Hush Little Baby

Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Much inspirational credit belongs to TigerButterflied and her delightful WIP-fic San Francisco First. Check it out!
Summary: Behind him, Sara bit her fist to silence her weeping. Inside, her heart broke, although it made no sound. Sandles angst, pre-CSI. No spoilers.

Many thanks again to Jenny70529 for her beta and encouragement. Any errors are mine alone.

Hush little baby, don't say a word
Momma's gonna buy you a mockingbird
children's nursery rhyme

The silence was killing her.

Greg's clothes made no sound as he threw shirt after shirt into a worn navy suitcase. Sara sat on the bed – their bed – and watched, her lower lip quivering and hot tears rolling down her face.

Thump.

Greg slammed shut one dresser drawer and opened another - the last one. Ten more t-shirts, three more pairs of jeans and that was it.

The silence continued. Sara shut her eyes, hoping that not seeing what was happening would prevent it from being so.

Zip.

The sound of Greg closing his suitcase made Sara open her eyes. Closing her eyes might have kept away the boogie man when she was little, but now, as an adult, it wasn't stopping Greg from leaving – leaving San Francisco, leaving her. Leaving them.

Crack. Pop.

Greg stood up, his knees and back protesting the change. Sara's eyes followed him across the room as he left, wheeling the suitcase behind him. She willed him to look at her, but apparently her telepathic skills were defunct as well. Greg didn't glance her way as he left the room.

Rumble, rumble, rumble.

Sara listened to the sound of the suitcase wheels battering the wooden floors fade as Greg moved down the hall towards the door, and beyond that, the car. She wouldn't – couldn't - think about where he was going after that.

Slam.

Greg was outside. Sara suddenly wished for the silence to return, because the only noise she was hearing now was the sound of Greg leaving.

She looked around the room slowly, seeing the remains of Greg's one-sided disassembly of their life. There were naked nails on the walls where he had taken down pictures, indentations in the rug where furniture used to sit, empty space in the closet where his clothes used to hang. It had been so hard for them to come together; it shouldn't be this easy to pull them apart. But it was, and it was happening now.

Suddenly, she needed to see Greg. Needed to lay her eyes on him, even if all he could do was look at her in contempt and shake his head. She ran down the hallway, nearly colliding with Greg as he trudged, head down, back through the half-empty living room, where again the newly-exposed nails on the walls seemed to mock her. How could their relationship come down to this, a half-empty apartment, when she'd given more than her entire self to him – to them?

"Greg?" she managed to choke out.

Silence.

Sara hated herself even as she trailed along behind him like a remorseful puppy.

Greg was in the bathroom, dropping his last few toiletries into a plastic bag. The bag rustled softly, quietly at first as his toothbrush, then his comb and finally his deodorant fell into it, but the sound drowned in the whoosh of blood rushing through Sara's ears. She stood in the doorframe, wondering who had hit the mute button on her life.

It wasn't until Greg tried to leave that he met her eyes.

"Move, Sara," he said flatly.

"No."

Greg ducked under Sara's arm. She pulled her hands down from where they'd been pressed against the door frame, wrapping them around her waist instead of reaching out for him as she desperately wanted to do. A wry thought flitted through her brain – If your boyfriend leaves, and you can't hear it, does it really happen?

God, she hoped not.

Slam.

Greg was outside again. Sara walked back through their small apartment, panic rising up as bile in her throat when she saw that nothing of Greg remained. He had no reason to come back in.

She ran outside, leaving the door open, thumping loudly and clumsily down the steps to the street. Greg was standing on the sidewalk, hands on his hips, staring at his car. Cars hummed by, horns honking and brakes squealing as they navigated the narrow streets.

Sound, finally.

This was it. She had five minutes, maybe less, to convince Greg to stay.

"Greg?" She now damned the sound that she had previously craved when it drowned out her plea, this time in the form of a noisy dump truck, its brakes squealing while the diesel engine pumped out thick black fumes.

Her arm reached out, her fingers uncurling as she touched him on the shoulder. He scuttled away, out of her reach, but turned around.

Sara gasped at the hard look on his face. Gone was the light-hearted Greg she knew and loved, the humorous, almost childish man that she'd made a home and a life with.

"Say something, please." Anything to break this silence between us.

His chest deflated, and he dropped his head to study the sidewalk beneath them. And still, the silence remained.

She was talking now, too fast and too loudly. "It doesn't have to end like this, Greg. You don't have to go. Of all the places to run off to…" Grissom had come between them, and now Greg was leaving her to go work for him.

He looked up at her then, an amused smirk on his face that chilled her. "The irony of the situation isn't lost on me."

He continued, coldly and harshly and yet so quietly that she had to strain to hear his words. "It was too easy, really. After all, he called so often…all I had to do was pick up the phone."

Greg had accused her – possibly rightly so – of having an emotional affair with Grissom. Grissom had been a part of their relationship since day one – Grissom, her teacher who had turned her on to forensics; Grissom, her mentor who had inspired her to advocate for those who were cold in their graves; Grissom, her friend who had called their house one time too many for Greg's liking. She had shut out Greg in favor of Grissom, spending most evenings gushing on the phone to him about the latest article in Advances in Criminal Forensics, asking for advice on cold cases, discussing her hopes and dreams. To Greg she said less and less, until all that was left between them was the tattered remains of their relationship. Finally, after Greg's nearly endless supply of patience and goodwill had been exhausted, he had picked up the phone and asked Grissom if he had any openings in DNA.

"Yes, actually," Grissom had stuttered, unfamiliar and uncertain with Greg.

"Good," Greg had said. "I'll take it in exchange for Sara. You can have her if I can have the job."

Grissom had thought he was joking until Greg had called him the following week looking for the application.

Now, two weeks later, Greg was leaving. She stared at him, and he stared at a spot over her left shoulder. Not thinking, not feeling, not hearing. He was done – with her and with them.

Sara panicked, hating the sound of her still too loud voice. "Are you even going to say goodbye?"

Greg looked at her for the last time. "Months of silence on your end, and now you want a departing speech from me? Turnabout's fair play, Sara."

He spun around and walked over to the driver's side door.

"Greg!"

Her only answer was the sound of his car door slamming shut followed by the engine turning over. She beat against the window, yelling frantically, but inside the car her words were muted, obliterated. Greg popped the clutch, put the car into first, and she backed away, her mouth closed and her weepy brown eyes saying everything and nothing at the same time.

Greg pulled away from the curb, and Sara stepped into the street - watching, waiting, willing.

Stop. Please, Greg, stop. I love you. I've always loved you. Please, don't leave, and I'll say everything you need me to say.

But Greg drove on, his eyes fastened on the road ahead - the road to Vegas, the road away from Sara. 500 yards later, he slammed on the brakes and laid his head down on the steering wheel, groaning softly.

Sara's heart leapt when the brake lights flashed. 500 yards was farther than she'd hoped he'd go, and closer than she'd dreamed he would before stopping. She took two hesitant steps towards him, two hesitant steps towards them, all the while planning what she would say. Two more steps, and then two more, until….

Greg cursed under his breath and lifted his head. He lifted his foot off the brake and it hovered for an instant over the gas. Can you really leave this behind?

The roar of the engine as it accelerated was his answer.

Behind him, Sara bit her fist to silence her weeping. Inside, her heart broke, although it made no sound.

Spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart.
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