Summary: Sequel to A Life Less Tampered - To understand this fic, you should read the first one.
Disclaimer: Yeah right, like I could ever afford to own them.
A/N: This story only saw 3 chapters ever written and it was not what I had planned for it. So, I have started re-writing it. I want to thank all those that had left reviews on the last attempt. I appreciated the thoughts and loved the encouragement. However, I hope this will be more in line with what I intended for the story.
Give me a shout if you find any errors, I'm not afraid. And if you really like this, I'd like to hear from you.
Oh, not to forget, this is an A/U. For those of you who are new, that means Alternate Universe. For those who already knew the meaning, please keep that in mind when reviewing. I did announce it.
Previously in A Life Less Tampered, we found out Sara was once a child protégé, detainee at The Centre – an organization created to exploit gifted children for The Centre's benefit.
She escaped and found a home in college, Harvard. She bonded with a guest instructor, Dr. Gilbert Grissom from the Las Vegas Crime Lab. But their plans for her to intern with him in the summer were put aside. She had been found, not by The Centre, but by a fellow detainee. Together they formed an alliance with the CIA and were able to put an end to the reign of terror at The Centre.
Afterwards, she disappeared.
It was a couple of years later, while working in San Francisco that Grissom met up with her again on a case. They shared a night of passion, a tryst that neither could resist, but he left the next day, returning to his home in Las Vegas.
When in desperate need of a neutral eye, Grissom called her to Vegas, to help him put some order back into a chaotic situation. Her instinct told her to keep on the move, so she followed her gut and moved on.
Three years later, she finds herself accused of tampering with evidence. She's arrested and fired from her job. Before a trial date can be set, she disappears... without a trace. That is, until months later when Grissom and the rest of his team are given leave time to attend a conference in Acapulco. They soon learn of Sara's past, and how she was set up for a crime she never committed.
Yet, she is unable to return to her home in Las Vegas, instead, working as an agent for hire for the CIA. She leaves them behind in Acapulco for an assignment in Virginia.
She has not been heard from since by those who love her most – their time together has been followed by six months of silence.
"Keep your hand steady, use your other one to cup it, if necessary. Now, eyeball the target, lead it. To you it'll seem barely an inch, but it'll actually be feet in front it." The girl nodded in understanding. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the movement of her instructor's head, signaling for the release of the skeet. She tensed, ready for it and when she saw it fly through the air, she heard the whispered directions, "Steady now, ready, ready... fire."
A sharp ding rang out.
The cadet smiled victoriously and then exhaled the breath she'd been holding. "That's the first time I've been able to hit the skeet." She offered her hand to her instructor, who in turn, firmly grasped it. "Thank you, Sarsha."
"You're welcome. Just keep practicing. Maybe later, I'll show you how to adjust with wind speed and currents." She shared a wink with the cadet and at the same moment she caught a glimpse of a gray-haired man walking towards them. Shifting back a step, she let the cadet continue on with her practice, keeping an eye trained on her position, her other senses noting the new arrival.
"I remember the time you hit your first moving target," he murmured into her ear.
Sara nodded slightly in remembrance.
"You could do that now with your eyes closed."
She smiled amusedly. "Don't exaggerate."
"I bet if it came down to it, you could."
She shrugged. "Are you here for a specific reason, or just to see me, Sidney?"
"Hmm... maybe a little of both." He smiled affectionately at her. His gaze took in her tightly pulled back hair, twisted into a ponytail that was pulled into the back of her agency-issued baseball cap. She wore very little make-up and yet it did nothing to detract from her stunning looks, maybe going so far as to enhance them. Her black t-shirt and black trousers fit her snugly and was proper for the time and place.
"Have you formed any opinions yet on this round of cadets?" he asked.
"I never form an opinion on anything, as you very well know," she responded dryly. "But if you're wondering if I've decided on any recommendations for which cadets are suitable, then yes, I have."
"Well, then, I'm sure the Director would be interested in your choices. He's been anxious to get this project underway and with the first two steps of this plan finished…"
"Hold that thought, Sidney." Sarsha held up her hand to stop the conversation as she pulled out her cell phone. "Sarsha," she answered.
Although he only heard the conversation through her words, Sarsha's clipped, affirmative answers left Sidney in no doubt as to who was on the other end.
When she hung up the phone, she bowed her head and took a deep breath. "I've been called to headquarters." She lifted her head to meet his concerned gaze.
The haunted look in her eyes was all too familiar to him. Sidney knew it was her choice whether she accepted or declined an assignment. When she did accept one, he felt confident that it was her decision, but he still held a twinge of regret in his heart that she had to be put in the position of being asked in the first place.
He watched her long strides take her to the cadet she'd been personally overseeing. He could only make out a few of her words such as director, assignment and headquarters.
As her contact, Sidney would, under normal circumstances, have been told what the assignment was and be the one to fill her in on the details. But in this instance, he had no clue what was going on.
When those within proximity heard the rhythmic but clipped whirring approaching them, all heads turned to the East to see the chopper descend forty meters from their positions. Sidney watched Sarsha wave to a couple of her new team members and then turned her gaze back on him. She stood silently, her eyes addressing only him. Her silent plea was enough. He would take care of everything – if she didn't return. He nodded and she returned it, and then she ran to the helicopter, barely able to settle in when it began to ascend.
Sidney smoothed down the hairs on the back of his neck as he watched the helicopter slowly disappear until it was just a small fleck on the horizon. He always hated seeing Sarsha departing for an assignment and he hated it even more when his own premonitions warned him that she would not return unscathed.
Meanwhile... miles away, the desert heat rose up from the ground, mingling with the sand that the wind kicked up.
Catherine stood on sore, shaky legs, wiping the beads of sweat off of her brow. She glanced at her surroundings, checking the position of her team mates and deciding the best course of action. With a deft flick of her wrist, her fingers curved to accept the ball as it bounced up to meet her fingers, she picked it up, threw it in the air and served it with a fierceness that sent it flying over the volleyball net.
Nick stepped forward, tripping in his attempt to set up the next play for his partner. He succeeded, but just barely, leaving little room for Warrick to make his move.
Warrick lunged forward and stepped on Nick's foot as he pumped the ball up into the air, while Nick swung his arm to send the ball flying over the net. The power behind his swing sent it out of bounds, effectively handing the winning point to the girls' team.
Catherine and Miranda bounced on sore legs, hugging and chanting at the top of their lungs, "We won! We won!"
On the other side of the net, Nick and Warrick, breathing heavily, hung their heads in defeat, but they were still able to smile at the joyous shouts of the girls. They had to hand it to them, it was a hard game and they'd won it fairly, with a lot of hard work.
Much later that evening, Grissom stood silently in the doorway of the break room, a small smirk crossing his lips as he looked upon his team members. Catherine was curled up on one end of the sofa, asleep with a magazine tipping out of her hands, nearly ready to fall to the floor. Miranda Quinn was sitting on the other end, her legs curled up against the arm and her head tucked into her chest. She looked extremely uncomfortable, Grissom thought, remembering how they'd spent their afternoons.
Warrick and Nick were sitting at the table, one at each end. Their heads were laying flat, sound asleep – and he noted, Nick was drooling. Shift hadn't begun yet, but he'd never seen them begin shift this way. Why were they asleep? And then it occurred to him that just maybe they'd had another debate and settled it with a game, something probably physically draining. He was pleased to see his team doing things together outside of work, but he wasn't happy that it was affecting their work. Attempting to rouse them, he cleared his throat, but it had no effect. Walking heavily into the room, he dropped the file he was carrying onto the table. Seeing them all jump, he smiled. That did the trick.
Groans were emitted from all four when they moved, wincing as if they'd run a hundred mile marathon. They were weary and sore, he was sure the rest of the night would be harsh on them all. He smiled, holding back a chuckle. "Hard day?"
Catherine shot him a glare. "You could say that."
"I hope your extracurricular activities won't impede you tonight. We have another DB... possible link to our other two." He hesitated for effect. "We may have a serial on our hands."
"What do you got?" Grissom asked as he and the rest of his team approached detective Jim Brass.
"Caucasian male, twenty-five to thirty years of age. Shot once, execution style."
"Who found him?"
"Two teens," He pointed to a uniformed officer where two young kids were sitting against a vehicle, "over there with Officer Bowden. They were looking for a... secluded area."
Grissom stared at the boy and girl, understanding flashing in his eyes.
While he remained with the body until David came to take it away, the rest of his team scoured the area and perimeter looking for any remnants of their shootist.
Their other two victims gave them little to go on in the evidence arena. He felt as if this was a losing battle. How many more bodies would there be before they found something to lead them to at least speculate as to who was murdering these men?
An hour later, Catherine and Nick began combing through what little they'd gathered. Most of what they'd found were items that could be from anyone and any event. There was nothing concrete to tie to the victim, who also remained a John Doe, like the others.
"Catherine, what is this?" Nick asked as held up a piece of shiny material between the tongs of his tweezers.
Catherine bent closer, peering at the indiscriminate material. "Uh, could be from clothing, could also be from some type of decoration. Send it to Trace, but don't count on anything probative." She turned, heading toward the door, but called back to him, "I'm going for coffee, want anything?"
"Yeah, make mine black."
Catherine nodded to Jacqui as she passed by, heading over to the break room. She found Grissom sitting at the table, comparing files of the last two victims. "Find anything? I know I didn't."
"No, not a thing. It's as if there was no one there, no footprints, no fingerprints, no fibers, no... nothing." Exasperated, he dropped the file down on the table and leaned back in his chair, tiredly wiping at his face and eyes.
"Nick found some sort of material, shiny, but just a small scrap, barely even an inch," Catherine offered as she poured her two cups of coffee.
Grissom looked up and stared blankly at her, almost as if she wasn't there.
"What?"
Grissom blinked. "I'm thinking that before we find another dead body, we should call someone in."
"Feds?" she asked incredulously.
Grissom nodded as he stared at the files. He picked one up. Stared at the picture of the dead man and then placed it back on the table. "We're getting nowhere fast. I think we should."
"That's a big concession, coming from you. What brought about this change? Or does it have to do with Sara?"
At the mention of her name, Grissom grimaced. "No. Yes. I guess it does. What was it Matt said about her? That if she had committed the crime, we'd never know it, never find any clues."
Catherine sat down at the table, across from him, studying him. "You think this may be a..." she glanced around before whispering, "Pretender?"
Not answering at first, the lines along his brows and under his eyes deepened in concentration. Then he said, "I don't think it's a Pretender, per se. But someone, certainly, who knows what they need to hide." Decisively, he stood, "I'm calling this in." And with that he was gone.
A stiff breeze rolled over the valley, whipping her hair into a frenzy and drying her tears as they flowed down her cheeks. She held fiercely to the arm of her companion, her arm tucked securely into his. Her pale alabaster skin stood out in dark contrast to the simple black suit she wore. There was someone speaking but the words were indistinguishable, as she couldn't focus on anything other than the images of a fallen comrade. How many times have I told them not to become distracted? Let nothing interfere with your goal. Angrily, she swiped at her tears with her free hand. Work had consumed her the last two weeks and it had been enough of an excuse for her to not have to face these feelings. Now, there was nothing to hide behind, nothing to keep her thoughts away from the cost of her mistake.
The first volley of the twenty-one-gun salute shook her out of her reverie, but she held her gaze on the flag enshrouded coffin. Only after the last volley reverberated over the hills in the cemetery did she lift her gaze and meet the eyes of those standing near her.
Her companion whispered gently, "I'll take you home."
Her legs felt as if they were made of jelly and she would have stumbled if not for his solid hold on her. After helping her into the passenger seat, she watched him walk around to the driver's side.
Sara sat numbly while Greg drove through the streets of Washington, D.C. – her gaze fixed firmly forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance toward her, tilting his head in consideration for the merest second, possibly thinking of the right words to say to console her. But there were none to be said. She couldn't be consoled, not yet.
Silence is golden. That's what she'd been told before. Many times she'd believed that, but this wasn't one of them. She closed the door behind her, hanging her trench coat on the doorknob of the closet instead of taking the time to hang it up. Then kicking off her shoes and heading straight toward the stereo, she turned it to a Classic Rock station.
She was thankfully alone tonight. Joshua had gone to Delaware, to visit Miss Parker for the weekend. That's two days and three nights alone with herself. She could have gone to headquarters and spent the night pouring over reports and files that needed her attention, but if she'd shown up there, Carl or even Director Gage would have sent her home at first sight. And she had no desire to go back to the farm to work with her trainees.
If anyone could see her now, they'd see on her face that she held herself responsible for the death of Matt Calhoun. Death wasn't something unusual to her. She'd been surrounded by it for years, almost her whole life. And yet this one was different. This was a friend. A man who knew how to comfort her, joke with her, keep her on an even keel and would have done anything to protect her. She failed him. It was her job to get in and get him out. She'd had no trouble getting in. There was no problem there. The problem was that she got distracted by a noise, consequently choosing the wrong route and causing her to veer off in the wrong direction, away from her goal. That decision had cost him his life.
Never having liked the effects of alcohol, she never kept it around. Now she wished she had something handy. Anything, beer, whiskey, vodka or even tequila –but instead, she pulled out the pitcher of water from the fridge and poured a glass. The cold liquid cascaded down her throat, quenching her thirst, but not her pain. Tears stung her eyes once again and she clambered for the sofa. Sinking into the cushions, she cried herself into a blissful sleep of sunshine, warm sand, music wafting on the air and the bright smile of Matt Calhoun.
"Ouch!" Sara woke with a thud and a bang as she fell off the sofa, hitting the coffee table with her leg and causing an empty glass to topple over. The phone was ringing and she'd barely heard it as it was stuffed underneath her pillow. Raising herself up while retrieving the phone, she tapped the talk button and said somewhat groggily, "Sidle."
"Sara?"
She'd begun to stand, but sat back down at hearing the low voice. She ran a hand through her hair and leaned back into the soft cushions of the sofa. "Hi, Jarod."
"I'm sorry, Sara." he consoled. "Matt was a good man... and friend." Jarod had been the one to introduce them and when she'd learned that he trusted Matt, she did too.
Sara was about to reply when she glanced towards the chair in the far corner. Greg was laying all the way back with the throw over him and his mouth open in sleep. Smiling wide at the protectiveness of her friend, she returned to her conversation. "I, umm, yeah, it's been a little rough. Thank you for calling, I appreciate it."
"It's not your fault, baby girl."
She cringed at the endearment. Only he and Matt ever called her that. "Jarod... " she sighed. "Never mind, I don't want to discuss it anymore."
"For now," Jarod conceded, then continued, "heard you've been having some success there with the new recruits."
She got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen to make coffee for her and Greg as she listened. "They're a good group of kids. And I mean that literally, no one is over twenty-five and they have way too much energy."
Jarod's chuckle made her smile, something she hadn't done for weeks. "At least they'll keep you on your toes."
"That, and more," she grimaced. "Tell me, what's been keeping you so busy that you haven't called sooner?"
"Oh, just been doing a bit of record retrieval. I'm actually in Delaware. Found some interesting stuff and still rifling through it, trying to put it in some kind of order."
"Interesting stuff? Is there anything pertaining to me? Is that why you called?" She paused with the canister of coffee in her hand as she waited for his reply.
"No… I didn't call except in reference to Matt. This stuff is more about after we escaped. I haven't seen any mention of you in it."
Her fingers nimbly removed the lid then grabbed a measuring spoon. "Well, I guess that's good. Doesn't seem they were too worried about my disappearance. Don't you find that kind of strange?" The phone nearly fell off her shoulder and she grabbed it before it fell, repositioning it again on her shoulder.
"I've thought about it, but not too deeply. There were so many things that I was unaware of that they had me involved in, because of that they probably thought I was more of a concern."
"Undoubtedly. Say, I've been assigned to Vegas, indefinitely. I'll let you know when I move and how to get a hold of me." Flipping on the coffee maker as she veered toward the bedroom, she glanced back in at Greg who had now moved in the chair and was nearly on his side.
"Good, I'm glad you're going back. I think Grissom will be glad too."
"Let's not go there," she scoffed. "I have enough to contend with that I don't even want to consider that portion of my life right now."
"Sara, Matt chose his work." His voice was low, direct and yet consoling. "He knew the dangers, just like you and me. We didn't exactly have a choice, but he did. You aren't to blame for what happened."
"No, Jarod. I am fully to blame. I was distracted. I should've been there. It won't happen again; I'll make sure of that."
Jarod sighed. She knew what was coming. "We've talked about this, Sara. You can't be closing yourself off. Or you will turn into exactly what Mr. Raines wants… a cold-blooded killer."
"What do you call what I am now, Jarod? That's exactly what I've done and still do." Her voice had gained a couple of octaves and she could hear Jarod wince on the other end.
"Sara, if you were so cold-blooded about it, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You do as you're ordered…"
"No, I do as I want, Jarod. When Matt died, they told me to abort… I didn't. I went after that man with nothing but rage in me and I made certain that he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone ever again."
"Still, you are, for lack of a better word, a soldier. You don't kill at your leisure or do so without reason. You work for the government and when they tell you to jump, you do so. That part of your programming or whatever you want to call it isn't something we can just erase with a word. You are who you are. But it's your choice what you do with the other portion of your life. You can still have the love you so very much deserve, Sara. If anyone deserves to be loved, it's you." Jarod's voice caught and she could hear the sorrow in it, but it lacked any hint of pity.
She didn't know how to respond. She thought she could and was about to do so when she heard, "Sara?" Spinning around, she saw Greg come from the living room looking for her. When he caught sight of her, his eyes grew to twice their size. She looked down to where his eyes were focused and that's when she realized she was only dressed in her bra and panties. He made an abrupt about face and walked back into the living room. She couldn't help but chuckle at his discomfiture. Being seen in so few clothes was not a problem for her, but for Greg it was a different matter.
"What're you laughing at?" Jarod asked.
"Umm, well, Greg is here and he… well, he got an eyeful."
"Oh… a blushing red?"
"Umm, you could say that. He retreated really fast. I should go. I have to go check on him, make sure he's still breathing, and I need to get into work, to speak with the Director about my return to Vegas. They have something there they want me to look into. Not up-to-date yet on what it's about."
"Call me later if you can. I don't want this conversation left at this point."
"Jarod!"
"No… we will talk about this again."
Sara sighed. Jarod wasn't someone she could easily say no to and he wasn't someone she liked to disappoint. "Fine, I'll call you tonight maybe, but probably tomorrow."
"Tell Greg and Jackson hello. Bye, baby girl."
"Stop calling me that," she ground out between clenched teeth as he chuckled. She tapped the phone off then finished dressing and went out to the living room in search of her mightily embarrassed friend. She spied him looking out the window on the city. "Hey, you." He turned toward her and she couldn't help but give him a smirk.
"You're not going to let me live this down, are you?" His face was still red, but he had a huge smile.
"Nope, not one bit. So, how'd you get in? And why did you come here?" she asked, turning to head to the kitchen for their coffee.
Greg followed her as he explained, "I thought you might like some company. I was a little surprised to find you asleep. What did you drink?"
Sara smiled. "I didn't, but you already know that. You would've smelled the glass I had on the coffee table to check."
He nodded, letting her know she was correct. "The CIA may have trained me, but I think I've learned more in the last two months with you than the six months with them."
"Well, Greg, I have to say, it's been a great pleasure teaching you and working with you." She handed him his coffee then reached up and touched his cheek. "You're really good you know. You've become quite the formidable opponent. I'd never feel as though I had an inadequate team if you were beside me on an operation." Pulling her hand away, she took a sip of her coffee and sat at the table off of her kitchen. Greg took a seat and seemed to study her. "What?"
"I don't know. You're definitely not over this, are you? You're going to let this hang over your head for some time. And I think those next to you are going to pay for that."
Sara dipped her head. She didn't think she was that readable. Just goes to show how much work I have to do. "Greg, don't. I just got off the phone with Jarod on this subject. I don't need to hear it any more today."
He nodded then reached out to hold her hand. "Sara, I just want you to know, I'm here if you need me. That will never change."
She put her hand over his, gently stroking the top of it. "I know, Greg. I appreciate what you're telling me. Thank you."
"Did I hear correctly, you're being reassigned to Vegas?"
Nodding as she sipped her coffee, she said, "Yeah, but haven't been told in what capacity yet though. I'm guessing I'll be leaving soon." She took another drink of her coffee then walked away from the table, throwing back over her shoulder, "We should get going. It's going to be a busy day.