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.   Many, many, many thanks to everyone who's left such wonderful feedback!  You are what keeps me going on this story.    ********* Grissom opened his front door with a feeling that was nine parts happy anticipation, and one part apprehension. He really didn’t think that he would find Sara declaring that she hated his place and was leaving right that second, but his subconscious insisted on presenting him with the scenario. He kept squashing it. Work had been the usual, at least on the surface. The knowledge that Sara was at home, hopefully sleeping, had been a small gem of still semi-incredulous delight that he had carried all night, feeling like it was a secret even though it wasn’t. No one had said a thing aside from a mild comment from Brass about his “new roommate”, and Grissom appreciated the lack of ribbing. The big main room was empty but for early sunlight, and Grissom closed the door behind him and called Sara's name softly. There was no answer, and he shrugged out of his vest and hung it on the coatstand before heading down the hallway. The little fear tickled at him as he found her office empty, but when Grissom stepped into the bedroom it vanished, because Sara was sound asleep on the bed, half-sitting up against the pillows with a paperback book lying next to her limp hand. He couldn't stop the soft smile that curled his lips, and he didn't try. She must have been up pretty late, to still be asleep. The urge to crawl into bed beside her and just cuddle her was strong, but-- I may not know much about relationships, but I know that trying to hug someone when you smell like the Dumpster you spent an hour in is not a good idea. Not to mention having the sheets reek afterwards. So Grissom picked up the blanket folded on the bottom of the bed and draped it carefully over Sara, not even daring to kiss her forehead when she stirred and murmured. Instead, he retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind him to try to keep the noise down, and scrubbed up. He took his time, pulling on clean jeans and an old T-shirt, and came back out planning to kiss Sara awake. But the bed was empty and the blanket back in place. Slightly disappointed, Grissom wandered back out to the kitchen, where the smell of fresh coffee led him. Still no Sara, but the sliding door was open, letting in fresh air. He stepped up to it to look out. Sara was setting the small table with plates and silverware; she'd brought out one of the dining room chairs and put it on the opposite side of the table from the lawn chair. She didn't start when he slid his arms around her from behind, instead straightening and leaning back into his embrace with a gratifying ease. “Good morning,” Grissom murmured, letting his lips find her ear, and Sara's arms folded over his as she made a happy sound. “Nice to see you too. How was work?” “Nothing special,” Grissom admitted, savoring the feel of Sara's warm weight against him. “The most exciting thing that happened was finding a live kitten in a Dumpster.” “Aww.” Sara turned a little, rubbing her cheek lightly against his face. “What did you do with it...and why were you the one doing the Dumpster diving?” “Greg took it back to the lab, and I think Bobby claimed it for adoption. And I was diving because Greg cut his hand on a piece of glass at the beginning of shift. It wasn't serious, but even with gloves and a bandage it's hazardous in a Dumpster with an open wound.” He explored the angle of her cheekbone with his lips for a moment. “You're such a good boss. Even if you're not his boss anymore.” Sara patted his arm and pulled away slowly. “Dinner should be almost ready.” Grissom arched a brow. “Since when do you cook?” She snorted at him and headed for the door. “Gil, you have a freezer full of food with labels that would pass an evidence inspection with flying colors. Even I can reheat leftovers.” She shot him a grin and stepped inside. The sun was already up, but the air was still cool enough to be pleasant, and they ate in a leisurely fashion, talking idly about various Dumpsters of their experience and what kind of new patio furniture they were going to get. After the dishes were cleared they separated for a while, Grissom to deal with some paperwork and Sara to answer e-mails. He became absorbed in a chapter outline for a potential book, and didn't surface until Sara rapped gently on his open office door. Grissom looked up over his glasses. She grinned at him again, mischievous and a touch shy. “I know you don't usually go to bed until noon, but would you mind if I seduced you into it a little early this morning?” All thoughts of the chapter fled, and Grissom took off his glasses and stood up. “Not at all,” he said drolly. “Far be it from me to hinder you.” Sara snickered, and came around his desk. Later, when they'd made it to bed, Grissom stroked her arm drowsily. “You don't have to stay with me,” he said, feeling sleep sneaking up on him. Sara shrugged a little. “I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. Besides, I start work next week, and goodbye leisure time.” “True.” Grissom decided not to argue. “What kept you awake?” “Kimmy called, she had a nightmare.” Sara yawned, muffling it with one hand. “Was she okay?” Grissom wondered how the younger Sidles were doing in the absence of their aunt. “Yeah, I think she was,” Sara said thoughtfully. She pushed closer to him, and Grissom took the opportunity to rest his head against her collarbone. “Good,” he said, and felt her nod. Her scent followed him into sleep. The next week passed easily--more easily than Sara had expected, she admitted to herself. True, she’d been sharing a house with other people for over three years now, but she’d had a big room all to herself. Though, if I’m going to be honest, we haven’t spent all that much time together overall. Sara paced slowly down the baking aisle at the grocery store, looking for chocolate chips. The grocery list was half in her quick scrawl, and half in Grissom’s tidy hand; he apparently had cookies on his mind, to judge by the oatmeal and raisins also listed. He was back on night shift, and she was trying to stick to a day shift, and they met in the middle. Though today the lab had called and asked him to come in to deal with two bug-ridden bodies. She rounded the end of a shelf and started down the next aisle, still thinking about that morning. They’d fallen into the habit of eating together before Grissom went to bed, and Sara had also gotten into the habit of climbing in with him until he fell asleep, but she knew that pattern wouldn’t last much longer. When I start work I’ll be out of the house before he comes home. But we’ll see each other in the evenings. In fact, if neither of them were working overtime, she would get home at about the time he was waking. Sara added cans of corn and pumpkin to her cart, making a mental note to find out if the Saguaro Square farmers’ market was still running; its fresh produce had always outstripped that found in grocery stores. Nick might know; he was always a fan of that place. She glanced down at the list, and had to laugh a little. One of the last entries was “ground beef”, but it had an emphatically-underlined note next to it: Sara, do not get. Leave for me. She shook her head fondly. Buying the stuff wasn’t a problem for her; after all, she could and did routinely deal with things much more nauseating than raw meat, and what gave her trouble was the thought of actually eating the stuff, not picking up plastic-wrapped packages of it. But she decided to let Grissom choose his own; it would please him, and it was sweet of him to want to save her the ostensible difficulty of it. Her cellphone chimed, and she pulled it off her hip, flipping it open when she didn’t recognize the number. “Sidle.” “’Lo, ma’am,” answered a laconic voice. “This is Jason with Quick-Ship Auto. We’re about an hour out from your place, you home?” Sara glanced at her watch automatically, suddenly elated. “I will be. 2005 Mercedes Cabriolet, right?” “Yep,” the man confirmed. “Virginia plates, black finish.” “Great.” She double-checked the address with Jason, then hung up and hurried through the rest of the list. With luck, they’d finish dropping off the car before she had to go pick Grissom up. She drove his car back to the townhouse, appreciating its handling but happily anticipating returning to her own familiar vehicle. Gil’s been wonderful about leaving me this one while he’s at work, but I hate to see him take a cab in. This will be much more convenient. And the convertible was better suited to Nevada’s sunshine than to the quirky weather of the Eastern Seaboard. Sara had just finished putting the groceries away when the blat of an air horn alerted her to Quick-Ship’s arrival. She grabbed a few bills from her wallet to tip the drivers and half-ran outside. One of the drivers was already opening the trailer’s double doors and extending its ramp. Sara had decided to pay extra to have her car moved in an enclosed trailer instead of one of the big open ones; she wasn’t a fanatic about her car, but neither did she want to accept delivery on one pocked with damage from twenty-five hundred miles of road debris. Five minutes later, the truck was rumbling out of the lot, and her convertible sat shiny and smug next to Grissom’s bigger sedan. Sara regarded both cars, and decided it was warm enough to wash them. Warrick stuck his head into Grissom’s shared office. “Hey, Griss, how's the timeline coming?” Grissom pulled off his gloves. “I just finished, at least for the moment. Why?” Warrick shrugged. “I saw Sara drop you off earlier, and I just got a call-out for a scene out your way. Want a lift home, or did you call her already?” “No, I didn't.” Grissom made a last notation in his log and closed it, a little surprised by the offer but pleased. “Sure, that would be great, if it's not out of your way.” Warrick snorted. “Like three blocks is gonna make a difference.” He waited as Grissom gathered his keys and portfolio, then stood aside so Grissom could exit the office. “How's the cohabitation thing going?” There was only casual sincerity in Warrick's voice, so Grissom gave him an answer. “Well so far.” “You mean you haven't killed each other yet,” Warrick translated as they headed out of the building. “Cool.” He slid his sunglasses onto his nose, and Grissom rolled his eyes and put on his own. “Since I know for a fact that you're not living with anyone, your assurance is somewhat suspect,” he pointed out. Warrick laughed and beeped open the SUV’s locks. As they pulled up next to the townhouse, both men’s gazes were caught by the sight of Sara, sponge in hand, soaping up the front grille of her convertible. Warrick whistled softly, and Grissom couldn’t tear his eyes away long enough to glare at him. It wasn’t that her clothes were immodest, Grissom thought absently; she was wearing a tank top and an FBI ball cap. It was just the sight of those long, long legs in mid-thigh shorts as she braced one hand on the hood and bent over to work on the grille. Long, long, long legs. “Uh-huh,” Warrick muttered under his breath, then spoke in a normal tone. “See you around, Griss.” Grissom managed a nod, and climbed out of the SUV. Sara looked up, and waved the sponge. Warrick tooted the horn and drove away. Grissom took in the details of the scene in front of him with one glance, then sat his portfolio on the front steps and went to kiss Sara. She returned it warmly. “Hey, you don’t smell.” He snickered. “Nick actually did the collection—the body had to be moved almost immediately.” He let her go and stepped back a little. “He’s gotten very good at determining which specimens are required.” Sara laughed. “He’s moved from birds to bugs?” Grissom nodded at the sponge. “You’re dripping. Actually, I think it’s more an expansion of his interests.” He took another casual step backwards. Sara turned back to the car and dipped the sponge in the bucket of soapy water, and Grissom bent down briefly. “Yeah, he’s aAACK!” Grissom held the stream from the hose on her even as she spun around, knowing that she was going to kill him and not really caring. Her sputter only made him laugh harder, and when she charged him and tried to stuff the sponge down his shirt they both got drenched as the hose was pinned between them. Grissom knew he was stronger than Sara, but the water made her slippery, and they were both laughing too hard to be very coordinated. Eventually she extracted what she seemed to think was enough revenge, and they both sat down heavily on the front steps, soaked and panting and still laughing. “Whew,” Sara said, trying to wring out the front of her top. “Next time I’ll know better than to turn my back on you when there’s a hose around.” “It was an impulse,” Grissom admitted, and ran a hand through his hair to get rid of some of the water. “You didn’t have to do my car too, you know.” She shrugged. “It didn’t make sense to do just one. I’m going to wax them in a little while.” Grissom opened his mouth, but the rise of her brows forbid protest. “Thanks.” “Sure.” She leaned briefly against his shoulder. “You should go back to bed.” “Mm, I guess.” Grissom regarded the sleek machine sitting next to his own elegant one, an idea forming. “Sara, would you let me drive your car?” She gave him a slightly baffled look. “Right now? I’m not done washing it.” “No, I mean in general.” “Of course.” Sara rose and stretched, giving Grissom another glorious look at her legs. “You’re already on the insurance.” She scooped up the discarded sponge and walked back to her car, submerging the sponge in the bucket and glancing back. “Sleep,” she repeated. Grissom smiled at her and pushed to his feet. “See you later, sweetheart.” He went inside and stripped off his wet clothes in the bathroom, planning a quick shower and a little research before bed. The idea was a good one. Sara glanced around the townhouse's main room before shutting the door, but she didn't think she'd forgotten anything. Heading down the sidewalk towards her car, she pressed the remote to lock and alarm the house, and another to unlock her car; the beep chimed in with the ring of her cellphone. Sara opened the car door with one hand and pulled out her phone with the other, smiling as she saw the number on the display. “Aren't you supposed to be working?” she teased lightly, swinging her frame into the driver's seat. Grissom chuckled. “Making personal calls is one of the privileges of being a senior CSI. Excited?” Sara shrugged a little even though he couldn't see her. “A little, I guess; starting a new job is always interesting.” She closed the door. “You're leaving already? Sara, you'll be there half an hour early.” “Traffic,” she improvised, smirking. “That fifteen-minute commute is so arduous,” Grissom agreed facetiously. “Well, I won't keep you. I just wanted to wish you a good day.” Sara smiled; Grissom could be so sweet sometimes. “Thanks. Sleep well when you get home, and I'll see you tonight.” “Count on it,” he agreed, and her smile widened at the promise inherent in his words. “Dream of me?” she teased again, and another low chuckle reached her ear. “Sara...I always do.” Flushing a little, she closed the phone and put on her seatbelt before turning on the engine. “We're delighted to have you here, Ms. Sidle,” Dr. Thakur said, shaking hands as they stood in the lab director's office. “Your record is outstanding, and Toby Washington has threatened to come and take you back east if I don't make you happy.” The diminutive woman's smile was equal parts courtesy and humor, and Sara returned the firm grip, feeling both confident and...tall. “I'm very pleased to be here, Doctor. And I appreciate you accepting a transfer on such short notice.” “Not at all,” Thakur said, waving Sara to a seat in her office--which, unlike that of either Catherine or Grissom, was cluttered with paper and books. “It's not hard to get good people here, but it is difficult to get them to stay more than a few years. Sooner or later they get sick of the lights or the desert, and decide to go elsewhere. But your resume says you worked here for several years before joining the Bureau?” Sara tugged her jacket into place and nodded. “Yes, at the county lab. I...learned a lot.” Thakur smiled again, a wry expression. “I imagine you did. Well, it's another point in your favor. On the occasions when we do have to take over a case here--as distasteful as it is for all concerned--we can be sure that the evidence already collected is irreproachable. It does deserve its reputation.” Sara tucked that compliment away to share later. Grissom would probably just snort, but Nick and Catherine would get a kick out of it. Thakur cocked her head and regarded Sara intently. “What sent you east in 2005?” “Family concerns,” Sara said easily. “My brother lost his wife right around then and needed some help with his kids. I was feeling a little burned out at the time, and it turned out to be a good move.” The truth and nothing but...but not quite the whole truth. However, if her new boss suspected that the statement was incomplete, she gave no sign. “And now you've come back.” She nodded once, not asking why Sara had returned, and leaned forward to hand Sara a folder thick with papers. “Welcome back to bureaucracy. You can get started filling those out, unless--” And she glanced past Sara's shoulder, to her open office door. Sara turned in her seat. A dark-haired, compact man about Sara's age was standing in the doorway. “Hey, boss. We're back.” Thakur rose. “Good, then you can take Ms. Sidle on the grand tour.” Sara stood up as well as the man came in, and shook his outstretched hand. “This is Jake Smith,” the director continued. “Our resident print expert.” Jake grinned, showing very white teeth. “They touch, I tag. Pleasure. Come on and I'll introduce you to everyone.” Sara let him lead her out into the corridors of labs and offices that made up the FBI, Las Vegas branch, and shook more hands as she met other agents and lab techs, and looked at equipment that was out of date but not too much so. We did get the best stuff in D.C....eventually. That would take some getting used to; even the Bureau had been a bit of a come-down, given the cutting-edge equipment at the county lab. But that's just because of Grissom's grants. And, lately, Catherine's push, she had to admit. Lunch was take-out from a local deli, but her new co-workers chattered easily with each other despite the limited time to eat, casually including Sara but not pushing for every detail of her life. They must be used to seeing people come and go, she realized, forking up some salad and listening as three of the techs--all women--ganged up on Jake to tease him about his girlfriend. When one of them turned to Sara and laughingly demanded her support, or at least agreement, she had to smile. It's early yet...but I think I'm going to like it here.    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