A/N - I have no business starting another WIP when I'm already knee-deep in two others. But this one lives inside of my head and won't leave me alone, so what can you do? This is also a labor of love, because I have no idea if there's anyone out there who watch both of these shows. But I'm pretty emotionally attached to both of them, so that's me. I hope you enjoy, and I would LOVE to hear ANY feedback you might have. Thank you so much for reading!

"The distance that the dead have gone
Does not at first appear—
Their coming back seems possible
For many an ardent year."
- Emily Dickinson -

In Grandview, Pennsylvania, and Las Vegas, Nevada, two women were on a mission to forget.

They made dinner for themselves. They enjoyed a glass of wine, or two or three. When the dishes were clean, they plopped themselves in front of the TV or the computer to do something mindless--anything to numb the pain. Both of them endured their nightly phone calls from worried colleagues and friends.

One of the women made herself get up and go to the bathroom, where she rifled through her medicine cabinet to find her all-important bottle of pills. She swallowed a few of them without any water, and 30 minutes later, she was asleep. The other woman made herself get up and go to the bathroom too, but instead of finding pills, she took a shower. She dried her hair and haphazardly put on some clothes. Even though she may as well have been sleep walking, she turned off the TV and left the house, on the way to a job that no longer gave her any peace of mind the way it did before.

Even though these women didn't know each other, they both had one very important thing in common--their ghosts would not leave them alone.

Before Melinda Gordon went to sleep in her too-empty bed, she looked around her sparse bedroom and sighed. "Jim, I'm going to bed. If you're hiding in the closet again, just tell me so I know where you are."

A beat.

A minute later Jim shamefully says, "I'm in the closet."

Melinda sighs again. "Fine. I love you, good night."

"I'll love you forever, Melinda," Jim says, barely above a whisper.

"Tell me about it," Melinda mutters.

It's not that she didn't love her husband. She knew for a fact that she would never love a man half as much as she loved Jim Clancy. He was her first love, her last love, her only love. There was no one in the world who could ever comfort her like he did. He was an amazing husband, and an amazing person. But he was also dead, which made things just a little too complicated to deal with sometimes.

Melinda had what some people called a gift, but what she now considered a curse. She could see ghosts. Ghosts came to her, interacted with her, asked her for help. It was her calling, and she knew that from a very young age. But she never thought that her husband would take advantage of that in the afterlife. He needed to go into the light, and he stubbornly refused to do it. So for the last 6 months, she wasn't able to move on with her life; to mourn the passing of her husband like every other widow got the chance to do.

Jim died when a stray bullet from an angry wife, meant for her husband, hit him in the back. He was at the scene to do what he always did as an EMT--save lives. And instead, his own life was taken. To add insult to injury, he was in a coma for 4 days before he flatlined. Melinda sat by his side and never left, not once. And right before the nurses came rushing in, he woke her up.

"Hey, you're awake," she said sleepily, smiling at her now healthy husband. In the back of her mind, she knew something wasn't right there. Coma patients don't just suddenly spring up and act like everything is normal. But she wanted to believe that he was fine, so she did.

"Melinda...I will love you forever," he said, struggling to get the words out. "Don't remember me like this. Don't remember...the end. Remember the good times. Remember the love. Don't remember the end."

And then everything went dark, and life as she knew it would never be the same. He'd never hold her when she woke up from yet another nightmare. She would never get to hold his hand on their semi-regular walks around the neighborhood. They'd never clean the kitchen together again after dinner, one of her favorite activities to do with her husband because they'd always talk, always find little ways to flirt while loading the dishwasher and stealing a spoonful of ice cream before bed. They'd never talk about the dreams they shared together again, either. Jim always wanted to go the med school; now he'd never get that chance. And the baby they'd been dreaming about, planning for, wanting more than anything...they'd never get that chance either.

It took him a few days to appear to her as a ghost. She wondered when it would happen, and had mixed emotions about it. She desperately wanted to see her husband again, but she wanted him to find the light and cross over even more. Jim deserved that peace of mind. He deserved to find his brother again; his father. Melinda hoped her husband would make that choice, but as soon as she heard his voice again, she knew he didn't.

She was at the shop, doing mindless inventory. Delia wanted Melinda to take some time off; go see her mother, do anything but the daily routines that would only inevitably remind her of Jim. Melinda refused, of course. She had obligations, after all. And if nothing else, she always stuck to her obligations.

One second she was staring at a junky picture frame that couldn't have cost more than 5.00, the next second she was staring into the eyes of her dead husband.

"Jim! You scared me half to..."

"Death," he finished for her, and smiled. "I always knew how to make an entrance, didn't I?"

"Where...where have you been the last couple of days?" She asked timidly. Really, what does one say to the husband they thought was lost forever?

"Around. I made sure my mother wasn't falling to pieces. My brother tried to get me to join him in the light. You know, the usual."

"Jim...why don't you join him? You need to go into the light. It's important; you know that."

"I can't leave you, Melinda," he said, an eerie look in his eye. "I can't do it, and I won't."

He held his hand out to her. Not thinking, she reached out to grab it. She wanted more than anything to feel his touch again. Of course, she was only touching air. It was even more heartbreaking than she could ever imagine.

And since Melinda wasn't ready for him to go, she didn't try very hard to convince him to leave. But as the days and then weeks went by, she started to feel a little crazy. Sometimes she wasn't sure if it was Jim's ghost she was seeing, or if she was just making him up to make herself feel better. That was the problem with being the only person in town who saw ghosts--she couldn't ask anyone else if they saw him, too.

On the darkest days, and there were many, she let her thoughts go to places she'd never dream of going before. She thought about ending it all so she could be with him, wherever he was. They could spend eternity together and all her worries would be over. But she'd snap out of that pretty quickly; after all, she still had work to do before her days were over. She had people to help, and she took that seriously. Still, sometimes the thought comforted her when there was nothing else that could.

They still had long talks, even though Jim started fading in and out after a while. They still went on walks together, although they didn't get to hold hands and she'd have to quickly stop talking when the neighbors were around so they wouldn't think she lost her mind. He'd hang around when she cleaned the kitchen after dinner, watching her, wanting to talk to her and yet not knowing what to say. It was maddening, and after a while she knew it had to stop.

So when she woke up in the middle of a dark, rainy night to find him staring at her, she sighed deeply. He smiled when he saw she was awake, and frowned when he realized she was unhappy.

"What's wrong, Mel? Anything I can do?"

She smiled sadly. "What would you be able to do? You're a ghost, Jim. You can't do anything."

"Just tell me what's bothering you, and I'll go haunt the crap out of whoever is behind it."

"Jim...why won't you go into the light?"

"Because you're not there," he said simply. "I made a vow four years ago, and I plan to stick to it."

"Till death do we part," she said. "That's how it goes. I know it's hard, but Jim, you're killing me. I can't live like this, it's too hard! I need to be able to grieve!"

"You don't have to grieve, Mel! I'm right here. I'll always be here. I don't have to leave, you know that."

She sighed again. It seemed like she was sighing a lot lately.

"But I can't touch you," she said. "I can't feel you. I would do anything to feel you again, but I can't. I can't see you anymore, Jim, it's killing me. Please...please just leave me be. If you won't go into the light, just please go somewhere else."

He looked hurt. No, not hurt--he looked crushed. And she felt for him, she truly did. But this couldn't happen anymore. She had to move on with her life.

"Okay. Okay, Mel, if that's what you want, then I'm gone. Just remember--"

"You'll love me forever. I will love you until the day I die, Jim. But please go now, okay?"

He disappeared. And she cried herself to sleep.

But Melinda still felt his presence. She knew he didn't leave, because sometimes she saw just a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. He was really trying to stay out of her way, but she could tell he was truly determined to never let go. So she dealt with it. It was something she was just going to have to get used to, because Jim Clancy wasn't going to leave her alone. And when she knew he was there, and when she knew he knew she knew he was there, she'd talk to him and he'd reluctantly answer her.

So with Jim in the closet, Melinda drifted off to sleep yet again knowing that her ghost would haunt her whether she wanted him to or not.

More than 2,000 miles away, Sara Sidle was having problems of her own.

For one thing, she felt like she was under constant surveillance. Every time she entered a room, wherever she went, someone would look away. Not everyone, but that one uncomfortable person would look away. They would avert their eyes so that they didn't have to look at Sara. It made her feel like she was being watched by everyone in Las Vegas, and she didn't like it.

Gil's death had been on the news, and so was Sara when they interviewed her after his funeral. When he went after Under-sheriff McKeen for the death of Warrick Brown, everyone should have known there would be consequences. But no one could have known that Gil would have to lose his life, just like Warrick did, in order for McKeen to go down. McKeen shot Gil just like he shot Warrick, and Gil died instantly. There was no coma. Sara wasn't around to hold him in her arms one last time. She never got to tell him how he changed her; how he saved her from a life of tragedy when she was sure nothing else could. And what happened? More tragedy. It was a constant in her life, and Sara almost came to depend on it. But she was never prepared for her life with him to end so quickly after it just began. They'd only been married a week before he died. One week, and Sara was now a widow.

When she came back from San Francisco for Warrick's funeral, she wasn't sure how long she'd stay. But when she saw what a wreck Grissom was, she decided to stay as long as he needed. And after the funeral when he suggested they go to the courthouse to finally make it official, she agreed quickly. What was there to think about? She could keep chasing ghosts for the rest of her life, or she could marry Gil Grissom and start living in the future instead of the past. It was an easy decision.

And now she was alone. Again. She thought she'd never have to be alone, after it took such a long time for them to get their act together. Now she was regretting every second they didn't spend together. She should have gone after him more aggressively when she first got to Vegas. And when he said no to her dinner invitation a few years later, she should have done a better job talking him into it. And when he pinned her down against that bloody sheet a few months after that, she should have made a move instead of over-talking the way she always did. She should have done a lot of things, but instead, they had three years together. In those three years, she spent some time from him trying to get herself together, and he spent time on sabbaticals or miniature killers or whatever the hell else he was thinking about instead of her.

And now, a month later...God, it was such a cliché, but she was late. She was late, and the test was positive, and now she was going to be a widow and a mother. They weren't even trying for a baby; they'd just gotten married, for crying out loud. It wasn't fair. There were so many thoughts coming in and out of her head all the time. She never knew what to do with them. Would this baby be a constant reminder of the love she'd never have again? Should she give it up for adoption? Abortion even crossed her mind a few times, but she knew she couldn't do that to Grissom's baby. He would have been so happy if he knew he was going to be a father. Surprised, but happy. And it just wasn't fair.

No one knew about her pregnancy yet. She wasn't going to tell anyone until she had to. Still, Sara couldn't help but think that's why people looked away when she entered a room. They knew she was pregnant, and nobody knew how to deal with that. Obviously that was just paranoia, but it was what Sara felt and she couldn't shake it off.

"I don't get it," Sara told Catherine Willows when they went to breakfast after a long, miserable shift. "I'm the one who suffered the loss of my husband, yet they're the ones who look away. What's up with that, Cath? What's wrong with people?"

Catherine, who had certainly endured her share of loss over the years, nodded with understanding.

"They do it because they don't know what to say. They do it because they don't know that just acknowledging you and letting you know they're sorry about what happened is enough for a lifetime of small talk."

"Does it ever stop?" Sara asked meekly.

"I don't think it does," Catherine said. They both sat for a moment, contemplating the mess that was now their lives. Catherine had her own problems now, with having to run a department that now had 2 heartbreaking losses in the last month alone. Not to mention she was also a widow and had a teenage girl to worry about.

Sara thought about going back to California to be with her mom. They had a nice time while she was there, and if she ever needed her mother at all, it was now. But the lab needed her more, and she didn't want to let Catherine down.

But there was something else. There was something in Vegas holding her back, and she could only identify it as a feeling. She'd never tell anyone, but she swore she could still feel Grissom. He was everywhere. She could feel him when she woke up, before she went to sleep, when she was driving to the lab, when she was processing yet another car. Sometimes she was sure she could smell him. And on one hand, it was comforting to know he was still around, watching over her. It was nice knowing that even in death, he wanted to be with her. But it also made her feel crazy; like the grief was covering her like a blanket and she couldn't see clearly anymore.

A clear sign, to her anyway, that he was still around: every evening when she woke up to start another day, she'd see a ladybug. Every single day. The first one she found was on her toothbrush. She didn't get to brush her teeth that morning because she had to get a new one, but she kept the old one because she was so intrigued by the ladybug. And every day after that, she'd find another one. This was a sign from Grissom, she was sure of it. What she wasn't sure of was why. Why couldn't he just let her grieve in peace? She spent so much of her life chasing after him, and now he was spending his death chasing her? It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, and it didn't make any sense.

Every morning, Sara would cry herself to sleep, knowing that when she woke up, there would be ladybugs.

These two women would soon cross paths. They would do so without knowing the other could offer them an unusual kind of comfort--the comfort of knowing what it feels like to be haunted by the love of their lives, and the deaths of those who left them behind.