Light In The Mirror

Halfway to the Moon

Fandom: CSI

Rating: R

Pairing: G/S

Summary: A sequel to Rollercoaster, which really should be read first.

Disclaimer: Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them.  Others strongly resemble characters that sort of belong to ABC, though I seriously doubt anyone cares at this point.  The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first.  No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit.  Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.  

Spoilers: general fifth season through "Unbearable"

Note: This is an AU futurefic that includes a number of original characters.  

I know that the poem quoted in this chapter has recently been used in another CSI fic, but I wrote that section before I read it, so...it's obviously an appropriate GSR poem!  *grin*  

  


*********

Sara bit her lip, hard.  This was not a phone call she wanted to make, not in the least, but she had no choice.  It’s the job, she reminded herself.  It’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting into.  

But the thought was no comfort.  She swore silently and picked up the receiver.  

A ring and a half, and Grissom’s warm voice was speaking into her ear.  “Hello, Sara.”  

It never failed to thrill her a bit, the fact that he always said her name, though she’d never admit it; but this time it made her stomach twist a little.  “Hi.”  

Her voice was flat, and she knew he’d pick up on it.  “What’s the matter?”  

“I, um, have a problem.”  Drat it, she was a professional; she could be as cool and unflappable as any in the interrogation room.  To be just short of stuttering now--  

“Professional, or personal?”  Grissom’s voice still held a hint of amusement, and that hurt, because she was about to knock it away.

“Um, both.”  She took a deep breath, and just said it.  “Grissom, I can’t go with you.  To California.”  

She waited for the anger, the hurt, but he only sounded blank.  “You can’t.”  A pause.  “Why not?”  

“The case we’re working on just went major, and they want to file as soon as possible.  We’re all working doubles to get it done, but I’m not going to make the flight.  I’m sorry, I--“  

“Sara, calm down.”  His voice was soothing.  “It’s all right.  These things happen.”  

She let out a breath, still uncertain.  “I really wanted to go, Gil.”  

He made an agreeing, rueful noise.  “I really wanted you to go too.  But work is work.”  She could see him in her mind’s eye, shrugging a little.  “You’re talking to the one person who’d understand.”  

And, unexpectedly, that made her laugh.  “Yeah, I am, aren’t I?  I am sorry, though.”  

“Me too.”  Somehow she knew he was smiling.  “But there will be other opportunities.”  

“I hope so.”  Relief made her feel a little saucy.  

“Oh, I meant to ask--can you tell me how Gracie is?” Grissom asked.  

Sara switched the phone to her other ear.  “She’s fine, back to work.  She’s still a little mad at Ed, but I told him he should go over with a bouquet and grovel, and he said he would tonight.”  

Grissom chuckled.  “Wise man.  Are you at work right now?”  

Sara glanced around her room automatically.  “No, I escaped, but I have to go in early tomorrow.”  She leaned back in her desk chair, relaxing now that the burden of her news was lifted.  “I’m pretending the paperwork I brought home doesn’t exist.”  

“For now, it doesn’t,” he agreed.  “Where would you rather be?”  

It was a game they’d fallen into during their late-night calls, comparing fantasies of time off and vacations that they’d probably never get around to.  Sara had confided her secret wish to visit India and hunt tigers--with a camera--and Grissom had somewhat wistfully described a desire to visit Uganda to study Isoptera.  Tonight, Sara sighed and fiddled with the hem of her shirt.  “A sailboat, somewhere sunny and warm.  Off the coast of Baja, maybe.”  

“You can sail?”  

“I grew up on the water, of course I can sail.”  Sara tipped her head back and grinned at the ceiling.  “Don’t tell me you can’t.”  

“Of course I can,” Grissom mimicked.  “It’s been a long time, though.”  

“Yeah.”  She hadn’t been out on the water for fun since she’d rented a sailboat at Lake Mead her first year in Vegas.  “Where would you rather be?”  

“Beside you.”  

The bottom dropped out of her stomach at the two low words.  “Yeah?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.  “You do that several times a week, Gil.”  

“Mm, that doesn’t keep me from wanting it,” he said softly, and Sara felt her pulse speed up.  They’d kept their interactions light, to date; moving carefully beyond the realm of friendship with a few kisses, yes, but not daring more than that.  Part of it was hesitancy, on Sara’s side; part of it seemed to be a desire to take things slowly, to let them repair their friendship before going much further.  

But judging by the tone in Grissom’s voice, he wasn’t feeling restrained at the moment.  “You know how I feel when I see you in one of those suits you wear to work?” he asked.  

Sara blinked.  “No…”  

“You’re so elegant.  You look like nothing in the world can stop you.”  He sighed.  “But when you take off the jacket, it’s all I can do to keep my hands at my sides.”  

“Grissom--“  

“Part of me just wants to hold you forever, Sara,” he said, his voice wistful, and then it deepened, going a little husky.  “Part of me wants to undo those blouse buttons one by one, and finally satisfy my curiosity about the taste of your skin.”  

Sara shivered.  There was nothing truly explicit in his words, but it was Grissom saying them.  The images that rode in on his tone exploded vivid and compelling in her head, joining the old half-conscious fantasies that had swum in her mind on the edge of aching, lonely sleep.  The mere idea of Grissom’s mouth pressed to her belly, the prickle of his beard--  

She felt her lips turn up, and she leaned back further in her chair.  “How long have you been thinking along those lines?” she asked, guessing the answer but willing to play the game.  

The faintest laugh sounded in her ear.  “Since I met you,” he repeated.  

Sara purred, she couldn’t help it.  “Turnabout is fair play, I guess.”  

“Oh?”  

“Yeah.  Every time you take off your jacket I can’t get over your arms.”  

That threw him a bit, she could tell.  “My arms?”  

“And your hands.  You have the sexiest hands I’ve ever seen.”  The teasing fell away a little.  “Gentle, you know?”  

“I didn’t know that was a turn-on,” he said, voice going husky again.  

“It definitely is for me.”  Sara wished she could be as poetic as Grissom.  “You know that habit you have of touching the small of a woman’s back when you’re walking with her?”  

“Yes...”  

“Been driving me nuts for years.”  His chuckle made her grin.  

“I’ll keep that in mind.  Sara--”  

She cocked her head as though he were watching her.  “Yeah?”  

“Thank you.”  

It was her turn to be puzzled.  “For what?”  

“For...giving me another chance.”  

She bit her lip again, old fears resurfacing, and struggled to keep her tone light.  “Just don’t screw it up, Grissom.”  

“I’ll do my best,” he assured her softly.  

She was really starting to believe him.  





Sara braked for a red light and dialed Grissom’s number on her cellphone, setting the headset in her ear.  I hate to do this on the run, but it’s not like I have a lot of choice.  

Grissom picked up just as the light turned green.  “Hello, Sara.”  

“Hey,” she said, a little breathlessly.  “Would you mind if I swung by for a few minutes?  I’m on my way back to work.”  

“You’re always welcome, Sara,” Grissom replied, sounding slightly puzzled.  

“Okay, see you in a few,” she said, not explaining why.  It felt a little silly, for no good reason.  

It didn’t take long to get to Grissom’s hotel; traffic was relatively light on a Sunday evening, despite Christmas shoppers, and Sara swung into his parking lot about ten minutes after she’d called him.  She jogged up the stairs, and Grissom must have been watching out the window, because he was standing in his doorway waiting for her.  

“Did Ed and the kids get off okay?” Grissom asked, moving out of the way so she could pass.  

Sara stepped through, pulling off her gloves.  “Yeah, and I’ll tell you, the house sure was quiet last night.”  Her relations would be spending a long week in Atlanta, and Sara wondered when she had become unused to the quiet of an empty house.  Christmas was in three days, and some part of her apparently expected the time to be filled with small excited relations.  

Grissom regarded her a bit wistfully.  “You seem to be in a hurry.  Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”  

Sara thought a moment.  She was on her way back into work for the evening, and didn’t have a lot of time, but coffee sounded very good, and she could use the caffeine.  “Sure, thanks.”  

Grissom nodded, and waved her towards a seat.  Judging by the scent in the air, he’d just made a fresh pot, and he went into the kitchenette and reemerged a minute later with a mug doctored the way she liked it and one for himself.  “What brings you by?” he asked, sitting opposite at the tiny dining table.  “Not that I’m not glad to see you.”  

Sara took a sip of coffee, then fished in the bag she’d brought with her, pushing the contents across the table.  “Merry Christmas.”  

Grissom looked down at the broad, flat package wrapped in dark blue paper and silver ribbon, his expression mingling astonishment and shy delight.  Sara shook her head and swallowed more coffee.  Did he think I wasn’t going to give him a present?  Even in Vegas we swapped gifts every year.  

He picked up the package, hefting it a little.  “Thank you, Sara.”  

Suddenly insecure about the contents, she set down her mug.  “No opening it until Christmas.”  

He arched a brow, but set it back down again.  “Hold on a minute.”  

Grissom rose, and went to rummage in a bag on his dresser, then came back with a smaller package for her; it had gold foil paper and a tiny sprig of artificial holly, with a card beneath the decoration.  He handed it to her; it was a little heavier than she expected.  

“I was going to bring it by tomorrow before I left,” he commented, sitting back down.  

Intrigued, Sara turned it over, but before she could slide a finger under the paper, his hand was covering hers.  “Uh-uh,” Grissom said, a hint of teasing in his voice.  “If I have to wait until Christmas, so do you.”  

Sara grinned, and put the gift down.  “How’s your case going?” Grissom asked.

She shrugged.  “They want to file by the twenty-sixth at the latest, so we’re all busting our butts to get it done.”  

Grissom cocked his head.  “Will they have a viable case?”  

Sara turned her mug around on the table.  “Sure, if we get it all finished.  The prosecutor’s office wants it air-tight, and frankly so do we.  Child pornography ring.”  

Grissom winced in sympathy.  “I don’t blame you.”  

Sara looked at her watch, and gulped the rest of her coffee, ignoring the burn.  “I’m sorry, Gil, but I have to go.  It’s probably going to be an all-nighter.”  

Grissom nodded, and rose as she did, walking with her to the door.  Once there, he put a hand on her shoulder and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.  “Merry Christmas, Sara.  I’ll see you when I get back.”  

She grinned wider.  “Count on it.”  





Work, at least, was occupying.  Sara sighed as she opened another file.  She was still annoyed at having her Christmas plans cancelled, but being at work was better than being at home--at least at work she had something to do, even on Christmas Eve.  

People were beginning to trickle into the office; without Kimmy to take to school, Sara had come in early.  Her boss strode past in a swirl of overcoat, giving her a long look; Sara waved back, not paying much attention.  Toby Washington was almost a foot taller than Sara, and almost cadaverous, and she liked him very much--and not just because she had never been attracted to him.   He demanded a great deal from his agents, but he also gave a lot back, and she found working with him to be a challenge and a delight.  

Not five minutes after he’d come in, his bellow rang out over the open-plan office.  “Sidle!”  

Unconcerned, Sara rose and made her way through the cubicles to his office.  Washington’s summoning method was unconventional, but his people were used to it.  

She leaned against his doorframe, an old habit.  “Yeah, boss?”  

He pointed a long finger across his desk, which was a sea of papers and files.  “Door.  Seat.”  

Sara stepped inside, closed the door, and took the seat across from him.  Washington folded his hands, propped his elbows on his desk, and regarded her for a moment.  “Do you know how much vacation time you’ve got built up?” he asked at last.  

Uh-oh. Sara put on a bright smile.  “I’ve taken some recently,” she said helpfully.  

“Yeah.  Three days.  Sidle, you’re entitled to almost five weeks a year.  As of now, you’ve used…”  He spun his computer monitor around so she could see it.  “…A week.  Total.”  

“Well, I was going to use more of it,” she pointed out.  “This case kind of got in the way.”  

“Exactly.”  Washington looked smug, which made Sara wary.  “You guys have done amazing things this week, and it should be ready for filing by the end of the day.  Which brings me to my point.  Go home.”  
Sara’s mouth dropped open a little.  “What?”  

Washington smirked at her.  “Go home.  You’re at the top of the time-off list.  It’s Christmas Eve.  Take off.”  

She frowned.  “Toby, my family’s in Atlanta.  I can stay.  Send somebody with kids home.”  

He shook his head.  “I’m going to dismiss the parents before lunch; a couple of the Muslims next door negotiated for extra time off for Eid al-Adha in exchange for working Christmas, and they can do the last-minute finishing-up.”  

Sara hesitated, trying to muster another argument.  Truth be told, she’d planned on working late, because going home to the empty townhouse was downright depressing.  She wasn’t even sure anymore whether she missed her family the most, or Grissom.  “Are you sure you don’t need--“  

Washington shook his head.  “Home,” he repeated firmly.  “Go kiss that boyfriend of yours, the one who keeps sending you flowers.”  The bouquets arrived with embarrassing, heart-warming regularity every Monday morning, and she couldn’t talk Grissom out of it--he just smirked and said something about catching up.  “Hang up your stocking, leave cookies for Mr. Merry-Christmas-Home-Invasion, sing carols to annoy the neighbors--I don’t care, as long as you get out of here and don’t come back until at least Monday.”  

His glare was harmless, but Sara knew it meant that he’d made up his mind.  Sighing, she pushed to her feet.  “All right, okay.”  

Her boss snickered.  “That’s right--we love enthusiasm around here.”  

Sara rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling.  



It was barely nine o’clock when she got home, and Sara tossed her bag on the couch and grimaced, not at all pleased.  A long, empty day stretched before her; there was nothing left to clean, thanks to Gracie, and Washington had forbade her to take any work home.  Restless, she changed out of her suit and made herself a cup of tea, and was about to resign herself to a day spent with journals and the TV, when the Christmas tree caught her eye.  

The heavily decorated fir in the corner of the living room sheltered a small jumble of presents with its spiky branches.  Most were for her, or for Ed; the kids had taken the majority of their gifts with them to Atlanta, to open on Christmas morning there.  Those under the tree waited on their return, when Sara and Ed would unwrap theirs.  

Including the gold one, which threw back the twinkling lights of the tree.  

Well, it’s almost Christmas.  

Sara wasn’t at all certain what to expect as she picked up the package and sat down on the couch.  Grissom’s birthday present to her had been fairly logical, it was the sort of jewelry she often wore; once she’d gotten over the surprise of his choosing a piece she’d been eying, it was his note that had touched her the most.  But now she looked at the box in her hand, and wondered what he had chosen this time.  This was a side of Grissom she couldn’t predict; all she knew was that giving her things, even little ones, seemed to be a delight for him.  She pulled the envelope off and opened it.  

She knew at once that the quote was from e.e. cummings, it wasn’t an obscure poem, but in this context the words put a lump in her throat.  

    your slightest look will easily unclose me
    though i have closed myself as fingers,
    you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
    (touching skillfully,mysteriously)her first rose

    nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
    the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
    compels me with the color of its countries,
    rendering death and forever with each breathing

And again, the simple signature of Gil.  

Dammit.  He always gets to me.  Sara bit her lip to push back the tears, and read the quote again.  Setting the unopened box aside, she turned it over in her mind, the quote giving way to all the recent memories that Grissom had created for her.  The joy of spending time with him.  The taste of his lips.  The look in his eyes when she smiled at him.  

Almost instinctively, Sara reached for the phone sitting on the side table.  After four rings, a gruff and sleepy voice answered.  “Hello?”  

Sara sighed.  “Ed.  Do you have a minute?  I need to talk.”  

He snickered.  “Merry Christmas to you too.  Hold on.”  She heard children’s excited voices in the background, and then Ed, saying something she couldn’t quite make out, obviously to someone else.  A moment later, the sounds dropped off.  “Okay, shoot.”  

“Where are you?” she asked.  

He yawned.  “Outside on the porch.  Lucky for you I’ve already had my coffee.  So what’s up?”  

Sara stared at the card in her hand.  “Ed, what am I doing?  Why haven’t I just told Gil yes and...and gotten on with our lives?”  

His chuckle was kinder this time.  “Because you’re stubborn as hell.  You’re trying to prove that you aren’t weak.”  

Sara shook her head.  “Gil doesn’t think I’m weak.”  She knew that, at least.  

“Not Gil, dummy,” her brother said gently.  “You.  You’re the one you’re trying to convince.”  She heard a faint scratching sound as he rubbed his scalp.  “He already thinks you’re wonderful.  You’re just afraid of ruining your rep as strong tough Sara Sidle if you let him in.  Which is dumb,” he added, all pragmatic older brother.  

It made sense.  It made a lot of sense, actually, and it made her realize something else.  “I’m scared,” she admitted in a low voice.  

“Of course you are,” Ed replied, still gentle.  “He hurt you bad, and now he wants to try again.  He’s probably scared out of his mind."

But there he was anyway, quiet brilliant Grissom, finally taking the chance she’d wanted him to take for so long.  So why am I still holding him off?  

“Let me tell you something, Sar,” Ed said quietly.  “It hurts like the depths of Hell to lose someone you love.  And I put off loving Jen for two years because I was scared.  And you know what?  If I’d known then what I do now, I would have said yes the very first time she asked me out.  Even knowing how much it would hurt.”  

Sara’s throat was tight, but she could feel the smile forming.  “So basically, what you’re telling me is to get off my ass and love him.”  

Ed laughed.  “I don’t think love is the problem.  Trust him, sis.  This is me telling you, the guy who used to chase off your would-be boyfriends.”  

That made her laugh in turn.  “Ed, they were seven years old!”  

“See?  I was right, they weren’t right for you.”  

She shook her head.  “And he is?”  

“Well, I think so, but you’re the only one who can decide.”  Ed yawned again.  “Sara, I’ve met the guy, I’ve hung out with him.  If you tell him yes, then he’ll treat you like the most precious thing in the world.  Whatever kind of idiot he’s been in the past, he’s ready now.”  

“Okay.”  She swallowed.  “Okay.  I’ll...think about it.”  

Ed hooted.  “You do that!  Look, breakfast’s almost ready.  You wanna say hi to the kids?”  

“Nah, I’ll call later.”  Sara turned her wrist to glance at her watch as an idea formed.  

“Is good.  Talk to you then, then.”  

“Merry Christmas, Ed.  And thanks.”  She grinned at him even though he couldn’t see her.  “Send me the bill.”   

“Ho ho ho.  Later!”  

Sara clicked off the phone, and sat for a moment, thinking hard.  Then she swallowed the last of her tea and turned on the phone again.  She had one more call to make.