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.   THE RATING HAS NOW CHANGED.  Please take note.   Both restaurants exist.  Great food!    ********* Sara licked raspberry jam from her lips and dropped the last crust of her toast onto her plate with a pleased sigh.  It was a bright and shiny morning, in contrast to yesterday’s greys; she’d woken to see the vivid blue of sky through the skylights overhead, and had found the energy to bounce out of bed and head downstairs for breakfast.   The house was beginning to stir around her.  As she’d buttered her toast, Sara had heard doors opening and closing overhead, and now light footsteps came down the stairs.  Expecting her niece or nephew, Sara was mildly surprised to see Gracie come into the kitchen.   “Hey,” she said, smiling at the housekeeper.  “How’re you feeling?”   Gracie smiled ruefully back, grief still lining her face but without the intolerable heaviness of the evening before.  “Better, thanks.”  She was dressed in the leggings and oversized sweater she’d worn the day before, somewhat wrinkled, and her hair--far curlier than Sara’s--rioted around her head as though static-charged.  “Coffee?”   Sara pointed at the machine, which had already provided her with a cup.  “You know where the mugs are.”   Gracie poured, added half-and-half, and sat down on one of the counter stools, across from Sara.  “Ed’s sound asleep in the chair, and if I thought he’d go back to sleep I’d wake him and make him move to the bed.”   Sara snickered.  “He can sleep like a pretzel, don’t worry about it.”  She picked up her crust and nibbled on it absently.  “Besides, the kids’ll be up soon, and no one can sleep through that.”   “Too true.”  Gracie pushed back her hair in a rather futile gesture.  “Do the kids know?”   Sara dusted crumbs from her fingers.  “Just that you lost a sick friend.”   Gracie’s laugh lacked humor.  “Sick…yeah.”  She shook her head tiredly.  “Simpler that way, I guess.”   “Gracie…I’m sorry,” Sara said, feeling awkward but wanting to offer something.   The other woman smiled again, sadly.  “Me too.”  She swallowed, and rubbed her hands over her face.  “Blast…I wasn’t going to cry any more.”   Sara slipped off her perch and came around the counter, putting an arm around Gracie.  “I think you’re allowed to.”   Gracie leaned against Sara’s shoulder, but only wept a little, sniffling into the paper napkin that Sara handed her.  When she straightened, Sara let her go.  “Want some breakfast?” Gracie wiped her eyes.  “I don’t think I’m hungry yet…thanks, though.”  She threw the napkin into the trash.  “I’m going to take a shower before the kids get up.”   Sara grinned.  “Good idea.  Do you still keep a spare set of clothes in your car?”  At Gracie’s nod, she continued.  “Give me your keys and I’ll get your bag, then.”   When Sara came back with the small duffle, Gracie was still in the kitchen, sharing a long hug with a sleep-tousled Kimmy.  She took the bag with a murmur of thanks, and Sara left the two of them, suddenly remembering that she’d never gotten back to Toby’s supervisor evaluation.   It was no more fun to complete than it had been the night before, but Sara finished it quickly, giving Washington his usual top marks.  As she scrawled her signature on the appropriate line, however, she realized with a sudden pang that she might not be around to fill out another in a year’s time.   Sitting back in her chair, she tapped the pen against her lips, thinking.  This is something we need to discuss, soon.  Even if Grissom gets his leave extended, we don’t have a lot of time before he has to do…something.   For a moment Sara felt as if accepting a relationship with Grissom had tipped her over some steep slope, and that they were rushing with increasing speed into a future she couldn’t see clearly.  Then she sniffed and flipped the pen onto her desk.   Bullshit.  This is what we both want; all it means is that we’re going to have to start making decisions together instead of separately.   She looked around the room.  She’d made it her own, in a haphazard fashion, and it was comfortable and welcoming, but it had never been meant to be permanent.  And the thing about being a Bureau agent is that it’s a portable job.  She could request reassignment, if she chose, and she was likely to get it.  I could even quit, and go back to being a CSI.  Or do something else.   She did enjoy her job, though.  Being a special agent gave her more proactive opportunities than the more specialized field of evidence collection and interpretation, and while her focus was still mainly on forensics, there were plenty of times when she wasn’t just cleaning up after a crime.   For a little while, Sara let herself daydream about coming home to Grissom instead of two kids and her brother.  It was a dream she’d had before, and had set aside; now it was infused with a delicious sense of possibility.  Finding him asleep on the couch, or tapping at the computer with his glasses sliding down his nose; or getting there before him and ordering something delicious for dinner to surprise him.   Sara grinned to herself, slow and confident.  This could really work.   When she came back downstairs, the floor was filled with the scent of sausage and toast, and everybody was up.  Ed was making huge breakfasts in the kitchen, directing his children with the distraction of a master chef hard at work; Gracie was sitting on the couch with her cellphone headset in one ear, talking and trying to work a comb through her wet hair.  Sara waded calmly through the chaos, returning Gracie’s absent wave, and made her way to her brother’s side.   “Want me to take the kids off your hands today?” she asked under the cover of Kimmy arguing with Joseph over orange juice.   He shot her a grateful look.  “Would you mind?  Grace has a million things she has to do today, and I’d like to keep an eye on her.”   “No problem.”  She patted his shoulder.  “I’ll take ‘em downtown or something.”  She poured herself more coffee and grabbed the kitchen phone extension, backing into a corner to stay out of the way and punching in Grissom’s number.   He picked up on the third ring.  “Hello, Sara.”   Sara smiled at the sound of his voice.  “Hey, Gil.  I didn’t wake you, did I?”   “Nope.”  In the background she heard the slightly tinny sound of the TV.  “I’ve been up for a bit.”   She nodded even though he couldn’t see her.  “Listen, I’m going to take the kids for the day so Ed can be with Gracie--do you want to come along?”  She’d planned to see if he were free anyway, but Grace’s loss changed things.   “I can’t,” he said regretfully.  “I have to make some phone calls, and I’m scheduled to give a basic entomological evidence collection lecture this afternoon.”   “Duty calls, huh?” Sara said, amused at the thought of Grissom teaching a bunch of rookie CSIs to pick up larvae.  But he does it so well.  “That’s cool.”   “Could we meet for dinner later, though?” he asked.  “I very much want to see you.”   “You bet.  Without the kids, I promise.”   Grissom chuckled.  “Give me a call when you’re ready, then.  I’ll make reservations.  Where do you want to go?”   “Someplace fancy, surprise me,” Sara said lightly.  Ed waved at her across the kitchen, pointing towards the dining room, and she sighed.  “Oops, gotta go.”   “Enjoy your day, Sara,” Grissom said, and she could all but hear him smiling.  “I’ll see you later.”   Breakfast was noisy with chatter.  After eating a second breakfast, the enormous omelette Ed had concocted for her--I need the protein if I’m going to keep up with the rugrats all day--Sara set down her napkin and took charge.  “Okay, small stuff.  Today, we are going to go shopping for clothes.”  At Joey’s groan, she held up a hand.  “And, if you cooperate and don’t whine at me, we can go to Generous George’s afterwards.”   As she expected, the bribe of the pizza and play restaurant sweetened the idea.  Joey and Kimmy traded glances and scrambled from their chairs.  Before she could squawk at them about the table, Gracie laughed.  “I’ll clear, Sara, don’t worry about it.  You might as well take advantage of their enthusiasm while you’ve got it.”   “Yeah.  Wish me luck,” Sara said wryly, and rose to follow them.  The fact that Kimmy hadn’t voiced a protest made her suspect that her niece no longer regarded clothes as mere unavoidable necessities.    Her suspicions proved true, and Joseph was downright fidgety by the time Kimmy’s spring outfits were settled to her satisfaction, but he didn’t whine.  Sara let him sit in the center of the clothing carousels with his own bags, knowing that after his scare in August he would not let himself get lost again, and debated price and suitability with Kimmy.  Eventually they reached a medium tolerable if not happy, and Sara bought a round of milkshakes before they headed for the shoe store.   There Joey brightened, and managed to successfully charm his aunt into purchasing him a pair of sneakers with lights in the soles.  Sara’s initial reservations were rather thwarted by the fact that she found herself wishing they came in adult sizes.   “Just don’t grow out of them too fast,” she teased, and watched her brother’s grin flash over Joey’s face.  It was no use anyway; the past three years had deeply impressed upon Sara just how quickly children could grow.   As they left the shoe store, the kids carrying two new pairs each, Sara surveyed their spoils.  Not bad, if I do say so myself.  We might not even have to shop again until September.   Yeah, right.   “Pizza, guys?” she asked, and laughed as they cheered.        He knew it didn’t matter to Sara, but Grissom made an extra effort to be on time, even a little early, for their date that evening; the memory of canceling their last one was still stingingly fresh in his mind.  It matters to me.   Unlike other women of his acquaintance--including his mother--Sara was generally ready when he arrived, and this time was no exception.  As he pulled up in front of the house she swept out the front door like a strong wind, the hem of her overcoat fluttering as she strode down the steps and along the sidewalk.  Seeing that he didn’t have time to get out and open her door from the outside, Grissom merely leaned over and unlatched it, noting as he did so that her eyes were brilliant with some strong emotion and her color was high.   Sara swung down into the seat, displaying smooth calves as she folded her skirt in with her, and closed the door, but before Grissom could get a word out she cupped his face in her hands and gave him a long, firm kiss.   He wasn’t about to object.   “Thank God,” she said throatily when she was done.  “I am so in need of adult company tonight.”   Amused, Grissom reached up for her hands and kissed the palms, much as he had a few days before.  “Did you have a good time with the kids?”   Sara touched his nose gently with one finger and then let her hands drop.  “Yeah, actually, we got a lot done.  They were good today.”  She reached for her seatbelt.  “So where are we going?”   Grissom put the car in gear.  “Jaleo, if that suits.”   She sighed happily.  “Perfect.”   Grissom pulled back out onto the street, pleased, and determined to savor every moment of the evening.  His new awareness of how close he’d come to losing Sara made him pay attention to every detail, even if his eyes had to concentrate on driving--her low hum, the rustle of her clothing, the apples-and-warmth scent of her hair and skin.  She had her hair pulled up in a chignon, which displayed the elegant length of her neck, and it was a style he appreciated deeply, all the more so because she used it so rarely.   It was his pleasure to walk with her into the tapas restaurant, and to help her out of her coat.  Sara pursed her lips as he did so, smothering her grin, but Grissom just smirked back.  It was part of the game they played--he knew as well as anyone her independence, but she let him make the courtly gestures because he enjoyed doing so.  And, he also knew, in the right mood she enjoyed them too.   They lingered over dinner, sharing a pitcher of sangria and talking about the latest innovations in DNA processing.  It didn’t surprise Grissom that Sara could be just as bewitching when discussing science as when she was in his arms; after all, she’d been enspelling him for years.  The fact that he could now discuss the finer points of evidence collection with a Sara whose silky burgundy dress drew admiring eyes, and whose lips he had kissed into silence more than once, just made it all the richer.   As they left the restaurant, Grissom slipped her arm through his.  “What’s your pleasure?  It’s still early.”   Sara considered for a moment.  “I’m wearing the wrong shoes for walking.  How about we just go back to your place?  I’m not ready to turn into a pumpkin yet.”   He inclined his head, pleased all over again.  “As my lady wills.”  And warmed to her chuckle.   The fact that Sara felt able to make herself at home in his space was another plus; when they arrived she shed her coat before he could take it from her, and stepped out of her shoes on the way to one of the chairs, curling up her legs in a froth of skirt and setting her purse aside.  Grissom, not for the first time, regretted that he hadn’t gotten a suite with a couch, but there was no helping it at the moment.  He hung up his own sports jacket and went into the kitchen to start some coffee.  He watched her through the kitchenette window as she idly turned the bracelet on her wrist, around and around; the polished amber caught the light and gleamed.   They were still chatting idly about new rulings on evidence collections, and Grissom wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing; without looking down, he misjudged the edge of the counter and dropped the little cream pitcher.   The kitchenette’s linoleum was well-padded; it didn’t shatter.  But the half-and-half swamped his shoes in a small white wave, soaking into his socks.  He swore mildly.   “What’s the matter?” Sara asked, alert.  Grissom shook his head.   “I dropped the pitcher, that’s all.  Nothing major.”  He collected a handful of paper towels and crouched to blot up the spill, regarding his milky shoes with disfavor.  “I have to go change my socks.”   “Did it break?”   “Nope.”  Grissom wiped the soles of his shoes and threw out the towels, then headed for his bedroom, slightly squelchy.  “Give me a minute here.”   It didn’t take long for him to rinse out his shoes and towel them off in the small bathroom, and a little warm water washed the stickiness from his feet.  Grissom wrung out his socks and left them draped over the edge of the tub to dry.  At least I still have some half-and-half left in the fridge.   Slightly disgusted at his clumsiness, he went back to the bedroom to rummage for fresh socks.  As he pulled a pair from the dresser, Sara appeared in the doorway.  “Umm...”   Grissom cocked his head, wondering why she looked uncomfortable.  “Yes?”   “Uh, do you mind if I stay?”   She shot him a slightly uncertain glance, and the first thing that crossed his mind was I thought you were staying, and then…Ohhh.   We really are bad at this.   “Sara…”  He set down the socks, then reached out and took both her hands in his, loving the way his fingers could wrap all the way around her wrists with room to spare.  “I would like nothing better.”   He tugged, and she stepped into his embrace with a breath of a laugh, half relief and half amusement.  The kiss was long and slow and promising, the slide of her lips against his the one thing, the only thing.  “You should know that by now,” he murmured as it ended.   “Mmm…” Sara’s fingers were on the nape of his neck, where they belonged.  “I’ll remember it next time.”   “Mm,” Grissom agreed, and kissed her again, feeling both anticipation and an unfamiliar joy.  For a while they did nothing more, simply exploring each other’s mouths and faces with a slow and intense concentration.   Grissom felt absolutely no need to rush; yes, the urgency of need lay underneath the pleasure, but the desire to go slowly, to make the most of each moment was paramount.  There would be many more times for them, God willing, but never again a first time.  He wanted to show Sara just how much she meant, how important she was to him…how essential.   He kept one arm around her, but used the other to pull the pins from her chignon, one by one, until it came down in a slow fall of fragrant strands.  He let his fingers run through her hair, again and again; it felt so smooth, warm and cool at the same time and catching a little where his fingertips were rough.  “Sorry,” he muttered against her mouth the first time it yanked slightly, but Sara just made a purring sound and kissed him harder.   He didn’t argue.   By all logic, it should have been awkward.  Or, given how much time had passed between their first aware glance and the present, fast.  But it was neither; instead, it seemed to Grissom that his fingers knew Sara’s skin even as he uncovered it, that he had no reason to hesitate or hurry.  He worshiped at his leisure, concentrating on each new secret, on every detail of her spare and rangy beauty.   Sara insisted on her own share of exploration, though Grissom managed to distract her from time to time.  It became another game, in a way, Sara’s clever hands pulling his shirt off, only to have it fall from her weakened grasp as Grissom found another sensitive spot.  Her mild, teasing complaints turned into soft moans, and he smiled against her freckles, loving each cairngorm spatter.   It was when he reached into the bedside table’s drawer that her fingers encircled his wrist in turn, and he glanced back to her flushed face, her eyes so intense that he couldn’t look away.  “I’m on the Pill,” she informed him, half-asking, and without protest he shut the drawer again and returned to her.   There were a thousand clichés filed in his memory, but the only one that mattered was that this was one of the most important things he'd ever done; making Sara his, becoming hers.  Making her laugh breathlessly, and sob; feeling all his own words vanish as his senses overwhelmed him.   There was no reason for it to be perfect, but it was.   Something was tickling his cheek.  Grissom wrinkled his nose, and then opened his eyes to the golden dimness of his bedroom, unfamiliar in that he’d left the light on, and in that there was a Sara in his bed.   She drew back her fingers, her dreamy expression vanishing into mild dismay.  “Oh--I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to wake you.”   Grissom regarded her for a moment.  She was tousled and warm with sleep, her lips slightly swollen and her throat reddened again where he’d been a little too enthusiastic.  The smile came unbidden, but he didn’t try to stop it.   She came willingly into his arms, and Grissom kept one underneath her while he used the other hand to brush hair from her eyes.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.   He half-expected her to ask why, but she just looked at him for a long moment, and then her lips were on his before he had time to worry about his breath.   “Mine,” she muttered when she lifted her head, and Grissom slid his hand up her spine and grinned at her.   “You planned this, didn’t you?”   Sara folded her arms on his chest and set her chin on them, regarding him mischievously.  “What makes you say that?”   Grissom tilted his head.  “You wore matching underwear.”   She snickered.  “And that’s supposed to tell you something?”   He shrugged a little, appreciating the fact that she wasn’t wearing any at the moment.  “You don’t strike me as the sort of woman who normally wastes time on that kind of detail.”   This time she laughed outright.  “You’re right about the underwear.  As for the rest of it, I didn’t exactly plan...I just figured that if things worked out...”   She was starting to blush, and it was adorable.  Grissom rolled them both over onto their sides, tugging the sheet up a bit against the cool air, and kissed her again, long and soft and slow.  “Does Ed know you’re not coming home?” he asked.  There were still places on her he didn’t know yet.   “Yep.”  Sara smoothed the hair at his temple, her expression so tender that his breath caught, and he took her wrist so he could kiss the inside of her elbow.    Her gasp made him very, very happy.  “Good.”   The shower was really too small for two, but they managed, soaping each other’s backs and laughing as they passed the washcloth back and forth.  Afterwards he pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, and Sara reclaimed his drawstring trousers and a dress shirt.   He brushed his teeth, watching in the mirror as she rubbed lotion into the skin on her arms.   “Go back to bed,” Grissom said, after rinsing and wiping his mouth.   Sara blinked, raising a brow at his reflection.  “What?”   “Go back to bed,” he repeated, and turned to kiss her.  “I can’t make you breakfast in bed if you’re not in bed, now can I?”   Grissom had no idea why that should make her suddenly sniffle, but before he could ask, Sara nodded.  “Okay.  Can I change the sheets?”   “Fresh ones are in the closet.”  He let her go, and pointed.  “Are you all right?”   Her grin was sudden and brilliant.  “Hell yeah!”   Breakfast didn’t take him very long; Grissom blessed the fact that he’d frozen a batch of muffins the week before, and set them to defrost while he made an omelette.  He could hear Sara singing quietly to herself in the bedroom; at one point she came out to the living room get something from her purse, and scooped up the paper he’d brought in from the hallway before shooting him another grin and disappearing back into the bedroom.  Grissom stirred eggs and made fresh coffee, his hands performing the tasks automatically while his dazzled mind went back again and again to the fact that not only had he finally made love with the love of his life, with Sara, she was still in his bedroom, in his bed.   Happy.   That was the crux of it, he mused as he added mushrooms and cheese to the pan.  She’s happy.  I make her happy.   I make her happy.   He sliced the omelette in half, dished it out, and added the warmed muffins before pouring coffee.  Wow.   A cookie sheet made an adequate tray, but the spread still seemed a little bare.  On impulse, Grissom reached for a coffee filter; Warrick had shown him a trick once.   A few minutes later, he was all set, with his paper rose sitting in a small glass bowl.  Grissom carried it the few yards to his bedroom, and paused in the doorway to admire.   Sara had piled all the pillows against the headboard to lean back against and had somehow twisted her damp hair up onto her head; a pencil was stuck through the hair, making her look charmingly schoolgirlish.  She was pursing her lips over a section of the newspaper, a pen in her hand.  Grissom’s heart ached a little in his chest, a sweeter hurt than the one he’d carried for three years; she was so alive, and so amazing, and so his.   And then he realized what she was doing, and stepped forward.  “Hey!”   Sara looked up, eyes widening as she took in what he was carrying.  “Wow, you weren’t kidding, were you?”   Grissom tried to give her a stern look.  “Are you doing my crossword puzzle?”   Sara tossed it onto the bedside table.  “Not anymore.  That smells terrific, Gil.”   He walked to the bed and set the tray down in her lap, then slid in beside her.  “Do we have to negotiate on crossword puzzles?  Because they’re an important part of my morning ritual.”   “Relax.”  Sara broke one of the muffins apart, and popped a piece into his mouth before biting into the other half.  “Mmm, these are great,” she said, somewhat indistinctly.   He had to admit, they were pretty good.  Swallowing his bite, he reached her for the folded paper, ignoring her eyeroll, and looked down at the puzzle.   Only some of the squares were filled in; Grissom realized that Sara had used only vowels.   “You can do the consonants,” Sara said cheerfully, and sliced off a bit of omelette.   How I love this woman.  Laughing, Grissom set the paper aside, and joined her for breakfast.        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