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.  

Again, those signing in this chapter (and subsequent ones) would most likely be using American Sign Language rather than Signed English, so the syntax as written does not correspond exactly to the signs as implied.  But I'm not up on ASL syntax, and anyway I choose to exercise author's privilege and make it easier to read for those unfamiliar with ASL.   And for me.  

Many many many thanks to everyone who has sent me feedback--in particular Trialia, csipal, csinut214, gglovebug, wp1fan, jtbwriter, and the untoppable Laura Katharine.  And, of course, Cincoflex, without whom this chapter would be quite different and not half as good.  Thanks, folks.  

  


*********

He missed her.  He was home for the holiday, and yet his heart wasn’t really in it.  Grissom strolled along the Marina del Rey streets, lost in thought.  

He had been missing Sara for three years, he knew that, but missing her after they’d rebuilt their friendship had sharpened that ache; while he was always glad to see his mother, he’d found his thoughts constantly drifting back to the East Coast.  

And he couldn’t help wondering how much Sara missed him in turn.  Did she miss him just as a friend, or as something more?  Despite the caresses they’d shared he knew she hadn’t really decided whether to risk letting him in again or not.  He’d done his best not to push.  After all he’d done to hurt her, deliberately or not, she deserved all the time she wanted to make up her mind.  

Even if he did want to just pull her into his arms and kiss her until she gave him her heart.  

Well, whatever she decides, you have her friendship.  And that was something he could lean on without hesitation.  Grissom wanted very much to be her lover, her beloved, but he knew that without the friendship the love would not last.  

He sighed as he stepped onto the marina that was just six blocks from his mother’s assisted living facility.  So call her. You can hear her voice, at least.  

Grissom took a deep breath of the sweet-salt air and flipped open his phone, hitting the speed dial for Sara.  It took only two rings before she answered.  

“I was just about to call you,” she said in lieu of greeting, and Grissom chuckled, amused by the coincidence.  

“My timing’s improving,” he commented.  “Do you have time to talk?”  

He stared out at the setting sun and hoped she did.  As if answering his wishes, her reply came back over the distance.  “Yeah, I’m good.  What about you?  I figured you’d be in the middle of Christmas Eve dinner about now.”  

He kept up his slow steady pace along the deserted docks.  “No, Mom’s taking a nap right now; we’re going to my aunt’s for dinner later, before Mass.  I decided to go for a walk along the marina.”  

A muffled sound, and then-- “I’m glad you called,” Sara said, sounding a little shy.  “It’s kind of quiet with everybody gone.”  

His heart warmed.  I miss you too, sweetheart.  “Is it snowing yet?”  

She laughed.  “Ed says that D.C. has a white Christmas maybe once a decade.  It’s not even freezing.”  

“That’s not right.”  He sighed exaggeratedly, to make her snort.  

“This from the guy who grew up in L.A.?”  

He smirked to himself, idly reading the names on the boats he was passing.  Luck Be A Lady.  George’s Hull.  “I spent some time in Minnesota, too, remember.  Any place that has snow should have it on Christmas.”  He didn’t really believe that, but it was fun to tease her.  

“Talk to Congress,” she shot back, which made him chuckle.  Sea’s Serenity.  The Gullwing.  Oshun Oxtra.  

...What?  

He backtracked a little to make sure that was what he’d seen, blinked at the wriggly printing, then gave up and walked on, admiring the Christmas lights strung up on many of the riggings.  “Legislating snowfall?”  

“Sounds like a forties movie, doesn’t it?”  Sara chuckled, and he could tell by the low thrum of an engine that she was driving.  “What’s your happiest Christmas memory, Gil?”  

He wasn’t expecting the question, but it was easy to answer.  “1986.  My mother had a heart attack just after Thanksgiving, and her prognosis wasn’t good.  But she rallied, and she actually made it home by Christmas, mostly on sheer grit.”  He passed a few more boats--Cameron’s Chase, The Sand Bar--remembering that sunny, triumphant day when his mother, scorning her wheelchair, had entered the church on his arm.  

She hadn’t looked back since, either.  

Artichoke Of The Sea made him smile.  “What about you?”  Grissom knew a lot of her years had not been happy, but he figured that there had to be some good memories.  

“1979,” she said promptly.  “I got a Shrinky Dink set.  I was so psyched, because I could finally figure out how the damn things worked.”  

Grissom had to laugh as he passed Cordelia’s Grace and the Brass Puck.  “And did you?”  

“Of course,” she said with mock indignation.  “I kept opening the oven door though, so it took three times as long.”  

“Of course,” he echoed.  “Ever the scientist.”  Heather’s Hope.  Sonic Screwdriver.  The sun had almost vanished in a glory of clouds, and through the receiver he heard the engine stop and a car door open and close.  “Do you miss me?”  

He’d meant the question for a tease, but she was silent a moment, and Grissom almost halted in sudden fear that he’d said the wrong thing.  

But then Sara breathed out, he could hear it.  “I always did,” she said quietly, and his throat swelled.  

He’d come to the edge of the marina; there was just one more boat, and he focused his blurring eyes on that.  “I missed you too, more than I can say,” he managed.  For a long wild moment he wondered if they really should be together, if after all he’d done or not done he could still make her heart glad.  

And then the letters on the stern came clear, and Grissom smiled.  Sweet Sara.  

He didn’t do omens, but some things just couldn’t be ignored.  

“Sara, do…have you had dinner yet?”  

A click punctuated his words, and Grissom’s pleasure vanished as he realized that the connection had been broken.  Frowning, he pulled his phone from his ear and looked down at it, but everything seemed to be in order.  Punching the redial, he lifted it back to his ear, but her voice mail picked up immediately.  

His shoulders sagged, and he waited for the beep.  “Sara, we seem--“  

A hand touched his back, and Grissom, startled, spun around, only to feel his eyes widen.  

Her hair was ruffled by the evening breeze off the water, and she had a small suitcase with her; she looked tired and slightly rumpled, but it really was Sara, smiling at him with her heart in her eyes.  “Merry Christmas, Gil,” she said.  

Her name was the only word that made it out of his mouth, and Grissom reached out, not quite certain that she wasn’t conjured up by his wistful desire.  But her cheek was warm and smooth against his palm, her chin firm under his thumb, and the evidence told him that she was there.  

Then she closed the gap between them, and Grissom wrapped his arms around her happily, still incredulous.  For just a second she returned his hug, sighing against his ear, and then she put one hand on the back of his head and caught his mouth with hers, and with a rush of stunned joy he realized that she had made up her mind.  
Something snapped inside his chest then, snapped into place, and he returned her kiss with everything he could muster, feeling her tremble in his arms like she had before, knowing he was shaking just as much.  She was so warm and alive and his, his, his--he wanted to fold her into himself, he wanted to kneel at her feet, he wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, but he couldn’t bear to pull away for an instant.  

Eventually they calmed somewhat, more out of a need for oxygen than anything else; they leaned into each other, laughing a little from sheer astonishment.  Grissom managed to lift a hand to her face once more.  “Sara, are you sure?”  

Her chuckle was half-choked.  “I always was, Gil, I just had to convince myself.”  She blinked.  “That didn’t make any sense, did it?”  

He laughed again, stroking her cheek, still trying to take in the fact that his dearest dream had come true.  “Yes it did.  Sara, Sara--”  He dipped his head just slightly to kiss her again.  And again.  

And again.  





“How did you get here?” Grissom asked a while later, as they sat on the end of one of the docks and watched the stars come out.  His expression was still exalted, but now puzzlement was there too.  

Sara laughed.  His arm was warm around her waist, and she swung her feet a little over the quiet water below, feeling wired and tired and…for the first time in a very long time…content.  “Did you know,” she said deliberately, “that an empty military cargo plane can make the flight from D.C. to L.A. in just over five hours?”  

He laughed, and she felt the vibration against her side, and tucked her fingers into the pocket of his jeans so her own arm would stay in place around him.  “You pulled rank?”  

She shrugged a little.  “Not exactly.  But there was space, and my boss owed me a favor.”  In fact, Toby Washington had been more than happy to help.  Sara suspected that the man was a closet romantic.  

Grissom shook his head.  “How did you find me?”  

That had to be nagging him, Sara knew.  “Sheer coincidence.  The cab was two streets over when you called, and when you said you were on the marina, I told the driver to take me there.  I actually spotted you about three seconds after we turned onto the marina road.”  

“So you were stalking me?”  His voice was warm with humor, and Sara grinned.  

“You have an objection?”  

For answer he touched her chin, turning her head to meet his in yet another warm, sweet kiss.  Sara moaned softly against his lips, blissed out by the sheer joy of it.  Years, she had dreamed of this, and now it was hers, and she banished doubt sternly to the back of her mind.  She had Gil, and even though she knew she had accomplished great things already, it felt like her life was just getting started.  Endorphins, murmured the scientist; shut up and enjoy, retorted the woman.  

Eventually Grissom sighed.  “We need to get back, Mom should be waking up soon,” he said regretfully.  “Are you hungry?”  

“Starving,” Sara admitted.  “No food service on military planes.”  

Grissom let her go with reluctance and stood, reaching down a hand to help her to her feet.  “Well, dinner at my aunt’s will take care of that.”  

Guilt seeped in.  “Gil, um, I’m not exactly invited.”  

Grissom snorted.  “Believe me, they’d kill me if I didn’t bring you along.  I’ll call Aunt Susan so she knows to set an extra plate, but they’re going to be delighted to see you.”  

Sara envisioned a horde of relations and cringed a little, but didn’t argue.  Grissom shrugged.  “If I could keep you to myself this evening, Sara, I would, but they’d never forgive me.”  

She snagged the handle of her wheeled carry-on, beating his grab for it.  “No, no, that’s okay--family is good, right?”  

Grissom eyed her for a moment, then took her hand in his.  “I’ll protect you,” he said easily, and she had to laugh at the mischief in his grin.  

They set off down the walk, through the artificial forest of masts and lines and lights, still all alone; one solitary sailboat motored quietly past, but that was the only sign of life on the docks.  Sara found herself shivering in the rising breeze, but before she could stop and extract her jacket from her suitcase, Grissom was pulling off his sweater.  

She swallowed hard at the brief glimpse of his stomach when his shirt rode up, but then he was tugging it down with one hand, and telling her to raise her arms.  The sweater went over her head, warm and rough and smelling wonderfully of him, and to Sara’s tired brain it seemed like a hug at one remove.  Grissom slid the hem into place around her hips, and she thanked him with a smile; it was way too big, of course, but she wasn’t shivering any longer.  

It didn’t take long to reach Grissom’s mother’s building.  They signed in at the lobby, the receptionist greeting him cheerfully, and Grissom led her to an elevator.  “I’ve got one of the guest rooms on Mom’s floor,” he explained quietly as the doors slid shut.  “You can have that, and I’ll sleep on her couch.  I’ve done it before,” he added before Sara could object.  

Nervousness swelled in the pit of her stomach as they left the elevator and walked down a thickly carpeted hallway.  The assisted-living facility was obviously first-class, the décor subtle and tasteful, but she wasn’t paying it much attention.  What’s she going to think of me, showing up at the last minute like this?  Geez, what’s she going to think of me, period?  My hair’s a mess, I’ve got bags under my eyes, and I’m wearing her son’s sweater--  

Before she could panic, Grissom stopped at one door and unlocked it with a key from his keyring, pushing it open and reaching inside to flip the light off and on before waving Sara in.  She got an impression of a small space cleverly used, bright spots of color on the walls, but most of her attention was taken by the elderly woman rising from the sofa at the far end of the room.  Grissom signed something, but the woman’s eyes were fixed on Sara, and her own hands moved as her lips did.  “You came,” she said, loud and muffled and delighted, and then stepped swiftly forward and took Sara’s hands in both of hers.  

Rosalie Grissom’s head barely came up to her son’s shoulder, and she looked frail and elegant; as her cool fingers enveloped Sara’s hands, Sara felt way too tall and ungainly and awkward.  Rosalie tugged Sara forward and laid her cheek against Sara’s for a moment; she smelled of baby powder and clean cotton and just a hint of urine, a combination that Sara had scented before in the aged.  Sara looked over the white-haired head at Grissom; he was watching them, his expression a bittersweet mixture of pride and happiness and a hint of pain.  

Then Rosalie stepped back, her hands moving almost before she’d unwrapped them from around Sara’s.  The signs were far too rapid for Sara to understand them, but Grissom began translating.  “She says it’s wonderful to meet you at last and she’s very happy you came.”  

He signed something back, and Sara gathered her wits; when Rosalie turned to her again, Sara raised her own hands and signed a slow and careful “Merry Christmas, I’m glad to meet you.”  

Rosalie’s smile widened.  She spoke and signed at the same time, her words a little garbled but understandable.  “Come and sit down.”  

The room was warm; as Rosalie turned back to the living room, Sara skinned out of Grissom’s sweater and handed it back to him.  “Thanks,” she said quietly, and he gave her one of his tiny smiles and set the garment aside.  

Sara found herself on a high couch, opposite Grissom’s mother, who sat in a wingback chair.  The walls were hung with several abstract paintings, and a small Christmas tree twinkled in one corner.  Grissom sat down next to Sara, putting his arm behind her shoulders in a careful move that made her grin a little.  

“So tell me about yourself, Sara,” Rosalie said, surprising Sara by eschewing sign.  “Gil says you work for the FBI?”  

Sara nodded.  Grissom had told her that Rosalie could read lips, so she made sure her face stayed towards the woman.  “I’m a forensic scientist for the Bureau, yes.”  Forensic?  Is she going to know that one?  Oh, duh, she’s Gil’s mom.  She has to have seen it before.  

Sara wasn’t entirely comfortable trying to answer Rosalie’s questions about her job, but the woman seemed to have little trouble understanding her; once or twice, Rosalie’s gaze shifted to the side as Grissom translated something, but for the most part she kept her attention on Sara.  It wasn’t the sort of thing Sara was used to--she hadn’t undergone a parental interrogation since her sophomore year of college--and she did want to make a good impression, even though Grissom was an adult and more than capable of making up his own mind about his relationships.  But Rosalie seemed pleased by Sara’s answers, her son’s small smile appearing on her own lips.  

After about five minutes, she sat up straight, the smile disappearing.  “Oh, my dear, I forgot to offer you something to drink.”  

Sara shook her head.  “I’m fine, thanks.”  

Beside her, Grissom glanced at his watch, then signed and spoke.  “Actually, Mom, it’s almost time to leave for Susan’s, and I think Sara would appreciate a chance to freshen up.”  

“Of course.”  Rosalie stood, her knees obviously stiff.  “Right down the hall on the left.”  

Sara rose in turn, giving the older woman a smile, and retrieved her suitcase from its place near the door.  The bathroom was as small as the rest of the apartment, and as tidy; it took Sara only a few minutes to brush her hair and reapply her lipstick.  Her black slacks and cranberry blouse were, fortunately, quite suitable for a dinner party.  Good thing I changed at LAX.  That plane was dirty.  Even a direct flight had seemed long, sitting in a worn-out seat in a noisy cargo bay.  But worth every second.  

She looked at herself in the mirror.  Fatigued, yes, but her eyes were bright, and the smile that still hovered at the corners of her lips was one part incredulity and three parts joy.  

I can’t believe I waited this long.  But it was a precarious thing, this new happiness, and a small part of her wasn’t quite able to believe in it just yet.  

Sara smoothed her hair one last time, still considering her reflection.  “Believe it,” she finally said to the mirror-Sara, in a firm tone.  “You are not going to screw this one up.”  

Her image nodded back, as if taking courage, and she turned her back on it and went out.  

Grissom was just closing his phone as she emerged.  “Aunt Susan is thrilled that you’re coming,” he said with dry humor.  “It’s a good thing you’re hungry.”  

Grissom’s mother apparently didn’t drive; he swept them both into his rental, Rosalie taking the back seat over Sara’s protests, and  they were at his aunt’s before Sara had time to get too sleepy.  She was quite capable of staying up later...as long as she got some food soon.  The smells emerging when the front door of the big house opened reassured her that something good was in the offing, but she suddenly wondered if Grissom had warned his aunt that Sara was a vegetarian.  

Susan was as short as Grissom’s mother, but round as a dumpling, and in Sara’s estimate almost ten years younger than Rosalie.  She welcomed Grissom with a kiss on the cheek and Sara with a warm handclasp, drawing all three of them into a high-ceilinged living room redolent with the odors of good cooking.  

There were other people there; Sara was introduced as “Gil’s friend,” and filed names and faces away for later perusal.  A soda was pressed into her hand, and she managed to snag a handful of chips from a bowl on a side table, and she nibbled and sipped in between friendly questions and watching people interact.  It was an elderly gathering, on the whole, she realized; she and Grissom were among the youngest people there.  

Another couple arrived, about Grissom’s age, and not long after that his aunt came into the living room without the apron she’d been wearing earlier to announce that dinner was served.  As they trooped into the dining room, Susan put a hand on Sara’s arm.  “Gil tells me you’re a vegetarian,” she said, and waited for Sara’s nod.  “So are Marlee and Jason,” and she pointed to the couple that had arrived last.  “All the side dishes have no meat; do you eat eggs?”  

Sara glanced past her at the heavily laden table, and smiled down at the little woman.  “I love deviled eggs,” she said, and Susan smiled back, patting her arm.  

“Well, then, you’re all set, just enjoy, dear.”  

The seating was a little crowded with ten, but Sara had been placed next to Grissom near the end of the long table, and that was what mattered to her.  Rosalie was opposite, back up near the head next to her sister, which worried Sara for a moment, but it seemed that most of the guests knew at least some ASL and didn’t require Grissom to translate.  Sara concentrated on choosing from the many dishes that were passed along; the centerpiece of dinner was a huge glazed ham, but no one commented when she didn’t take a slice.  

“Are you doing okay?” Grissom asked in a low voice when grace had been said and people were first lifting their forks.  Sara looked up from the roll she was buttering and smiled at him.  

“I’m fine,” she said.  “It all smells great.”  

Grissom nodded, and the look in his eyes was the same helplessly reverent one he’d worn earlier, just after she’d kissed him.  She put a hand under the tablecloth and squeezed his thigh gently, trying to reassure rather than tease, and for a moment his own covered it warmly; then he was turning to accept a dish of green beans.  

As Sara’s blood sugar rose, she was able to observe more carefully.  This was Grissom’s family, apparently--Susan and her husband Jack, and another aunt and uncle, both sets about ten years younger than Rosalie; a lone aunt, though it was not clear to Sara whether she had been married and was now divorced or widowed, or whether she had always been single; and the younger couple, who were not blood relations at all, but had been best friends with one of Grissom’s cousins who was now deceased.  References were made to other family members who lived elsewhere, but while there were several ongoing conversations that made no sense to Sara as an outsider, the other guests made an effort to talk to her.  They were pleasant and friendly, Sara concluded, chatting lightly with Marlee on her other side; a little reserved, but definitely nice.  

It was such a new experience for Sara.  Not just the underlying curiosity that these people were expressing, given that this was apparently the first time Grissom had ever brought anyone home for Christmas, but the fact that it was the first true family dinner she’d been to since she was eight years old, bar the last couple of years with Ed and his kids.  

And nobody’s screaming at this one, she thought dryly, remembering a few memorable holidays from her childhood.  Yet, anyway.  But it didn’t look as though anyone would, either.  Wine was served with the meal, but no one was drinking to excess, and in fact she had a hard time imagining any of these stolid people hurling plates.  
There was coffee after dinner, and conversation, and eventually dessert; Sara and Marlee both passed on the mince pie with shared grins, while Grissom shot them a teasing look and took a healthy serving; but there was apple pie as well.  

Halfway through dessert, Grissom leaned over to murmur in Sara’s ear.  “Mass isn’t a requirement--if you’d rather go back and go to bed, I can run you back to Mom’s place beforehand.”  

Sara swallowed a bite and shook her head.  “No, I’d like to go.  I’ve never been to a Mass.”  

The church was glowing with lit candles, and full of people when they arrived.  Sara looked around, admiring the architecture; the church wasn’t very old as such things went, only about fifty years, but the builders had made it soar with stone and glass.  She stuck close to Grissom; he had offered his arm to his mother, with an apologetic glance at Sara, who had merely grinned back.  Rosalie used a cane and it was obvious that her balance wasn’t what it once had been.  

Sara thought she’d have to tease him a little, later, once he got them all settled in a pew--he looked so immensely pleased with his seat companions, his mother on his left and Sara on his right.  His hand dove for hers as soon as they were seated, fingers lacing firmly with her own, and Sara returned his grip happily, needing the reassurance as much as he.  

She was so tired.  She was running three hours later than everyone else, and while she could easily stay up for three shifts straight if she had a case to work, just sitting in the warmth and soft light, with Grissom’s shoulder to lean against, made her very sleepy.  Sara didn’t think she actually fell asleep--not to the point of relaxing or snoring, thankfully--but she did zone out from time to time during the service, coming back to full awareness when the congregation sang a hymn or carol.  If she had been more alert, she would have been embarrassed, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter, with Grissom smiling at her whenever she glanced at him and the beautiful music filling the sanctuary.  

Two interpreters at the front signed the service to the congregation, something Sara observed with interest when she was aware enough.  She’d seen some people signing when they’d come in; Grissom had mentioned that the church had a Deaf congregation that usually held separate services, but often mixed for holidays.  It also interested her to note that when Rosalie sang the hymns without often hitting the correct key, no one around them so much as blinked.  Sara spotted a Deaf couple across the aisle and two pews up who signed the songs; pointing them out to Grissom, she asked quietly why Rosalie didn’t do the same.  

“She does sometimes,” he whispered back, “but Christmas songs were always her favorites, and she prefers to sing them.”  

Sara nodded, thoughtful.  She had never really thought about the differences between someone who had become deaf and someone who had been born that way.  

Movement woke her up some more after the service.  She and Grissom were displayed--there was no other word for it, Sara decided--to any number of other people, Rosalie beaming with pride in her son.  Grissom seemed used to it, Sara realized as he shook hands and returned greetings with courtesy if not enthusiasm.  

She almost fell asleep again on the drive back to Rosalie’s apartment, and Grissom showed her to the guest room down the hall as soon as they arrived.  “They changed the sheets,” he said, sounding relieved, as he let her in.  “Let me just grab my stuff and I’ll get out of your way.”  

Sara looked around the bland, comfortable room.  Grissom, anticipating a week’s stay, had spread out his belongings.  She stifled a yawn.  “Why don’t you get what you need for tonight, and just leave the rest?  We can fix it in the morning.”  

Grissom pursed his lips, considering, and then nodded and gathered his kit from the bathroom and a few pieces of clothing, tumbling them into an empty shopping bag.  Feeling slightly absurd, Sara saw him to the door.  

They stared at each other in the entranceway, neither quite willing to say goodnight.  Grissom lifted a hand and cupped her face once more, his touch gentle.  “Are you really here?” he asked softly.  

Sara covered his hand with hers.  “I think so,” she answered, feeling a little giddy with exhaustion and exhilaration.  Grissom shook his head slightly, and leaned in, kissing her gently--the merest brush of lips, slow and light, as though he feared to be pushed away.  

Hungry for the touch, Sara returned it with more pressure, craving the taste of him.  For a minute or so they stood, oblivious to their surroundings, until a loud “harrumph” broke into their concentration.  A bent old man gripping a walker was making his slow way down the corridor.  “Break it up, kiddies,” he said genially, and Sara felt herself flush a little even as Grissom’s ears turned pink.  

They let him pass; as he moved away around the corner, Grissom turned back to Sara.  “I don’t want to leave you,” he said, hand still curved around her neck.  “I...I just don’t.”  

Sara sighed.  “I know what you mean,” she answered.  It all felt so fragile, as though parting would crack their new bond.  “But I need sleep, and your mother’s waiting for you.”  

Grissom nodded, eyes not leaving her face; then his thumb stroked over her cheekbone, his lips touched hers once more, so quickly that she barely had time to register it, and he was gone down the hallway.  Sara watched him go, his stride rapid and uneven, and let the smile spread when he turned to wave just before entering his mother’s apartment.  

Then she shut the door and barely managed to take off her clothes before falling into bed.  Even the fantastic events of the day didn’t keep her awake.