Light In The Mirror

Halfway to the Moon

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.  

Thank you all for your kind feedback!  
  


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“You take the front seat,” Sara directed, sliding open the minivan’s side door.  “You’re taller.” 

“Your legs are longer,” Grissom protested, even as Sara ducked inside the vehicle, and his hindbrain admired the picture her skirt-clad backside and the aforementioned legs presented for a second before she sat down. 

“Too late,” she informed him cheerfully.  Joey scrambled past him to sit down next to her, while Kimmy, dainty in a dress, climbed in more slowly.  Grissom waited until the little girl was seated, then slid the door closed before taking the passenger seat. 

The drive to the church wasn’t long.  Grissom listened to the children chattering and Sara’s responses, feeling very odd.  It had been many years since he had observed Thanksgiving with anything more than a dinner at someone else’s home; the idea of going to a Thanksgiving service hadn’t crossed his mind in over a decade.  But when Ed had casually asked if Grissom was coming along, he had said yes--more out of startlement than anything else. 

The Episcopalian church was large and relatively modern, and the pews were about half-full by the time the Sidle contingent arrived.  They took up almost half a pew all by themselves, and somehow it was arranged so that Ed sat on the inside, then Kimmy, then Sara and Joseph, and Grissom on the aisle.  He wasn’t sure if that was deliberate on Sara’s part, to give him an escape route if he needed one, but he was sure that the kids were separated on purpose.  Joey was already making faces at his big sister, but as the processional began, one stern look from Sara quelled him. 

Grissom wasn’t surprised.  He’d seen Sara’s glares quell suspects who were much larger than Joey. 

The liturgy wasn’t too far off from what he had grown up with, though the interior of the sanctuary lacked many of the features of a Catholic church.  Some of the songs were familiar, too, and Grissom followed along in the hymnal, though he didn’t sing.  It wasn’t that he couldn’t; it was that he liked to hear Sara sing. 

She would frown down at the page, following the music with her usual fierce concentration, and he took the hymn times to observe her with his eyes as well.  He liked what she was wearing--a long dark straight skirt, a black camisole and a wheat-colored jacket over the top.  The sunburst necklace he’d given her for her birthday was clasped around her throat; her hair was loose and curly, and Grissom found himself sneaking peeks at her collarbones, or the shell of her ear when she tucked her hair behind it, or her hand when she laid it on Joey’s shoulder.  When his conscience pricked him, he reminded it that Sara was part of God’s creation, and he was certainly thankful for her. 

It was after the service that things got interesting. 

As soon as the recessional ended, both kids were out of the pew, going to find friends.  Ed started talking to someone in the pew behind them, and Sara scooped up her coat.  “Schmooze time,” she muttered to Grissom, though with more of an air of amusement than anything else.  “Warn me if you see the organist heading this way.” 

“Why?”  Grissom picked up his own jacket, but didn’t put it on; it didn’t look as though they were leaving just yet, and while half of the congregation was moving slowly towards the back door, immersed in conversation, the other half was talking without moving at all. 

“She wants me to join the choir,” Sara said, eyes widening in feigned horror.  “Even if I had the time...” 

Grissom couldn’t help smiling a little.  “I’ll keep an eye out,” he promised.  It wouldn’t be hard; the organist was so small and round as to be distinctive. 

“Sara darling!” a female voice gushed, and Sara cringed minutely, but it wasn’t the organist--it was a woman almost as tall as Sara, pushing into the pew ahead of them. 

“Hi, Mrs. Porterfield,” Sara said politely.  Beyond Sara, Grissom saw Ed cringe a good deal more, and immediately begin edging away.  “You know, I--” 

The woman, who Grissom estimated was almost sixty, ran right over Sara’s words.  “Robby’s looking for you.  You don’t come to church often enough, he misses you.” 

She reached out to put a beringed hand on Sara’s arm, and Grissom saw Sara tighten with distaste, though she didn’t pull back.  “Well, I’ll have to go find him then.” 

The woman didn’t appear to hear the sarcasm.  “He’s in the back.  I need to talk to your brother, you go on ahead, darling.” 

Ed’s retreat down the pew was blocked, Grissom realized, by a young woman probably around Sara’s age, who bore a marked resemblance to the older woman.  Ed looked slightly panicked, but before he could catch his sister’s eye, Sara turned from her accoster and made a scooting gesture at Grissom. 

He complied, sliding out of the pew, and watched with fascination as the older woman bore down on Ed, whose arm was firmly taken by the younger one.  “What’s going on?” he asked Sara as she escaped into the aisle. 

“Mrs. Porterfield and her newly divorced daughter, Trish,” Sara said in a low voice, leading him towards the back of the church.  “Mrs. Porterfield thinks that Ed would make a perfect second husband, and so does Trish.” 

“Contrary to what Ed thinks, I take it.”  To an observer, the situation was pretty amusing, Grissom had to admit. 

“Oh, it doesn’t stop there.”  A small feral smile had appeared on Sara’s face.  “She also thinks that I’m the perfect match for her son Rob.” 

Grissom almost tripped, alarm washing through him.  “Oh?” 

Sara glanced back at him, obviously amused.  “Relax.”  She leaned in and spoke in a whisper.  “He’s gay.  But that’s a deep dark secret around here.” 

Reflecting on the possible congregational reactions to such news, Grissom nodded.  “I see.” 

Rob, it turned out, was taller than Grissom, much thinner than his mother, and calm.  He smiled at both of them as they met him at the back corner of the church.  “Mother send you on a mission, Sara?” 

She grinned up at him.  “Insert ‘Mission: Impossible’ theme here.  Rob, this is an old friend of mine, Doctor Gil Grissom.  Griss, Rob Porterfield.” 

Rob’s grip was strong.  “A pleasure, Dr. Grissom.” 

“Likewise.”  The gleam in Rob’s eye as they looked each other over was slightly disconcerting, but Grissom didn’t let it disturb him.  But before they could get into conversation, a girl of about fourteen appeared and attached herself to Sara’s arm. 

“Dad’s looking for you!” she announced importantly.  Sara rolled her eyes. 

“Can it wait, Petra?” 

“Nooo...he said he’s afraid you’ll vanish, like last time.” 

“I’ll protect your friend, Sara,” Rob cut in with amusement.  “Go ahead.” 

Before Grissom could say anything, Sara let herself be dragged off by the eager girl.  “What’s that all about?” he asked, turning back to the younger man. 

“The matrons are going to want to interrogate you,” Rob said, still looking amused, but Grissom shook his head. 

“That’s not what I meant.”  He looked again; it took him a moment to spot Sara through the crowd.  The girl had escorted her across the sanctuary, and she now stood talking with a tall and rather stooped man who wore a gentle smile. 

“Oh, that.”  Rob chuckled.  “Frank Delladesmonde’s been after Sara ever since she moved here.  His wife died eight years ago.” 

The bottom dropped out of Grissom’s stomach at the genuine warmth on Sara’s face as she talked with Delladesmonde.  “Isn’t he a little old for her?” Grissom said stiffly. 

Rob shrugged.  “It’s never seemed to bother her.  She says she has a thing for older guys.” 

The curl of pleasure that this statement brought was countered by dismay as Sara laughed at something the man said.  Grissom’s eyes narrowed as Delladesmonde patted Sara’s shoulder, as Sara’s arm went around the teenager at her side.  She looks happy. 

In the past, he would have swallowed against the hurt, and let go, miserable but unwilling to interfere.  Even now, doubt spoke up.  All she’s said is that she wants us to be friends.  And look at him; he’s already been married.  He’d know how to treat her.  He’s probably better for her. 

But stubbornness set in, backed by desperate longing.  Maybe he is.  But I want her, I need her.  And she asked me to stay.  “Excuse me,” he said calmly, and stepped away from Rob. 

As he approached, he could hear Petra talking about some school event, and the soft sound Sara made when she wanted to encourage a speaker.  Delladesmonde’s eyes were on her, warm and wistful, and Grissom wondered suddenly if his own gaze was like that--a man watching, wanting, but not having. 

Grissom stepped up to Sara’s unoccupied side, not too close--he didn’t want to annoy her--but close enough for her to notice.  Sara glanced over.  “Oh, hey.  Gil Grissom, Frank and Petra Delladesmonde.” 

Grissom didn’t miss the different introduction--more casual.  Delladesmonde held out one hand.  “You’re a friend of Sara’s?” 

“A very old friend,” Sara said, grinning, as they shook hands.  Grissom nodded at the taller man. 

“A pleasure,” he said politely, restraining his animosity.  Delladesmonde’s gaze was sharp, and Grissom figured that the other man was having suspicions equal to his own. 

“Grissom was my boss when I worked in Las Vegas,” Sara explained.  “He’s in town for a while.” 

“Vacation?” Delladesmonde inquired, and Grissom shrugged. 

“Indefinitely,” he replied.  “I decided I needed to reevaluate my priorities.”  He glanced over at Sara, whose brows rose as she received the message. 

Delledesmonde’s eyes narrowed.  His face bore lines of sorrow, but his dark hair was only beginning to silver.  “Midlife crisis?” he asked lightly. 

Grissom saw Sara’s chin go up, and her indignation on his behalf soothed a great deal of his upset.  “More of an overdue epiphany.”  He kept his tone easy.  “I realized that I had lost something essential.” 

Delladesmonde arched a brow in turn, but before he could reply Sara broke in.  “Are you going to your sister’s for Thanksgiving again this year?” she asked Delladesmonde, with the air of a woman impatient with male posturing, and he turned his attention to her. 

“As always.  Her husband’s already got the turkey on the grill by now.  Are you sure I can’t persuade you to come along?  Trust me, it’s delicious.” 

His grin was teasing, but Sara’s return smile was a little artificial.  “I told you, Frank, I’m a vegetarian.  No turkey for me.” 

Grissom’s carefully-hidden elation at the other man’s blunder was tempered by the knowledge that he himself had forgotten that fact at least once, but Delladesmonde didn’t seem to notice Sara’s irritation.  “Right.  Well, maybe we can get together over Christmas?” 

“Maybe,” Sara answered, then glanced over her shoulder.  “Oops.  Better go rescue Ed.  Good to see you, Frank.” 

With a round of polite farewells, the Delladesmondes moved off, and Sara headed back towards her beleaguered brother, who was looking pretty desperate with Trish on one side and Mrs. Porterfield on the other.  Grissom let one hand rest lightly on the small of Sara’s back, and glanced over his shoulder; as he’d intended, Delladesmonde had turned back and seen the gesture.  Grissom sent him a warning look.

The other man’s shoulders straightened, but he only looked back coolly before bending down to answer some inquiry from his daughter. 

“Isn’t he a little old for you?” Grissom murmured as they made their way back through the sanctuary.  Sara snorted. 

“You think so?  Grissom, he’s four years younger than you.” 

Oh.  Grissom decided that the best thing to do in this situation was to keep his mouth shut.  The amused glance from Sara told him that silence was probably a good choice. 

 

Thanksgiving with the Sidles was…fun.  Grissom couldn’t recall when he’d last shared a Thanksgiving meal with anyone besides his mother, and those events were naturally quiet.  On returning to the townhouse, they’d split--Sara and Ed to change and the kids to watch the parade on TV.  Joey, whose shyness had long since faded, hauled Grissom into the living room and made him sit on the couch so that Joey could lean against him and chatter while they watched.  Grissom found himself more amused by this than anything else. 

Both the Sidle children were cuddlers, he’d noticed, and both seemed slightly younger, emotionally, than their ages would indicate.  But he put it down to the traumatic loss of their mother, and Ed’s subsequent depression.  Sara had only given Grissom a synopsis of that time, but his imagination was sufficient to fill in the blanks. 

The two kids had accepted Grissom fairly quickly as part of the landscape--not as close as Gracie, but one of the people around whom guest behavior was not required except at the table, like a couple of Ed’s colleagues.  He could imagine the categories they might use to define him; good for questions, for instance, or won’t play board games. 

Ed reappeared before Sara, and whipped into the kitchen.  “Is there anything I can do?” Grissom called after him, and when no answer was forthcoming, he rose and followed, leaving the kids to the floats and bands. 

Ed had wrapped a burgundy apron around his skinny frame; instead of “Kiss the Cook,” it had a Shakespeare quote--“Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent,” which made Grissom smile.  The elder Sidles weren’t like anyone else. 

“Sara’s taking a nap,” Ed said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a medium-sized turkey. 

“And you’re going to sneak that in while she’s asleep?” Grissom asked, bemused.  He approved of the nap; Sara had been working late all week and was looking a little worn. 

Ed snickered.  “Nope.  This is for the rest of us.  The kids want a traditional dinner on Thanksgiving.”  He dropped the bird onto the counter with a thud and jerked his head back at the fridge.  “She’s got some kind of portobello mushroom crap in there for herself.”  Ed, who loathed mushrooms, shuddered dramatically, and Grissom had to laugh. 

It came to him then, as it occasionally did, that he laughed much more around Sara’s family than he had anywhere else in the past three years, and probably even before that.  “What can I do?” he repeated. 

“Well, you can start the rolls if you like, and then you can go upstairs and make sure Sara’s actually sleeping,” Ed said.  “I wouldn’t put it past her to give it five minutes, declare she can’t sleep, and get up to do work.” 

Which told Grissom that the nap had probably been Ed’s idea.  “I’ll do that.  Where’s the recipe?” 

It didn’t take long to assemble the ingredients, but when Grissom glanced back over at Ed, he saw the younger man staring rather helplessly at the bird.  A squashy parcel next to the turkey showed that he’d remembered to remove the extra bits, but other than that he seemed at a loss. 

Grissom bit the inside of his lip to suppress his smile.  “Everything okay?” he asked, keeping his voice casual. 

Ed’s mouth twisted.  “I have no idea what to do with this thing,” he said, looking like a man just encountering the truth.  “Jenny always handled this part of it.” 

Grissom wondered what the family had done the past few years, but didn’t ask.  “Well, cleaning and stuffing it is the next step,” he pointed out gently.  “I used to stuff the turkey for my mother; want to switch?” 

Ed’s chin firmed with a look of determination.  “Why don’t you teach me?” he demanded, more than asked, and Grissom saw another Sidle trait come out, the desire to learn. 

Well, he did love to teach.  Grissom looked at the small bag of packaged stuffing, and raised a brow.  “Okay, but we’re going to do it right.  Here, you finish this while I get the ingredients.” 

Ed acceded, mixing the dough for the rolls and watching with fascination as Grissom pulled together onions, herbs, butter, celery, and the stale bread that the Sidles used to make crumbs for breading.  Before too long, the dough was rising and Grissom had Ed sautéing the onions in the butter.  Normally, Grissom would have added mushrooms as well, but knowing Ed’s aversion, he refrained.  As they put the stuffing together, Grissom also taught him how to cook some on the side so that Sara could have a share as well, untainted by fowl. 

Ed was as eager a student as Sara, Grissom found, and by the time they had stuffed the turkey and set it in the oven, he felt closer to Sara’s big brother.  The man had a sharp wit and a strong sense of humor, and no qualms about laughing at his own ignorance.  “What about your parents?” he asked, as they washed their hands after shutting the oven door. 

Grissom blinked.  “I beg your pardon?” 

Ed shrugged, snagging a dishtowel to dry his hands.  “You don’t usually spend the holidays with them?  Not that we’re not glad to have you,” he added. 

Grissom finished rinsing his hands and shut off the water.  “Well, I work most holidays, but my mother and I usually try to get together around Christmas.  I might fly out to see her this year, since I won’t be on call.”  As it was, he hadn’t really planned that far in advance. 

“Well, you’re welcome to join us if you don’t,” Ed said cheerfully, passing him the towel and not asking why Grissom hadn’t mentioned his father.  “Do you want to check on Sara or should I do it?” 

Grissom, bemused by the casual invitation, gathered his thoughts.  “I’ll do it.”  He hung up the towel carefully and headed for the stairs. 

He hadn’t been above the townhouse’s main floor yet.  The bedrooms were above, he knew, but Sara had explained that she had the top floor to herself; it had apparently been Jenny’s painting studio, and had gone unused after her death until it was decided that Sara was staying. 

Grissom wasn’t sure what to expect, but when he moved quietly up the last flight he found one big dormer room.  The skylights let in only a grey light, since the day was overcast, and Sara had pulled the shades, but those were half-noticed details.  His focus was immediately drawn to her. 

Despite Ed’s prediction, she was asleep on the wide bed, lying on her side with one hand palm-up near her head.  She looked smaller, younger, vulnerable; Grissom found himself blinking again against a rush of tenderness and yearning.  He stepped closer, drawn across the thick carpet at the sight of her; fully dressed in her camisole and a pair of slacks, with a corner of the comforter drawn over her middle and her birthday lizard sitting guard at the headboard.  Her feet, in stockings, made him want to sit down and pull them into his lap. 

He wasn’t sure how many minutes he stood there staring, but it finally dawned on Grissom that he was trespassing, and that it would not do his suit good for Sara to wake and find him there.  But before he could bring himself to turn away, her eyes opened. 

He braced himself, but she only blinked sleepily.  “Gil,” she said, her voice croaking a little.  “...Ed send you?” 

Grissom, slightly startled by the sound of his first name on her lips, found his tongue.  “Yes, he wanted me to make sure you were sleeping.” 

Sara gave a little nodding jerk of her head, and pulled the comforter up a bit more.  She didn’t look mad, and Grissom flexed his hands, uncertain of what to do. 

“You can sit down,” she said, and yawned, muffling her mouth with one hand.  As much as he wanted to take the edge of the bed, Grissom opted for the plumply cushioned chair next to it, and sat gingerly, only now really seeing the room. 

It was open and airy, and yet almost cluttered with objects--another chair, a dresser and desk, clothes draped here and there and a small bookshelf overflowing with books.  Two paintings had pride of place on the wall; Grissom knew now that all the canvases in the house were the work of Jenny, and were quite good.  A poster showing the structure of the atom took up more wall space, and he noted absently a scattering of other, smaller lizards of various shapes and colors.  The room felt like Sara’s apartment had when he’d visited it three years ago, if lighter in coloring; cozy and welcoming and very like Sara. 

Sara yawned again.  “Tell me a story,” she said, still sounding half-asleep. 

Grissom looked back to her, startled.  “What?” 

She grinned at him, looking both sleepy and mischievous.  “Tell me a story.  I want to see what kind of stories you know.” 

It was an absurd request, but somehow in this quiet sanctuary of hers it seemed perfectly normal.  A hundred possibilities tumbled through Grissom’s head, ranging from his adventures as a junior coroner to a few dirty jokes, but none of them suited this one moment.  He went back further, to one of the books he’d treasured as a child--one of the few that wasn’t about bugs--and smiled, suddenly feeling confident. 

Leaning back comfortably, he recited it as best he could, keeping his voice low and soothing.  It was an old fairy tale, of a wicked sorcerer who stole girls away in his magic cloak and the resourceful young woman who stopped him; for some reason always been his favorite.  Perhaps because of the justice meted out to the magician. 

By the time he was finished, Sara was asleep again, and Grissom was pleased that he’d managed to soothe her back into slumber.  He was very tempted to stay just where he was and watch her sleep, but instead he rose carefully, restraining the desire to brush her hair from her face or tuck the comforter in more closely around her. 

Or to climb into the bed with her, and just hold her. 

Instead, Grissom left as quietly as he’d come, returning to watch the tail-end of the parade with the kids and then punch down the dough for the rolls.  And to realize that his first name had never sounded so good. 

 

The smell of savory things woke Sara, and she stretched luxuriously, contemplating nothing more serious than dinner.  It took a few minutes for the memory of Grissom to return, and then she couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or embarrassed about asking him for a story.  What am I, five? 

Yet he hadn’t seemed anything but surprised; he’d just thought a moment, then begun a tale about some evil guy who lived in a forest.  Sara had to admit that she couldn’t remember most of the story.  Maybe...maybe someday I can get him to tell it again. 

A strange thought, but an interesting one. 

She took her time about washing her face and brushing her hair, enjoying the momentary peace of solitude, and then followed her nose downstairs. 

The house was full of the scent of roasting turkey, and Sara was thankful that the smell itself didn’t nauseate her.  In fact, it reminded her comfortably of the past few years, when she and Ed and the kids had gone to Jenny’s family for Thanksgiving.  The meals had been tinged with sorrow, but still warm with family; but this year Jenny’s parents had gone south to Atlanta for the winter. 

Sara found Ed and Grissom occupying either end of the couch, watching the football game, with Kimmy in the middle rooting for the team with the lower score.  Joseph, who was exclusively a soccer fan, was playing with his Matchbox cars at the other end of the big room. 

Habit moved Sara to lean over the back of the couch and ruffle her brother’s hair.  “Who’s winning?” 

Ed ducked automatically.  “The guys in blue.”  He was scarcely more of a football enthusiast than his son, but tended to watch the holiday game for tradition’s sake. 

“They’re eight points ahead,” Kimmy added seriously, never taking her eyes from the screen. 

Sara grinned at Grissom, and caught a faint hint of wistfulness on his face, an expression that vanished as he returned her smile.  It puzzled her, but she didn’t pursue it. 

“Anything I can do?” she asked her brother, who tilted his head back to look at her. 

“How long is your fungus going to take?” 

“To bake?  About forty-five minutes.”  The casserole was already prepared and waiting in the fridge. 

“Then you’ve got...”  He glanced at the wall clock.  “...About an hour before it has to go in.  I hereby relinquish responsibility.” 

Accustomed to her brother’s contempt for all things mushroom, Sara just nodded.  “Got it.” 

Ed stood up slowly and stretched, turning his head to pop his neck.  “And on that note, I am off to reacquaint myself with my sterling piecrust skills.  Disturb me not, if you want pumpkin later.”  He stalked off towards the kitchen. 

Sara immediately dropped into the space he’d left, and Kimmy promptly scooted sideways so she could lean against Sara’s chest.  Sara lifted one leg onto the couch and braced her back against the armrest for the familiar cuddle. 

Grissom raised a brow at her.  “’Disturb me not’?” 

Sara shrugged, and began combing her fingers through Kimmy’s straight black hair.  “Ed thinks he’s a genius when it comes to baking--”

“Knows he’s a genius, thank you,” drifted out of the kitchen, and Sara rolled her eyes, snickering. 

“--And he thinks the pies will be ruined if we bug him!” she half-shouted back. 

Grissom chuckled, and Kimmy sighed exaggeratedly.  “He’s a very good baker,” she said with the air of one showing great tolerance, “but he’s kinda weird.” 

Grissom pursed his lips.  “Well, if leaving him alone is what it takes for good pies...” 

“He lets us help with cookies,” Kimmy confided.  “Does your dad do stuff in the kitchen?” 

Sara, startled, saw Grissom go very still at the girl’s question, but a breath later he relaxed deliberately.  “I don’t know,” he said calmly.  “My mom and dad divorced when I was five.” 

...Whoa.  Sara kept her jaw from dropping, but she was floored by the information; Grissom had never said much at all about his family in her hearing.  That was way before divorces were acceptable.  Wow. 

Kimmy, child of an era when they were acceptable, eyed him curiously but without surprise.  “You lived with your mom?”   

Grissom nodded, and Kimmy, apparently satisfied, turned back to the TV.  Grissom met Sara’s eyes over the girl’s head, and she was a little surprised herself when he didn’t turn away.  She returned his gaze, not trying to convey pity or even sympathy, but rather an acknowledgment of the privacy of what he’d just revealed. 

He gave her a tiny, quiet smile, and then returned his attention to the game.  Oddly satisfied, Sara did the same. 

Twenty minutes later, when Grissom--without looking away from a field goal attempt--pulled her foot to rest against his thigh, his hand resting casually on her ankle, satisfaction wasn’t uppermost in her mind.  The move made her aware of him with every nerve, not just those registering the warmth of his leg against her sole or the weight of his hand on her foot. 

And on reflection, she let it stay, another silent acknowledgment, until the doorbell rang and Kimmy sprang off the couch to answer the door.   

Sara rose to follow her, leaning over the stairwell banister to smile at their visitor.  “Hey, Gracie, how’s it going?” 

The housekeeper grinned back and tugged a watchcap off her head, letting red curls spill down over the collar of her coat.  “It’s sleeting out there.” 

“Great.”  Sara rolled her eyes as Gracie and Kimmy came up to the main floor. 

Kimmy insisted on taking Gracie’s coat and hat, even though the housekeeper seemed a little uneasy at the formality, but she waved at Grissom, who had stood as well.  “Hey, Doctor G.” 

Grissom, who had risen at Gracie’s entrance, nodded back.  “It’s nice to see you again.”   

Kimmy plopped back down on the couch, but Sara jerked a thumb at the kitchen.  “Ed’s in there.” 

Gracie nodded and vanished into Ed’s sanctuary, and Grissom shot Sara a cockeyed look.  “Didn’t he want to be undisturbed?” 

Sara grinned evilly.  “Yep.”  They sat back down again with Kimmy between them, but the girl was too absorbed in the screen to cuddle.  “She’s probably the one person in the world he won’t chase out.” 

Grissom considered this for a moment, resting one arm along the back of the sofa.  “You’re willing to risk a ruined pie?” he teased at last, and Sara smirked. 

“You brought a pecan one.  That should hold us if he does ruin ‘em.” 

Grissom snorted, acceding, and they turned their attention to the fourth quarter. 

It was still an uncommon situation for Sara, to be relaxing with so little to occupy her mind, and even rarer to be doing it in Grissom’s presence, but it was definitely enjoyable. 

 

Dinner took a long time, opening with a slightly more elaborate grace than usual, and proceeding with everyone stuffing themselves as full as the bird.  Both Grissom and Gracie were relaxed, Sara noted, approving the way that Grissom seemed to be feeling at home.  He glanced at her for permission before helping himself to a little of her casserole, and lobbed rolls to Joey and Ed when requested, making everyone laugh.  The kids had set the table, and Kimmy had apparently arranged the seating to suit herself, with Ed at the head of the table and herself in between Sara and Gracie.  Joey was between Grissom and Ed, which Sara had to admit at least kept the children from poking each other. 

After dinner and some sporadic cleanup, Joey started pestering his father to go outside and kick a soccer ball around.  Seeing that Ed really wanted to stay in and talk with Gracie, Sara volunteered in his place, and found herself towed outside in short order. 

The sleet had stopped, and there was still some light left.  Despite her full stomach, Sara followed Joey out to the parking area in front of the townhouse, and they began passing the ball back and forth.  Joey was full of energy, but Sara convinced him to take it easy at first while she got warmed up. 

For a little while they kicked in silence, dodging back and forth to capture the ball, but then Joey spoke up with a six-year-old’s abruptness.  “Are you going to marry Doctor G?” 

Sara nearly choked, but managed to send the ball back with a firm boot.  “Joey, that’s not a polite question.” 

His eye-roll told her that he didn’t care.  Sara thought a moment, realizing that he was probably motivated by self-interest as much as curiosity.  Aunt Sara was a stabilizing influence in his life, and probably far more real than the mother he could only remember blurrily.  Any major change in her life would affect her nephew. 

On the other hand, she had no desire to try to explain their tangled relationship to someone whose understanding of romance was limited to “happily ever after” and the exchange of cartoon valentines in February.  “I don’t know.” 

Joey shot her a skeptical look, but evidently decided that she wasn’t just putting him off.  The imp of the perverse seized her, and she fielded the ball and gave him a speculative look back.  “Do you think I should?” 

Joey made a thinking face and was quiet for a moment, catching the ball as she passed it back and rolling it under one foot while he pondered.  “Yeah,” he said at last. 

Sara bit the inside of her cheek to keep back a smile.  “How come?” 

Her nephew picked up the ball.  “He’s got lots of money,” he pointed out practically, and Sara bit harder.  “And he really really likes you.” 

He punted the ball in practiced goalie fashion, making Sara dart for it and bat it down with her arm.  “How do you know?” 

His stare this time was a visual “duh”.  “He’s always watching you.  All the time.” 

Which meant nothing specific on the surface, Sara knew, but she could fill in the blanks for the observations that Joey didn’t have the words for. 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” she told him solemnly, and that seemed to satisfy him. 

Eventually it got too dark to continue, and they trooped back inside with rosy cheeks to sit down to a table full of pastry.  Despite the interruption, Ed had performed his usual miracles with piecrust, and Grissom’s bakery offering was almost as good; Gracie had brought her traditional baklava as well, which was Sara’s first choice.  It was a holiday, and so Ed declared a moratorium on limits, and they all stuffed themselves again. 

Sara half-expected that the adults would retire to the family room to talk, but Grissom excused himself with a look of regret.  “I have to go home and call my mother.” 

“You can use our phone,” Ed offered, but Grissom shook his head and shot Sara a slightly wary look. 

“She’s Deaf.  I need to use a TTY.” 

Sara blinked.  She’s--ohh.  Now that explains a few things. 

“What’s a TTY?” Kimmy asked before Sara could respond. 

“It’s a device that lets Deaf people use the telephone,” Grissom explained.  “It has a keyboard like a typewriter, and a little screen.” 

Kimmy looked less than impressed.  “Why don’t you just IM each other?” 

Gracie opened her mouth, but Grissom’s lips twitched and he answered before she could admonish the girl.  “Sometimes we do, but Mom likes the TTY better.  And we don’t have to have a computer to use it.” 

“Oh.”  That apparently made sense, and Kimmy dropped her interrogation. 

Bemused, Sara went downstairs to get Grissom’s jacket from the closet, and felt him come up behind her, a big warm presence that managed to wake all her nerves again.  “Are you mad at me?” he asked quietly. 

She held still, savoring the sensation, and considered his question.  “No,” she said finally. 

The tingle on the back of her neck was light, and Sara realized that he was touching her hair where it lay on her nape and shoulders.  “I didn’t tell you.” 

That was true, but…  “Grissom, it wasn’t any of my business, before.”  She held back the shrug, afraid of scaring away his feathery stroke.  “If you’d tried to keep it a secret now, yeah, I’d be pissed.” 

He breathed a laugh, and dropped his hand.  “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Sara grinned a little, and pulled his jacket from the hanger, turning to hand it to him. 

“Are you going to kiss?” inquired a childish voice from above. 

As one, they looked up.  Kimmy was hanging over the stairwell banister, looking down at them; Joey was peering through the spindles. 

Sara felt her cheeks flush, but before she could muster a reprimand, Grissom turned back to her.  Unwillingly fascinated, she watched one of his brows go up in a clear challenge. 

She never could resist a challenge. 

It was only a quick, chaste press, but the soft smoothness of his lips brushing over hers warmed her all through, and she clenched her hand firmly at her side rather than allowing it to curve around his neck.  Judging from the shaken breath he drew, Grissom had much the same reaction. 

With an effort, Sara cocked her head to look up at her small relations.  Joseph was making a face, but Kimmy looked gravely pleased.  “Satisfied?” Sara asked dryly. 

Her niece nodded; Joey vanished, but she remained.  Sara thought about chasing her off, but decided that it would just attract Ed’s attention.  “Say hi to your mom for me,” she told Grissom, only half-joking, and he gave her a one-sided smile. 

“I will.” 

He took his jacket from her fingers, and then he was gone, and she didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.