A/N: We thought we had finished this series- but not yet. Here's one more for those who have asked for and enjoyed the previous stories of Sara and Gil Grissom and a little team of their own! All are back in this story along with a person from the beginning of this series.
Of course, we don't own CSI or Sara or Gil (or things would be very different on CSI!)
A Few Days in April
The mornings of April are sometimes warm, often damp with dew or wet with night time rain that always provided a sense of freshness. In a time when peaceful seclusion was almost impossible to find, spring came quietly with the smells of the earth—plowed fields, greening of grass, the first swell of new buds on trees.
Sara opened her eyes, took a deep breath to rediscover the intimate fragrances of her life, and listened for familiar sounds within the walls of her home. What she heard was a succession of tranquil sounds. The first, and nearest, was the regular breathing of her husband, a sound that had comforted her for years as each of his breaths seemed perfectly timed, like a soft metronome, marking a rhythm for her life as well as his. The second sound was the rain—much needed at this time of year—as it gently tapped the roof and rinsed the house, and would brighten and bloom every blade of grass, every plant and flower around their home.
As she processed sounds, she realized there was another person breathing in her bed—small child sized puffs—on the other side of her husband; smiling, she knew it was their youngest child, Will, who as a toddler had recently gone from crib to bed and often found his way to sleep with his parents. She was thankful there was only one child in the bed.
Beyond the sounds of breathing and rain, she heard the quiet rustle and swish of movements outside of the bedroom; when her first child had been an infant, Sara had made the decision to sleep with the bedroom door open and she knew the sounds were made by her oldest daughter, Bizzy.
Knowing her daughter would be dressing and content to have her own quiet time, Sara decided to stay in bed for a few more minutes. She worried about all of her children, not constantly, and usually only in quiet times, but hearing Bizzy stir earlier than anyone else, caused her concern to rise.
Her first daughter, whose birth had been the beginning of a new chapter—no, a new book—Sara thought, was intuitive beyond her age, had intelligence that boarded on prodigy, and a gift to disguise her brilliance. Often, the child knew what her mother was thinking before Sara voiced her thoughts.
Carefully, she extradited herself out of bed, glancing at the two sleeping forms, both seemed to sense her movement and stretched, moving from a tight nested cuddle to spread arms and legs across the bed. Softly, she laughed as her husband shifted and spread his arms; her youngest child did the same. The spread-eagle Vitruvius man and son, she thought, as she wrapped a lightweight robe around her body, went to the bathroom and then slipped quietly from the bedroom.
Her daughter had heard her or was already headed to the kitchen when Sara entered the hallway and the two smiled the same smile as they hugged and kept arms around each other as they headed to the kitchen.
"Good morning, Sweetheart," Sara whispered as her lips touched the dark-curled hair of her daughter. "You're up early." She felt a book that was tucked under Bizzy's arm.
A lift of narrow shoulders, followed by a soft giggle, "I wanted to read—I love this one."
Sara hugged her daughter tightly. From the moment she had known she was pregnant, she had vowed her child would have a different childhood than the one she had lived. Her husband had surprised her with this house near her mother, and, more importantly, the group of nuns who had taken Sara and her mother into their community.
Surrounded by supportive neighbors, Sara and Grissom found a quiet and organized life. Shortly after Bizzy was born, Sara knew she wanted another child—and got twins, Ava and Annie. The day Sara learned she would have twins, Grissom brought Eli Brown, the son of Warrick, from Las Vegas to live with them. And now there were five of them. At times Sara found her life, the simple joy of it, the beauty of her children, the devotion of her husband, almost unbelievable.
"I'll start breakfast and you can read," Sara said.
Bizzy pulled a chair away from the table. "I can fix your tea, Mom! You know the others won't wake up for a while." She opened her book. "You can read to me?" The lilt in the girl's voice reflected a younger tone of Sara's voice.
Sara smiled, "Okay," and began to read a story familiar to young girls for decades. A few minutes later, Bizzy placed a steaming mug in front of her. Sara patted her thigh and her daughter hopped onto her lap. As the tea steeped, Sara continued to read as her daughter nestled against her chest.
When she paused at the end of the chapter, Bizzy said, "I like this."
"I do too." Sara kissed her daughter's temple. "We don't have much quiet time in this house, do we?"
Bizzy giggled. "No, but I love all of us—even when Annie and Ava are jumping around thinking they are ballerinas!" She giggled again, adding, "I think we have more kids than anyone at school."
Sara knew that was true and murmured agreement.
The slim girl wiggled, turning to face her mother. Sapphire blue eyes the color of her father's blinked at Sara. "Can we go to chapel today? Even in the rain? The music is always pretty on Sunday."
"Sure," Sara said. She had little belief in organized religions, but their religious neighbors had created a sanctuary—a retreat for adults seeking quiet answers—and were part of their extended family. The women loved Sara's children and were loved in return. And Sunday service, a simple ceremony with music, a choir, and prayers, was one way Sara showed her love and respect for the women who had known her longer than anyone else.
"Can we have waffles for breakfast? I'll help."
Softly, Sara laughed. "Waffles on a rainy Sunday morning sound perfect."
Bizzy smiled. "I love to read. This is probably my favorite book."
Sara knew the favorite book changed weekly. "You read the next chapter." She enclosed her daughter in her arms and used her fingers to hold the book open. She could feel her daughter smile as the child began to read about a red-headed orphan named Anne Shirley.
A/N: This one is all fluff-with a bit of panty driven smut coming soon!