Light In The Mirror

Halfway to the Moon




Ed

"Ed"

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.  This chapter does mention a few real people in passing, and if they don't like it, they can thump me.  Heh.  

The bistro to which Sara takes Grissom in the previous chapter does in fact exist; it's located in Columbia, Maryland, and the food is amazing.  Café de Paris is not cheap, but it's worth the price, and I'm told by those who would know that the wine list is pretty good too. 


*********

Sara woke at her usual time; she might not have to go to work, but Kimmy still had to go to school, and Sara liked to drive her if she could.  It gave the two of them a little “girl time” and gave Kimmy an interval when she did not have to compete with her little brother for attention.  The siblings got along fairly well for their ages, Sara judged, though she was aware that she had no real basis for comparison.  But sometimes it was nice just to be the only kid for a while. 

This morning, though, Sara didn’t spring out of bed to get into her morning routine right away; for a little while, she lay staring at the ceiling, trying to organize her feelings.  Today she and Grissom were beginning their “great experiment”; today they would begin to see if they really could make something of their ruined relationship. 

It seemed unreal.  She’d spent so much time and energy trying to root him out of her heart, only to have him drop back into her life and prove how little success she’d had.  And where normally she would have turned her back on him, circumstances had dictated otherwise, prying open the reluctant door of her heart.  His wild kiss had turned her upside down, shaking loose all her assumptions and determination until she didn’t know what to think. 

Part of her just wanted to walk into Grissom’s arms, feel them tighten around her, and never let go again, especially now that she knew what they felt like.  Part of her wanted to punish him for what he’d put her through. 

Part of her simply didn’t trust him.  True, his taking a leave of absence and basically moving to the East Coast to be near her was a pretty firm declaration of intent, but then she’d thought once that the clasp of his hand on hers, his silent shy offer of support and comfort, was a declaration. 

Maybe it was, her heart whispered.  You know blowing out of Vegas like that was too much. 

She sighed, and rolled over.  The only way to find out if it would work was to go ahead and try.  And, leery as she was of pain, she wanted to know. 

Ugh.  Time for coffee.  Sara sat up, yawning.  She didn’t sleep much more than she had in Vegas, but being responsible for two kids and sometimes an adult had made her more disciplined in her rest habits.  It felt like a Sunday, not having to be up and moving at once.  She and Grissom hadn’t fixed on a particular time to meet; she thought she’d give him until midmorning at least, given the inevitable jetlag. 

Sara tiptoed downstairs to start the coffee and have her usual toast and jam, and then went back upstairs to get dressed.  Today she pulled on jeans and a flower-printed t-shirt instead of her work attire, and slipped her feet thankfully into ankle boots instead of pumps.  Being a CSI might have been more stressful, but the shoes were better. 

But when she reentered the kitchen, she found Ed sitting at the kitchen island, dressed and--wonder of wonders--fully awake.  She could hear Kimmy and Joseph in the living room, watching their cartoons there.  “What’s going on?” she asked, puzzled. 

“Change in routine,” Ed said, with a sly look that made Sara instantly suspicious.  “I’m taking the kids out for breakfast this morning.  Joey and I’ll drop Kimmy off at school and be back before his bus comes.” 

Sara narrowed her eyes at him.  “Why?” 

Ed folded his arms on the counter, assuming an innocent expression.  “Don’t you have other plans for the day?” 

“Yeah, sure, but I’m not meeting Grissom until later.”  She got out a mug. 

“Did you tell him that?” 

When she turned to look at him, Ed pointed at the kitchen window, which faced out onto the small scrap of front lawn that was all the townhouse boasted.  Sara went to look out. 

A familiar figure sat on the curb across the street, bare elbows resting on his knees and his hands folded in front of his mouth.  Sara could see that he was wearing a dark shirt, and what was probably a LVPD ball cap.  A small paper bag sat next to him, along with a disposable coffee cup. 

Sara felt her jaw loosen with a mixture of surprise and exasperation, though underneath it was a warmth she didn’t care to examine at the moment.  “Grissom...” 

Ed was snickering, and Sara restrained the urge to go over and whap him.  “Looks like he’s really got it bad, sis.” 

“Are you forty-two or fourteen?” she snarled, and stalked back for her coffee.  She felt like a teenager again, caught in embarrassed pleasure and unsure what to do. 

Ed chuckled again and stood up.  “Have fun, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”  He ducked her half-hearted swing and left the kitchen, and she heard him telling the kids that they had to move so they wouldn’t miss their reservations at McDonald’s.  Kimmy’s exasperated “DAD-eee” drifted back up the stairwell, and then they were gone. 

Sara made herself finish her coffee, drinking it slowly as she leaned against the counter and stared at her shoes.  There was a scuff on the right toe, and she concentrated on that, trying not to think about the man waiting patiently outside. 

Not that she was very successful. 

Finally, exercising the grim patience that stood her in such good stead in her work, she rinsed out her cup, set it in the dishwasher, and grabbed her keys. 

He was still sitting on the curb, apparently impervious to the growing sticky heat.  Sara stuck her hands in her pockets and walked across the broad, empty street, watching him watch her approach.  Somehow his apparent calm soothed her a little, and she came to a halt in front of him.  “You could have called, you know.” 

He looked up at her, eyes shadowed by the cap’s brim.  “I didn’t want to wake anybody up.” 

She shifted her weight.  “Did you get any sleep?” 

Grissom chuckled, and picked up the cup and bag, pushing to his feet.  “Several hours, in fact.”  He held out the bag to her.  “For you.” 

Sara took it cautiously, not sure what to expect--an orchid, print powder, what?--but found two muffins inside.  She looked back up at him.  “I do eat breakfast.” 

He shrugged, and a tinge of red crept over his ears, a sight that for some reason charmed her.  “You didn’t used to.” 

It dawned on her that she was being ungracious.  “They look yummy, though, thanks.”  She folded the bag’s top back down.  “Um.  Do you want to come in?” 

Grissom tilted his head in the old familiar manner, and for some reason it made her throat swell a little.  “Do you want me to?” 

It was clear that he was making sure to give her the choice, signaling that he would abide by her wishes.  But Sara squashed her incipient surge of tenderness.  “Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” 

He blinked, and she gave him half a grin and jerked her head at the townhouse. 

It was weird, having him in the family space, but in a good way.  Sara knew Grissom was observing every detail as they climbed the stairs to the main floor, and it made her look at the place with new eyes.  Gracie, the housekeeper, kept it pretty clean--Sara had found that her own obsessive tendencies towards scrubbing had slacked off when there were always stories to read or homework to help with--but the place still looked comfortably lived-in, with shelves crammed with books and photos, and the occasional toy scattered around.  The furniture was a little shabby, the carpet a little worn, but it was home. 

Sara led Grissom into the big kitchen, waving him to a stool.  He took off his cap and set it on the island, running a hand through his hair, and she fought the urge to go over and smooth down the bit he’d missed in the back; that was an old impulse, and easily controlled.  “Want some coffee?” 

“No thanks.”  He wiggled his empty cup at her and set that down too, and Sara absently reached for plates, setting one muffin on each and sliding one towards him.  He looked down at it.  “Sara, they were for you.” 

She picked hers up and started peeling off the paper, pushing back a smirk.  “So?  I can share if I want.” 

Grissom snorted at that, but began pulling the muffin apart. 

Sara had eaten three bites--it was a very good muffin--before deciding to break the silence.  “How did you get here, anyway?” 

Grissom pulled a paper napkin from the holder on the island.  “I took the subway, and then I walked.” 

Sara swallowed her mouthful.  “From the station?  That’s almost two miles!” 

“So?” he echoed, looking unconcerned.  “It was a nice walk.”  

Sara reached for her own napkin, a little taken aback.  She ran more than that when she went jogging, but walking for pleasure wasn’t something she’d ever associated with Grissom.  Just one more thing I don’t know about him, she thought sadly. 

“What would you like to do today?” he asked softly, and she looked up again to see him crumbling a bit of muffin in his fingers, watching her. 

She turned one palm up.  “I don’t know--is there anything you’d like to see?”  Sooner or later they were going to have to talk, she knew it and knew that he did too, but neither of them was quite ready to begin just then. 

Grissom smiled a little.  “This is Washington--the choices are dizzying.” 

“Yeah, they are.”  But she felt herself smiling back.  “However, if you don’t have a preference--I know just the thing.” 

 

They walked through the tiny atrium and the double doors, and Sara couldn’t help grinning as she watched Grissom’s face light.  He stared up into the humid, glass-ceilinged space, a rare wide smile spreading, and she congratulated herself silently as he slowly peeled off his ball cap and stuck it in his back pocket. 

The greenhouse was filled with all kinds of nectar-bearing plants, and everywhere--in the air, on the blossoms, occasionally on the visitors--were butterflies.  The botanical gardens’ exhibit had caught her eye when she had surfed for possible activities earlier in the week, and she was glad she’d put it on her list.  Grissom looked positively blissful. 

They wandered slowly around the greenhouse, breathing the moist air, and Grissom stopped every couple of feet to admire a new set of wings and to tell her about that particular specimen.  Sara listened, amused to see him so delighted; it had taken her a few minutes to get over the creeps when some of the butterflies decided to try her out as a landing site, but eventually she accepted the idea, letting them pause on her arm or shoulder and gently waving them away from her face. 

She wished for a camera when Grissom bent over to look more closely at something in velvety black poised on a tall stalk of blossoms; she wished for one even more when another butterfly in orange chose Grissom’s rear end as a spot to rest and alighted there so delicately that he didn’t notice, still absorbed in the one in front of his nose. 

But her incipient giggles choked off as she realized she was glad, after all, that she hadn’t brought a camera.  If this doesn’t work…I’d never be able to look at the photo.  It would hurt too much. 

Then he straightened, and both butterflies took off.  His brows drew together as he looked over at her.  “Is something wrong?” 

Sara shook her head.  “Nope.  Hey, what’s that one?” 

Grissom shot her one more look, but let it go, and they continued on through the wing-filled, airy room.  The day was grey but not rainy, so the light that filled the greenhouse was pearly rather than bright, and the flowers seemed to glow. 

It took Grissom a long time to get his fill of the insects; fortunately for his abstraction, there was only one other group of visitors, a handful of women exclaiming over the insects and apparently trading inside jokes, to judge by the laughter.  They paused to stare admiringly at Grissom when they passed him, but he was oblivious, much to Sara’s amusement.

She was a little surprised by the fact that she didn’t get bored.  But between his happy monologues, the mingled scents, and all the flowers and butterflies to look at…and Grissom to watch…she wasn’t.  Her hungry heart, ignoring her cautions, took every opportunity to observe Grissom as he moved from plant to plant and bug to bug, noting that the humidity was making his hair even curlier than her own, that the lines around his eyes were more present than they had been three years ago, how the creases bracketing his mouth deepened when he smiled… 

They ended up wandering deeper into the outdoor gardens afterwards, enjoying morning.  The flowerbeds were bright with summer and the vista was beautiful; gentle swells of grass, small ornamental trees, a meandering human-made lakelet, and bigger wild trees ringing the park at a distance. 

They walked without speaking or hurrying, along wide stone-paved paths, passing through the fragrance garden and ending up on the Japanese gazebo that perched over the lakelet’s still waters.  There were few other people about, and all of them were at a distance, tending plants or pushing strollers.  For a while they stood side by side, Sara with her hands in her pockets and Grissom leaning his arms on the rail, watching a couple of wood ducks floating out on the water and spotting the occasional orange gleam of a lurking koi. 

“So why did you ask Sofia out?” Sara asked at last, bringing the most painful issue out into the open in one flat-voiced sentence. 

Grissom’s mouth quirked, a little sad.  “I wanted to ask her to stay.  I knew if she left, the shift was going to be very short, and I hated to see Ecklie drive anyone off.”  His gaze turned from the far shore to meet hers.  “That’s all it was, Sara.” 

She nodded, feeling both a pang of guilt and the relief of a three-year-old ache.  “I’m sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion.” 

He shrugged.  “I shouldn’t have asked her in the lab or on the clock,” he pointed out.  “And I should have explained it to you.” 

Taken aback, she protested.  “You didn’t owe me--“

But he cut her off.  “Yes, I did.”  His eyes were dark and serious, and he turned to face her, still leaning on the rail.  “You know I did.” 

She squinted a little, her anger suddenly surfacing.  “Then why didn’t you?” 

“Because I was an idiot.”  Grissom looked back over the water, a little shame showing.  “I didn’t even think about what it looked like.” 

Sara let out a slow breath, calming slightly at the sight of the tension along his jaw, the way his fingers tightened on the wood.  Grissom’s expression was bleak. 

“I let you walk away,” he added, almost in a whisper.  “Without even trying.  That’s what I can’t forgive myself for, Sara.” 

She felt her mouth twitch.  “I’m having kind of a hard time forgiving you for it myself.” 

His lips pursed, and he tilted his head in wry acknowledgement, though he was still looking away.  “So…where does that leave us?” 

Grissom’s voice was still soft, and strained.  Through her anger, Sara realized that this was a turning point.  I could tell him to leave right now, say that this isn’t going to work, and he would go.  For a moment was terribly tempted to do just that--to put an end to the uncertainty and the risk. 

She thought about it, about sending him away in clear-headed sorrow instead of the bewildered mix of fury and hurt that had propelled her from Vegas before. 

And chose. 

“Look, Grissom…” 

His shoulders stiffened, as if for a blow, but she went on.  “Neither of us is exactly without blame here.  We might not be able to make this work--“  She gestured between them, fighting back a surge of elation at the surprise that he hid so quickly.  “--But I’ll never stop wondering, if we don’t at least try.” 

Grissom straightened, and Sara got the distinct feeling that if things had been just slightly different he would have backed her into the railing and kissed her.  As it was, his eyes burned. 

“We’ve got three days,” she continued.  “Let’s see if we can at least still stand each other.” 

He swallowed, and nodded. 

 

They spent the rest of the morning wandering around the lush park, taking it slowly in the muggy heat.  Without verbalizing it, they stayed away from touchy topics, discussing only the vegetation around them and their friends in Las Vegas.  Grissom told Sara about Catherine’s settling into the role of dayshift supervisor, and Sara revealed to him with a grin that Warrick had gotten quietly engaged six weeks before and somehow managed to keep it out of the lab’s gossip mill--probably by threatening Nick with death should he let the secret slip. 

“Won’t he kill you for telling me?” Grissom joked as they headed back to her car, and Sara snickered. 

“I’m two-and-a-half thousand miles away, and I’m a federal agent.  Besides, he won’t know you know unless you tell him.” 

Her mock-vicious look made him smile.  “Oh, by the way, I meant to ask,” he said.  “You mentioned earlier that Joseph and Kimmy have school--isn’t it a bit early for that?” 

Sara shook her head.  “Private school.  It lets out two weeks earlier in the spring and starts earlier in the fall.” 

Lunch was sandwiches from a small deli; Grissom insisted on paying for them, and Sara decided that it wasn’t worth arguing over.  They ate at a small table amidst the last of the lunch crowd, and Sara felt surprised at how comfortable it was.  The first hurdle was past, and now they were doing what they hadn’t done since San Francisco so long ago--simply enjoying one another’s company, without work. 

“So what do you want to do this afternoon?” Sara asked as she finished her sandwich.  Grissom had already indicated that he wanted to follow her lead, but he was the visitor, at least for the moment. 

He polished off a potato chip.  “Spend time with you.” 

Sara opened her mouth, and then closed it, still unused to this blunt honesty from a man more given to oblique statements.  Picking up the dill that had come with her sandwich, she held it between her hands, one forefinger at each end.  “Remember the time you lit one of these up?” 

He grinned, eyes crinkling, and it occurred to her that she had seen him smile more that day than she had in the last three months of working with him.  Wow.  Is it me, or just being away from work? 

“How could I forget?  It helped solve that case.” 

“Did you really cook hot dogs in college that way?”  She let the pickle slip into her palm and took a bite from the end. 

Grissom chuckled.  “No microwaves back in the Dark Ages.” 

Sara snorted at him.  “There were such things as hot plates.  Even if you did have to rub two sticks together to start them.” 

“Those weren’t as much fun.”  And she could picture him, younger and more slender, hair a mass of brown curls, setting up leads on a cluttered desk for a late-night snack and enjoying the sheer complexity of the whole thing. 

It was weird to remember a moment later that she herself would not yet have entered kindergarten at the time. 

But they do say that women mature faster than men. 

Sara kept the grin to herself and took another bite of pickle, swallowing before she spoke again.  “Ed and the kids want you to come over for dinner Sunday.  You don’t have to accept.” 

She wanted him to--wanted to see how he would deal with her brother and the children--but she also wanted it to be his decision.  Sara knew he wasn’t comfortable in social situations, and she didn’t want the evening to be awkward. 

But Grissom surprised her again, folding his hands and resting them on the table.  “I would love to have dinner with your family, Sara.” 

She shook her head, and he raised his eyebrows.  “What?” 

Sara set down her pickle, wiping her hands on her napkin.  “I don’t know what to make of you when you’re being all communicative and stuff.” 

“Neither do I, really,” he said wryly, eyes meeting hers in a direct look that she found difficult to sustain.  “But panic gives one a certain courage, apparently.” 

“Panic?”  She didn’t like the sound of that. 

He sighed.  “Until two weeks ago, I thought I...well, not that I would never see you again, exactly, but...” 

Sara nodded, knowing what he meant, and he went on.  “This is my last chance, Sara, you told me yourself.  If I don’t change, you’re out of my life for good.  I...don’t want that to happen.” 

His voice was strained again, and she remembered that night, clinging to him as they both trembled, confession of her most secret and exasperating fantasy still hanging on the air.  Admitting that, despite everything, she still cared.  Was still vulnerable to him. 

She’d given him an ultimatum when she’d gotten herself under control.  “If you want this, Grissom, prove it.  Do something.  I can’t wait around on the end of your string.” 

Somehow that had become this odd agreement, and had brought him here.  Now Sara looked at him, and his pain made her throat hurt; she wanted to reach across the table and grab his hand, reassure him. 

Nope.  He has to come through first.  But-- “Grissom, I don’t want you coming to dinner just to please me.” 

It had to be a two-way street.  He had to do things because he wanted to do them, as well as because she wanted them. 

His face softened.  “I do want to come, Sara.  They’re your family, and I want to get to know them.” 

“Yeah, I have days like that too,” she sighed, only half-joking, and he smiled.  “Okay.  But, Grissom--” 

She bit her lip, trying to organize her words, and Grissom watched her patiently.  “I don’t want you to change,” she said finally.  “I mean, yes, your behavior, but I don’t want you to change you.” 

She frowned.  “Does that make any sense?” 

He nodded slowly.  “Yes.  It makes a lot of sense.” 

“Okay, good.”  She gave him a bright smile.  “Then let’s blow this popsicle stand.  It’s too late to go to a museum, but I know a great used bookstore around here.” 

“Sounds good.”  Grissom picked up her tray before she could, and threw out their trash.  The hand he placed at the small of her back as they left was, she thought, probably more absent habit than anything else.  But it felt right. 

 

She drove him back to the suite in the gathering darkness while they discussed their finds in the bookstore; Sara had a grocery bag full of tomes behind her seat, but Grissom had a whole boxful.  “I need them,” he defended.  “My library’s still in Las Vegas.” 

Sara refused to read anything into the “still,” and merely laughed a little.  “Hey, I’m not arguing.  You know what they say--books breed like rabbits--” 

“--Bookcases breed like elephants,” Grissom finished smugly.  “I hadn’t seen a copy of that German insect guide before.” 

“You’ll have to bring it along on Sunday,” Sara commented.  “Joseph is in the bugs-are-cool stage.” 

“I’ll do that.”  Out of the corner of her eye, Sara saw Grissom give her a look.  “You never know, he might not leave it.” 

“Well, if he decides he wants an ant farm for Christmas, I’ll know who to call to set it up,” she shot back, appalled a second later at her own words.  What are you saying?  You have no idea if he’s going to be around by then. 

“I recommend Black Argentineans.”  Grissom sounded...satisfied.  But before she could analyze that, he went on.  “I take it you help with their homework?” 

“Most nights I’m home, yeah.  I’m better at math than Ed, that’s for sure.”  She couldn’t hold back the snicker.  “Tonight, though, Kimmy has Scouts, and then we’re all going out to dinner.” 

“Ah.”  Grissom shifted in his seat.  “That reminds me.  Sara, may I--” 

All the humor was gone from his voice, and Sara glanced over for an instant.  “What?” 

He exhaled.  “I want to take you out to dinner, Sara.  Properly.” 

“You mean like on a date.”  Her voice was flat with surprise. 

“I mean...like how I should have from the beginning.  Like you’re important to me, because you are.” 

Her head spun a little, irritation mixed with pleasure.  “Can you be more specific?”   

“Okay, yes, like a date.”  Another glance told her he was rubbing his beard nervously.  “I don’t want you to think I’m pushing, but this is important to me.” 

She couldn’t quite get a handle on the idea.  “Don’t you think this is a little, well, early?”  She wasn’t even sure they could still really be friends. 

“I suppose it is.”  His sigh sounded defeated.  “I just...I wanted to do it right for once.” 

And she heard the unspoken part of the sentence clearly.  In case I never get another opportunity. 

It was dangerous.  A date, an actual date with Grissom would be sure to knock her careful balance awry.  But he wanted it so much-- 

I’m in trouble if he figures out how much power he really has over me. 

“Well, tomorrow night’s the only night we have free, if you’re coming to dinner on Sunday.” 

She could almost taste his elation, but his voice was quiet.  “Thank you, Sara.” 

“Don’t thank me yet.”  She smirked a little and signaled for a turn.  “I never was very good at dating.” 

“We can be bad together then.”  And as she giggled at the unexpected double entendre, she saw the flash of his teeth in her peripheral vision, and a warm touch brushed her hand on the gearshift, too swift to catch. 

 

 

Grissom found himself a restaurant within walking distance of his suite, and took a couple of his purchases along to keep him occupied while he ate.  It was a long-familiar habit, sharing a table with a book rather than another person; he’d thought briefly about buying groceries instead, but had decided not to until he knew if he was going to be staying beyond Monday morning.  For the same reason, he had not yet rented a car. 

It felt lonely, eating by himself in the busy place, especially after spending all day with Sara.  But that was familiar; he had often thought of himself as lonely, but had not known how deep it could go until she had left Las Vegas behind. 

He supposed it was a good thing for them to spend this evening apart, time to regroup and assimilate, but he didn’t like it.  He felt greedy, almost desperate, wanting to hoard every second he could with her--not only as a bulwark against a possible future alone, but to feed his heart, so hungry after three years of silence.  It was why he’d turned up on her doorstep so early--he’d woken eager, unable to get back to sleep, wanting just to see her face again and prove to himself that the night before hadn’t been a dream.   

It had almost felt like one, watching her emerge from the townhouse and cross the street to him through the growing light, face expressionless.  Though if it had been his dream, Grissom acknowledged to himself wryly, she would have pulled him to his feet without a word and kissed him, rather than pointing out tartly that he could have called. 

Too bad. 

But this was real, and better.  If she let him stay, if she let him try, he could do all the things he should have done from the first time he had thought what if.  Woo her.  Court her.  Let her know that she was the most important thing in his life. 

Tomorrow night was going to be a gamble, because he really was bad at dating, but it was a necessary thing.  He didn’t just want Sara’s friendship, though he did want that badly; he wanted her.  And he wanted her to know it. 

Grissom smiled as he went back over the day in his mind--they’d gotten through a couple of the harder questions, and she hadn’t sent him packing.  And the fact that she’d chosen to take him to a butterfly exhibit...that gave him more hope.  She’d chosen it because she knew he would love it, chosen something that probably bored her a little.  It was that as much as her words that let him believe he still stood a chance. 

It wasn’t until he was walking back to his rooms that he realized that he didn’t feel futile any more.