TITLE:
TakenAUTHOR: Anansay
SUMMARY: Eventual happiness is torn apart when Sara goes missing.
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was written in response to a challenge posted on UtB by Aphrodite. These were the criteria: Grissom and Sara are together...engaged Sara gets kidnapped by a criminal (?) and she goes missing and the CSIs never find her b/c *gasp* she was dropped off somewhere by the criminal and in the process was hit on the head or something and has amnesia. She doesn't remember who she is Sara finds out she's pregnant with someone's baby...Grissom's ?? but of course she doesn't remember who Years go by and no trace of Sara b/c Sara now has new identity and new life w/ her baby. She regains her memory from another traumatic event What does she do w/ her newly regained identity and memories?? does she go back?? up to you!
I only hope this satisfies. *smile*
"What do you think about this one?" Sara allowed her finger to rest on the page.
Grissom leaned over and peered at the page. "Albert?" He looked up at his fiancée. "Why Albert?"
"Why not? It's a nice name. Albert Grissom. Has a good ring to it."
When Grissom's eyebrow shot up, Sara looked down and hid a grin. "Alright, no Albert. I'm sure Einstein'll be alright with that, you spurning his name and all."
"Sara, I do like Einstein, but I'm not naming my child Albert."
Sara's hand gravitated toward her still-flat belly. "Well, we still have almost seven months to find a name. I'm sure we can settle on something by then."
Grissom leaned over to press his lips against Sara's cheek. "I'm sure we will. After all, we're brilliant scientists, thinking of a name can't be that difficult!"
"That's right." She turned her head and kissed Grissom. A chaste kiss, meant to assuage, quickly turned to something more carnal when Grissom's hand brushed past her nipple to take hold of her breast. She moaned into his mouth and moved to press herself more closely against his body. With open mouths and dueling tongues an age-old dance began, much practiced by the lovers over the past year.
"Can we take this to the bedroom?" Grissom asked against her mouth when Sara's hand had found the growing bulge in his slacks and had begun to massage it.
"Thought you'd never ask."
Hand in hand they disappeared in the gloom of the bedroom.
"Shit."
The mumbled expletive was enough to rouse Sara from a rather unusual deep sleep. She rolled over and opened one eye. Grissom was propped up on one elbow, his back to her. She could only assume he was staring at the clock.
"What? What time is it?"
"Late. Damn, we slept in again." He rolled over. "We have to stop these sex sessions before work. We tire ourselves out too easily." Although his words and his voice sounded brusque, the gleam in his eye and the pull of his lips belied the seriousness and Sara couldn't help but pull him down for a rather intense mouth-to-mouth session. "Sara! We have to get ready. We'll be late," he tried to speak coherently but her lips kept getting in the way. He finally had to push her away and almost hop out of bed. "Stop. Get up and get ready."
"Sour puss."
"Damn!"
"What?"
"My pager's dead."
"Let's see." Grissom extended his hand toward Sara as she stood staring at the dead display.
She leaned against the counter in the kitchen and gave him a look. "Grissom, I think I can tell when the batteries need changing."
Grissom could only smirk at her as he poured the coffee into two cups and added sugar and cream to his. He pulled open a drawer and began rummaging and causing quite the noise. "Shit."
"What?"
"We're out of batteries." He held up a ripped open and empty package of batteries. "Who puts an empty package back anyway?"
Grissom's heavy sigh told Sara he was thinking his typical thoughts. Her propensity for the rush-job of just grabbing and taking off, leaving the remnants behind had been a small bone of contention between them, albeit a small one.
"Sorry. I'll just pick some up on the way into work tonight."
"Sara, we're already late to begin with."
"I'll take my car and that way at least the boss'll get there on time."
Grissom pursed his lips. Since Sara had moved in with Grissom six months previously, they'd rarely gone into work separately. There wasn't any more reason to hide their relationship and it just seemed natural to arrive together. "Fine. I have to run. I'll see you there. Drive safe." He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek, pulling back before she could turn her face and deepen it.
It still awed him that such a chaste thing could quickly develop into something more carnal, and time-consuming.
"I love you," he added at the door.
Sara grinned at him while she capped her coffee cup.
"Alright," Grissom said as he rounded the corner, and fell into a chair by the table in the breakroom.
"Tough day?" Catherine asked with a gleam in her eye.
Grissom met it with a plain one of his own. "Fine Catherine, and yours?"
"Uh-huh. Mine was good. Have trouble getting here?"
Grissom smirked and began rearranging the case file cards on the table. "Where's Sara?"
Nick and Warrick joined them from the video game. "Didn't she come in with you?" Nick asked.
"Not tonight. She needed batteries for her pager." He glanced at his watch. "She should be here by now. How many stores would she have to go to?"
"Maybe traffic was heavy," Warrick suggested.
"Naw, it was pretty light."
"Well, give her time. She is a woman, after all. Maybe she saw a few more things she wanted to pick up."
"Sara wouldn't be late for work for a few things, Catherine. She's not that kind of woman."
"You would know!"
"Alright enough. We have work to do. Nicky, you have a DB. Cosgrove."
"Solo?"
"Yup! Have fun."
"Cool!" Nick grabbed the paper and fairly hopped out of the breakroom.
"Catherine Warrick, you have a missing person. Three days now. Suspicious circs."
Catherine grabbed the card and smiled at Warrick. "I'm driving."
Warrick rolled his eyes. "Women," he muttered under his breath and Grissom merely raised an eyebrow as he sauntered past after Catherine.
Grissom stayed in his seat and began drumming his fingers on the table, alternately glancing at his watch and then toward the door. After a short while he pulled his cell phone and dialed Sara's number. It rang ten times before he gave up and hung up. Maybe she really was still in the store picking up more than just batteries.
The drumming got louder.
He rose from his seat and headed toward the cloakroom.
Her locker was empty of coat or purse. She hadn't arrived yet. He called her cell phone again and again it rang and rang without answer. Grissom's pulse rose, as did his breathing.
He headed to his office, the only place he knew he could think relatively undisturbed. He needed to quiet the thoughts rushing about in his head. There was nothing wrong. There was nothing wrong.
When he got to his office he grabbed his phone. "Jim? You got anything from the paramedics of any possible accidents?"
"No, why?"
"Hmm, just wondering. Sara's not here yet. She was supposed to pick up some batteries on her way in and she's not answering her cell."
"Don't know what to say, man. I'll send something out on the radio to look out for anything along that route."
"Thanks Jim."
"Hey, don't worry. She can drive recklessly but she's a good driver. I'm sure it's nothing."
"Yeah. Nothing. Sure. Okay, thanks."
"No prob."
Grissom replaced the phone on its cradle and steepled his fingers beneath his chin, trying in vain to quell the panic that was slowly rising. His body was beginning to tingle with nervous energy. Where was Sara?"
"Excuse me?"
Sara turned from her car, bag dangling from her wrist. "Yeah?"
A woman stood behind her. "I was just wondering... you look like you're good at this sort of thing." The woman twisted her hands before her. "I kinda locked my keys in my car. Do you know how I could get in?"
Sara looked past the woman at a car that sat in the shadows between two lampposts. She knew of the dangers to women at night, especially for those who required help. Who knew what kind of kook would offer 'help' and then do the unspeakable.
Sara smiled. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I've locked myself out of my car on a few occasions. Just let me put this bag in and I'll be right with you. I have a coat hanger in there."
The woman smiled. "That's great. Thank you so much! I really appreciate this."
Sara unlocked her door, threw in the bag and reached beneath the seat for the twisted metal that used to be a coat hanger. "It's no problem. It happens to the best of us." She joined the woman and headed for the car. Her body shuddered suddenly as a shiver ran up her spine. "Bad place to park, between two lampposts like this. For future reference, you might want to consider something more out in the open. Too many things can happen in a place like this."
The woman hung her head. "I know. It's just... out in the light, so many people can see you."
Sara turned her head and frowned. The woman looked... nervous. "Well, that would be the reason to stay in the light, so people can see you and no one can hide in the shadows. Trust me, I work in law enforcement; I've seen way too many cases of women being beaten. And worse. It's better in the light."
The woman looked at Sara and smiled. It seemed real enough, a genuine smile. But there was something that still bothered Sara. "I know. It's just... light bothers me, you know? It's... scary in the light."
Sara frowned. This woman was definitely weird. But Sara decided not to push it. Sometimes it was just better to leave conversations with strangers in the realm of the safe, like the weather.
They arrived at the car and the doors were indeed locked. Sara jimmied the bent piece of metal up between the window and the rubber and then twisted it down to catch the lock. In no time, the door was unlocked and open, waiting for the woman to get in.
But the woman stood back and stared at the car as though it contained some malevolent entity. Her eyes were wide and Sara noticed the twisting of her hands had become almost violent, the skin pulling across the bones almost painfully.
Sara took a step toward her. "Ma'am? Are you alright?"
The woman glanced up at Sara, her eyes still wide. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just..."
And then Sara realized she hadn't been looking at the car but rather beyond it when a noise caught her attention. Just as she turned around, she saw a dark form rush up to her and then a flash of pain as something came down hard on the back of her neck. The pain blinded her and then the ground hit her on the side of her face.
She could barely make out two sets of feet: a pair of woman's shoes and the other a pair of scuffed up men's running shoes.
"C'mon, help me!" a man's voice commanded.
"But..."
There was an unmistakable pungent odor of sweat and something else, something putrid and decaying.
"Dammit woman! We gotta get her outta here!"
"Umm... okay..."
Sara tried to mumble something but then huge hands were beneath her arms and she felt herself being dragged across the rough asphalt.
"Check her pockets, take everything."
"Paul, this is so..."
She remembered the advice she'd given the woman about parking in the dark with a small sense of irony.
"Just do it! It's a simple thing, why can't you just do it?"
"Oh, okay..."
Sara felt a pair of hands on her body, digging slowly into her pockets. She tried to fight, to push the hands away but other hands, rougher and more callused hands, pushed hers away. They were yanked behind her and the feel of rough twine could be felt around her wrists as they were bound.
"No, please don't..." She heard a weak voice whimper and realized with a shock it was her own.
A sharp pain sent her head into the seat as a hand connected painfully with her cheek. "Shut the fuck up, bitch!"
Sara moaned, the pain in her head exploding to massive proportions. And then a different sensation occurred, one of moving but not moving. Through the fog she realized the doors had been shut and the car was moving. It was leaving and she was in it, bound and slowly losing consciousness. She opened her eyes one last time and saw the lights of Vegas zooming past her at dizzying speeds before the darkness finally became complete and all pain left.
"What do you mean you found her car?" Grissom asked the question, speaking slowly, almost as though he were speaking to a child.
"Gil, calm down."
"No. Explain yourself. You found her car. Where is Sara?"
"Gil--"
"Don't 'Gil' me! Where is Sara?!" Grissom was standing in Jim's doorway after responding to a rather bizarre message on his pager. found car. my office.
"Gil, sit down. Please."
"No. Just tell me Jim. Where is my fiancée?"
Jim sighed and swallowed. "We found her car by the quikkimart on Lasalle, fifteen minutes from here. There's a bag with batteries in it. She made it to the store."
Grissom was staring at Brass as though he could pierce through the dour exterior to some remote area that might give him all the answers he sought. And then his eyes glazed over and he stared at the floor and his body started to shake. Jim jumped from his chair and came around to grab Grissom's arm. Like a good friend he guided him to a chair where Grissom promptly fell into it, legs sprawled out, body slumped forward.
"Oh god..." His chest hitched and his hand flew to his mouth. "Oh god..." His voice broke and a garbled cry got strangled in his throat as he tried to hold back, to keep it in. "She's gone... Jim, she's gone... Sara's gone... oh god...!"
"Hey! She's not gone. We'll find her. You hear me? We have the best team here. We'll find her!"
"Oh god..."
But they never found her. They searched high and low, scoured the streets, the alleys, interrogated anybody and everybody they thought could have had any clue as to what happened. No one saw or heard anything. Sara Sidle vanished, so it seemed, into thin air.
Her cell phone was found the next day in some bushes near where her vehicle was found. No fingerprints on it. None on her vehicle either.
He didn't go home for three days, barking orders about the lab and stomping around like a petulant child. Everyone stayed out of his way, averted their eyes and scuttled away beneath his wrath, trying in vain to perform miracles. He combed the streets relentlessly, stopping every stranger he could and shoving her picture in their face and demanding to know if they'd seen her. He'd ask them over and over again until finally a cruiser picked him. It seemed someone had complained of a crazy man shoving a piece of paper in people's faces and screaming. Sometimes friends can seem like enemies when they intervene in someone's attempt at self-destruction. And that's what Grissom felt, for Brass and Catherine and the rest of them who'd told him to go home-home? To what?-and get some rest-how the hell was he supposed to rest when his pregnant fiancée was out there somewhere, possibly dead?!?
Weeks passed, nothing new emerged. New cases came in and eventually case #34-662-745-Sidle S. finally made it to the fish corkboard behind Grissom's desk, the evidence logged and locked away in a box in the cold case room.
Grissom became a ghost, a pale version of his former cool self, now even more frigid and aloof. His voice, once cool, calm and collected, now seemed strained as though it were being pushed through a too narrow tunnel, easing its way past clogging debris and waste matter.
Too many times Catherine had to fetch him from his office as he sat and stared at her picture held securely in his hand.
Too many times a hand on a shoulder was required to bring him back as he zoned out yet again at a crime scene.
Greg learned to keep the music to a minimum, wanting to avoid at all costs the loud tirades that would come hurtling from Grissom's mouth should he have to wait for the silence in order to speak.
The void that was Sara, the empty seat in the break room, weighed on them like the invisible strings of guilt, tugging them toward each other and yet pushed them apart. Tempers flared strong and words stung deep. Lips pursed tight and arms opened wide. It was too much and not enough.
"Hey, get your case." Brass' hoarse voice croaked into the room.
Grissom raised his head from the paperwork that had consumed him like an obsession. Something, anything to keep his mind off cases and puzzles and murder and death, and missing people. He sighed.
"You okay?" Although amicable shades had tinted their relationship in the past, never before had the words 'you okay' been uttered so many times.
Grissom's fist came down hard on the desk. In the perpetual silence of Grissom's office the sound reverberated with a crack and echoing timbers of anger. He glared at his friend, eyes alit with the fires of passion unreleased. "I'm fine. How many times do I have to tell you that?" He stood up, his chair scraping suddenly on the floor and grabbed his field kit by the desk. He strode past the detective, "Let's go" and disappeared down the hallway, soft shoes making barely any sound, like a ghost.
Another sigh sounded behind Brass. He turned to find Catherine staring after Grissom. She met his eyes and shrugged her shoulders. "He's buried himself in his work before, and he's doing it again."
"I don't know what to do, Catherine." For once, the weariness came through in Jim's voice and his shoulders slumped.
"There's nothing any of us can do. She's gone. He loved once, and now..."
"....and now he doesn't. He just... exists." The last came out with the vehemence of a curse.
Their eyes met again and then Jim left. There was still work to do.
The jeep jerked along the bumpy ground, brushes grabbing at the sides and offering their own version of high-pitched drumming inside the jeep. The two passengers were tossed this way and that, their bodies held to the seats by the belts.
"You sure this is the way?"
"Yeah, man. I told you, my old man used to bring me here."
"Jerry, this is bare land. I don't see anything resembling a dwelling."
Suddenly the jeep jerked, throwing its passengers forward before tipping precariously on its side for a moment and then coming down hard on all four wheels, only to go spinning off again in a turn that would have many professional stunt drivers drooling in envy.
When the vehicle finally came to a stop, both men sat stock still in the car. The driver's hands were white-knuckling the steering wheel while the other had one hand on the roll bar by his head and the other trying to brace himself against the dashboard. Neither moved for a long minute.
"Shit!"
"Damn."
"That was close."
"Too close."
"What the hell did we hit?"
"A rock. Or something."
"Or something... real big."
"Yeah. You really shouldn't be driving so fast, Jer."
"Just trying to get there before dark."
"Jerry, it's the middle of the afternoon, how far is this place?"
"Well... not far. I just..."
"Fine." The door opened and the man from the passenger seat stepped out.
"John, where ya going?" Jerry said as he got out as well.
John disappeared beside the jeep. "To check if we're okay to move."
Jerry joined his friend on the other side of the jeep. "We okay?"
"Yeah, I think so." He stood up and looked down the road.
"Alright. Let's get going! I wanna get there!"
John smiled at his friend, always the active one. "Alright, let's go." He pulled himself up and was just about to slide onto his seat. "Hey, what's that?" he said, staring ahead.
"What?" Jerry looked out. "I don't see anything."
"Just a sec." He got out and began walking among the sagebrush.
"John! Hold up!" Jerry came crashing behind him and almost into him.
He was standing by a large bush and staring down. "What the..."
A hand and arm were sticking out from beneath. He bent down and slowly reached out a hand. "It's cool. God, it's a body!"
Jerry took a step back. "Uh... maybe we should..."
But John was already moving aside the bush to get a better view. Clothes, tattered and torn came into view and then a face. "It's a woman."
"Is she... I mean, uh..."
John was already examining the face, scanning with his eyes. Creamy skin hidden behind a mass of dark brown hair with bits of leaves and moss tangled in it. The clothes were stained with dirt and what he could only think was dried blood. Not much but enough to say there were cuts somewhere. He moved more bush aside, holding it with his arm and exposing more of the body. "I think she's alive."
"How do you know?"
He put two fingers to her neck. "There's a pulse and she's barely breathing." He looked up and around. "She was dumped."
Jerry regarded his friend with beginning skepticism. "How do you know that?"
John peered up at his friend. "You think she wandered all the way out here on her own? We were driving for an hour, Jer."
"Hmm."
"She was dumped. You got your cell on you?"
Jerry reached into his pocket and pulled it out, holding it to his ear. "It doesn't work out here. No reception."
"What the hell kind of cell phone doesn't work out here? I mean, this is when we need one!" John stood, letting the brushes fall back into place.
Jerry only shrugged his shoulders.
"We gotta bring her back with us. She needs to go the hospital."
Jerry looked from his friend to the form on the ground to his jeep and back to his friend. "No back seat. What you gonna do, hold her on your lap?"
"What else can we do? We can't leave her out here. She's still alive!"
Jerry sighed. "Yeah, I know. Fine. Let's do it."
With some effort, they managed to hoist the body up and as John backed into the jeep, he brought the woman along with him, until he was sitting and she was more or less on him. With feet tucked in Jerry closed the door and caught his friend's eye. Never in their life had they had the opportunity to be saviors. It carried with it a bittersweet taste.
As Jerry drove off, John was smoothing the hair away from the face and beginning to see some semblance of a human beneath the dirt and grime. There was an odd sort of beauty to the angular face, the firm set of lips that seemed to pull down at the side, like a perpetual frown. Bony shoulders led down to long thin arms and delicate hands. Her nails were short, business fingers and hands. No manicure on this woman. The frail body gave rise to questions about health. Plain clothes, not really fashionable. John began to wonder who this woman was and why someone would want to hurt her.
The hour it took to arrive in the middle of the desert took about two hours to return. The rough terrain had to be negotiated to ensure the relative comfort of their new bundle. As much as John tried to keep his arms around her and keep her still, she still managed to be jostled and more than a few times her head connected with the roll bar by her head. Sometimes his own head got a hit as well. It was nothing compared to the beating her body had obviously gotten. And therefore the few bruises John acquired on the trip home were quickly discarded.
About an hour in she started to move. John felt the first stirring when her body stiffened over a particular bumpy jolt and a small whimper escaped her lips.
"She awake?" Jerry asked.
"Don't know." John twisted to see her face but her eyes were still closed. "Don't think so."
But another bump soon after had an even louder whimper be heard. John smoothed away the hair, letting his hand rest on her face. Small soothing noises could be heard coming from his mouth as he tried to comfort the strange woman. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap.
"Gil..."
Jerry's head spun around. "What was that?"
"I don't know. Sounded like a name." He leaned closer but no more words were forthcoming.
Suddenly her body went rigid and her eyes flew open. Her hands flew out in front of her, palms open. "No!"
"Whoa!" John tried to hold on to her squirming body, but her movements were jerky as she tried to get away, pushing against his chest. "Hey!"
And then, just as suddenly, she collapsed against him, her chest hitching with small gasps of air, her hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt before falling limply to her lap.
"What was that about?" Jerry asked.
"I have no idea." John gazed at the slumped woman.
Her head moved against him, just a small movement but in his heightened awareness he noticed it. Her hands came together, one holding the other. Deeper breaths moved her body more slowly and steadily against him. There was some control happening.
"Who are you?" came a small ragged voice from beneath the now tangled hair.
John glanced at Jerry. "Uh, I'm John. This is Jerry." He spoke in timid tones, for although hers had been quiet, there was an undercurrent of aggression that had shocked him. He didn't quite know what to expect.
Whereas at first only more gracious altruistic thoughts had floated through his mind, now there came alongside more fearful ones. Perhaps she wasn't a victim after all. Maybe there'd been some just fairness involved in her situation.
"Where's the woman?"
"What woman?"
"The woman..."
"Uh, there is no woman."
"What is she talking about?" Jerry asked, glancing from the desert to his friend and the strange woman.
"I don't know."
"Where are you taking me?"
"Probably the hospital. You're, uh, not okay."
"Hurt..."
"Where?"
"Head..."
John twisted to glance at the back of her head and sure enough a huge clump of blood mixed up with dirt matted her hair. He brought a hand up and touched it gently, but she jerked and grunted, trying to pull away. "Easy. What happened? Do you remember?"
In agonizing slow motion, the woman twisted her own head around and up and John was met with a pair of deep brown glazed eyes that tried to focus on him. The sudden feeling of being naked, of being examined in-depth was unnerving. She blinked a few times and then her head fell forward again. A low moan reverberated against his chest.
Her breathing quickened and he could feel her body beginning to tense.
"You okay?"
"Hurts... ohh..."
"I know, we're almost there. About another half hour or so. What's your name?"
There was silence. Perhaps she'd passed out again. But her voice, softer now, came back to him. "Don't know..."
John glanced at Jerry, who'd born an expression of dumbfounded curiosity throughout the drive back.
The woman came too more fully a while later, reaching up to touch her head and wincing at the sudden jab of pain. She kept looking around herself, her eyes never staying in one place, constantly moving, constantly taking in everything around her.
"Where am I?"
"Boulder City. Or close to it. We found you in Mohave."
"Mohave..."
"Yeah, uh. Do you remember what happened?"
"No..."
"Just one more, c'mon baby, just one more for Mommy, okay?" The brunette tried to cajole her child strapped in a high chair to take the last remaining bite of his meal: a millet patty dipped in ketchup.
Just then the phone rang and the bowl flew into the air with a squeal that would make a banshee proud.
"Oh dammit! Jeezus!" The woman scowled at the one year old, who in turn broke into a huge grin, his face plastered with red sauce and bits of small yellow millet crumbs. Even in the messy fracas, she couldn't help but feel an overwhelming feeling of love for such a cherubic face. The blue eyes that glittered through had always pierced her heart with a pang of such intensity, it would almost send her reeling backwards.
But this time, all she saw was the grinning face of her son as she grabbed the phone from the wall. "Jane Smith here."
"Hey love, how's it going?"
"Oh John," she sighed. "Why can't he just eat?"
"Painting the kitchen again?"
"Yeah, this time red. Vinegary red. Ugh."
A chuckle on the other end reminded her that even though John was her best friend and closest thing her son had to a father, he still had no children and therefore would always see every misdemeanor as something to laugh about, because it was happening to somebody else.
"Listen, I'm taking Jojo for a walk in a bit. You wanna take Gil and join me in the park in a half hour?"
Jane had to laugh. It was just like John to also assume that she could just pick up and go at a moment's notice. It had taken almost a year to convince him that taking care of a child sorta preempted impulsive flights of disregard. There was planning involved in even going to the corner store for some milk. Nap time had to be considered otherwise a cranky Gil was a sight to behold, screaming with a such a high pitch furor, neighbors would eye her suspiciously the next day. Not to mention the entire packing of diapers and bottles and extra food should he get hungry and toys to occupy his never-ending curiosity. And they had to be small, tiny and miniscule. Like insects. Little Gil simply loved insects! He'd watch a spider tiptoe across the floor, ever vigilant in its trek and Gil's eyes would never waver from it, creeping along behind it just as slowly and just as carefully, each hand and each knee carefully plodding its next descent.
It was a marvel to watch. Though the first time Jane had scooped up Gil and helped him away, only to be greeted with a howl of such insult and injury she'd had no choice but to put him down. Now she'd just watch from a polite distance as he performed this delicate dance with yet another spider. And it was the same with any ant that made it inside her home.
Outside well, she'd gotten used to those glances and whispered gossip as her son preferred pouring sand through his fingers back and forth and plucking single blades of grass only to gaze at it with thorough attention as a tiny insect crawled along, seeking the elusive ground.
But Jojo, that was a different story. A huge black Labrador with the patience of a saint, John had joked one day that Gil would be perfect should Jojo ever get fleas. Jane had promptly slapped him on the arm and turned to watch as Gil once again grabbed hold of an ear and hauled himself up to toddle alongside a slowly padding Jojo.
Jane glanced at the clock-one thirty in the afternoon, meals never arrived on time at Jane's house-and began a mental checklist of things that needed doing.
"Alright, a half hour. On the way back I'm gonna stop by the market. I need some more fruit. This kid goes through fruit like it's mother's milk."
A chuckle. "Fine. I'll see you in half an hour then."
"Yup!" Jane hung up, without saying goodbye.
It had taken a while for John to become accustomed to Jane's sudden hanging up but now it was taken for granted: no good-byes would ever issue forth from her mouth.
The stroller's wheel squeaked with every rotation as it traveled at lightning speed on the sidewalk. Its momentum was being aided by the energetic woman trotting behind it. Her wavy brown hair bounced with each step, a light and airy addition to the smile that graced her face. Gil gurgled as he held onto the bar, his face aglow with anticipation. He knew what 'Jojo' meant and where they were going.
"Jojo!" the name came effortlessly to the toddler's lips as he spied the bouncy black shape cavort on the grass in search of the elusive wooden bar John always brought with them. His nose dug into the ground and came up wider than normal with two protrusions on either side. He bounded over to a man who took the stick and tossed it again.
At the sound of the dog's name, the man turned and grinned. "Gil, ma man!" he called out and the child started to vibrate in the stroller, wanting to be there now.
"Hey, John," Jane called out and leaned over to receive the peck on the cheek.
"How's my gal?"
"Tired." She took Gil out and let him toddle on the grass before finally falling down and crawling like mad toward Jojo. She watched him go and then turned to John. "He's a handful. So inquisitive. I don't know where he gets it from."
A shadow crossed John's face for a moment before he turned away and stared after Gil.
Jane sighed. "I know John, I just... it's scary, you know? I have no idea who he is and... I don't know if I want to. I don't want to share Gil with just anyone."
John turned back with a grin on his face. "Except me, right?" He bumped her shoulder with his and she couldn't help but grin back.
They took a seat on a nearby picnic table and watched as Gil crawled over to Jojo and took the stick right from his mouth and started gnawing on it himself. The dog merely cocked his head from side to side and then sat down, his guard duty on full alert.
Jane never really had to worry with Jojo around, he was Gil's personal shadow and would growl if anyone came near them that he didn't know. Even so, Jane would keep glancing back now and then, her mother's worry very strong in this strange world.
John turned to his friend. "You ever wonder... I mean, the doctor did say that your memory would probably come back some day. What happens when it does?"
These conversations seemed to be a bi-montly thing, with John bringing it up most of the time. It seemed to gnaw at the back of his mind, a constant reminder that this woman and her child, a child he'd grown to love as his own, might disappear from his life suddenly, just like she'd disappeared from her life two years previously.
"And when it does, I'll deal with it. Right now, I just want to enjoy this time with him, and you."
"What if someone finds you, recognizes you-"
"John, I'll deal with it then, okay? Now please, don't ruin a perfectly good day."
What could he do? Jane refused to talk about such possibilities. Every time he brought it up she'd shoot him down.
Jane Smith, formerly Jane Doe, formerly who knew? She'd stayed in the hospital for one day and then John convinced her to stay at his sister Kelly's. With no name, no identity, Jane had begun to stick.
When the pregnancy had been discovered-growing bellies and lack of period usually signified the latter-there was panic all around. Jane had hid in her room for a two whole weeks. Wouldn't see or talk to anyone. Finally, the door had crept open one foggy morning and Kelly had found her at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee and a box of Kleenex before her. Many hours and many boxes later the decision was made to keep the child and Jane would be a single mother.
The child came five months later and was named Gilbert Smith. When Jane had been presented with her son, she'd whispered 'Gil' and the nurse had asked if that was the name. With a startled expression Jane had mumbled something that had sounded like 'why not?' and Gilbert it was. Gilbert Smith. The inquisitive little boy with the bright blue eyes and impossibly curly brown hair.
In no time Jane had her own apartment and was once again displaying her overwhelmingly strong desire for independence. She asked nothing of no one and appeared quite stupefied when help was offered. It was something that John both admired and feared in his good friend found in the desert; she could be flailing at the end of her rope and she'd still not ask for help.
"What do you need at the market?" John pushed the stroller and Jane held Jojo's leash loosely in her hand.
It was a relief not to push something, at least for a while, and Jojo just walked beside her, the leash hanging freely between them. "Oh, just some potatoes, bananas, apples, some yams. Maybe some alfalfa sprouts."
John made a face. "Ugh, how can you eat that? It's like eating grass!"
"Hey, it's good for you!" Jane laughed.
"Yeah, whatever."
"You eat your meat, I'll eat... everything else."
"How is Gil supposed to know the taste of meat if you won't even let me feed it to him?"
Now it was Jane's turn to screw up her face in disgust. "When you have your own kids, you can feed them whatever you like!"
The first time Kelly had placed the plate of still sizzling steak in front of Jane, John thought she was going to be sick right then and there. But she'd picked up her fork and knife, cut into it and put a piece into her mouth. The chewing was slow and agonizing for about half a minute before the chair scraped along the floor and Jane disappeared into the bathroom.
Since then, no meat was offered to Jane. Even though even she couldn't say why meat turned her off so violently. When they'd brought up the topic of John's uncle, the farmer, Jane had turned a curious shade of grey-green and had sat on the couch staring at a spot on the floor and saying nothing. Afterward she had gone to her room and hadn't come out until much later the next day.
They arrived at the tiny outside market. Jane nodded to the elderly woman who sat behind a makeshift counter, which was actually a large plank of plywood atop two hobbyhorses. An ancient relic of a cash register sat on one corner with a pile of paper bags beside it. The woman's dark skin, wrinkled with age and sun, bespoke of hard times endured and survived, of patience for what truly mattered and perseverance for the good things. Her hands worked furiously, the knitting needles a mere blur in the air and the afghan seeming to grow out of this fogged up activity. She didn't even glance down, her hands doing the work on their own.
John waited outside with Jojo while Jane pushed Gil around the other tables piled with fruit and vegetables and some bread.
She crouched down beside the stroller. "Here, what do you think of these?" she asked the child while she held out a bunch of bananas. Gil let a hand trail over them, his fingers barely touching the yellow skin before he grabbed one and broke out into a grin. "Alright, these ones it is." And they went into the handmade basket that hung from her arm.
She did the same routine with most of her purchases: ostensibly getting Gil's opinion before making her decision. It was a queer way Jane had of making sure Gil had every opportunity to know about life. It was one of the many ways she'd adopted since giving birth and pushing away the fear that one day this life would alter dramatically and she might just lose Gil, one way or another.
"You have good kid," the old woman said as she weighed the produce.
Of course, Jane smiled at this. What mother doesn't like to hear that their child is accepted? "Thank you."
"You do good. Teach him to buy good food." Her clipped dialect was an interesting break from the more smooth words uttered many times without soul.
Jane nodded her head. "He has to know sooner or later. I'd rather sooner."
"Never too young to learn."
Jane paid for the food and packed the bags beneath the stroller. "Thank you."
The old woman smiled, showing a few missing teeth, and nodded. She picked up her knitting and her hands began as before, as though no break had happened.
"So, what's for supper?" John asked.
Gil was happily munching away on half a banana.
"For us? Fried bananas and yams, and alfalfa with almonds. For you? Whatever Kelly cooks for you, I guess!" Jane smirked, not looking at him.
"Wha-oh. Uh, so you don't want company tonight?"
She looked up at him and shrugged her shoulders. "Doesn't really matter. But that's what we're having. Not much for carnivores, but just right for us vegetarians."
John didn't answer. He looked up at the sky, noting the darkening clouds on the horizon. There was a nip in the wind, gusts here and there. Summer storms could be bad. Jojo pulled on the leash and then looked back as if to say, let's go, I don't like this. "Uh, I think I'll just go home. Thanks for the invite though!" he added with a grin.
"Anytime."
They passed by a pile of bags by the side of the road. It was customary for some residents to pile their garbage at the side of the road as the day wore on, just to get it out of their house. They knew that sometime during the week the garbage pickup would come. But at least it was out of their house. Jane glanced briefly at it and then moved to give John room between her and the bags.
John heard the hitch of breath before he saw her hands tighten around the handle of the stroller. "Jane?"
She stopped walking. Jojo pulled on the leash. Gil turned around and looked up at John, banana smeared over his face. "Jane?" he asked again and put a hand on her arm.
Wrong move. She lashed out, her arm coming up and around to smack John squarely in the jaw. His head flew back and to the side. His hand opened just when Jojo pulled again and the dog took off running down the sidewalk, his leash twirling behind him like the string on a flyaway kite. A black shadow zooming between pedestrians.
When John looked back, Jane was backing toward the wall of the building, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open, her hands outstretched, warding off invisible attackers. Ignoring the throbbing in his jaw, John grabbed the stroller and dragged it with him as he approached her.
"Jane, it's me, John. Remember?"
A few times there'd been episodes of almost-remembering, when Jane would suddenly stop doing whatever she was doing and just stare ahead. Sometimes she would shake, sometimes she'd start muttering something.
But she'd never hit him. She'd never gotten violent and then so scared as she was now.
"Hey, girl. It's okay..."
Some people had stopped to stare and gape. Muttering between each other. John ignored them.
Jane flattened herself against the warm brick, her hands splayed at her sides as her eyes wandered back and forth, up and down and all around her. Her throat worked madly with each gulp of air as a part of her brain tried to induce calmness. It wasn't working. Panic had set it.
Gil started to whine, his hand squeezing the banana between it until it was nothing more than pale yellow goo on his face, his clothes and the stroller. John didn't care.
Tiny whimpers escaped Jane's mouth. Almost words, but not quite.
John reached out, wanting to touch her, to bring her back. But he didn't want a repeat assault. He'd known she was strong; her tall and thin but wiry body was hard as stone and many times she'd beaten him in a hand-wrestling match. And when he hugged her he could feel the energy pulsing just beneath the skin, just waiting to come out and play.
No, another fist to the face was not something he wanted to feel, ever again.
Gil's whining had grown into an almost-cry as he watched his mother's panic attack.
More people had stopped. Some had gone on, and others had come to take their place. Their proximity was making John feel jittery. Their constant disrespectful muttering was grating on his nerves. He flashed them an annoyed look before turning back to Jane.
"Jane. Please, it's me, John. Listen to me. You're safe. You hear me. You're safe. Listen to me. Take a deep breath now, okay? You gotta breathe. Breathe deep."
He continued talking like this, short sentences, soft voice as he moved closer to her, close enough to touch but not touching.
But it wasn't working. Her body was tense, rigid with fear. Her mouth opened and shut, like a fish out of water, seeking that one place where breathing could happen again. It was suffocating. Suffocating to watch.
Gil was crying now, big whopping wails of fear.
John looked around himself. The throng of people was still there, still staring and still muttering. "Hey! Anybody got a cell phone? We need an ambulance here!"
A few people looked around at each other, none too willing to step in and help, to make themselves a part of the spectacle.
"Please! Just a call. That's all. 911. Please!"
A young man in a business suit stepped forward, cell phone in hand. His fingers moved and he held the phone up to his ear. "What going on?" he said as he waited for an answer.
John glanced at Jane and then at the man. "I'm not sure. A panic attack I think. She has amnesia. It could be a memory. She has a young son. Please, help me!"
The man spoke into the phone all the while keeping an eye on John and Jane. He glanced at the boy with a mildly annoyed look. John didn't care. He picked up Gil, holding him close to his body as he sat on the ground beside Jane and waited for the ambulance to come and rescue them. It was all he could do. Jane just sat and huffed, her chest hitching, her eyes glazed, hands clenching and unclenching. He just waited, with Gil.
The curtains were drawn, blinds were pulled. Darkness pervaded the usually sunlit rooms. Silence hung heavy, a vacuous thickness lending a sarcophagus-like hermetic seal to the apartment. As hot as it was outside, a chill had settled within the walls.
She sat on the couch, eyes staring blankly ahead, seeing nothing. They had become accustomed to the dimness.
The previous day she had attempted reintegration into her old routine. Gil's absence, along with a curious lack of yearning for him proved her eventual undoing. After half a day spent puttering about she had finally acquiesced to the couch, sinking into the plush softness and welcoming it like a cocoon, a shell from the outside world.
She had switched between the couch and the bed, trying to find some semblance of her old life. 'Old' being but a few days in the past. That's what she told herself. Her 'old life' was yesterday. Yesterday in the park with John and Jojo. Yesterday was buying groceries at the market. Yesterday was... a lie.
There was a man out there. She knew this now. This man was probably worried sick about her. About their child. Assuming he still thought of them as even being alive. A picture of baby Gil stood on her bedside table and she took it, only now recognizing why the blue eyes and curly hair had seemed vaguely familiar before.
She remembered with a flutter of her heart how his eyes had bored into her as they made love. How his curls had clung to her fingers when she ran them through his hair.
The headache still hadn't gone away. Too many aspirin and the dull ache had persisted, taunting her efforts to find some makeshift peace in the chaos that reigned in her mind and heart.
Night came but she never noticed. The dimness become darkness, further obscuring vision. But the images danced in her head. Warring images of solving complex murder cases mixed with solving dilemmas of trying to get little Gil to sleep at a decent hour. Sifting through evidence and sifting flour for a birthday cake. Putting the pieces together and solving the case, and seeing the completed picture of the puzzle she and Gil had put together and seeing the absolute glee on his face.
How could these worlds ever meet and coexist? They were similar and yet so vastly different.
Sleep found her, an exhaustive dream-riddled, body tossing restless slumber. She slept three hours and awoke to the same darkness. The same images, the same memories, the same torment. There was no alcohol in her house to dull the senses. No cigarettes to calm jittery nerves of indecision. She was left to her own devices and these returned, formerly hidden now very much active methods of coping. She turned the television on and found the Discovery Channel. At four o'clock in the morning, the station felt free to show the more vividly detailed cases of Forensic Science and she passed the time finding the clues and solving the cases in her head.
When they came to a case of a murdered baby, she changed the channel. Gil... her baby. The only thing-person-that had kept her going besides John. Gil was part of her 'new life'. And so was John.
John...
The storm had come, poured its wrath on the denizens of Boulder City in a short quick burst of drenching wetness. Never again would John see storms the same way. Now they would always signal impending doom and cataclysmic changes, mostly unwelcome.
Jane was gone. He knew this. She wasn't dead. She was just... no more. He didn't know who had taken her place. He had yet to meet her. The telephone would ring incessantly when he'd tried to call. The chain held the door securely shut and no amount of cajoling would bring forth Jane's face, or the new person's.
For two years he'd taken care of her, almost. Like a baby gosling, she'd latched onto him as her savior and he was loath to step away. Her natural spunk and enthusiasm to get the job done, coupled with that tiny bit of insecurity that came out here and there made her the most fascinating female he'd ever met.
After trying out the 'couple mold' for a while-for the baby's sake-they both realized they'd be better off as friends. But it didn't stop the love from growing, in a platonic sense of course. He'd look at her and see that far off look in her eyes at times and know that some part of her past, even if rather distant and foggy, was still trying to assert itself over her. She never really gave herself to him, always a part of her that she held back, in secrecy, from him and from herself.
He sat on the bench in the park and watched as Gil wrestled with Jojo for a twig. Jojo kept putting his paws on it and Gil would pull with all his tiny might until the dog would lift his paw. Then Gil would fall back and the dog would nudge him with his nose until the child got back up. And they went at it again. When John had finally arrived home many hours after bringing Jane to the hospital, Jojo had been sitting on John's stoop. The dog had sat there trembling and staring at his human with a mixture of self-shame and slight recrimination, as though he were saying, I'm sorry for taking off but did you have to take so long coming home?! And once inside, he'd promptly shook himself from head to tail, spraying John and the apartment with tiny droplets of cool rainwater. He'd recovered quickly from his wet ordeal and now played with the toddler just like before. The only difference, he kept glancing at John, a peculiar sad slant to his eyes.
For himself, Gil seemed pleasantly oblivious to the lack of mother of recently. He giggled and clapped like always, never one to let an opportunity for a good time go to waste. But he still needed his mother. This little vacation-from rain soaked sidewalk to 'auntie Kelly's'-was wearing thin on his limited reserves of patience as cries of restless unease erupted from his mouth and he yanked a little too roughly on Jojo's ear, causing the dog to yelp and pull back. Gil landed on his face in the grass, more his ego damaged then any real hurt. But he cried nonetheless: a full-throttle cry, the end-of-the-rope variety.
With a sigh, John retrieved the child and whistled to the dog and all three left the park, none too happy with anything at the moment.
He stood in front of Jane's door, his face set, lips pursed and will of stone. Gil cooed in his arms. Jojo sat by his side, waiting patiently for the door to open, as it always had in the past.
He banged on the door, and turned the handle. Locked. "Jane?"
It was the second time he'd knocked and still nothing. He knew she was in there, could feel it.
He knocked again, loudly and with heavy insistence. "Jane. Open up. I have Gil. He needs you. C'mon, open up!"
Still nothing.
"Jane?" he called again when she hadn't responded. His need to have her respond to him, even if just a blink seemed like the most important thing in the world at that moment. Gil needed his mother and he needed his friend. He needed to know that everything wasn't in vain. His heart still beat in joy every time he heard her voice and saw her smile. It was probably one of the most natural smiles he'd ever seen.
"That's not my name," came a raspy voice from behind the door.
Gil stopped bouncing. Jojo stopped panting. John almost stopped breathing.
"What?"
"My name's not Jane. It's Sara. Sara Sidle." The door opened to reveal someone who looked like Jane, and yet not. This woman would have trouble being known as a mother: soft and laughing. This woman seemed hard. All business: hard eyes, no-nonsense stance that said, go ahead, make my day.
"Jane?" It looked like Jane, sounded like Jane.
"I told you. My name is Sara Sidle. I live in Las Vegas." She seemed to want to say more but chose to close her mouth instead.
John just stood staring at this woman, child in arms. Even Jojo didn't move to jump through the open door, like he usually would. The eeriness of the situation was not lost on Gil as well as he stared at the woman, trying to understand why his mother suddenly seemed different. Then it seemed like he discounted whatever had caused him to pause and nearly launched himself from John's arms toward the woman.
Sara caught him with the ease and grace of a mother accustomed to a squirming bundle of energy and settled him on her hip before meeting John's eyes. The door opened and she turned and disappeared. A silent invitation.
With heavy heart and muddled mind, John followed the woman, Jojo at his heels, his usual exuberance tempered in these strange times. Gil struggled and was placed on the floor to scamper off to the corner where he blissfully reacquainted himself with his toys.
John just stood in the kitchen doorway and watched as the woman prepared a coffee and drank it black. "What happened to tea?"
She glanced at him and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm used to the caffeine."
He folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. "So, who are you?"
"Straight to the point, huh?"
"Why not?"
She sighed. "My name is Sara Sidle. I'm a criminologist in Las Vegas. I'm engaged to a man there." She looked toward Gil. "He's our son."
John, too, looked toward the boy. "He's a good man, then?"
"Yeah," she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.
He turned back. "What are you gonna do?"
"I have to go back. I love Gil. I always have."
John's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced from the boy to the woman and his mouth opened and closed.
"Gil Grissom. My fiancée and father to little Gil. Now I know what that name means. It'll be weird with two 'Gil's' in the house."
"Jane..."
Her eyes closed and she let out a long breath. "John, my name is Sara. It's not Jane."
"Sara," he seemed to be trying out this new name on his lips, trying to associate it with this familiar looking woman whom he'd always known as 'Jane'. "You're leaving."
"John, I have to find him. He must be worried sick. Oh god..." She leaned against the counter as yet another wave of heavy realization hit of just how out of control her life really was.
John was by her side in an instant, his arm around her and holding her up, against him. "It's okay, Ja-... Sara. Whatever happens, it'll work out. Remember what I said to you? Whatever happens, I'll be here for you. Always. It wasn't a lie."
She looked up at him and smiled, a teary eyed and tired smile. "Thank you. You've been so good to me. I don't know what I would have done if..." Her body began to shake.
He held her closer to him. "Shh, it's okay. Don't think about it. You're okay. We knew this would happen, someday. We knew you'd remember. You just... you didn't want to talk about it so, I don't really know how to act right now."
"You're fine. You're doing just fine. I'm the one who's the basket case right now." She leaned against the counter and took a sip of her coffee. "It's like, watching two different movies at the same time. In one I'm working, I'm a CSI, engaged, expecting our first child. In the other, I'm a single mother working as a secretary. I mean, how do you... how does it all fit together?"
John leaned against the opposite counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he allowed his thoughts to form and flow. "I think you need to find this 'Gil' guy, your fiancée. I think... you need to see if that's the life you had before still exists, if that's what you want to do." He looked up at her. "Do you want to go back?"
"I don't know. I mean, I really like being a CSI. Cases were like puzzles, evidence was the pieces and we had to put them all together and come up with a picture that would solve the crime. Nick... Warrick... Catherine... all those guys, my friends." She sighed.
"You need to go back. You need closure, one way or another. Either closure on that life, or closure on... this one." He looked away. He couldn't bear to see what he suspected would be in her eyes.
Sara for her part, glanced at little Gil, around at her tiny well-lit and busy apartment, at John. "I have to go back. I love Gil."
The sun began its ascent through a clear sky. Another scorching day in the city of sin.
Gil left the building and trudged across shimmering asphalt to his Denali, intent on just going home and falling into bed. Another grueling shift, another case as yet unsolved. But there was no anger in that. No sense of loss, of justice failed. He'd long ago given up on hoping that the good guys win in the end. It just didn't happen.
He sat in the car and let his eyes close. Images of better times floated through his mind. Strong laughter, sparkling eyes, soft hands. His finger rubbed against the band on his left hand. He looked down at it. A plain and simple band, no adornments. Just a ring. But within its simplicity it held the complexity of everything that he was. Outward: smooth and shiny, unblemished, perfect. He took the ring off and held it to his face. On the inside flowed turbulent streams of passions barely checked, simple and few words that held the weight of the world in them. Love, forever. From Sara.
His bottom lip began to tremble as he slid the ring back on. She wasn't dead, he told himself. He'd know it if she were. He felt certain of this. No, she was still alive and out there, somewhere. Maybe a prisoner, maybe... He closed his eyes and shook his head.
The car started with the usual quiet purring of a contented kitten basking in the sun and he pulled out and onto the freeway. The rising sun shone into the car, a blindingly bright light that caused no small amount of squinting, which only heightened the pain in his head. It had been a gnawing pain that hadn't ever really gone away, not since that night. The longest night of his life.
He pulled up to the townhouse. Their townhouse; it would always be theirs, no matter what happened. Even after two years.
He climbed the stairs, his knees protesting the extra movement. The key was just in the hold when he heard a noise to his right. His hand stilled and he took a deep breath. There was no fear; that emotion had left him. Nothing to fear anymore, anything that happened to him just might allow him to be with Sara finally. With his hand still on the key, he turned his head and saw someone come from around the corner of the building.
And then his hand dropped, and his mouth fell open.
The person who came from around the corner had to be a dream. Or a nightmare depending on how you looked at it. With her fine brown hair flowing gently in the breeze and her deep eyes boring into his, a hint of a smile meant to pour salt over his barely healed wounds, she was a bittersweet image begotten from his tormented soul, a yearning to see Sara, just one last time, just to kiss her and say goodbye, if she indeed had to leave.
But this wasn't a mirage, or a hallucination induced by desires that hadn't yet learned to be subdued once unleashed. It was real. As real as the scent that wafted over to him, that delicate sweet berry scent she used to bathe in, in their tub. As real as her smile and ever-twinkling eyes that had always caused his heart to pause before resuming a more rapid beat. As real as his name whispered on her lips as she neared him.
His hands fell to his side, too heavy now. He ached to touch her, to hold her again. His need for her was as basic as his need for air and he struggled for both at this time. Her name fell from his lips on a breath. "Sara..."
"Gil..." Her hand touched his arm and it lit a fire that had lain dormant in him, not quite dead though.
In one swift movement, he caught her up in his arms and held her to him, wrapping his arms so tight around her body, never wanting to let go. He buried his head in her neck, and took in her scent, letting it take him away to a place long ago and far away, in his mind and in his memories. He whispered her name over and over again, giving thanks to the gods above. Nothing could tear her from his arms. Never again.
In time he did let go but only so much so he could see her, to allow his eyes to roam over her face, making sure this was indeed the woman who owned his heart. It was so much, so so much. He took her face in his hands and held her there, keeping her there before pressing his lips to hers. A gentle kiss, so full of pain and promise, fear and longing. It wasn't enough. It just wasn't enough. He took her in his arms again.
Sara allowed herself to be held by him. Glorified, in fact, in being able to feel him again. She fought down the feeling of entrapment and tried to focus on the feeling of coming home. His arms around her body were the same strong ones she'd loved before. His lips on hers, the same soft ones that had elicited moans of pleasure in the past. His hands, those loving hands that could evoke such heights of passion. It was all coming back with fervor and the panic that followed wasn't something she'd anticipated.
She pulled back and took a deep breath. "Gil..."
Grissom stared at her. "What is it?" There was fear in his voice, dim but there.
"I... It's just..." She looked up at him. "Oh god, it's been so long."
He held her again, for a moment before pulling away. "Let's go inside. Please."
"Yes."
"What happened?"
It was an ordinary question, really. But the answer was far from simple. Sara watched Grissom sitting on the couch, outwardly calm but she knew him more intimately than any one else, and she saw the manic workings in his mind as he tried to come to grips with this new development. After such a long time with no answers, to be suddenly presented with everything he could possibly want to know. Where did one start?
At the beginning.
"The memories haven't all come back, yet," Sara started saying. She relayed as clear as possible the night of the kidnapping, leaving out the details-they weren't important at this time-and then flowing into John and the start of what she now considered a brief tangent into a life of marital bliss-minus the husband. But that tangent had permanent effects.
Grissom caught her eye. "Sara, where's..."
"The baby?"
He gulped and looked away. "Yes."
"With John."
At that his head snapped back up with wide eyes. "John..."
"I, uh, didn't know if... how you'd feel about... this is all so sudden. For everyone. Gil is so confused right now-"
"Gil?"
Sara sighed. "Memories don't leave entirely. There're always remnants that remain. When Gil was born, it was hard. For many reasons." Grissom held her hand tightly. He could feel her pain. It was his own. "The nurses heard me mumble 'Gil' and thought I was naming him right then and there. I didn't know then," she met his eyes, "God, I missed you so much!" and fell into his arms. "I named him Gil. Gilbert. The name just seemed so... important for some reason. I didn't know then but I know now. It was the only way I could have you with me again, even though I couldn't remember you."
"Oh Sara." It was all he could say. What else was there? She'd gone through much more than anybody ought to, and she was all alone.
"I wasn't alone, Gil. John was there." She felt him stiffen. "It's okay. He's just a friend. A good friend. I don't know where I'd be if it weren't for him. Please understand."
"I do. I do, it's just... Did you... and he..." He pulled back to look at her.
"Yes. We tried it. It didn't work out. He wasn't... you. There was something missing. It felt like a lie."
He took a deep breath, held it and let it out slowly, as though taking in her words, digesting them and then letting them go. When he met her eyes again, there was nothing but love in them. "Is John, I mean, Gil... Are they..."
"Here? Yes. They're in the park. I left them there to come here. I wanted Gil close by but not just yet."
He nodded. He understood. To be presented with an immediate family can be traumatic, even if it's your own biological one. "I want to see him." Nevertheless, knowing one had a child out there did things to your insides. Twisted knotty things that refused to relax until some sort of resolution had happened.
Sara smiled. "Of course. He's yours, Gil."
When they got to the door, Grissom suddenly turned to Sara. "You're back for good, right?"
Sara saw the fear in his eyes and smiled, placing a hand on his face. "Yes. Of course I am. I'm home now."
Grissom scanned the park as he approached it. This early in the morning there were many children out with their parents, usually their mothers, for an early morning romp. He saw many toddlers grappling with oversized instruments meant for older children. Mothers chased wayward deserters of the playful ideal.
One toddler caught his eye. He was sitting on the ground holding something very close to a face screwed up in intense concentration. Directly beside him sat a beautiful black Labrador dog. With its head held high and his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, he seemed to have taken guard duty over the child. Grissom surveyed the surroundings. A lone man sat on a bench facing the duo. With a relaxed carriage and openness, Grissom could assume these would be the people he'd come to 'meet'.
Indeed, Sara headed right for the man, her eyes going from child to the man. As she led him, Grissom found he couldn't take his eyes off the child. Around a year old, he noted the dark curly hair and the smooth, precise way in which the child moved, examining his surroundings. He took particular pleasure when the child caught sight of something crawling along the ground and began following it in slow deliberate movements. The dog shifted as well to be with the boy. A curious sensation overcame Grissom, a combination of swelling pride and suffocating panic and melancholy. He'd missed the first steps, the first word, the first smile, the first laugh. He'd missed watching him coming into this world, cuddling with his wife and child in post-natal bliss, cooing at the tiny sounds and little gurgles.
He'd stopped walking and just stood and stared, unaware of the tear that had slipped past his defenses and trickled down his cheek. He wanted to hold this child, his son. He wanted to know what it would be like to be trusted so implicitly and without question, to see that faith in his eyes. The feeling of having been robbed of something so important almost brought him to his knees.
He glanced at Sara and she nodded. The little boy had sat up and was staring intently at his arm. A pale green inchworm slowly made its way on the soft skin. Gil's eyes were wide as he examined the strange creature that had taken his arm as part of his course of the day. Grissom crouched down and joined in the examination. The child met his eyes and in that instant his face opened up and began glowing like a dazzling morning sun. A grin as big as Grissom had never seen on a child's face lit it up brighter then Times Square and he thought his heart would stop with the sheer joy that coursed through it. A wave of goosebumps rolled along his skin and sent every nerve ending to life with electricity. Gil extended his arm to Grissom-see my bug?-but he couldn't take his eyes off his son's. It was an odd sensation to look into another's eyes and see your own as well as another's. Sara's unfailing curiosity shone back at him. He sat on the grass beside his son, and found another bug of another species and took it in his hand. The boy watched the man pick up the bug, his smile gone, replaced with wonder. Together they watched their bug and each other, both amazed that the other actually existed.
Although Sara hadn't stopped his exploration, there was never any real connection between them when bugs came into the scene. She had allowed him his explorations but never joined in. Here sat an adult-a big person-carrying on with bugs as though it were the most perfectly natural thing to do.
Grissom looked up and caught Sara staring at them and her eyes shone as her mouth debated whether to break into a smile or crumble into tears. He offered a smile, and the decision was made. A glorious smile, more bright and more resplendent than any he'd ever seen on her face. Not when he'd finally told her he loved her, not when he'd placed the ring on her finger. It just continued to grow and take his heart along for the ride.
Sara watched the interaction as she stood beside John. They hadn't hugged. He'd just stood and nodded his head. Their relationship had been catapulted to an entirely different level and he was still unsure of how they should relate. "That's him?" he asked.
"Yeah." She didn't turn around. John glanced at her and saw something he never thought he'd see. She was staring at the man crouching on the ground as though he'd sprung from nowhere, a god of a man who'd come to save her. There was a hint of a smile, her unblinking eyes peeled on the father of her son.
"Sara?" Even saying her name-her new name-required some getting used to. It just didn't flow from his lips without prior thought.
She turned to him finally and he saw the sheen of unshed tears, droplets of water that she'd held within her for so long, never knowing why they were there and therefore never allowing them freedom of expression. Now they glistened in her eyes, barely held back by lids that trembled, unblinking. "Yes?"
"I'm going to miss you."
Now she had his whole attention, turning her entire body to face him. "What do you mean?"
It was a smile he offered her, but not a happy one, not entirely. He was happy for her. He just wasn't happy it was happening. Motioning toward the crouched man on the grass he said, "That's where you belong. Gil's always been a strange kid. Now I know why."
Sara glanced back at the duo before turning to him. Her eyes held questions and concerns, feelings that didn't really have any words that could adequately convey their entire meaning. They were just too heavy, too filled with feelings. Her mouth opened and closed in vain attempts until John's hand on her arm silenced her. "It's okay. I knew this day would come eventually. Just promise me one thing."
Her bottom lip trembled and she bit down. "What?"
"Don't disappear from my life. I don't think Jojo would forgive you."
A smirk. "Yeah. I can imagine Jojo not being too impressed with being relieved of her guard duties." The smirk disappeared. "I have to leave, John. But I will come back. You're Gil's uncle. You'll always be in his life. And in mine."
A weight lifted from John's shoulder as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his body finally relaxing into a more contented pose. He leaned back and watched as Grissom, lying on his stomach with his nose practically touching the grass, gently pushed the blades aside and poked around until he came up with a treasure. He brought his hand to the child's face and his mouth began to move as he went into teacher mode and began talking about this particular insect. For Gil's part, he sat motionless, his eyes going from bug to man and back to bug, listening intently.
"Yeah, that's where he belongs," John said and sat down on the bench, Jojo by his side.
Sara strolled over and joined her family on the grass. Grissom caught her eye and Sara experienced for the first time in a long time what it felt like to be truly home.