CRY

Disclaimer:Never owned 'em, never will.

Author's Note: For the record, I *am* a die hard N/S shipper. I really can't ignore the fact that there seems to be something going on between Grissom and Sara. Sorry, but Sara asking him out was too much to say she does not have feelings for the man. Still, as a very wise woman said once (in a N/S Yahoo Group message), my take on it as a N/S shipper is going to be totally different compared to what G/S shippers have to say about it.
Bottom line: this is not as much as a N/S fic as the other companion pieces/sequels "In My Place" and "Letting Go" (which came to my mind long before this one), but hey, look at the big picture.
The song is, of course, "Cry" by Faith Hill, who is truly to blame for this thing. It just suits the situation perfectly.

And now, without further ado, what we all have been expecting: my very own post-PWF fic!!! (Sorry again, couldn't resist it -- months gone by and we're still dealing with the aftermath, it's sad)

Feedback to keep me going! Please!
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Sara sat by herself in the parking lot trying to regain some composure, but failing miserably at feeling better. The sun was barely rising and she took a moment to contemplate it before coming back in to apologize. It would do no good, it was common knowledge that repetitive apologies were worse than no apology at all. So she delayed her return a little longer -- it was almost time to go home anyway.

She had lashed out at Greg without any reason at all. Again.

Although refusing to go on like that, there wasn't much she felt she could do against it. She was tired, overworked, underpaid, sleepless, lonely, feeling underestimated and bitter -- a deadly combo. But most of all she was sad and angry at no one and everyone altogether.

And she wasn't supposed to use that as an excuse to snap at everybody, everywhere. Or behave recklessly at work. She hated the person she was becoming. And she hated the reason behind it. She hated being so weak -- surrendering before so vain emotions.

It had been a few weeks since the explosion at the lab and it had certainly affected her performance as a CSI. Her partners noticed and were patient, hoping time would heal the bruises, inner and outer. But there were scars that ran deeper unbeknownst to them. The explosion excuse was running old, and their understanding was running out.

She wasn't oblivious. She could see the exchange of worried glances between Nick and Warrick, and even Catherine had made her best attempt at talking her into counseling. Grissom, on the other hand, remained unaware of the whole situation or had knowingly chosen to ignore it.

Because he fully knew what was behind her disturbed behavior. And his indifference made it ten times worse. She wanted to believe that it all came down to him not knowing how to handle things, specifically things of emotional nature. But that didn't make her less angry.

Sara felt utterly stupid for letting her whole life go via the sink over a man who so obviously didn't care as deeply as she did.

If I had just one tear running down your cheek
Maybe I could cope, Maybe I'd get some sleep
If I had just one moment at your expense,
Maybe all my misery would be well spent

And that was the root and cause of the ordeal. Her inability to keep her own emotions in control. It was downright primal, actually. Super professional Agent Sidle was having hard time separating work from her personal life. But she had eventually figured it was something bound to happen when you let your job take over every aspect of her life. Maybe that was the reason why it hurt hearing him say that she needed a life outside the crime lab.

Was that a rejection she had failed to notice or just another display of his emotional clumsiness?

He had claimed he didn't now what to do with whatever was between them and she understood there were regulations about coworkers and subordinates, and company time. She understood that. She would have understood if he had refused to jeopardize both their careers.

But his lack of reaction in contrast with her inner turmoil made her wonder if there was indeed something between them.

Could you cry a little, lie just a little,
Pretend your feeling a little more pain
I gave now I'm wanting. something in return
So cry just a little for me.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe the sleep off of them.

The alternative meant all she had ever believed concerning their relationship was based in too many misunderstandings between them, or just a plain bunch of lies.

The smiles, the compliments. The stolen glances. The nights off they had spent together in the lab. The silly excuses made up to brush against each other, to keep physical contact.

It was all real. She had made it real from her side, which meant she couldn't help but feeling betrayed somehow. And with betrayal came the need for vengeance or at least vindication. Misery liked company, and - if nothing - she was pretty miserable at the moment. She was bitter, and there was no way around that.

But - as it had always been - whatever feelings she harbored were relegated because in her conscious mind she wasn't even about to consider the possibility of him playing her all along. The man she knew was beyond that sort of things.

Even if by some twisted curve fate threw her there still was remote possibility she would never be disposed to admit that everything that had ever meant something to her was a lie.

That just went against the very same defining concept of being Gil Grissom. According to Sara Sidle.

If your love could be caged, honey I would hold the key
And conceal it underneath the pile of lies you handed me
And you'd hunt those lies, they'd be all you'd ever find
And that'd be all you'd have to know for me to be fine

Which was probably on top of the list of reasons why she was having an extremely hard time at understanding him. None of that framed the man he was supposed to be.

Truth be told she had never expected him to reject her. She had everything planned: he would say yes, they would go out and have a great time, and stay together forever. And whoever came to question the union, he would tell off with a brilliant monologue that summed up the reasons why they belonged together.

All she had to do was ask.

And now she was sitting alone in the parking lot, feeling the temperature rise along with the sun and questioning his every move. Most of all finding difficult to remember all of those reasons, so certain and convincing at the time. The darts of doubt were doing a fairly good job and he wasn't contributing in any way to the resistance.

She made a good effort, and the simplest answer prevailed: they were meant to be together because they were too much alike. They had too many things in common. They had the same interests - namely anything related to forensics science - and they lacked the same thing -- social skills.

That was just about it, though.

Wasn't love all about having things in common after all?

The sun finally made its way over the buildings across the place, blinding her with all its might. She wondered if she wasn't just as blind when it came to his behavior, to their relationship.

She wondered if her denial or her impulse to justify his actions weren't as bad - probably worse - as his lack of reaction.

But Sara had learned something about herself. She had learned sometimes she preferred to believe the lie, because the truth always sucked. That never made the pain go away but at least it would lessen a little.

Could you cry a little, lie just a little,
And baby I'd feel just a little less pain
I gave now I'm wanting. something in return
So cry just a little for me.

She had seen him that night. She had subtly tried to get some sort of reaction out of him. Some kind of acknowledgement. A word. A whisper. Something.

He had resembled a rock perfectly. Just as hard. Just as cold. Just as hard to break.

Somebody had told her once not to cry over something or someone that cannot cry for you. Well, as the silent tears attempted to stream down her cheeks she slowly started to believe that there was nothing behind his façade of professionalism, intellectualism and seriousness.

Perhaps that was just the way he was. Perhaps he was simply unable to manifest his emotions. Most certainly, he had been proved unable to manifest his emotions when it came to her. And it wasn't fair to her after all she felt she had given him.

His eyes weren't filled with tears. Or anything else. To her, they were just empty.

Give it up baby, I hear your doing fine.
Nothing's gonna save me 'til I see it in your eyes
Some kind of heartache honey, give it a try
I don't want pity, I just want what is mine

It was just the uncertainty she was not used to live with. Not knowing where she stood, not discerning illusion from reality anymore. The evidence always told it like it was, or so she had been taught, and evidence was what she dealt with day after day -- not people. But this time the evidence went against all the certain knowledge she had.

She honestly believed she had given up things for him. Coming all the way from San Francisco hadn't been a sacrifice, not at all, mostly because she knew about the place and the crew she would be working with. But that didn't mean she hadn't had a whole organized life back there.

And then, once in Vegas, his wish had been her command. She had committed herself to work - and work only - in a way that most didn't consider healthy. But it had seemed fair because he was just as dedicated.

Sara shook her head regretfully. She had believed she was partly the reason for that, failing to notice that his involvement had started long before her arrival.

There hadn't been a life outside the crime lab for the longest time. So maybe it wasn't that much to ask him to come out from his plastic bubble just this once.

She hugged her legs tightly against her chest, letting her forehead rest swiftly on her knees. The pressure of the idea that had echoed in her head from the beginning hadn't been relieved though.

Perhaps all this time she had just been wasting her admiration, her strength, her time. Her life.

Could you cry a little, lie just a little,
Pretend your feeling a little more pain
I gave now I'm wanting. something in return
So cry just a little for me.

Her head shot back up with the sound of the door opening, and she hurriedly wiped the trails the tears had traced along her cheeks. Turning her gaze to the entrance, but not standing up, she came face to face with the one and only Nick Stokes.

She tried to purse her lips together forcing a grin. It came nothing but a bitter smile that matched her mood. His was limpid and sincere, in contrast.

He handed her a small recipient and a spoon.

"Ice cream?" She frowned in disbelief. He didn't seem to notice.

"Chocolate ice cream?" She asked again, trying to emphasize her bewilderment. He shrugged.

"Catherine told me once that one of the reasons why it was good to be a woman was that sometimes chocolate and ice cream can really fix your problems. I just couldn't pick one of them, so chocolate ice cream it is."

Well, that sounded like him. Always willing to mourn with those that mourned and disposed to comfort those that stood in need of comfort. She certainly wouldn't mind some of that rubbing into Grissom.

He was still there, not pushing but definitely hoping she would want to open up to him. Their eyes met and Sara thought that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be that bad to share what she felt with him. To have someone help her bear her burden. A real friend.

She took the objects from his hands and smirked, motioning to the spot beside her.

"Come on, sit down"

- THE END (at least until "In My Place")
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Written by Mary S. OK, so wadda ya think?