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.   DijitaruHana drew a beautiful picture based on this story, see above.  Thank you so much!  I'm still grinning.   Yes, the scrap of poetry in this chapter is not punctuated correctly, but since it's being spoken, I reserve the right.      ********* Grissom woke alone in the guest room bed. Light was peeking around the curtains, and he stretched and yawned, wondering where Sara had gone. Then he heard her voice, faint, from another part of the house, and was reassured. There was no guest bath, but the hall bathroom still had plenty of hot water. Grissom washed and dressed and wandered out to the kitchen, realizing he’d slept almost ten hours. Only Kimmy was in sight, pouring herself a glass of juice. “Good morning,” Grissom greeted her, and she waved back, drinking from the cup. “Where is everybody?” “Aunt Sara’s in Dad’s bedroom helping him with his bookshelves, and Joey’s outside. Gracie isn’t here yet,” Kimmy reported. “Do you want some juice?” The substance was so purple it was leaving a lavender mustache on Kimmy’s upper lip. “No, thanks,” Grissom said politely. “Y’welcome,” she said automatically, topped up her glass, and put the juice back. “Aunt Sara said to tell you you can feed yourself.” “Okay.” Grissom looked around the kitchen, amused. “Where do you keep the cereal?” Kimmy pointed, and after a moment’s thought added, “The dishes in the washer are clean.” “Thanks.” Grissom made his selection from an array of cold cereals and found milk in the fridge; by the time he shut the appliance, Kimmy was gone with her drink in hand. There was no coffee in the machine, but Grissom decided that he didn’t really need any. He rinsed the bowl when he was done and left it in the sink, and went in search of his fiancée. He found her in the welter of boxes that was Ed’s room, cheerfully arguing with her brother over the placement of his big bookcase as they put the shelves back into it. Grissom paused for a moment in the doorway to observe them--their obvious affection, their similar sharp minds. It was illustrative of Ed’s personality, Grissom noted, that while his children’s rooms were already painted and finished his own was still in process. The comfort of Joey and Kimmy was much higher on the man’s priority list than his own. “Need some help?” Grissom asked at last. They both looked up with smiles, and Sara held out a hand; Grissom picked his way among the boxes to reach and kiss her. He kept it brief, given their audience, but he wasn’t about to start his day without a kiss. “What time are you leaving for your mom’s?” Sara asked, and Grissom shrugged. “Probably about four. It shouldn’t take more than forty-five minutes to get there.” “If you want to help, man, you can take the other end of this thing and help me goose it down about two feet,” Ed said, waving at the bookcase. Sara rolled her eyes. “Ed, it’s fine where it is!” “I want it further down,” Ed insisted, going to one end. Grissom, amused, went to the other and helped the younger man lift. Sara huffed lightly, threw up her hands, and opened a box of books. They spent a peaceful couple of hours fixing up Ed’s bookcases. The boxes revealed a taste as eclectic as Grissom’s own; almost half the volumes had something to do with biology, but they included subjects such as the philosophy of science; the rest of them were a mix of art, history, and comedy. On reflection, Grissom realized that none of the selections really surprised him. They all fit the man exactly. Lunch wasn’t a formal affair this weekend, Grissom found; people just made sandwiches when they got hungry. Nor was there much rein on selections--he watched with mingled fascination and revulsion as Joseph constructed a sandwich of jelly and potato chips, and Sara, with a wink, spread marshmallow fluff on her peanut butter. He himself settled for a more conservative ham sandwich. As he finished the last crumb, Joseph came up with his Frisbee in hand. “Will you play with me, Dr. G?” He had grass stains on his knees and jelly on his mouth, and despite the heat that Grissom knew was lurking outside, he was hard to resist. “Okay. As long as we don’t have to run.” Joey giggled, and led him outside. The back yard was bordered by trees, so they both picked shaded areas and began spinning the disk back and forth. Joseph was fast and coordinated, obviously practiced, and Grissom found himself enjoying the mild challenge of snag and release. Joseph had begun chattering the moment Grissom had agreed to play, and told Grissom all about the neighbors, the neighbors’ dogs, the birds that lived in the palm trees, his new bed, and the treehouse that Ed had promised to build for him. “An’ Kimmy won’t be allowed in it! But that’s ‘cause she doesn’t like to climb.” Every little brother’s fantasy, Grissom judged, and sent the Frisbee back with a snap, mulling over the way Ed worked so hard to give his children not only the security and love he’d lacked, but the goodies and small pleasures that made their lives fun. And somehow he avoids spoiling them in the process. An admirable achievement. It occurred to him with a mild shock that it had been almost exactly a year since he’d found Joseph huddled beneath the amusement park’s hedge. As he fielded a wild toss, Grissom looked again at the boy. He was half a head taller than last August, and had celebrated a birthday just before coming West. Grissom knew that Kimmy had suffered more from her mother’s death; Joey had been too young to really remember much. No one survived childhood without a few scars, Grissom knew that, but somehow he didn’t think that Joseph would get many of his from his family. Lucky kid. Grissom let fly one over Joey’s head, because it delighted the boy to jump, and let out a happy breath. This was the other side of what he saw at work, the light from which the shadows came; life as it should be, without fear or rage or endless pain. It wouldn’t last forever, but nothing did. The trick…is to make it last as long as possible. And enjoy it while it does. And sometimes it was just as easy as making a little boy laugh. Rosalie was waiting for Grissom in the lobby when he arrived at her facility, and he returned her kiss on his cheek and signed in with the nurse at the desk before escorting his mother out to his waiting taxi. She was as elegant as ever, every white hair in place and wearing a dress the color of her name, but to his eyes she seemed just a little frailer than the last time he’d seen her that spring. To his wary relief, she showed few signs of confusion, and peppered him with silent questions about Sara, about their engagement, about Sara’s family. Almost the first question off her fingers was “When’s the wedding?” Grissom shook his head, and mentally checked off his bet with himself. “We haven’t set a date, Mom. It’s entirely up to Sara.” Rosalie arched a brow at this. “Yes, but what do you want?” A small part of Grissom would have liked to escort Sara to the nearest chapel in Vegas as soon as possible, no matter how tacky, to have the seal of her promise at last, but he answered with the larger truth. “I want her to be happy. I don’t want her to feel rushed or pushed.” Rosalie gave him a small smile. “Wise of you,” she signed. Over dinner at her favorite restaurant, a seafood place that overlooked the ocean, Grissom got her to tell him about her new residence and new friends; the sort of extended detail that didn’t make it into e-mails or TTY conversations. In turn, she interrogated him gently about moving back to Vegas and how Sara was settling in. “Working separate shifts, Gil? Is that a good idea?” she asked when he described their setup. Grissom sighed. “Maybe not; it does cut back on our time together. I’m thinking about switching my focus at the lab, coming in during days or just for special cases. UNLV still wants me to work on its post-doctorate program, and there’s some courses I’d like to take myself.” Rosalie nodded. “You’re at different stages in your lives,” she pointed out. “She’s still in the full flush of her career; you’re at a place where you can make other choices. Don’t limit yourself.” Grissom chuckled a little ruefully. “My career has been everything for so long, Mom, it’s going to take me a while to detach myself.” His mother snorted. “Past time.” She took a few bites of her tilapia, then put her fork back down, and Grissom could tell she was hesitating over something. He reached across and touched her arm. “What is it?” Rosalie’s mouth quirked, and she lifted her hands again. “Are you two planning on children?” At Grissom’s look of surprise, she continued hastily. “I’m only asking now so I know whether to get my hopes up…and so I don’t say the wrong thing to Sara.” Grissom winced a little inside. He hadn’t thought about his mother’s opinion on grandchildren in well over a decade, and disappointing her dismayed him, but there was no point in prevarication. “We…decided no. Children don’t really fit our plans, and they aren’t something either of us really wants.” Rosalie smiled at him, only slightly wistful. “Then that, too, is wise.” She patted his hand. “Gil, I want you both to be happy. If I want grandchildren to spoil, there are always little ones coming to visit at my new place, or your cousin’s brood.” “I’m sorry, Mom,” he signed, but she shook her head. “It’s your life, dear. The only opinion you need to concern yourself with is Sara’s.” She wrinkled her nose, a teasing gesture. “And it’s about time.” The comment didn’t even sting anymore. Grissom resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at his mother--something he hadn’t done since the Sixties--and settled for rolling his eyes. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I pick out your Christmas present.” Rosalie snorted audibly and raised her chin in mock offense, and Grissom grinned. I’m very, very lucky they like each other. Sara shook her head in amusement, scolding herself silently. How can you miss him? He’s only been gone a few hours…and you’ve been living in each other’s pockets for weeks now. But it was true. She was delighted to see her family again, to note Ed’s arm around Gracie’s waist as they supervised the toasting of marshmallows over the coals of the grill, to have a framework in which to picture them in Los Angeles. But she couldn’t help feeling wistful because Grissom wasn’t there. It was just a little pang, easily mastered. After all, he would be back before midnight, probably with steak on his breath and wry, loving stories of his mother. You’re greedy, Sidle, she told herself. You want it all. And why not? asked one unbowed corner of her mind. After all, she’d gone without both for so long, having neither a loving family nor the inexpressible comfort of Grissom’s open affection. Was it wrong to want them both to hand? Shaking off the thought, Sara turned to concentrate on what she had at the moment, and snagged a marshmallow from the bag. S’mores were a rare treat, and Ed did them the way his wife had taught him, using Nilla Wafers instead of graham crackers. Sara approved; the cookies complemented the chocolate and goo, and didn’t shatter the way the crackers did. Not that they’re exactly tidy treats, anyway. Joey was already liberally smeared with chocolate and melted marshmallow, and Kimmy was not far behind; Ed had a dab of chocolate on his cheek, and Sara knew there were crumbs on her own shirt. But none of it mattered. Eating outside meant that no one had to be too careful of their manners. Spearing the marshmallow on a skewer, Sara edged between her niece and nephew to extend it over the heat. Kimmy liked hers burnt on the outside, and Joseph’s toasting was more a token wave of the confection at the coals, but Sara preferred her marshmallow a nice even tan, the outside caramelized but not charred. Just as the marshmallow reached perfection, the phone rang, and Ed sighed. “I’ll get it.” Letting Gracie go, he loped inside the house. “Who’s got the cookies?” Sara asked, and Gracie passed her the box. “Thanks.” “When’s Doctor G due back?” Gracie inquired. Sara pinched the marshmallow securely between two cookies and a square of chocolate, and glanced at her watch; the face was barely visible in the dimming light. “About an hour, maybe.” Joseph said something indistinguishable, and Gracie smiled, reaching over to touch his chin. “Swallow first, kiddo.” He did so, then tried again, his voice somewhat sticky. “I want to save him some marshmallows.” Sara glanced at the bag. “That’s a good idea, Joey, and there’s plenty. I’ll let him know when he gets back.” She had no idea whether Grissom even liked s’mores, but she knew he’d be touched by the thought. Gracie glanced back at the house. “I’m going to go see what’s keeping Ed,” she murmured, and followed him inside, disappearing through the sun porch and into the kitchen. Kimmy sighed, and nibbled delicately on a cookie. “Betcha they’re going to kiss.” “Ew,” Joey said perfunctorily. “Aunt Sara, why aren’t there any lightning bugs in Los Angeles?” Sara blinked at the abrupt change in topic, and hastily swallowed a mouthful of cookie and marshmallow. “Um, I don’t know, but I bet Doctor G does. You can ask him tomorrow.” She popped the remaining bite into her mouth, and snagged another marshmallow. “Are you guys done?” Joey nodded, and Kimmy took out one more cookie before following suit. Sara impaled her marshmallow and began toasting. “Okay, Kimmy, will you please close everything up so the bugs don’t get in? And Joey, if you wash off with the hose, I’ll tell you guys a story or two before bed.” She wanted to keep them out of the house for a bit and return Gracie’s favor from the evening before. “Cool!” Joseph meandered off towards the faucet, and Kimmy folded up the marshmallow bag and closed the cookie box. Sara knew that Joey would take several minutes to rinse off the sugar and play with the water. “Do you mind that? Your dad and Gracie kissing?” she asked in a low voice, turning her marshmallow over the coals. Kimmy was silent a moment, sealing the big chocolate bar back in its foil, but she finally shook her head. “No. I mean--“ She hesitated, and Sara cocked her head, trying to project reassurance. Finally Kimmy continued. “Dad says he’ll always love Mommy, but that he can love Gracie too.” “And you, and Joey,” Sara agreed, watching her treat so as not to push. “You two will always be the most important thing to him.” Kimmy nodded. “And Gracie’s real nice. It’s cool that she came to Los Angeles too.” Sara pulled her skewer away from the coals and put the lid on the grill to extinguish them. “She loves you guys.” “And Dad?” Kimmy asked, as though seeking reassurance. Sara sat down next to her on the picnic bench that Ed had bought when they’d moved in. “She loves your dad very much too, yeah.” One look at Gracie’s expression when watching Ed, these days, was enough to reveal that. “I just…” Kimmy trailed off, and Sara put an arm around her, silently encouraging. Kimmy sighed. “I just wonder if Mommy would like it.” Which meant, Sara guessed, that Kimmy didn’t want to be disloyal to her mother’s memory. Sara chose her words carefully. “I didn’t really know your mom very well, but I think she’d approve. She wouldn’t want your dad to be lonely forever…and I know she’d be happy if there was someone more to take care of you guys, since she can’t be here to do it any more.” Kimmy leaned closer, and Sara rubbed her arm. “You don’t have to forget her, you know. And Gracie and your mom were friends. Gracie wouldn’t want you to forget her either.” “I guess so,” Kimmy said slowly, not sounding completely persuaded, but Sara held back further words. This was something the girl would have to work out on her own. Joey bounced back up, the front of his shirt soaked, but most of the chocolate gone. “Story time!” Sara laughed, and felt Kimmy relax a little next to her. “Okay, but let’s lie down on the lawn again so we can see the stars.” It was not a sound that woke her; rather, it was the absence of a warm heavy body in the bed with her. Sara rolled over, not quite completely awake, and managed to remember Grissom’s gentle kiss earlier, his low voice telling her that he couldn’t sleep and he was going to go read for a bit. She pried her eyes open and blinked at the digital clock. One-thirty…when did he get out of bed? Sara sighed, and was squishing her pillow into a more acceptable shape when a faint, high-pitched hum reached her ears. It was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Sleep receded as she tried, and failed, to remember where she’d heard it. Dammit. Sometimes curiosity is a bitch. Sighing, Sara got up and put on her robe. The hum was gone now, but she could hear Grissom speaking, and she wanted to know what was going on. For all I know, he’s doing a phone consult with someone in Istanbul, but… Barefoot, she walked down the hall, seeing a low light emanating from the big kitchen, as though someone had turned on only the lights over the counters. Grissom’s voice grew stronger as she approached, and Sara peered around the corner, unwilling to distract him if it was actually work. But it wasn’t. Grissom sat at the island, stately in his own robe though his hair was tousled, and Kimmy perched on a stool on the other side, similarly rumpled. Both of them had mugs in front of them, and instantly Sara remembered the hum as the sound of the frother that the Sidles used on hot chocolate. “Your mom made it this way?” Grissom was asking, and Sara leaned against the wall to listen and watch from the dark hall. “Yeah. She said the powdered kind was nasty.” Kimmy stirred her drink, and even at that distance Sara could see that her eyelashes were spiky with spent tears. She must have had a nightmare. Grissom took a sip of his. “It’s quite good. Was she in your dream?” Sara recognized the tone; it was the one he used with traumatized witnesses, calm and compassionate. She bit her lip, wondering whether to make her presence known, but Kimmy sighed, and swiped at her eyes with one palm. “Yeah. The worst dreams always have her in them.” Grissom nodded. “Our minds can play some pretty nasty tricks on us sometimes.” He looked down at the mug he held. “Do you want me to go get your Aunt Sara?” Kimmy pursed her lips, then shook her head. “No, I think I’m okay.” Grissom cocked his head. “What does she usually do, besides hot chocolate?” “She finds me a picture of Mommy.” Kimmy slid off the stool and went out to the living room, coming back with the framed photo that had sat on a bookshelf in Virginia. “So I can remember what she really looked like.” “That’s a good idea.” Grissom approved. Kimmy hopped back up on the stool and stared at the photo for a long minute before laying it down. “Do you remember what your dad looked like?” she asked. Sara, heart full of bittersweet pride in her niece’s strength, started a little at the question, but Grissom didn’t seem bothered. “Not really,” he said thoughtfully. “But I was only five when he left, and my mom didn’t keep very many pictures of him. I guess what I remember is the pictures.” Sara bit her lip at the void implied in those words, but Grissom’s voice was still calm and easy, and his shoulders were relaxed. Kimmy yawned. “Lotsa my friends in Virginia have parents who got divorced.” “It happens,” Grissom agreed. “Aunt Sara reads me a story, too,” Kimmy added, taking another swallow of her drink. “I could do that, if you want,” Grissom offered. “Or I could read you some of this.” He tapped the book in front of him. “It’s poetry.” Kimmy blinked, considered, and finally nodded. “Okay.” Grissom opened the book and paged through it, and Sara, smiling, turned to go back to bed. His voice followed her down the hall. “In just spring, when the world is mud-luscious…” You really have changed, Gil. And I love you.      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