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 lab was intensely familiar when Grissom stepped through the doors, in the way that known places become after a long absence. The very smell of the corridors, chemicals and floor polish, held a new sharpness, and Grissom realized that he’d missed work. Well, he’d expected to, but the proximity of Sara and the terror and delight of courting her had quickly distracted and occupied him. Living in Virginia, away from all his ordinary habits and routines, had forced him to create new ones, and he had to admit that he’d enjoyed the ones he’d formed--both the challenge of working for the museum and as a freelancer, and the time spent with Sara, either with her alone or with her family. It had been fun, and challenging, and delightful as he and Sara rebuilt their friendship and she warmed to his advances. And if she had chosen to stay in Virginia, Grissom thought as he made his way to the director’s office, he would have been happy to continue as he was, or to find a more permanent position. But since she wants to come back here-- He was smiling, and he didn’t care. It felt like all his dreams were coming true at once. A tall dark figure met him at the director’s door, a shy grin widening over Abdul’s face as the younger man held out a hand. “Grissom, it’s good to see you back.” Grissom shook his second-in-command’s hand firmly. “It’s only a flying visit,” he noted. “I’m on my way to California.” “Nonetheless.” Abdul gestured towards the door. “After you.” Grissom preceded him, and found both the lab’s director, a bluff and no-nonsense scientist with the improbable name of Dr. Isabeau Kamura, and the current Sheriff, one Reginald Smithson, waiting for them. “Sheriff, Isabeau,” Grissom greeted them, being much more at ease with Kamura than he had been with the two previous directors. Smithson nodded to Grissom and Abdul, but Kamura leaned back in her chair. “All right, Gil, you’re here. Explain.” Grissom smiled politely, sat down in the chair she pointed him at, and did. Forty-five minutes later, he and Abdul emerged from the office, Grissom smug and Abdul rather dazed. “Supervisor--are you sure?” Abdul said, tugging at his ponytail of black hair, which Grissom knew was a sure sign of distraction. “I wouldn’t have proposed it if I weren’t. Let’s go to the office and we can discuss the details.” Grissom nudged his CSI towards the generous space that was his own primarily, but which Rahman was using while Grissom was away. Abdul hadn’t made many changes, Grissom noted as he pushed open the door and turned on the light; there was an additional desk lamp, and a philodendron on the corner of the desktop, but that was all, aside from the unnatural tidiness of the desktop itself. He moved for the two chairs in the corner, guessing that Abdul would be more comfortable than if one of them were on the other side of the desk. The CSI sat down abruptly, as though his knees had given out, and Grissom couldn’t help smirking a little as he sat opposite. “This is more warning than I ever got,” he pointed out. “And you can refuse the offer, if you really don’t want it.” Abdul’s eyes flashed. “Of course I want it. I just--you--” Grissom shrugged, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankle. “You’ve been doing very well as the temporary supervisor of night shift,” he said. “You’re ready for a permanent position, and I hate to take it away from you; the only other opportunities are elsewhere, given that neither of the other shift supervisors are ready to leave.” “But are you ready to just--stop like that?” Abdul folded his hands, looking at Grissom with a concerned expression. “I’m not stopping. I’m just reorienting my focus. I’ll be working part-time, and I’ll step in to handle difficult cases and anything involving insects or other areas of my expertise. I just won’t be supervising any more.” Abdul shook his head. “It’s hard to imagine the lab without you in charge of nights. I mean, sure you were gone, but we always knew you’d be back.” Then you had more faith than I did, Grissom thought, but didn’t say it aloud. “I have other things I want to accomplish,” he admitted. “UNLV has contacted me about creating a post-doctorate program in forensic sciences, and while I’m not sure I want to get involved, I’m ready to make some changes in my life. The supervisor’s position just takes up too much time.” He cocked a brow at his CSI. “That is something you should bear in mind. Your workload will double, sometimes triple, and there’s the political aspect to consider--which is never something I managed to master.” Abdul nodded, relaxing somewhat. “I’ve already noticed the workload increase,” he admitted ruefully. “But if you really think I’m ready--” Grissom took off his glasses to see Abdul more clearly. “I do. You’ve proven that over the last six months, and you’ll get two more before any decisions are final, so you still have time to change your mind.” They discussed the switch for a while, working through potential ramifications, good and bad. It was clear that Rahman wanted the position very much, and with every word Grissom felt lighter. I’ll have time--time to work, time for Sara. He’d never wanted to be supervisor, but once saddled with the position he’d kept it, mostly to make sure his shift got the supplies and equipment he needed, and to keep away interference as much as possible. And--admit it--to keep someone else from getting the spot and making you do things you didn’t want to do. But he could hand over the reins to Abdul happily, secure in the knowledge that his team would be well cared for and that he himself would not have to answer to anyone but Kamura. I never meant to stay a supervisor forever anyway. Finally Abdul stood up to leave. “I need to get ready for tonight,” he said apologetically. “If I can just grab a few files--” Grissom stood up as well. “It’s your office more than it is mine at this point,” he countered. “I’ll leave you to it and see if I can find the others before your shift starts. If not, tell them I’ll see them in two months.” “Absolutely.” They shook hands again, and Abdul smiled shyly. “Thank you, Grissom.” “You earned it,” Grissom told him, and took his leave. Before he’d even closed the office door all the way, however, his name was ringing down the corridor at a pitch that made him both wince and smile. “Grissom!” He turned, and held out his arms, because to not do so would be to have them pinned to his torso in a move both uncomfortable and undignified. “Hey, Catherine.” She gave him a fierce hug. “Damn, Gil, you look great! I almost didn’t recognize you, except who else has legs like yours.” He snorted, and released her. “It’s nice to see you too. What are you doing here so late?” “Paperwork, what else?” She started towing him towards her office. “Come in and sit down for a minute. I need to hear about what you’ve been up to.” Grissom resisted the pull. “I wanted to catch Greg and the others before shift starts.” Catherine didn’t let up. “I know for a fact that they’re about to get called out to a triple murder downtown, because I told Brass straight up that I wasn’t pulling a double for that one. Get in here.” Grissom gave in, deciding that it was the better part of valor, and let her lead him into her office. It was smaller than his, but then Catherine didn’t keep shelves full of forensic oddities either; she shoved him gently towards a chair, and perched on the corner of her desk. “So what the hell have you been up to, Gil? We all thought you were burning out, and then you disappear for six months, and come back looking like…” She gave him a sharp look. “Like you got laid, now that I think about it.” Grissom rolled his eyes. “Catherine, please.” She waved a hand. “Okay, okay. But seriously, what have you been doing?” “I told you, taking some time off.” Grissom regarded her with amusement. “Consulting, reading…generally making a change. I needed a different environment.” “Yeah, you did,” Catherine said with characteristic frankness. “But I’m glad you took it, Gil, because you look a hell of a lot better now.” “I feel better,” he agreed, with no intention of telling her just why. He didn’t know how Sara felt about revealing their relationship to their friends, and so he would say nothing for the moment. Besides…it still feels private. “So are you coming back now?” Catherine asked. “Got all your kinks worked out?” “Not yet--I’m extending my leave by two months. I have some…family issues to deal with.” His friend’s curiosity softened towards sympathy. “Your mom?” She and Doc Robbins were the only two of his colleagues who had met his mother. “Yeah. She has to move into more assisted care.” “Well, that sucks.” Catherine gave him a commiserating grimace, and Grissom reflected that this was one of her aspects that he appreciated--she didn’t try to comfort him or find the bright spot, she just acknowledged that things were not good. Her raised eyebrows told him she wanted more information if he were willing, so he decided to be obliging. “She has Alzheimer’s. Early stages.” Catherine winced, and Grissom shrugged, not wanting to add details. She nodded, resting her hands on her thighs. “But you are coming back.” Half a question, and he answered it. “Yeah. I’m not going to be heading the shift any more, but I’ll be back.” He expected a protest, but Catherine nodded again, this time in approval. “Good. Rahman’s a great supervisor, the night shift team loves him. If you didn’t make his position permanent, the lab would lose him to the first headhunter to come along.” She reached out with one foot and nudged his knee. “Not to mention, it’ll be nice to see your face around here again, Bugman.” Grissom arched a brow and pretended annoyance. “Why do you care if the night shift keeps its supervisor?” She snorted. “Have you actually looked at the man, Gil? I mean, I know you’re a guy, but still. He looks just like that guy from The Mummy Returns, and the voice…!” Grissom snickered. “So in essence, he’s eye candy?” “Says the man who told me he missed my backside.” Catherine folded her arms in mock indignation. “He’s also a good CSI, Gil, and he keeps his people happy. If we had to lose you, he was the best substitute.” “Fair enough.” Grissom was actually quite pleased with her assessment of Rahman’s abilities; it matched his own, and fit with what Greg had told him over the phone. I always meant Warrick to have the position, but he’s moved on to other things. Abdul will do well. He glanced at his watch. “Well, by now I’ve missed the night shift, and your boys are long gone. Want to grab some dinner?” Catherine hopped off the desk. “I have to get home to Lindsey. You’re welcome to come with, though, I’m sure we can find something to feed you.” Grissom considered the offer. He was tired, but not overly so, and his flight to Los Angeles wasn’t until early evening the next day. “That sounds good.” “C’mon then.” Catherine went around the desk and pulled her shoulder bag from a drawer. “You can tell me what you’ve been up to.” Grissom stood, and held the door for her. “Even if it involves insects?” he teased, and she laughed as they went out. She missed him. Sara tried to ignore the empty feeling, but there was no getting around the space in her middle. She busied herself with work, and the kids, and in helping Ed begin the sorting of his dead wife’s possessions, but always underneath was a new current of loneliness. It’s only ten days, she reminded herself. Only another week. And, You were apart for three years, and right after Christmas, so what’s your problem? But she knew exactly what it was. For three years she’d done her best to put Grissom out of her mind; after Christmas, everything was still so new. Now...now they’d passed their first trial of fire, and could believe a little harder in themselves. They were beyond the first tentative step, and were really starting to plan for the future. Not to mention, now she knew what it was like to spend a night with him curled up around her, both of them worn out with loving one another-- She sighed, and glanced over at her silent phone, before rolling onto her stomach on her bed and stuffing a pillow under her chin. Her big room was beginning to echo, now that half of its contents were in boxes, but at the moment Sara just didn’t feel like doing anything more. Except talk to Grissom. He called every night, and she could tell just by the sound of his voice that he missed her too. The second night he’d been gone he’d called from Los Angeles, sounding animated and pleased by how things had gone in Las Vegas, and she’d smiled at the ceiling while she’d listened, delighted by his pleasure. But as the week had worn on, he’d become less and less cheerful, his voice going quiet and gravelly with stress. Sara made him tell her about the near-endless runaround from location to location, struggling to get Rosalie’s place in a new facility secured, to set up more controls over her finances--the gentle, painful lessening of her control over her own life, because it was no longer safe for her to have that control. Grissom didn’t give Sara a lot of detail, but it was clear that it was soul-wounding work. This is dumb. Sara shoved herself upright and got off the bed. I have plenty of stuff I can do while I wait. She turned on her radio--keeping it low, the kids were in bed--and started sorting through old papers. She was halfway tempted to drop it all in a box and deal with it later, but decided it was worth culling it to keep from having to ship it. After a while, old letters absorbed her, and the sudden chime of her phone made her jump. Sara shoved the papers from her lap and lunged across her desk to scoop up the phone. “Hello, Gil.” She could all but hear his eyebrow going up, three thousand miles away, at her breathless tone. “Did I interrupt something?” Sara grinned, and settled back onto her bed. “Nah, I just had to dive for the phone. How was your day?” Grissom let out something between a sigh and a chuckle. “Long. I’ve dealt with three separate bureaucracies today, none of them particularly cooperative.” “The bank?” Sara asked with sympathy; his mother’s financial institution was making him jump through any number of hoops. “No, actually--I finally got all the documentation they required, and they’re being very helpful now.” A faint shushing noise reached her ears, and she could see him in her mind’s eye, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. “It’s the new facility, and…never mind. You’ve heard it before.” Sara sighed. “I wish I were there--at least I could give you a neck rub.” She knew without seeing them that the muscles of his neck and shoulders were knotted tightly. Grissom made a small, wistful sound. “I wish you were too.” “How’s Rosalie?” Sara asked; a nightly question, but one she meant every time. “Tired,” Grissom replied. “She’s going along with what I’m doing, but she doesn’t like it, and that makes it hard for us to talk.” Sara’s heart hurt for Grissom, for the weariness in his tone. She wanted to put her arms around him and just hold him for a while, to feel his hug and his breath on her cheek. “Have I told you recently how much I admire you?” She knew he was smiling. “Several times. Sara, I’m just doing what’s right.” “That may be true, but not everyone does do the right thing,” she pointed out firmly. “You know that.” “Well, there have been many times in my life when I haven’t. How was your day?” he asked, obviously trying to change the subject. Sara let him. “Pretty good. We wrapped up two cases and started another, nothing unusual.” They chatted for a little while about what they’d done during daylight hours, saying nothing really important, but Sara knew the importance lay in the sharing. Grissom was doing his very best to be open to her, and she treasured the effort as much as the results. Eventually he sighed. “I should let you go; you have work tomorrow.” Sara eyed the clock. It was getting late, but-- “Gil, this is me, remember? I never sleep.” He chuckled. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. And besides, I don’t want to be responsible for you falling asleep in the middle of evidence tomorrow.” She snorted, grinning. “As if. Just keep in mind you’ll be home in five days.” Wait-- “Sorry, I mean, back.” Sara bit her lip, dismayed at her phrasing. Home for Grissom was Vegas. I don’t want him to think I don’t want to go back to Nevada-- “Sara.” His voice was soothing, warm, just the sound of it made her spine relax. “Home is where you are. I’ll be home in five days.” That did it. Sara lay back, feeling her insides melt, and swallowed hard. “I miss you too.” Grissom opened his laptop and waited for it to boot up, grateful that Susan had taken Rosalie out for the day. Grissom loved his mother dearly, but he was used to spending a lot of time alone, and being almost constantly around his relations was beginning to wear on him. Three days. Just three more days, and you’ll be back with Sara. As it was, he was going to have to push to get everything done that he needed to do. There was no reason why he couldn’t extend his time in California, he had nothing on his schedule back in Virginia. Except he missed her. Grissom sighed, and connected his laptop to the Internet. Checking his e-mail made a welcome break from the myriad tasks of getting his mother ready to move. He glanced around the apartment, quailing at the thought of just packing up all the paintings, knickknacks, and books, let alone all Rosalie’s other possessions. But Jack will probably handle most of it, if I ask him. His uncle was a stolid, silent man, who had had a long career at a major insurance company before retiring. He spent most of his time on carpentry these days, but Grissom knew the man loved a big project. It would be right up his alley, and Mom trusts him. Grissom set the problem aside for the moment and scanned the list of messages. Newsletters from various societies and institutions, two electronic journal notifications, a note from Nick about insect collection, a long letter from Sara and a short one from Joey, and one more message from Ed. He shunted the business stuff into a “read later” folder, answered Nick’s question, read Joseph’s letter with a smile and replied with a spectacular image of a giant water bug, and savored Sara’s missive, which was a collection of funny stories about her coworkers. She must have been bored today. It ended with a tender phrase that made him bite his lip in longing, and he set the letter aside; to answer properly when he’d read it over again. The note from Ed was short and written in the scientist’s unmistakable style. Hey Doc, it read, I still think you’re asking the wrong person, but I kept an eye on her, and caught a couple of things. For one thing, she wears a six. Second, she likes pretty funky-looking stuff--unique, you know? She was drooling over a couple of vintage pieces, though I don’t think it necessarily has to be vintage. Just not something you’d find at every corner jeweler’s. Sorry, I know that’s not a lot of help, but it’s the best I can do. See you next week-- Grissom shook his head. “It’s more help than you think,” he said, addressing the screen absently. He glanced at the computer’s clock, then shut the machine down. It was only late afternoon. Enough time to run an errand...or two. Marina del Rey, being a tourist area, had a wide range of shopping options available. Grissom, not quite sure what he was looking for, headed for the boardwalk and strolled along it, passing shop after shop and waiting for something to catch his eye. Twice he ducked into places that looked promising, but both times they disappointed him; the stock was too flashy, or too modern, or not unusual enough. The sun set in a blaze of clear light over the sea, and the lights over the boardwalk came on, making sharp shadows and turning each shop into a neon-lit fantasy or a glowing cave of treasure. Grissom neared the end of the boardwalk, feeling tired and hungry, and decided that the end of the strip of retailers would be the end of his quest for the day. The stores will be closing soon anyway. But the third-to-last one drew his attention. Its window display was much like some of the other stores’, using sand and shells to display small wares, but the mermaid statue in one corner was unique. The sea-woman sat on her own coiled tail and gave him a smile that reminded him of Catherine, lazy femininity assured of its own power. On impulse, Grissom pulled the door open. For a moment, despite the necklaces in the window, Grissom thought he’d come to a dead end again; the shop was filled with all kinds of items, including clothing and artwork, and there were even a few fantastical kites hanging from the ceiling. But then he saw that the counters were also display cases, and he brushed past a rack of scarves and a huge basket filled with glass globes. The man behind the counter looked up from a copy of The Sparrow as Grissom approached. He didn’t fit the shop at all; he was big, with a notable gut, and he wore a tidy goatee and the vest to a suit over his dress shirt. An intricate tattoo of a decapod adorned the back of one hand, and watery blue eyes behind small lenses looked at Grissom sharply. “May I help you?” he asked, his voice smooth and cultured. Unintimidated, Grissom looked back. “I’m just browsing for the moment, thank you.” Rather than offering assistance, the man nodded politely and returned to his book. Grissom bent over the cases. Rows of bracelets, of necklaces, of rings sparkled under the glass. Grissom’s brows went up as he looked; these were definitely unique. Some were chunky, abstract pieces with huge stones set in them, while others were impossibly delicate, as though made by fingers smaller and more clever than any human’s. One cluster of rings, obviously all by the same artist, drew Grissom’s eye. They were fluid and asymmetrical, rich gold wrapping around pearls and diamonds and more vivid gems in a fashion that looked almost organic. No two were alike. Grissom straightened, and pointed. “I’d like to see these, please.” Without speaking, the big man put down his book again and unlocked the back of the case to lift the tray out. Grissom examined many of the rings, trying to imagine them on Sara’s strong hand, trying to tell if any of them would please her. The prices on most of them were more than he had paid for her amber bracelet, but that didn’t concern him; if he found the right ring, price was immaterial. Eventually he was able to narrow his choices down to four. One was obviously far too small; Grissom set it aside. “We can resize some pieces if you like,” the man said. “It usually takes a week to ten days.” Grissom glanced up. “I’ll keep that in mind, then, thank you.” The rings all pleased him, but he felt a certain dismay at the thought of buying one and not taking it with him. He had no specific timetable, but having the ring to hand would be...reassuring. Of the remaining three, one he discarded for no other reason than some instinct that said Sara wouldn’t like it as much as she might one of the others. The last two were harder; one held a row of three pearls in a sort of long golden shell, with two tiny emeralds nestling at the ends, while the other was a tangle of gold that held another diamond and three small rubies. Both were elegant and unusual, and he could picture either of them on Sara’s ring finger. Shifting his jaw as he tried to decide, Grissom mentally added a wedding ring as well, and his choice was suddenly clear. The emerald ring would not accommodate another ring on the same finger; the shell was too wide. “This one.” Grissom held the ruby one out on his palm, hoping that the size was correct. The big man picked it up and sized it gravely; it was, much to Grissom’s relief, exactly a six. The salesman inserted it carefully into a ring box and rang up the sale. Grissom wrapped his fist around the small container, wondering with ironic amusement how he’d gotten to this place. Eight months ago I was living life with no hope, nothing at all to look forward to. Now I’m planning to ask Sara to marry me. Grissom had to admit he had no idea if she would actually say yes. He had her heart, and he was finally learning to trust that, but he didn’t know if Sara’s worldview or plans included the bonds of matrimony. But he had to ask. I want her in my life for the rest of my life. I want her for always. I want her promise that she’ll stay forever, and I want to promise her the same thing. Grissom signed the form, took his receipt, and walked back out into the chilly air, determination and hope in his pocket.      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