A/N: I don't own them, The Powers That Be do. I know it's been a while since I've updated this story, but I wanted to go through and edit/clean everything up.

Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated.

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"Can you call me back Sara? I'm too busy right now." he said as he closed his phone without waiting for an answer. Grissom went back to the words typed in front of him; unable to concentrate due to the interruption. "Damn it Sara!"

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"It's been 15 minuets since shift started. Where the hell is she?" Grissom looked around at his coworkers trying to find an answer, but all he got was shrugs and murmurs of "No idea."

Grissom sighed as he looked back around the room mentally trying to figure out who he could spare to go check up on Sara. His eyes landed on the youngest CSI who was staring off in to space.

"Greg!" Grissom said louder than usual to wake him out of his trace.

Greg's eyes lost their gaze and he returned to the present moment. "Yea Boss?" he asked.

"I want you to go to Sara's apartment to see if she's okay." Grissom said looking over his case files. Catherine and Warrick got the 'dead body' at the plaza, Nick got the 'break and enter' on Kirkwood, and he would have the other 'dead body' at the Mirage and all the paperwork that needed to be done last week.

Greg knew that it was pointless to try to argue with Grissom over this. When it came to Sara he just had to take everything as it came. One day it seemed like those two were a married couple, the next they were arguing over the silliest things.

"Sure. Fine. I'll go." Greg replied as he stood up and grabbed his coat, which he had draped over the back of his chair. Without another word he left.

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"Sara?" Greg asked as he tried the door knob expecting the resistance of a lock. Sara was known for the locks in her house; two on her front door, two for her bedroom, and one on at least every door in her house, save the kitchen cabinets and the refrigerator. When he turned the knob he found that the cylinder slid smoothly back with a gentle click, but the door did not open.

Pushing the wooden door forward he found resistance that let the door open only inches. "Sara?" He couldn't see what was blocking the way and the more he considered the possibilities, the more worried he became. "Sara?" his voice becoming increasingly panicked each time he called her name. "Sara! Sara?" Fearing the worst he pushed until he made enough room for his slender frame to slip through. Without thinking he shut the door, locked, and dead-locked it, and looked down to see what he feared was the worst.

"Oh God!" he whispered as he fell to his knees beside her. Sara was curled up on her side, knees to chest with her cheek pressed against the cool wood floor. Her mahogany hair was strewn across her face, caught in the dried trails of tears and small splatters of blood around her wrist. "No, no, no, no, no…" Greg checked for a pulse and found one, strong and steady. Taking his eyes off her for the first time he understood why she wasn't responding; at least seven empty bottles of beer lay strewn around the room, two within her reach. Greg looked for an explanation to the blood on the wooden floor; her face was unharmed, but her wrists had numerous shallow scratches.

The feelings that pumped with each beat of his heart had finally settled on one, the desolate feeling of helplessness. She lay so peaceful, but scared; her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes darting unceasingly under her closed eyelids. Sara began to tremble, her body shuddering on the floor in front of him, her breathing becoming erratic.

"Sara? Please don't do this to me. Please" Greg whispered as he carefully brushed back her hair covering her face; tears were falling from her tightly closed eyes.

"Baby?" he said just as softly, "Talk to me, please… open your eyes." His hands were still gently combing though her hair, catching occasionally on a tangle on its way down to the nape of her neck. A shiver went down her spine as she decided to acknowledge Greg's hands moving slowly and tenderly through her hair and down her back, making gentle circles.

Her tears kept falling, no longer out of self-hate, but of foolishness. This wasn't the way it was supposed to end, no one was supposed to care; they were to find her tomorrow or the next day. She cried because she was found.

Sara looked cautiously up towards Greg's face, his eyes were closed and she could tell he was thinking, thinking about her. Faint lines where tears had fallen reflected the dying sunlight; a new tear slowly making its decent down his cheek. Reaching up she caught the tear on her thumb, as gently as he had comforted her. Her hand remained against his skin, catching each new tear as it plunged off his faint eyelashes.

After a moment, drawn out too long, his eyes slowly opened to meet hers, his fear reflected in her own eyes. Sara opened her mouth as if to speak, but her voice was distant, almost incomprehensible, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" Each word became more difficult than the last, each word slowly broke Greg's spirit more than the one before. Sara closed her eyes; unable to see how he cried with each word she spoke.

Greg was absent from her world when Sara opened her eyes. She couldn't feel his hands caresses her back or his fingers running through her hair. Tears grew into sobs as she realized that he was just a figment of a desperate woman's imagination, hoping that someone would care. Her eyes shut again as she become aware that she was alone in her apartment.