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.   Please do not twit me about FBI rules or procedure.  I am exercising author's privilege on this one and making it up as I go along.  Thank you!    ********* Summer came early to Las Vegas, baking the city in ferocious heat, but Sara found herself almost basking in it after three years of chilly winters and muggy wet summers.  She stocked up on more sunscreen, rued the fact that the FBI required suits instead of more comfortable clothes, and stayed in touch with her family back east.  And she and Grissom settled into a routine, finding which habits fit best and what annoyed the other, and discovering that living together was easier than it had any right to be.     She found out that Grissom’s neck tensed up after hard cases, and how to unkink its knots, which always left him drowsy with relief; he found out that she loved to have her feet rubbed, and that if he did it long enough she would pounce him and drag him off to the bedroom.  She learned that Grissom loathed bananas, and he learned she hated tequila.  He began stocking her favorite beer in the spare fridge in the garage, and she found herself buying Raisinettes every time she went to the store, because he ate them so quickly.    She fell into the habit of calling her family every Sunday afternoon, spending thirty or forty minutes chatting with her niece and nephew about their week, and then talking with Ed.  Sometimes Kimmy or Joseph would ask to speak to Grissom as well, mostly to ask questions, but it never failed to tickle her when his ears would pink up with slightly embarrassed pleasure at the summons to the phone.    Grissom’s townhouse complex included a pool, and Sara discovered that Grissom loved to swim when he had time, claiming that doing endless laps was “meditative”.  She didn’t argue, instead joining him in the evenings after the kid rush was over, and they would cruise up and down the lanes, apart and yet together, before going peacefully home to share a rinsing shower.    There were layers to happiness, Sara discovered.  She’d told Grissom the past summer that she hadn’t been happy, but on looking back she realized that her contentment in her family was a form of happiness that she hadn’t recognized.  Now she missed them, but found that being with Grissom offered a richer contentment, a deeper happiness--a sense of rightness that defied articulation.  It was made up of so many things; little things sometimes, like knowing that if she felt sad or lonely, she could curl up on the couch next to Grissom, and his arm would come around her and snug her in tightly, even if he were absorbed in a journal, and hold her until the feeling dissipated.    Or knowing that he felt free to roll over in bed and put his head on her stomach, seeking his own comfort, and that she could reach down and stroke his hair as long as she liked, as his tension ebbed and he sighed against her skin.           Grissom opened the front door of the townhouse and stepped into the welcome coolness, closing the door behind him with a sigh and dumping his keys and wallet onto the breakfast bar.  The house was silent, but he could smell Sara in the air, and that fact pleased him, even now.    He kicked off his shoes and padded towards the bedroom, wanting a shower.  It was always a little disappointing to come home when Sara was already gone to work, but knowing that she would most likely be there when he woke up was the antidote.  Plus, there was an even chance that she would simply slide into bed next to him when she got home, catching a quick nap and letting him wake with her in his arms.  It was one of the small lovely things she did, without needing to discuss it.    One long shower later, he pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, made himself a thick sandwich, and sat down in his office to do some personal paperwork.  He still handled the utility bills and so forth, but now out of a joint account that they had set up within days of Sara’s arrival.  It was another thing that hadn’t required much discussion; they were both of the same mind.  Most of their salaries went into that account, or another savings account that they shared; both of them had kept private ones as well, though Grissom suspected with amusement that the main purpose was so that they could each buy presents for the other without spoiling the surprise.    He wanted to buy her gifts.  Always, Grissom admitted to himself, and in fact he had a bookmark folder in his laptop’s browser filled with possibilities.  But he didn’t want to overwhelm her, either; showering her with tokens of his affection would make her uncomfortable.    Better to spin them out over time.  After all, there were birthdays, and Christmases, and the occasional random moment.    And anniversaries.  Grissom idly listed a few dates on a scrap of paper, knowing that Sara wouldn't think to celebrate them; the day Joseph had gotten lost, the day she'd decided to come back to Las Vegas, the day they'd originally met.  All of them possibilities.    Eventually he went to bed, tucking Sara's pillow under his head instead of his own, and dreamed an absurd dream of proposing to her in the shower.           Sara sighed.  No matter what some people said, stakeouts were boring.  And even in the Bureau she normally didn't have to bother with them, but this time....    She shifted in the back seat of the unmarked car and pulled Ed's letter out of her pocket.  He'd sent her a long e-mail, and she'd printed it off before leaving for work that morning, with plans to read it at lunch, but lunch had been preempted by a sudden break in a drugs case.  Thakur had ordered them all out with the arresting team, to dive in as soon as all the suspects were in custody and try to save whatever evidence they might try to destroy.  But this meant sitting and waiting while the arresting team chose its moment.    And they can't seem to make up their collective mind.  It was an idle gripe; Sara knew that when taking on a group of heavily armed drug dealers it was wise to be careful.  But just sitting here is such a waste of time.  There isn't even room back here for my laptop.    Next to her sat Jake Smith, arms folded across his chest, to all appearances dead to the world; she knew now, however, that his doze was actually light and that he would come out of it bright-eyed and alert as soon as something started to happen.  Her fellow agents in the front seat were talking in low voices about football.  Sara turned to her letter with a sense of relief.    Hey sis, it read.  Thought I'd bring you up to speed on various details, since I seem to forget them every time we talk.  Have I thanked you recently for talking Grace into moving out west with us?  Thank you, thank you.  *salaam*  I don't know what decision I'd have ultimately made if she'd decided to stay behind, and besides the kids are much happier that she's going too.  Joey's asked me point-blank if I'm going to marry her, and Kimmy keeps giving me these indulgent looks, but I've sworn them both to secrecy and threatened to eat all their ice cream myself for a year if they spill my plans.    The house deal went through; it's within walking distance from campus, and it's big enough for the four of us plus you two WHEN you come visit.  Note the when.  I got really lucky.  I think the only reason it worked is that the seller's a Whitney alum; when the realtor said I was getting a job there, she apparently put my name at the top of the bid list.  Pretty cool, huh?  Grace is still working on an apartment, and if you want to offer her more funds I can supply them.  Hint.  Not that she'll stay in one for long if I have anything to say about it.    Kimmy's still kind of worried about moving out there, but she's being brave about it.  Man, she's growing up fast.  I am going to be SO glad to have a woman in the house again, I'm telling you.  I mean, there's some questions a dad just can't answer, and she can't call you for all of 'em.    Schools--I've checked out a few online and it looks like there's a great one for Joey nearby.  Kimmy’s might be more of a problem, but she's been making noises about trying public school next year, so that may work out.    We've gotten a lot of packing done; did I tell you I found your brown jacket and a box of textbooks?  I don't think you ever unpacked the books.  I'll take them with and you can pick them up when you come visit, unless you say otherwise.  My realtor says selling the house shouldn't be a problem, but that doesn't surprise me--location, location, new paint job....    It's a little rough leaving this place.  I mean, Jen and I bought it together.  Not to mention taking the kids so far away from their grandparents.  But it's like you said about Las Vegas when you came east--I've outgrown D.C.  Maybe I'll come back some day, but I know Jen wouldn't thank me for hanging around and being sentimental.  In fact, knowing her, she'd probably kick my ass for it!  I love strong women....    You still sound happy when I talk to you.  I'd read between the lines except there don't seem to be any lines--Doc G is taking good care of you.  Well, he'd better!  Not that I'm worried.  But if he ever needs a talking-to or a good dose of something miserable but non-lethal--malaria, say--you know who to call.    The move date's sometime in early August, so plan on visiting no later than September.  Sure, everything'll still be a mess, but I miss you, little sister.  And so do the kids and Grace.  Besides, I know you'll want to check everything out.    Talk to you Sunday, and say hi to that guy you're living with.  Love ya.    “What's that?  Laundry list?” Jake asked lazily, dissolving the phantom sound of Ed's voice.  Sara smiled a bit, wistful and warmed, and looked up at him.  His eyes were barely open, but she knew he was quite aware of his surroundings.    “Letter from my brother.”  Sara folded the sheets again and tucked them away in her pocket, having learned from experience that Jake had few inhibitions and was quite capable of trying to snatch them from her hands if he were curious enough.  The fact that he was without any sort of malice kept her from being too annoyed; in a lot of ways he reminded her of Greg, though without the same edge of zaniness.    “Huh, cool.  My sisters never write me.”  Jake folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes again, looking darkly handsome with his mop of ebony hair.    “All your sisters live within the city limits,” Sara observed with amusement.  “Besides, I'll bet you wouldn't write back anyway.”    Jake managed a wounded look without opening his eyes.  “Hey, I answer letters.  In fact--”    The agent in the driver's seat, a big woman with the blonde good looks of her Viking ancestors, waved a hand at them.  “Hey, shut up, guys, they're on the move.”    All four of them came to attention, Jake leaning forward to peer over the blonde agent's shoulder.  About a quarter-mile away, they could see the sudden activity as the arresting team surrounded the ramshackle barn that had been turned into a drug storage depot and meeting place.  Even at that distance, those in the car could hear the attenuated pop and crackle of gunfire, and all their humor fled.    The operation was swift.  Within twenty minutes they were summoned to begin evidence collection, and the blonde agent started the engine and drove them up to the barn, passing two ambulances going in the opposite direction.  A third was still on site as they parked, and Sara winced as a coroner draped a sheet over a motionless form in body armor.  It wasn't someone she recognized at a glance, and she was sadly grateful.  Working for the Bureau sometimes meant losing colleagues; it wasn't as though the county police didn't get into dangerous situations, but agents encountered more such.  She had seen more agents go down in the past three years than she had seen cops killed in all her time working at the county level.    A last few suspects were led out of the raftered barn, cuffed and mostly swearing, and then the forensics people got the okay to go inside.  Jake was grumbling a little.    “What the hell are they being so cautious about?  It's not like we're civilians or something.”    Sara knew it was just his way of releasing tension, but as they passed through the big double doors and into a space that stank of chemicals and cigarette smoke, she couldn't resist teasing him a little.  “Hey, we're valuable.  We're the ones who're going to actually put away the bad guys.”  She gave him a skeptical look.  “I don't know why you're here, though.”    Their colleagues snorted as the four of them split up to quarter the barn.  Jake's expression was mock-haughty as he pulled on gloves.  “Oh, you'll pay for that, Sidle.  Later.”    Sara snickered, and began focusing.    It took hours to process the place, not that she expected any less.  Drug shipments had been stored in the main part of the barn without any attempt at concealment besides tarpaulins thrown over the stacks, and Sara suspected that the coverings were mainly to keep off dust and whatever animals managed to find their way into the building.  Fortunately for the dealers, rats didn't seem to be interested in the packages.    There was a crude entertainment center set up in the middle of the barn, with a scarred table, some battered chairs, a TV, and an X-Box, of all things.  The power came from a generator kept out behind the barn.  The loft was still half-full of ancient hay bales, but there were a few cots up there as well, and some dirty blankets.  Plenty of DNA evidence, Sara thought, and shuddered, counting her blessings.  Somebody else had to investigate the chemical outhouse next to the generator.    As the day wore on, they totaled up a huge number of drug packages, obscene both in value and in importation; collected myriad prints, fibers, hairs, and larger evidence; and barely remembered to break for lunch.    Sara had to admit, the Vegas Bureau agents were as dedicated as those in D.C. and her former county colleagues, if slightly more straight-edge.  But then, she couldn't quite see someone like Greg really fitting into federal law enforcement, either; the image of him with a latex glove on his head kept springing to mind, making her grin into her sandwich.    It was a good sandwich, pita bread with a sort of pesto hummus that Grissom had invented.  He'd packed it for her, too, leaving it in the fridge with a stern note to remind her to take it with her.  The small bag of corn chips and the bottle of green tea also in the bag made her feel a little like a kid sent off to school, but it also touched her.  Grissom did tend to scold her about not eating enough, but the tangible evidence of his caring never failed to lift her spirits a little.    As they finished processing, Sara went back up the rickety ladder to the loft, making a second pass.  She didn't often miss something, but it never hurt to be thorough, and on this round, thanks to the change in light, she spotted the corner of something poking out from a bale; it turned out to be a small knife, and she photographed it carefully before sliding it into a bag with a smirk of satisfaction.    As she finished her sweep and headed back towards the ladder, a small oddity caught her eye.  Sara stopped and sharpened her gaze.  Huh.    Ten feet out along one of the rafters lay a tiny oblong shape; it took her a moment of squinting to make out the details.  I do believe...that's a memory stick.    It was a prize, as far as evidence collection went.  Sara glanced around automatically for something to snag it with, but she already knew that there was nothing available--no pitchfork was going to be long enough anyway.    She pursed her lips consideringly.  There's no way to reach it from here--I could toss something at it, but what?  Besides, someone would have to catch it, and what if they miss?    Making up her mind, Sara kicked off her shoes and peeled out of her jacket, then tucked a small evidence bag into her waistband.  Flexing her fingers nervously in their latex coverings, she decided that lower was safer, and reached out.    The rafter was only about two feet above the loft floor, and it was easy to hoist herself onto it.  It was rough; Sara grimaced, and anticipated major damage to her slacks.  But it was narrow enough to wrap her legs around, and she braced her hands on the dusty surface and edged forward.  Spotting Jake below, she called his name.    His look of dawning horror made her want to giggle.  “Sidle, what the hell?”    “Somebody stashed a memory stick out here,” she explained, moving beyond the edge of the loft and trying to ignore the twenty-foot drop to the barn floor.  The cement barn floor.  “If you've got a better idea I'd love to hear it.”    Jake's answer was in Spanish, which was a language Sara didn't speak, but she was pretty sure it was more swearing.  She rocked forward slowly, wincing a little at the press of the beam into the tender flesh of her inner thighs.  “If you fall I'm not going to catch you!” Jake called.    She snickered, keeping her eyes fixed on her goal.  It's a good thing Gil's not here.  He'd be furious.    Bit by bit, she made her way out to the memory stick, trying to ignore the occasional slight groan of the beam.  Pulling her digital camera from her hip pocket, she snapped a couple of photos, then put it away again and retrieved the evidence bag.    “Great,” Jake commented as she dropped in the memory stick and sealed the bag.  “Now how are you going to get back, genius?”    By this time she’d gathered an audience of the other two CSIs and one other agent, all looking up.  Sara suppressed another grimace; she’d been too focused on retrieving the stick to really think about getting off the beam.    Well, I have two options.  Go backward, or turn around.    Going backward was safer, but it would be slow and difficult, and she really wanted to be back on at least semi-solid ground.  Taking a deep breath, Sara braced herself, deliberately blocked the drop from her mind, and shifted her weight to swing one leg up and over until she was sitting crosswise.    The murmur from below sounded dismayed, but Sara concentrated on maintaining her balance.  Pretend it’s a curb.  She gripped the rafter more tightly, then rocked back a little and lifted her other leg.    The move was smooth, but as she settled into place, a sudden movement below made her look down automatically.  Four wide-eyed faces were staring up at her, and the sight of all the empty air between them and the beam made her suddenly dizzy.    Locking her ankles together and closing her eyes, Sara felt herself swaying.        Grissom heard the phone ring, somewhere in the depths of dream; it wasn’t enough to wake him right away, but it started him on the journey back to consciousness.  When he finally rolled over and opened his eyes, he realized that Sara wasn’t in bed with him.    Oh well.  Maybe she’s working late today.    Yawning, he sat up and let his feet touch the carpet, feeling his brain slowly revving into gear.  When the alarm went off, he jumped, cursing and slapping it off again, then frowning.    Damn, it must have been the phone.  I hope they left a message.    As if on cue, the phone rang again.        “Hey, Gil.”  Sara winced as the EMT’s tweezers tugged at the huge splinter embedded under the skin of her palm.  “I hope I didn’t wake you.”    “I don’t mind,” he replied, and she could hear a little residual sleep-fog in his voice.  “Are you all right?”    “Fine,” she lied, smothering a squeak as the splinter came free.  “I’m gonna be late tonight, that’s all.  Major scene.”  I am so not going to tell you I nearly fell off a rafter over the phone.  Maybe later.  She could just imagine how upset he would get over something that had already passed.    “Okay--I hate to miss you, but I’ll try and get home a little early and make you breakfast.”    Sara watched as the EMT applied antibiotic cream and tore into a paper packet.  I didn’t know they made Band-aids that big.  “Sounds great,” she managed.  “I’ll see you later, then.”    She said goodbye and closed her phone as the EMT applied the bandage, which covered most of her palm.  “Keep it clean and covered, you know the drill,” he said cheerfully, patted her shoulder, and moved away, leaving her sitting on the back step of the idle ambulance.  Sara stared down at the square of plastic, remembering with sudden vividness the last time she’d hurt that hand.  But the sliver, while huge, had slid just under her skin rather than driving into the flesh.  The EMT hadn’t even suggested a tetanus shot.    Her moment of dizziness had passed quickly, mainly due to her own iron determination, and Sara had made her way back to the loft without further incident; she’d gotten the splinter on her way back down the ladder.  At least it kept the guys from yelling at me too much.    Suddenly tired, Sara brushed uselessly at her dusty slacks; they were snagged in several places.  But I got the damn memory stick.    “Hey, ready to go, or should I order you a trapeze?” Jake asked, strolling up with both their kits.    Sara suppressed the rude gesture she wanted to make.  “Shut up, Agent Smith.”    Jake flushed, but apparently thought better of a response.  “C’mon, Sidle, it’s past dinnertime.”    “Okay, okay.”  Sara pushed to her feet and took her case away from Jake, glaring at him when he tried to hang onto it.  “Let’s go.”    They rode back to the city through sunset and into darkness; Sara ignored the throbbing in her hand as best she could and reread Ed’s letter to distract herself, but she ran out of letter before she ran out of light.  Jake was pulling his dozing routine in the other seat, and she wished she could do the same.    But the best she could manage was a sort of half-trance, scarcely acknowledging when the hypnotic rhythm of the highway’s sodium lights flashing past turned to the staccato stutter of casino signs and streetlights.  It was almost dreamlike when the agent driving suddenly swore, but the lurch of the car and the screech of tires shocked her aware, and she could see quite vividly Jake’s wide eyes and open mouth opposite when the world exploded.          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