a movie to watch instead.
By the time Grissom gets home at ten, Sam's asleep – or at least in bed and quiet – and Sara's waiting for a bag of popcorn to finish popping in the microwave.
"Hey," she greets him when he enters the kitchen, already loosening the bow tie she helped him with earlier. He pulls it off and shrugs out of the jacket before unbuttoning the top three buttons in his shirt and, OK, this might be an even better look on him than a full tuxedo.
"Hey." He frowns at the microwave. "I thought you'd be in a hurry to leave."
She turns and leans back against the kitchen counter next to the microwave. "Oh, did I forget to tell you? Greg practically begged me to switch with him, so I'm working Sunday instead of tonight."
Grissom raises an eyebrow. "I think you know you didn't tell me that."
The microwave beeps and she turns to open the door. "I do. You said you wanted to get out of there early, I figured I'd save you having to actually lie." She pours the popcorn into a bowl and grabs a soda from the fridge before turning to face him again. "If you changed your mind, you can always go back."
He snorts out a laugh. "Oh, no, I've done enough socializing for one night."
Sara hesitates. "Do you want me to leave? I don't have to…"
"No, no," he interrupts her. "Popcorn and a movie on the couch with you isn't socializing. Stay. Please."
His voice is insistent, almost pleading, and she relaxes. "OK. Go… de-penguin or whatever, I'll pick out a movie."
He gives her a smile and leaves the kitchen, and she grabs another soda from the fridge before bringing everything downstairs. There's a fairly extensive DVD library in the bookcases against the far wall, a lot of kids' movies but plenty that she remembers from before, too. Classics, some blockbusters, a lot of documentaries, and one of Grissom's guilty pleasures – spaghetti westerns. She asked him about it once, and he told her that it was something he used to watch on Sunday afternoons with his father, before he died.
She considers Gone with the Wind, but decides against it since it's already after ten thirty, and while she's still on night shift time, Grissom's used to actually sleeping at night these days.
"Find anything good?"
Sara looks over her shoulder at his voice, finding him lingering a few feet behind her. The soft looking sweatshirt and sweatpants don't look better than the tux, exactly, but he looks comfortable and inviting. "Are you in the mood for some mystery?" she asks, pulling out Sunset Boulevard from its spot.
"Always," he replies.
"You won't fall asleep on me, will you?" she asks teasingly as she pops the disc in the player.
"I think I'll be fine," he assures her, claiming his usual spot on the couch.
Sara crosses the room, considers for a moment, but then sits down next to him, closer than they usually sit on their movie nights, since they always start with Sam between them and neither of them move closer when she's gone to bed. He freezes for a moment, but then relaxes against the back of the couch, and she grabs the popcorn bowl before doing the same.
It feels strikingly like her first ever date – Top Gun at the local movie theater with Owen Lewis in ninth grade – the way their hands brush when they both reach for popcorn at the same time, the way she's hyper aware of the smallest movement of his body, the way he hesitantly stretches an arm along the back of the couch and releases a breath when she leans her head against his shoulder.
That's as far as it goes, though, and that's OK. It feels like a good first step, very different from the way they got started the first time around. And he's leaving for a week and a half in just a few days – she doesn't want to rekindle anything only to have to resort to phone calls and texts while he's gone.
She's waited almost three years, what's a few more weeks?
As it turns out, a few weeks is a long time when you're kind of pining. Sara remembers the feeling from her first few months in Vegas all those years ago, back when she thought that her move was the last hurdle before the two of them would actually get together. Before all the heartache and frustration, the sexual tension going nowhere, the hurt and confusion.
They text a lot while he's out of town – Grissom wants to give Sam as much alone time with her grandparents as possible, so he usually stays at the house while they visit the many sights Boston has to offer, and starting on the first day, Sara wakes up to a message about whatever book he's reading or documentary he's watching to keep himself busy. They chat about that, and about what Sam is doing with her grandparents, and cases they're working on at the lab, until Sara has to run errands or Sam gets back.
It's a nice routine, if not quite as nice as actually seeing him a few days a week.
Still, when her cell phone rings halfway through shift on Christmas morning, she's somehow not expecting it to be him.
"Sidle."
"Merry Christmas."
She's in the break room with Nick – luckily, the shift has been slow so far, and they decided that, it being Christmas and all, they didn't really need to go through cold case files and are instead playing cribbage with a deck of cards someone left – and manages to hold back the inevitable smile until she's excused herself and made it into the empty locker room.
"Merry Christmas," she replies, slumping down on the bench and glancing at her watch – almost four thirty. "You already done with presents?"
He chuckles over the line, the sound washing over her. "Sam is nothing if not efficient when it comes to Christmas presents," he replies. "Her grandparents got themselves a Wii so they can play with her, and she got a whole bunch of new games, so I'm expecting her to be busy the rest of the day. How's your Christmas Day so far?"
"Well, it started at the Golden Nugget," she relates. "Apparently, they're having a Santa convention, and someone took advantage of that to blend into the crowd and pick a few pockets. But the other Santas figured him out and… restrained him until the police got there."
"How exactly did they do that?" he asks, picking up on her slight pause.
"They, um…" She has to laugh at the memory. "A few of the Santas were really into… authenticity, I guess? So, one of the… larger convention participants… sat on him."
The snort he lets out has her laughing outright, and he joins her, both of them laughing at the image of a large man in a Santa suit sitting on a pickpocket dressed the same way.
"I hope you got pictures of that," Grissom gets out a minute or so later.
"Luckily, Metcalf told them we needed photos of the way they found the scene and made them stay in that position until I got there, so I did, yeah," she assures him. "I'll show you when you get back."
"Good, good." He pauses. "I didn't interrupt you at a scene, did I?"
"Oh, no, that didn't take long. Nick had a trick roll he finished in a few hours too, so now we're basically playing cards and waiting for shift to end," Sara admits.
He chuckles lowly over the line. "Playing cards on the clock? My my, miss Sidle, you could get written up for that."
"Good thing you're not my boss anymore, huh?"
Silence stretches between them for a moment that's probably not as long as it feels. "A very good thing," he then says, voice contemplative in a way she doesn't think the statement warrants. "Are you doing anything to celebrate after work?"
"Nick and I are going to Frank's for their Christmas breakfast," she replies. "And then me and Greg are having dinner at this out-of-the way diner that serves an amazing Christmas buffet before shift. He discovered it a few years ago and it's been a tradition ever since. So I'm definitely getting fed."
"That's nice," Grissom notes. "I, uh… I realized around when we got to the airport the other day that I never gave you your Christmas present."
It's not a big thing – he used to give her something for Christmas even before they became a couple, ever since she came to Vegas – but it still makes butterflies flop around in her stomach. "You didn't have to get me anything," she admonishes lightly. "But I've got something for you too. And a couple of things for Sam. Maybe we can do a… delayed Christmas thing when you get back? Or just a regular movie night with presents, I guess. No need for all the other holiday stuff."
He chuckles a little. "That sounds nice. We're getting back late on the first, but we have all weekend before Sam goes back to school and I go back to work. How's your schedule looking?"
She runs through her schedule in her head. "I have Sunday off, and Greg owes me a shift if you'd rather do Saturday? Or we can do Saturday anyway and I just go into work after."
"No, Sunday's fine," he replies. "I don't want you to have to rush off."
"OK, that sounds good." She pauses. "I should probably get back to Nick, but tell Sam Merry Christmas for me, OK?"
"Hang on a second…" He disappears and a moment later, Sam's voice comes over the line. "Merry Christmas!"
Sara knows that the smile on her face must be ridiculous, but she really doesn't care. "Merry Christmas, kiddo. Did you get any good presents?"
She listens as the girl gushes about her new games, and the scooter that she's only gotten a picture of since Grissom didn't want to bring it all the way there and then back again on the plane, and some stuffed toys, and other bits and bobs.
"Did you get anything good?" she then asks, and Sara frowns.
"I'm still at work," she says. "So I haven't gotten around to any Christmas stuff yet."
"Oh. Well, I hope you get something good. And when we get back, I have a present for you!"
If hearing that Grissom got her something for Christmas put butterflies in her stomach, Sam's words make a warm glow settle into every part of her body. "I've got something for you too. Your dad and I already agreed that we're doing a delayed Christmas on the Sunday after you get back, OK?"
"Yay, I can't wait." The line goes quiet for a moment. "OK, Dad says you have to go back to work, so bye!"
"Bye, kiddo."
Instead of Grissom coming back, the call disconnects, and Sara slowly closes her phone as she gets to her feet.
Nick's playing solitaire when she gets back to the break room, and looks up as she enters. "Sorry," she apologizes with a smile.
"No worries." He draws a card and places it in the appropriate spot. "How's the bug man?"
So much for being inconspicuous.
"Good. They're spending the holidays with Sam's grandparents in Boston," she says, as an explanation to the early phone call.
"That's nice."
She watches as he finishes the round, and then he shuffles the cards.
"Rematch?" Sara asks with a raised eyebrow.
"You're on."
They play a few hands in silence, but she can tell that Nick's got something to say. And, sure enough, a few minutes later, he clears his throat.
"So, how are… things, with the two of you?"
She hides her smile behind her cards. "Things are good," she replies, intentionally keeping her words vague.
"And are you… you know, back together?"
She considers for a moment. "I'm working on it."
"Good," he says, looking up to meet her eyes and offer a smile. "You deserve it. Both of you."