A/N - So this is the sequel to The One That Got Away. Basically, the premise is that even though the way Sara and Grissom got together might have been different than on the show, her past still catches up with her and she has to leave to deal with it. So this is set 2 years after The One that Got Away ended, and they're married now. Although, this is going to be rather angsty and not as focused on the GSR as all my other stories have been. It's still there, just not the main theme. Okay, I'll shut up now. Feedback is always welcomed and encouraged, and thanks as always to GSFanatic for being the most helpful beta that ever beta'd.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


November, 2009

He's probably reading the letter right now.

Ah, the letter. I know it's a cop out. I know I owe him an explanation. I know to everyone, it must seem that I'm out of control and maybe a little crazy. I know a lot of things, but the one thing I know more than anything is that I have to get out of here.

I came here for him. And now I'm leaving for him, too. How does that make sense at all? Well, it makes sense in my head, and that's the only thing that counts at this point. I think I deserve to be a little selfish. I mean, don't I? After everything I've been through?

The taxi driver asks where I'm going. I think about it, maybe too long, because he says, "Ma'am?"

So I tell him. "McCarren Airport," I say. When I get there, I will buy a ticket for San Francisco, and then I'll drive. I'll drive to a place that I've been avoiding for all of my adult life; the place that still haunts me every time I close my eyes.

"Where are you off to?" The driver asks, perhaps sensing that I'm at rock bottom and I need to talk to someone about it.

"Tomales Bay, California," I tell him. "It's where I grew up." It's where my mother killed my father in front of me and my brother. I do not add this important detail.

I close my eyes and think about the letter I've just written.

Gil, you know I love you. I feel I've loved you forever. Lately, I haven't been feeling very well. Truth be told, I'm tired. In the hospital, while I mourned the loss of what could have been our son, I realized something - and I haven't been able to shake it. Since my father died I've spent almost my entire life with ghosts. We've been like close friends, and that night in the hospital after everyone had left and it was just me and all the drugs coursing through my body, it occurred to me it was time for me to bury them.

I can't do that here. I'm so sorry.

No matter how hard I try to fight if off, I'm left with the feeling that I have to go. I'm going home. Not the home we share, but the home that I've been running away from since I was 11 years old. I have to do this. If I don't, I'm afraid I'll self-destruct - and worse, you'll be there to see it happen. You've already seen enough.

Be safe, know that I tried very hard to stay. Know that you are my one and only. I'll miss you with every beat of my heart.

Our life together is the only home I've ever really had. I won't trade it for anything, and I will be back. I have to take care of some things first, but know that when I'm done, I will come home. The home we share. Please wait for me.

I love you. I always will.

Goodbye for now.


It's not like I didn't have an opportunity to tell him that I was leaving, it was more like it was a sudden decision to leave and if I talked to him about it, I wouldn't leave. And I have to leave, because even though I've only been in Vegas for a few years, I've discovered something. The only thing that's been keeping me sane is him. I'm only happy when I'm with him, and that's not good for me anymore. Even when I was with Robert, thinking about Gil is what never failed to make me smile. When I was having a rough day, I'd close my eyes and think about what it would be like to be in his arms. And now, when I am in his arms, I can't help but wonder if there was anything better than that feeling; that feeling of comfort and safety that I can only find when I'm with him. It's discouraging, because I don't want to be that person. I want to be able to make myself happy and then have the added benefit of him by my side. That's why I have to go.

The cab driver drops me off at the airport. I don't have anything with me, just my purse with my wallet, my iPod, a crumpled piece of paper that contained the first draft of the letter, my cell phone, a tube of lipstick, and a phone number written on the back of a business card. Oh, and some cigarettes and a lighter.

As a matter of fact, as soon as I get out of the cab, I light up a cigarette, and inhale deeply. My lungs haven't experienced this toxin in quite a long time, not since college, and they protest in the form of a very unlady-like coughing fit. It hurts, but in a good way. Ah, how I missed smoking. When I was pregnant, I had such terrible cravings for tobacco. Even in my dreams, I'd be smoking a cigarette. I didn't, though. I didn't want to take any chances. A lot of good that did me.

An hour later, I'm booked for a flight to San Francisco that's leaving in 2 hours. I look around me at the people playing slot machines and wonder how desperate they are to get one last jackpot before their plane takes them back to reality. I know how they feel--I'm waiting for my plane back to reality.

I pick up my cell phone and take out the business card with the phone number. I hesitantly dial the number. I hear it ring, just one ring. And then I hang up and put the phone and the number back in my purse. I'm not ready to call my mother yet. Maybe when I get to California. Maybe after that. Maybe never. My mother, I will deal with eventually. Because I'm not going home to see her. I'm going home to get to know my dad. Somebody has to know something about him. Somebody in California has to know more about my dad than I do. I want to know what he was like before he let the bottle get the best of him. Somebody has to know, because I have to know. I have to confront my ghosts, because if I don't...I'll never get back to Grissom.

Grissom is my starting point and my end point. He's my shelter from the shitstorm of my life. He doesn't always know the right thing to say or do, and sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder why it is I jeopardized my good, solid but godawful boring marriage to be with this odd workaholic entomologist who was always keeping me on my toes. But then I'll wake up from a restful sleep and find him next to me, snoring away as usual, I think about how lucky I am that I get to be with my soul mate. But none of that mattered the day I lost our baby. And nothing has mattered since then.


When I started showing a few months into the pregnancy, I know what people were thinking. I'm 37, Gil's 53 and already has a daughter. It must have been unplanned. We had a little surprise coming into the world, and we must be frustrated by that development.

The truth is, I wanted a baby. Robert and I tried for years, but we couldn't make anything happen. I know this disappointed him more than it did me. But I wanted a baby with Grissom, something that was part of both of us, and he wanted the same. It came as a surprise to me that he wanted to have another child, especially since at the time, Charlotte was nearly 26 years old.

"Sara, believe me, I know there's an age difference," he said when I carefully brought up the subject. "I know Charlotte will be old enough to be the baby's mother and some people will find that hard to swallow. But raising her was an essential part of my life, and if I had to do it all over again so you can have that experience, so we can have that experience together...it'll be worth it."

I mean, how can you not love a man like that?

It didn't take long, much to our shock and surprise. Before we'd even been married a year, I was pregnant. We sat on the bed, our new dog Hank lying at our feet, while I waited for the results of the pregnancy test. I wasn't sure how I'd feel either way, but when we found a positive result, we grinned at each other like kids on Christmas morning.

We had a little dinner party a few days later with Avery, her date, Charlotte, Warrick, Catherine, Nick and Greg and their dates. We ate spaghetti and drank wine while Charlotte entertained us with tales of her new life in the courtroom. Gil and I were going to tell everyone about the baby after dessert, but Catherine cornered me when I was in the kitchen getting it ready.

"You're pregnant," Catherine said, staring at me. I stopped scooping vanilla ice cream and stared back at her.

"How the hell do you know?" I whispered. "Did he tell you? He promised he would wait!"

"I know you are, Sara. I've been there before, and I'm there now. So don't try to hide it, a woman knows these things!"

"Well, yeah. We were going to tell everyone--wait, what? You aren't--"

Catherine nodded. We both let out a girlish squeal that sent both Gil and Warrick running towards the kitchen with wild abandon.

"What's wrong? What's happening?!" They both wanted to know.

Catherine slithered up to Warrick and whispered in his ear. He laughed, and couldn't stop laughing.

"Want to let me in on the joke?" Gil asked me.

"We're both pregnant," I tell him. "Think Ecklie will appreciate the news?"

By then, a crowd had gathered, so we told them our news. Everyone laughed and hugged and kissed, and I was excited to have someone who'd been there before going through it with me. And only the tiniest bit bitter that she stole my thunder.

Later, after everyone but Avery and her date left, she helped me wash dishes while Gil and her date, Mark, watched ESPN with an alarming amount of interest.

"I just want to tell you how happy I am for you two," she said, looking genuinely pleased and just a little nostalgic. "He's such a doting, caring father, and you're just going to fall in love with him all over again."

I smiled, and felt a tiny bit sad for the mother of his first child. "Thank you, Avery. That means so much to me."

She looked at me closely. "Is there...anything you want to talk about?"

How did she know? Avery was always doing that, guessing that I wanted to talk about something before I even knew myself. But since she's a doctor, I knew I could tell her what was bothering me.

"I'm just worried, you know? I'm almost 38, Avery. I know the statistics aren't as good for a healthy baby at this point. I worry that I waited too long, I was too focused on my career and I should have--"

Avery put her hand on my arm. I set down the bowl I was washing and looked at her, a few tears in my eyes. Damn hormones.

"First of all, you've told me before that you didn't know if Robert would be a good father, so you were right to wait. You've seen Gil with Charlotte, he's amazing and she totally adores him. Now, as far as you being older, yes, you are. And maybe 15, 20 years ago that would have been a problem. But more and more women are waiting, and with that, medical technology has gotten so much better in that area. We know how to deal with complications better now. Everything will be fine, Sara, believe me."

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe Gil when he'd put his hand on my stomach and make up stories about what our baby will grow up to be. From his tales, I imagined our baby was going to grow up and be a baseball playing scientist who discovered the cure for cancer. Still, something nagged at me when I started to let myself be truly happy. Something in the back of my mind wouldn't let me stop worrying about what could happen. And in my seventh month, I went to a crime scene that changed everything, and as soon as I had everything, I lost everything.