A/N:
This is the good place.
Post-"Immortality" (16). The first day. Fluff central. đź’•
I hope this chapter leaves y'all slightly happier. đź’› I definitely crossed my own line into overly sentimental at least once with this one, but so be it.
I imagine seeing each other again for the first time since the divorce being one of the most anxiety-inducing events of our two lovely science nerds' lives—and, in this chapter, it definitely shows; please forgive them (and me!) if they haven't quite recovered from that yet.
I think The Weather Station's song "Heart" (quoted in the epigraph, below, and included in my Spotify playlist for this series) is the perfect anthem for Sara when she shows up at the docks in San Diego. đź’– I hope you'll check it out!
Fall 2015. San Diego, California and Elsewhere, on the California Coast.
I don't have the heart to conceal my love
When I know it is the best of me
[….]
In the pale dim light
I am always reeling
Through long midnights
Of feeling
Of all the many things
That you may ask of me
Don't ask me for indifference
Don't come to me for distance
[…]
No, I don't have the heart
To conceal my love
– The Weather Station, "Heart."
My Favorite Wife
They held each other for a long time, standing there on his boat, soon to be their boat, and, when finally they pulled apart, he looked at her with wonder.
"How…." Grissom shook his head. "How did you get here?"
"On a plane. Presumably the same way you did." Sara smirked a little. Had he hit his head? No, she knew he was pretty surprised to see her. Pretty surprised, in fact, was probably something of an understatement. No, pretty surprised was a colossal understatement.
"No, I mean…." Again he shook his head. "What are you doing here?" He realized that might sound ungrateful. "No, I mean…." He didn't want her to think he was anything but divinely happy to see her. He was again, as back in Vegas, having a bit of trouble finding the words he needed for her, but this time she waited.
"I, uh…. I didn't think I was ever going to see you again," he said finally. He tried not to look as upset as he felt—though really the thought made him want to weep—as he remembered her saying goodbye to him in the lab.
"Well, it turns out… I'm not ready to say goodbye."
Two people with lesser memories might not have understood the reference to a conversation from some nine years earlier, but these two people did not have lesser memories, and they certainly both understood the reference. At that thought, he smiled as much as he had in years, as did she.
"I love you," he told her, quite simply.
"I know," she said, and she did.
"I've missed you," he told her, again quite simply.
"I know," she said again, and again she did.
He looked a bit quizzical; even though her being there probably meant she did know, he almost wouldn't have expected her to sound so certain.
"You know we record most interrogations and witness interviews, right, Gil?"
Of course he'd known that, but he hadn't really thought of it at the time, when he was talking to Heather. He thought he should be embarrassed but quickly realized he needed to be grateful—very, very grateful.
"Maybe, in the future, you could have these conversations about your feelings privately with me and not with murder suspects and witnesses?"
He knew the other incident to which she was referring, of course. She wasn't seriously annoyed, though. She was smirking at him again. He'd happily stand there and watch her smirk at him all day.
"Yeah," he agreed.
Sara wasn't content to stand there and smirk at him all day. "I love you, too, Gil." She paused. "So, what do you want to do about 'this'?" She gestured in the small space between them. "Are we going to work on some more puzzles together?"
"Yeah," he said again, although this time it was more like he'd breathed it. He took a deep breath then exhaled before proceeding. "I'd like that, darling." He raised a hand to graze her cheek.
At that, she smiled. And then she kissed him.
He clasped her back tightly, holding her to him. She had her arms woven tightly around his neck, hands in his hair, holding him to her. Each wrapped up in the other's arms, they drank in the scents, tastes, sounds, and touches of one well known and even better loved, one who had once been—who forever more would be—as familiar as their own self, one who had remained—who always would remain—even more dear. And so, still, she kissed him, and he, her.
They stayed like that for quite some time, wrapped together and making out almost like teenagers on the deck of what would soon be their boat, but then eventually someone walked by and shouted at them to get a room, and so they broke apart.
"I love you, Sara," he told her again. "Always," he promised.
"Always," she confirmed before kissing him once more, briefly, for good measure.
As she stepped back, they both again smiled smiles that, until that meeting on the Ishmael, hadn't been seen for years; smiles of which both had shown hints while painting bees in a Nevada field; smiles each displayed really only for the other; smiles that told the truth of their singular love for one another.
They still had a lot they needed to say each other—a lot they needed to say to each other—but that could wait, for the moment. They decided to go for a sunset boat ride. He knew a place a bit up the coast they could dock afterward. He didn't really have provisions fit for his vegetarian goddess, so they headed out first to get some dinner to bring back to the boat; while they waited for the food to be ready, Sara ducked into a nearby pharmacy for some extra sunscreen and other necessities. Then they set sail into the sunset.
Later, while they were eating, he asked her, "When do you need to get back to the lab?"
"Huh?"
"You just started a new job. I expect Conrad doesn't want you taking off for too long."
She'd assumed he understood her intentions. She'd been wrong. "I left the lab, Gil. I'm here to be with you." This, again, recalled an earlier conversation, this time one from a rainforest.
They spoke further. He hadn't raised the subject earlier, she discovered, because he had known instantly, once she came to him, that he would go back to Vegas for her. He would, in fact, have stayed in Vegas for her, if she hadn't told him goodbye. She would be lab director. He could figure out something else to do: research or teach or write a book or whatever—anything, really, just to be with her. He was so proud of her. He loved her, everything about her. He tried to convince her they could be happy together living in Vegas. He told her again that she'd deserved the promotion.
She wasn't having any of it. She explained that, even if she deserved the promotion, she didn't really want it. She'd made her career her life, so she'd applied for the promotion because she hadn't really known what else to do with herself and hadn't wanted some new person coming into the lab again and trying to tell her what to do. But she would take science over management and politics and people-herding any day. Ultimately, she won out, of course, as really she always would.
"Gil," she told him, quite firmly, "we were supposed to go on an adventure together. We had just gotten started. I want the rest of the adventure." Sara had had enough of death. Sara wanted life. Sara wanted the adventure.
How could he argue with that? He couldn't. "As you wish."
That was hardly the end of the conversation—in the coming days (and weeks, and months), they would plan their future, their new start. (Whatever they did, they would be partners; they certainly wouldn't be involved in bombing any boats; Sara might still resume her doctoral studies; and so on.) But for that night it was enough.
Before heading to bed that night, they spent some time looking up at the stars, and some time making out under the stars. They each remembered previous occasions on which they'd done both. They then headed down below. Both wanted the same thing. Both were nervous. It had been over two and a half years since they'd been together.
Sara was a safety girl; Sara was prepared. Contraception she already had covered; prophylaxis was the issue. She knew the man, but they hadn't exactly discussed how they'd spent the preceding years, and she didn't want to assume anything. That meant she needed to ask a question or two. She really didn't want to ask the question. Oh, god, she didn't want to ask the question. She could have maybe asked a different question or two. But she decided again just to rip off the band-aid.
"When was the last time you… you…?" Okay, the band-aid wasn't coming off as easily as she would have liked.
He understood her well enough, though. He answered the question.
If Sara had not spent the last couple days letting all her worst anxieties get the better of her, she might not have misunderstood his response—but she had, so she did. Her response evoked her question.
"You…. You…. We were still married then." The last sentence was almost a whisper.
"Yes, Sara."
Had he really just admitted what it sounded like he had admitted? She was trying not to cry. She was trying hard not to cry. She would not cry. She was going to cry. She would not cry. "You had sex with someone while we were married?" It was almost a whisper. She would not cry.
This time he was the one looking at her like she'd hit her head. "Yes, Sara," he said again, "I had sex with you." He smiled. Maybe he smirked a little this time.
She felt nothing but relief for a moment. But then she realized her question hadn't been very clear; her question had been inchoate. So, for more certainty, she followed up—or tried to follow up.
"And that was the last time you…. You mean that was the last time you… just generally…?"
Sara was doing a poor job of ripping off this particular band-aid, so Grissom helped her out. "Yes, Sara. The last time I had sex was with you. The last time I was intimate with anyone—in any way—was with you."
Again, she initially felt nothing but relief. But then…. For two very intelligent people, were they the two most intellectually—not to mention emotionally—challenged people alive?
Through almost gritted teeth, she said, "You mean we've been divorced for over two and a half years and neither of us has even once managed to get laid? Remind me again why the fuck we even got divorced?"
Like Grissom, Sara didn't ordinarily curse, but surely this called for it if anything ever did. It wasn't about managing to get laid; it was about not wanting to be with anyone but the other, but still it was all so ridiculous. She started to laugh, and her laughter had almost a hysterical tinge to it.
The implications of her statement dawned on Grissom. He knew he'd never wanted anyone but her, but she was so young and so very beautiful, and he didn't imagine she would have made his same choices. He laughed, too.
"Neither of us? Really?"
"Yeah," she said, "to be honest, I still only thought of you, even when I…." She quirked an eyebrow at him. Although she'd told herself she shouldn't think of him, he was still the only one she'd wanted.
It really was beyond ridiculous. Grissom could see that, too. He'd tried to set free the most beautiful woman he'd ever known, so she could find someone younger and better able to make her happy, and she'd still only fantasized about him.
He realized he'd never actually asked her what her fantasy was, all those years ago. Maybe he'd been afraid of the answer (or the lie she might tell to avoid it), but now he had it. In truth, he'd always had it—she'd practically shouted it at him (metaphorically speaking, of course) for years—but he'd never fully allowed himself to believe it. He tilted his head to the side a little in question, wondering how this could all be possible.
"Yeah," she said, almost embarrassed, then she went back to laughing. Her laughter still had the almost-hysterical tinge. His laughter was rapidly catching up to hers, and pretty soon they were both laughing so hard they were almost crying.
Then she pulled him to her, and they were no longer laughing. They were getting reacquainted, and they were pretty good at it. They were great, even. It was marvelous.
When Sara awoke early the next morning, she had that initial brief sensation of not knowing where she was. She struggled, for an instant, to accept reality. Could some crazed man, in love with her ex-husband's ex-dominatrix friend, really have set up a series of explosions killing several innocent people throughout Vegas because… what, he wanted Heather's attention? He had apparently wanted some revenge on her ex-husband, who had been minding his own business for years on a boat out in the Pacific?
Sara really didn't even understand the logic of it all. What exactly was the bomber hoping to accomplish, even if he had succeeded? It was way too far-fetched; it was like some strange acid trip. (Sara could only imagine this, as she'd never dropped acid.)
But, on the other hand, if that was what had taken place, then had she also really reunited with the only man she'd ever loved? She remembered sitting peacefully with him out in a field, waiting for some painted bees to return. It was lovely but also strange. Was it just some mirage created by her mind?
The boat rocked, and Sara had her answer. She opened her eyes to see Grissom, half asleep, sliding back into the bed beside her. It was still too early for them to get up, but, seeing her open eyes, he smiled at her and gently kissed her forehead. She smiled back. They were once again squashed together on the small bed on the Ishmael, but comfortably so, and they both soon drifted back to sleep.
The next time she awoke, Grissom was still asleep, but Sara knew she was fully awake. Rather than disturb him, she got up; pulled on the t-shirt he'd worn the day before, which she found lying on the floor where she'd tossed it after removing it from him; and went up to get a daylight view of where they had spent the night. As she looked out at the water, she could smell the sea air and, from his t-shirt, Grissom. She thought it quite perfect.
When Grissom awoke for the second time, it was to an empty bed. For a moment he too wondered whether his mind had merely conjured some of the recent events of his life. Some of it had been quite nonsensical, but not the ending. Had Sara really come to him on the Ishmael?
He was alone, but when he looked around he saw her clothes on the floor, where he'd tossed them the night before after removing them from her. Grissom concluded that the dream he'd thought long dead had, once again, come true.
He quickly put on his jeans from the night before, but his t-shirt had inexplicably gone missing. Then he went in search of his ex-wife.
He found her sitting on the edge of the boat, enjoying her surroundings.
She looked up at his approach and took in with no little appreciation his shirtless form. "Sorry, I may need to borrow some of your clothes for the time-being. I didn't really have anything other than the suit I'd had on earlier with me at work, so I only brought the clothes I was wearing."
"What's mine is yours, my darling. Mi barco es tu barco."
She laughed as he sat down beside her, then she put her arms around him and leaned against him with her head on his neck and shoulder. He put his arms around her and held on tightly. They sat like this for quite some time. For the first time in years, Sara felt at home.
Eventually, as if the thought had simply passed from one mind to the next, they pulled apart and looked at each other. Sara quirked an eyebrow. In return, Grissom grinned. He stood up, then he pulled her up and led her back to bed. They needed to continue getting reacquainted, and there really was no time like the present.
Later in the morning, Sara and Grissom got up from bed again. He prepared breakfast for them, while she watched and observed where things were kept on the small boat. Aside from some comments on the latter, they mostly proceeded in silence, and they continued on to eat breakfast in silence.
It was a mostly comfortable silence, but they both knew why they weren't talking. They had a lot of big things to discuss, and at that moment anything else would feel like small talk. They'd never done small talk.
After they finished eating, up on the deck of the boat, they continued to sit in silence. We could say they were each waiting for the other to speak first, but we all know who was going to speak first. They both knew who was going to speak first.
"I'm not doing it again, Gil," Sara eventually said.
"I know."
"I'm not. I'm not doing it again."
"I know."
"It's just too ridiculous. I won't do it again." Sara simply would not accept another breakup; she would refuse.
"I know." He really did know.
"From now until whenever we have both shuffled off this mortal coil, that's it."
"I know." He really did.
"You're stuck with me. You understand this?"
"I do." He grinned. "I can't think of anything better. Of course, you know that means you're stuck with me, too?"
"I do."
"Good then."
"We're not doing any of this long-distance bullshit either."
"Absolutely not."
"We're deciding what we're going to do together."
"Yes." He was in full agreement with everything she said.
"And we need better communication."
"Yes." He was in full, whole-hearted agreement.
"We need way better communication."
"Yes." He emphatically agreed.
"Complete honesty."
"Yes." He completely agreed.
"Like, radical honesty—absolute, total, brutal honesty, if necessary."
"Yes." He totally agreed. Of course, Grissom would ultimately learn that, living on a small boat with Sara, he couldn't keep anything from her even if he wanted; surprises would become a thing of the past—he wouldn't even try.
"And you have to promise me you're not going to try to decide what's best for me or what I want or am going to want in the future. I'm an adult, Gil. I get to decide what I want for my own life. And I'm a little tired of you thinking you know what's in my mind or in my best interests better than I do."
Grissom took a deep breath. He couldn't believe he'd done that to her—for almost as long as he'd known her, he'd done that to her. She was the wisest, most perceptive, most enlightened, most independent-minded…. Okay, he was losing his train of thought. She was the most intelligent and most capable woman—nay, person—he knew, but he'd projected—forced, really—all his insecurities into his relationship with her. He'd never thought he was good enough for her, but, in arriving at that conclusion, he'd taken away her ability to choose for herself.
"You cannot fuck around with me anymore, Gil."
Oh, god. That was, without doubt, the last thing he'd ever wanted. He closed his eyes in pain as he tried to think of how to respond. "Sara…." He trailed off, still pondering how in the future to make up for the way he'd behaved—and how in that moment to address it.
"Hey, it's okay, okay? We're moving forward. We're learning." She put her hand to his cheek and lightly stroked it with her thumb. She'd wanted to make her point—really to make her point—but still she hadn't wanted to cause him any pain.
He opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows at her. "In that vein… do you think maybe you should let me figure out on my own what I need to say—however painful it might seem—instead of always trying to rescue me from myself?"
"Ahhh… yes." Sara smiled ruefully and laughed at herself. "That would also be a good idea." She paused and took a deep breath of her own. "I think we should talk to someone—a relationship counselor or something. I'm not willing to leave this to chance."
Sara wasn't sure how he'd react to this one. He'd made her see a PEAP counselor after her almost-DUI, but she didn't think he'd ever done anything like that himself, aside from apparently asking a grief counselor about their dog once, which Sara had thought very funny and very Grissom when she'd finally heard about it.
Of course, she needn't have worried. "I'll do anything you want, Sara." In truth, he'd do anything for her, so he told her that. "I'd do anything for you."
"We are spending the rest of our lives together, Gil. That's just it…." She paused for a moment, suddenly letting worry get the better of her. "Unless that's not what you want…."
"Sara…." He less said her name than breathed it. He then kissed her, briefly, but 110%. When he pulled away, he continued, looking straight in her eyes, "You're the only thing I've ever really wanted, Sara. You're more important than everything else."
At that, she kissed him, still 110%, but not nearly as briefly.
Eventually (but only very eventually), Sara pulled away, and they continued their discussion. The discussed their plans for their future life together, a discussion that would continue, at length, in the days (and weeks, and months) to come.
Although they would, in fact, discuss all their issues further in the days (and weeks, and months) to come, they both already understood the mistakes they'd made. They both understood implicitly that their own foibles had also been the other's. A switch had been flicked, and they both understood what had gone wrong between them.
That day they spent some time out on the water, then in the afternoon they went on shore for more food to bring back to the boat. They spent the rest of the day leisurely catching up and quite lovingly getting reacquainted.
When she kissed Grissom, Sara could almost taste the salty sea air and the sunscreen she was wearing; the scents reminded her of their shared adventures past, and she thought it all quite magical.
UP NEXT: NEXT CHAPTER: FALL 2015. ELSEWHERE, ON THE CALIFORNIA COAST.
NOTES
On Sara's decision to leave the lab, and choosing the adventure:
I love (the GSR of) "Immortality" (16). As an episode of CSI, it's definitely… uh… no comment, but, as GSR: The Movie, it gives a full roller coaster ride of emotions—first meeting, angst, mutual pining, declarations of love, and happily ever after—in one concise package. I have watched the final scene more than any other in CSI. (That said, that is also the one place I truly take issue with the lack of a kiss!)
I know at the time it originally aired some people didn't love Sara leaving her new job to go after Grissom, but, for many reasons—in terms of both storytelling style and substance—I think the ending was fitting. I mean, going off to do cool conservation work/research in paradise with the love of my life? Um, yes, please! (For Sara, obviously….)
If you want my thoughts and feelings on why the "Immortality" ending was fitting, I happen to have written a 3,600 word note on the subject. I'm not putting it here, though (I'm not that crazy!); if you're interested, it's on Tumblr, under #my thoughts and feelings on the two lovely science nerds.
SOUNDTRACK LISTING
The Weather Station. "Heart."
Tommee Profitt & Fleurie. "Wake Me Up."*
Norah Jones. "Good Morning."
David Gray. "Babylon."
Don Henley. "Taking You Home."
*On YouTube, Samar Sorigs has a lovely edit of the final "Immortality" (16) scene to this song.
(You can listen to these songs in my playlist for this series, which can be found by searching my username on Spotify.)
A/N:
Thank you so very much to all of you who are reading this series of stories. As I've said before (and will almost certainly say again!), I hope it may provide a little bit of a diversion for others, just as so many talented GSR fic writers have provided a much-needed diversion for me.
To those of you who have left comments on this story, thank you so, so, so very much: comments always, always, always make my day. (I've gotten behind in responding again, but I will again catch up!) Truly I appreciate it more than I can say.
(That said, I also very much understand that fic is an escape and often commenting is not. If you are here and enjoying this story, I am so very grateful.)
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! The next one should be up in about a week, and the fluffy good times will continue to roll. đź’• I hope everyone has been having a wonderful summer (or whatever season is nearest you)! Have a wonderful week! đź’›