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.   A light chapter this week; blame a perverse muse that decided I needed to write a short story instead of working on this.  More thank-yous: ricker23a, serataja, DolphinAnimagus, drakien, DaVinci13, Wiccagirl24, jpsets, and everyone who's told me what they think.  And here I thought I was nuts for starting an alternate-universe story packed full of OCs.   ...Well, I am nuts.  But apparently not for that reason.  *grin*      ********* When Sara woke, the sun was peeking in through a crack in the curtains of the guest apartment, and she rolled sleepily over to get away from it. But there was no returning to oblivion; generally, once she was awake, she was up. Oh well. She yawned. It’s not like I haven’t gotten plenty of sleep the last couple of nights. Stretching her arms over her head, she contemplated the ceiling for a minute, just enjoying the chance to relax and remembering the night before. She grinned. I wonder if Gil ever woke up? They’d finished the ice cream and the movie, and had started watching another one that Sara had always meant to see, and about halfway through she had realized that Grissom had leaned his head back against the back of the sofa and fallen sound asleep. Smiling to herself, she had let him snooze until the film was over, but when she had tried to wake him, Grissom had promised to get up in a minute and promptly fallen back asleep. So she had tucked a throw pillow behind his head and rather shyly kissed his cheek, and had left him to sleep. I could have done something more drastic, I suppose, but he was fine the way he was, really. Sara sat up slowly, pushing her hair back and yawning again. Besides...he looked so cute. In sleep Grissom’s face had relaxed, making him look absurdly young for someone with an iron-silver beard. She took her time in the shower after realizing that it was only about seven, but she was used to getting ready quickly, and it was only forty-five minutes later that she was walking down the hall to Rosalie’s door. This time it was shut, but there was a little doorbell button next to it, so Sara pressed that. She heard no chime, but figured that it too was hooked up to the lights instead, like the telephone. However, no one came to the door. Sara frowned, and after waiting about ninety seconds, she pressed the button again. Maybe they’re still asleep. This time, after a moment, the door opened. Grissom stood on the other side, his hair wet and uncombed and his feet bare, looking entirely adorable except for his somewhat stressed expression. But his face lit on seeing Sara, and he stood aside to let her come in. She turned as he closed the door, and gave him a smile, stepping forward. He leaned a little away. “I, uh, haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” he said ruefully. Sara cocked her head. “I appreciate the information,” she told him, “but I don’t really care.” This time when she approached he didn’t move away, returning her kiss but keeping it brief. Okay, he worries about morning breath. Sara filed the data away and gave him another smile. “Am I too early?” Grissom glanced down the short hallway to Rosalie’s bedroom, but shook his head. “No, Mom’s up and getting dressed. She hates the breakfast here, so I was just going to fix some eggs.” “Why don’t we go out? My treat,” Sara suggested. He smiled at her. “Susan’s coming by in a little while. Tomorrow, maybe?” Sara shrugged. “Sure. Is there something I can do, then?” “Just help yourself to coffee.” Sara watched him pad down the hall to the bathroom and complied, noting that the new machine was already up and running, and wondering if it were Grissom or Rosalie who had set it up. Cup in hand, she wandered around the small space, examining the details that she hadn’t had an opportunity to explore before. The paintings on the walls were the focus of the room, bright cheerful colors and simple shapes, but everything else was a little cluttered; Sara suspected that Rosalie had found it difficult to winnow her belongings when she’d moved into assisted living. There were framed photographs on a buffet cabinet--mostly of Grissom at different ages--and magazines in a neat stack next to the wing chair; everything was dust- and smudge-free, indications of a good cleaning staff, and all the décor was in superb taste. After a few minutes Grissom reappeared, hair smoothed into place, and began assembling breakfast. Sara drifted over to watch him and finagled him into letting her make toast, and they were pleasantly occupied in the small space when Rosalie came out. It rather surprised Sara to see that Rosalie was wearing a green skirt and a bright pink top; the colors clashed badly. But maybe when you’re eighty-plus you decide you can wear what you want, Sara thought, returning Rosalie’s cheerful greeting. The eggs were good. Rosalie did most of the talking, bouncing rapidly from subject to subject; it seemed to irritate her son a little, though he was doing his best to hide it. Sara munched toast, and wondered if the stress of living in close quarters was getting to Grissom slightly. He doesn’t have any place to go to be alone, she realized. Maybe we could trade beds tonight. But she doubted he’d agree. Before they were quite done with breakfast, the overhead lights flashed in a faster pattern then they had for the phone, and Grissom rose to open the door. Susan stood on the other side, clutching an enormous handbag and beaming. “Hello, Gil dear, hello Sara, Rosalie.” She bustled in signing and speaking, and went over to press her cheek to her sister’s. “I’m early again.” Sara glanced over at Grissom, raising her brows in a “what’s up” gesture, and he shrugged. “Friday is art day--Mom and Susan go out to a museum or a gallery show. I, uh, figured we could go along, if you like.” He scrubbed at his beard with one hand, a sign of nervousness that Sara unexpectedly found even more adorable. Oh, you are so far gone. “Gil,” Susan protested, “you two should spend some--“ Sara overrode her politely. “That sounds great. It’s not something I have a lot of time to do at home.” Which was true, and moreover, it did sound interesting. Spending time with Grissom was her first priority; if it was spent looking at artwork, that was fine, there was always something to engage her attention. Rosalie clapped her hands firmly. “That’s settled, then. Susan, get yourself some coffee while we finish up.” As Grissom sat back down, his hand sought Sara’s. “Thank you,” he murmured as his mother’s gaze was elsewhere. Sara squeezed his fingers gently. “You came to see her,” she pointed out practically. “Me you see almost every day.” He threw her a slightly exasperated look, but she just grinned back, and eventually he smiled ruefully. Between them, Grissom and Rosalie talked Susan into going to the Natural History Museum instead of the Museum of the American West, despite Susan’s insistence that it was a necessary cultural experience. To Grissom’s great relief, Sara seemed amused and interested by the argument and choice, rather than annoyed. He himself was torn between a genuine desire to spend time with his mother and aunt, and a guilty wish to ditch them both and take Sara off somewhere that was lacking in relations. You did want her to come and meet Mom, he reminded himself as he maneuvered his rental car through traffic and glanced at the lanky brunette seated next to him. Her smile was warm and a little teasing, and he fought the urge to pull the car over and kiss her. Thoroughly. When I issued the invitation she hadn’t made up her mind. Traffic wasn’t hindering his desire so much as the two elderly women in the back seat, who had abandoned verbal speech and were signing with each other with great fluidity and speed. Gossiping, he knew. Probably about us. Sara’s fingers brushed over his hand where it rested on the gearshift. “Relax,” she said. “We’ll have a good time.” Somewhat to Grissom’s surprise, she was right. They entered the museum together, but almost immediately split into two pairs, wandering along from display to display at their own paces and sometimes meeting up to share some particularly interesting exhibit. It was almost the perfect synthesis. Rosalie insisted on buying them all lunch at the museum’s café; Sara had a pita with a lot of sprouts hanging out of it, while Grissom had a more robust roast beef sandwich. It’s no wonder she stays so slender, he thought, eyeing her meal; but then, she’s put on a little weight since she left Las Vegas. Thankfully. She had really been too thin then, as Ed had said; now she glowed with health. It took Grissom a minute to realize that for the first time, he hadn’t felt a pang on thinking back to Sara’s departure. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. Susan surprised him at the end of the meal. “We’re going shopping,” she said firmly, gesturing at her sister. “Jack can come and pick us up when we’re ready. You two go off and spend the afternoon together.” Taken aback, Grissom looked to Rosalie, but she merely raised her brows at him and followed it up with an old private sign they’d invented decades ago. You’d better listen, it meant. He glanced at Sara, who was looking amused again; she shrugged, turning one hand palm-up. He gave in. “So what do you want to do?” she asked him as they left the museum and the women behind. Grissom took her hand--still a small thrill, even after three months or so--and considered for a moment. Several ideas occurred to him, and he glanced over at his companion. She was dressed fairly casually, in jeans and sneakers and a deep plum t-shirt. Given that he too had opted for sneakers… “Want to go sailing?” Sara stared at him, obviously surprised. “It’s sunny, it’s warm,” Grissom continued, “and I know where we can rent a sailboat. You game?” A huge grin spread over her face. “You are so on!” The boat rental even sold sunscreen. Sara pulled her hair back into a ponytail as they walked along the dock, still grinning. “I haven’t been sailing in years. I keep meaning to take the kids out to Annapolis, but I never seem to find the time.” “Me either,” Grissom admitted, stepping carefully down into their assigned boat and reaching up to give Sara a hand in. “But I assume it will all come back to us.” Sara surveyed the well-used sail and lines. “No worries.” It was fantastic. They had a couple of glitches getting away from the dock and out into open water, but once they had the rhythm of working together, the sail caught the wind and they were flying. Grissom pushed his sunglasses up on his nose and watched Sara as she laughed into the cool air; the sun was glittering off the water, and to him she seemed to sparkle in it, more alive than anything he’d ever seen. The boat was a good one; they skimmed along smoothly, avoiding buoys and boats with equal ease. He’d really forgotten how much fun sailing could be--the exhilaration of speed, the fresh air, the delight of being alive; not to mention the occasional thrill when the wind changed and their out-of-shape reflexes nearly tipped them over. Sara whooped as they wrenched the boat back onto an even keel, her face flushed above the bulk of her life jacket, and unable to help himself, Grissom slid forward in the tiny space until he could put a hand behind her head and kiss her. Salt on their lips from spray, her hair warm from the sun, even the tiny click of their sunglasses colliding made it all unique and perfect. Incoherently Grissom wished that he could keep it all going forever--the kiss, the speed, the sun and wind and the brilliance of the day, and most of all Sara. Then an instant later she was laughing against his cheek and pulling away to adjust the sail, and realization welled up in him. There is always a chance for another perfect moment. They stayed on the water until the sun set, getting pink despite the sunscreen; when they finally left the dock, they were slightly sticky with a mixture of salt and sweat, and Sara’s hair was thoroughly tangled, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to care. “That was amazing!” she declared, hooking her arm through Grissom’s again. “I really have to get the kids out on the water.” “Ed doesn’t sail?” Grissom asked, guiding them down the boardwalk. “He used to, but Jenny got seasick, so he kind of quit doing it. Though, I know for a fact, Gracie loves the water.” She snickered, picturing her brother and his housekeeper. “So it’s probably a safe bet that he’ll be back out there before too long.” “I take it he apologized?” Grissom asked, lips twitching a little, and Sara grinned back at him as they detoured to avoid a family with a double stroller. “He groveled,” Sara corrected. “Successfully, as far as I can tell. At least, he’s not moping any more.” Grissom just laughed. “Are you hungry?” “Starving.” Being out on the water always made Sara ravenous. “What are you hungry for?” “Lady’s choice,” Grissom said easily. Sara looked at the array of eateries available down the long boardwalk. “Are you sure about that? I have this disgusting passion for junk food when I’m at the beach.” Grissom didn’t look concerned. “I’ve been known to consume three hot dogs and an entire box of popcorn in one afternoon.” Sara’s stomach rumbled. “Then let’s go.” They made almost a buffet of it, choosing ears of corn at one place, batter-dipped fish sandwiches and French fries at another, and ice cream at a third. The calories were ridiculous, and Sara reveled in each one. She tended to eat healthy most of the time, half by preference and half because restaurant vegetarian options tended to be heavy on fruit and salad; but every once in a while it was bliss to simply throw prudence to the winds and devour foods whose resemblance to nutrition was sketchy at best. By the time the sun set they were stuffed full and tired; Sara was longing for a shower, but still riding on the absolute fun of the afternoon. At Rosalie’s building they parted and Sara got her shower. She got dressed in fresh clothes and dried her hair into semi-submission, and then went back down the hall. Rosalie answered the door with a smile and gestured Sara in. “Tell me more about what you do,” she asked as they sat down, and Sara complied, listening with one ear to the low hiss of the shower and wondering idly if Grissom had taken his clothes in with him, or if he was going to reappear in a towel. Sara and Rosalie were discussing San Francisco’s art museums when Grissom did emerge, fully dressed, and came to sit beside Sara as before. Rosalie smiled at her son. “Cecilia was just telling me about the Museum of Modern Art, she--“ Sara blinked at the wrong name, and Grissom corrected his mother with a set of sharp gestures. “Sara, Mom.” Rosalie drew herself up with a touch of anger. “That’s what I said.” She turned back to Sara. “When were you last in the City?” Sara hesitated, having given Rosalie that information just the day before, but answered. “I was back there on assignment last May.” She glanced at Grissom out of the corner of her eye, and was startled at the look of stifled misery on his face, an expression that he erased swiftly. “Mom,” he said gently, “it’s been a long day, and I think you’re getting tired.” Rosalie lifted her chin in a gesture that was very familiar to Sara. “Don’t tell me when I’m getting tired, Gil. I’m not so old that I can’t make up my own mind.” Grissom’s flinch was almost imperceptible. Thinking fast, Sara spoke up. “I’m a little tired myself, actually, we did a lot today.” She smiled at Rosalie. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go back to my room.” As Sara expected, Rosalie’s hostess instincts kicked in. “Of course, dear. You go ahead and we’ll see you in the morning.” She held out her hand, and Sara rose to take the fragile fingers in her own and press her cheek to the old woman’s.  Grissom saw her to the door, and when his body was blocking Rosalie’s view, Sara gave him a sober look. “I’ll be up for a while.” He only nodded, and his eyes were sad. Sara actually was tired, so she kicked off her shoes and sat back against the headboard with one of the books she’d brought with her, but she wasn’t sleepy. It was a little hard to concentrate on the novel when she was making bets with herself on whether Grissom would actually stop by later, and after an hour she was almost ready to call him on his cellphone, but she held in the urge. Don’t push. But an hour and twenty minutes after she’d left Rosalie’s apartment, there was a soft knock on her door, and Grissom was on the other side when she opened it. “C’mon in,” Sara told him; the room had only one chair, so she returned to sit on the bed. Grissom took the chair with a sigh, and Sara waited. After a moment of silence, she prompted him gently. “Alzheimer’s?” Grissom leaned forward and folded his hands between his knees, staring at them. “Probably, according to her doctor. The early stages.” Sara nodded. There was no conclusive clinical test for Alzheimer’s as yet, but a diagnosis could be made after observation and testing. “She’s been losing memory since the spring,” he went on. “The last couple of days have actually been fairly good, all things considered.” He turned his linked hands up, as though examining them. “Pretty soon, she’s going to have to move into a facility that provides more intensive care.” His words were calm, but Sara could see the pain in his hunched shoulders, the way he was containing his emotions. “Mom likes it here, so she’s…resisting the idea.” Sara thought back to the expression on Rosalie’s face when Grissom had corrected her. “Does she know she has it?” Grissom shrugged. “Her doctor told her. I don’t think she believes it.” Sara winced. That would only make it harder. Grissom sat up and rubbed his hands on his pant legs. “I--“ Before he could go on, Sara swung her legs off the bed and stood, stepping across the two feet that separated bed and chair to hold out her hand. Grissom looked up at it, baffled, and Sara cocked her head. “C’mon.” She made him sit next to her on the double mattress, against the headboard, putting her arm around his waist, and after a minute Grissom relaxed. “Susan and Jack see her almost every day,” he went on. “And the staff here is excellent. But I still…worry.” “Of course you do,” Sara agreed. “It must be terrifying.” His breath of laughter had no humor. “At least.” Sara thought for a moment. “Have you considered moving back here?” The idea was unexpectedly disturbing, of suddenly being separated from Grissom by a continent; but Rosalie has to come first. Grissom shook his head. “I’ve suggested it. Mom was furious; she says she doesn’t want me to give up my life in Vegas.” He stared down at his lap. Her heart ached for him. It was a terror she didn’t know, that of watching a beloved parent descend into fog and confusion, but she could imagine it. On impulse, she pulled him into an awkward hug. “You’re doing the best you can, Gil,” she murmured. “She’s happy, and she’s safe, and she knows you love her.” Grissom sighed again, his arm tightening around her waist. “I know,” he said. “I know.” And Sara had no words, so she just held him.     Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3     Chapter 4     Chapter 5     Chapter 6     Chapter 7     Chapter 8     Chapter 9     Chapter 10 Chapter 11     Chapter 12     Chapter 13     Chapter 14     Chapter 15     Chapter 16     Chapter 17   Chapter 18    Chapter 19    Chapter 20     Chapter 21    Chapter 22     Chapter 23     Chapter 24     Chapter 25     Chapter 26     Chapter 27     Chapter 28     Chapter 29    Chapter 30     Chapter 31     Chapter 32     Chapter 33      Chapter 34     Chapter 35     Chapter 36     Chapter 37     Chapter 38 Chapter 39     Chapter 40 CSI Home Feedback