A/N: Many, many thanks to Mingsmommy for making me be better than I think I can, to Losingntrnslatn for agreeing with her at every turn and to Cropper for goading me into this.
Lyrics are from 'Big Girls Don't Cry' by Fergie
The path that I'm walking
I must go alone
I must take the baby steps 'til I'm full grown, full grown
Fairytales don't always have a happy ending, do they?
And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay
Sara's hand shook as she guided the pen over the page. Her nerves were raw, her entire body throbbing with a pain that had no visible source. She could feel her heartbeat everywhere; her eyes, her fingertips, everywhere.
From the moment Kim Jiminez turned around and Sara saw the butcher knife lodged in the woman's back, she knew this moment would come. Actually, she was kidding herself. This moment had been in the making since the day Sara Sidle came screaming and flailing into this world. She had fought it, tooth and nail, her entire life. But the desert had done something to her. Like in the movie 'Flatliners', she had crossed some invisible line out there between the sun and the sand and brought a little slice of hell back with her.
Blinking, Sara wondered for a moment if she would ever be able to cry again; if it was possible that the unrelenting desert sun had desiccated her tears forever. She hadn't shed a tear since she snapped the bone in her arm in order to get out of Natalie's trap. There didn't seem to be any point. She was sure something inside her dried up and she had no tears left to give.
Even while she was destroying Hannah West, she felt nothing. No remorse. Not a flicker of pity. No satisfaction. Nothing.
The last three days were hard, filled with hour after hour of mind numbing, back breaking pressure. Sara never realized how much she had come to rely on the people she worked with to help her wade through all the shit they saw on a daily basis. Not until they were no longer there.
Even Grissom was gone. They hadn't spent more than five minutes together, outside of a crime scene, in almost a week. When she thought about it, Sara realized it was probably for the best. She knew she was falling apart, unraveling. And she didn't want Grissom to see that. What if he left her? Or worse, felt sorry for her? She couldn't handle being the object of his pity.
Signing her name, Sara scanned the page one last time. She knew this wasn't enough, could never be enough to explain what she was doing. But it was all she had to give right now. Quickly, she folded the paper and pushed it clumsily into the envelope. Sealing it, she scribbled Grissom's name on the front and stuffed it into an inside pocket of her vest. She dropped a five dollar bill on the table to cover her cup of coffee and left the diner without a backward glance.
When she pushed through the door to the lab, everything seemed to slow down. Her mind struggled to catalogue every sound, every smell. It was such a part of her life; this place where she had learned and grown, where she had found a family to replace the one most people were born with.
Her steps were sure as she headed toward the locker room. She wanted nothing more than to get her things and go. Then she saw him.
Grissom.
Suddenly, Sara knew she couldn't leave without touching him one more time. With purpose in her stride, she brushed past Hodges and, threading her fingers through Grissom's hair, pressed her lips to his. He seemed shocked for a second, but then he kissed her back. His lips were soft and warm and familiar. His hands settled on her waist, just above the flare of her hips, in the same place they had touched her a thousand times before. Pulling back, she saw the confusion on his face and she had to leave before he saw her break down. So with a final press of her palm over his heart, she turned and walked away.
The smell of your skin lingers on me now
You're probably on your flight back to your home town
I need some shelter of my own protection baby
To be with myself and center, clarity
Peace, Serenity
The hustle and bustle of the San Francisco airport was going on all around them, but the couple was oblivious to the crowds and noise. Tucked away in a corner of the least crowded bar they could find Grissom and Sara were patiently waiting for their flights – his to Vegas, hers to Columbus, Ohio.
"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?" Grissom's voice was gentle as he reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear before letting his hand settle on the smooth column of her neck. "There's a ticket counter not too far away. I have more than enough vacation time."
The five days Grissom had taken off to spend with Sara were quickly coming to a close. Being separated for months had done nothing to diminish Sara's love for him. If anything, her feelings were deeper, more solid. Not once had Grissom shown her anything but his love and support. For a short while she thought maybe he didn't care about her leaving because he never asked her to come back. But after countless phone calls and letters, she came to understand that Grissom loved her enough to want her to be happy. And that was more than anybody had ever wanted for her in her entire life.
Sara shook her head. She tried to smile but her eyes were sad and, down deep where it mattered, where only he could see, afraid. "This is something I need to do alone."
"Okay." The word was quiet and calm, but it spoke volumes about his disappointment.
"Thank you." Sara pulled his hand to her mouth and placed a kiss on the palm. "For…for everything."
Grissom opened his mouth, but she shook her head, begging for his silence. Tears filled her eyes as she realized she was hurting him once again. She blinked furiously in an effort to push them back. If she wasn't so tired of crying, she would have found the tears choking her throat humorous. For a woman who had been sure she would never cry again just a few months earlier, she couldn't seem to turn it off anymore. Swallowing convulsively, she fought against the knot of emotion in her throat.
"He's my ghost, Gil. And I need to bury him." Even though her voice broke a little, Sara forced a smile. "Let's not waste any more time talking about this. Okay?"
His eyes dropped to the table before coming up to meet her gaze. What she saw there was a quiet acceptance of his role in her quest. "Okay. So what do you want to talk about?"
Glancing around the dimly lit space, taking in the handful of people seated at the bar, Sara brought her eyes back to him. "I didn't know it would be this hard."
"What, sweetheart?" Grissom took her hand and ran his thumb over the back.
"Letting you go…again." Sara once again averted her eyes. "Not that I have any right to complain about it. I mean, it was my d…."
Her words were cut short by the press of his mouth. "Shhhhhhh. I know."
With a sigh, Sara leaned back against the stiff vinyl of the booth. Licking her lips, she grinned up at him. "I've missed the way you taste." When his eyes darkened, she gave a snort of laughter. "Well, yeah. But that's not what I meant."
"I know." Grissom smiled. "I miss you, too."
An awkward silence descended, cutting off any further attempts at conversation. There was nothing either of them could say that would make the situation anything other than what is was – another goodbye. Instead, they sat quietly, holding hands, each lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, with a quick glance at his watch, Grissom said, "I better get to my gate. They've probably started boarding by now."
Sara nodded and took a final sip of the soda she had ordered. "Let's go. I'll walk with you."
When they reached the gate, Grissom had ten minutes to spare before the boarding door would be closed. They spent it huddled together with their arms wrapped tightly around each other. When the gate attendant announced final boarding, Grissom captured Sara's lips in a final, searing kiss and then he was gone.
For another minute, Sara allowed herself to wish he would come back. She could almost see him jogging up the gangway and sweeping her into his arms, swearing he would never leave her alone to fight her demons again. But then reality crashed in and she gave a sad smile. He was only following her lead, giving her the space she needed to face her past. Bringing her hands to her face, she inhaled, letting the scent of Grissom calm her and give her strength.
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It's personal, myself and I
We've got some straightenin' out to do
The drive from Columbus to Tiro, Ohio, was sixty miles of bad road. Sara dodged the potholes as much as she could and winced every time she couldn't. She passed through several small towns, slowing as the speed limit dictated and then speeding up again as she left the town limits. When she reached Tiro, Sara couldn't help but notice how neat the main street area was. It sparkled with the recent gentrification efforts. She took note of the brick sidewalks and old fashioned street lamps, the fresh paint and gleaming glass of the storefronts. There were actually cars parked in front of the stores and people bustled about, going from shop to shop. For a moment, Sara wondered what it would be like to live in a small town where people knew you by name.
Just past the main shopping area, Sara pulled into a gas station. Fumbling in her purse, she fished out a couple of sheets of folded paper. Taking a deep breath, she unfolded them and smoothed them against the steering wheel. She stared at the addresses, fighting the desire to turn around and go back to San Francisco, or better yet, back to Vegas. Gathering her courage around her like a cloak, Sara got out of the car and went inside to get some directions.
The Watsons, Sara's maternal grandparents, had lived in an imposing Victorian two blocks off Main Street, directly across the street from the church where Gideon Watson was once the pastor. According to Laura, the couple left town shortly after she was convicted. They moved to Columbus and were now living in a retirement home. The name on the mailbox and the bright pink Barbie Jeep on the front lawn assured Sara that the elderly couple no longer lived there. Pulling over to the side of the street, Sara studied the house, trying to get a feel for what it was like to grow up there.
Apparently, Reverend Watson was a deeply religious man who expected no less than absolute obedience from his wife and daughter. Strict and unyielding in his beliefs, he was a stern taskmaster. And his wife, Rosa, was his right hand.
"I know they loved me, Sara." Laura shrugged and took a deep drag off her cigarette. "I know it now. They just weren't the kind of people who said the words." She gave a sad laugh and continued, "I guess what they say about the apple and the tree isn't wrong after all."
Sara remembered her grandparents from Laura's trial. They were dour faced strangers who sat behind her mother, never once allowing any emotion to break through. When she thought back, Sara realized they had done no more than glance at her with disapproval during the entire ordeal.
By the time Laura went on trial, Sara had been in the foster care system for nearly a year and already learned that the appearance of her case worker was a sure sign of trouble. So, when she told Sara that her grandparents had refused to take her, the information brought nothing more than relief, knowing that she wouldn't have to move again. Maybe it was the fact that she didn't know them or that she never felt wanted by anyone, let alone her grandparents, but the words really hadn't been all that painful at the time.
With a final look at the house, Sara put the car in gear and drove away. Following the directions she had scribbled down, she drove back to Main Street and headed back in the direction of Columbus. After about four miles, she crossed a set of railroad tracks and just past that she saw a sign for Buckeye Road. Taking a left, she drove another five miles before spotting a dirt road on her right. Slowing, she made the turn.
Carefully, she picked her way along the uneven surface. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she watched the plume of dust being kicked up by her tires before jerking her eyes back to the road in front of her. The trees lining both sides of the narrow path blocked the brilliant fall sun and cast everything in shadows. Sara shivered and turned up the heater.
The numbers on the mailboxes told her she was getting close. Some of the houses she passed looked new; simple box-like structures with new paint and straggly grass and a single small tree placed in the center of the yard. There were a few old farm houses with graceful front porches and huge trees that would provide lots of shade in the summer. And then she saw it. Sara drove past the house slowly, her eyes logging her first impressions. At the next driveway she turned around and drove back, stopping just short of the entrance.
The ramshackle structure bore spots of paint that, at one time, could have been white. One window still had its shutters, the others long since having been relegated to kindling. The porch sagged and weeds had taken over the yard. A rutted drive led up to the front door and a battered pickup truck was parked there. The entire place screamed neglect.
"Talk about being from the wrong side of the tracks…literally." The words were loud inside the car and she jumped a little at the noise.
Sara had never met her paternal grandparents. According to Laura, Steve Sidle had been in jail for assault when his son died. Sadie, Mike's mother, had been too busy trying to make the payments on the house to even think about going to California. There was a younger brother, James, who was in and out of trouble constantly. Thankfully, no one from Sara's father's side of the family was in any position to take on a child.
"Mike's old man ruled by intimidation, Sara." Laura's grin was rueful. "If I had known then…" she trailed off with a shrug. "But I was blind until it was way too late."
With a last look at the house, Sara put the car in gear and headed back to town.
And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I've got to get a move on with my life
It's time to be a big girl now
And big girls don't cry
Once again Sara passed through the downtown area, but this time nothing registered. Instead, her gaze was turned inward; searching for the strength to face what was to come. Before she realized it, she was turning through the gates of the Tiro Memorial Gardens.
The caretaker, a wrinkled gnome of a man wearing overalls and a straw hat, looked at her with question filled eyes when she asked where Michael Sidle was buried. Sara could tell the moment when he put two and two together, the dawning of recognition lighting up his face.
"You look like your mother." The statement was quiet and sure. "She was a beautiful girl."
Sara murmured a "thank you," and asked again about the grave.
He turned to the filing cabinets and began to dig through a drawer. "Sadie Sidle was a good woman. Real sweet. But that husband of hers, Steve, he was a piece of work. And Mike, well…he was his father's son."
Pulling out a folder, he ran a finger along the page until he found what he was looking for. With a nod, he shoved the folder back in place and closed the drawer. "A real shame about what happened. The congregation of Sadie's church helped raise the money to bring Mike back here. Took them almost a year. That's a lot of bake sales and cake walks and barbecues and car washes."
He stopped for a moment; his washed out blue eyes sweeping over her, looking for her reaction. When Sara remained silent, his expression went from curious to admiring.
With a slight nod of what might have been approval, he continued, "Then somebody made an anonymous donation to pay for the burial plot. Rumor had it the Watsons did that. But nobody could prove it."
Motioning for Sara to follow him, he walked outside. He gave her directions then, his bony finger shaking a little as he gestured left and right. "If you follow this road around until it dead ends, then take a right and then a left, you'll see a big old oak right up close to the pavement. Park there and go beyond the oak about twenty yards. The Sidles are buried to the left in the second row."
Her voice trembled as she thanked him once more.
She had the car door open when he spoke again. "I really hope you find what you're looking for. You're too pretty to be so sad."
Slowly, Sara drove through the deserted paths of the cemetery. Dread had been building in her since she got on the plane in San Francisco the day before, and now it was bubbling up in her throat, choking her. She sat in the car with her hands clenched around the steering wheel, and stared at the rows of headstones marching off in every direction. The trees were bare, their branches casting uneven shadows on the ground.
"Why do you want to go there, Sara?" Laura's words were sharp, cutting. "Do you think he's going to give you some sort of explanation? Do you think he's going to say he's sorry?"
"I don't expect him to say anything. This isn't about him. This is about me, about what I need." Sara shrugged.
Laura's smile was sad when she said, "You always felt too much, Sara. Big brain, big heart. The best of both of us. And none of the bad."
After several long minutes, Sara got out of the car. The sun was high overhead, a watery yellow blob in a crystal blue sky. Shivering against the bite of the wind, she turned up her collar and huddled deeper into her coat. Standing beside the car, Sara looked around at the beautifully manicured acres.
Only golf courses and cemeteries ever look this good. The odd thought flitted across her mind and Sara chuffed out a laugh.
With a determined stride, she set out across the dry, brown turf, the brittle grass crunching under her feet. Soon she was standing in front of the small bronze marker.
Michael J. Sidle
March 5, 1948 – September 18, 1983
Sara stared at the words. This was it, the thing she had come for. And it wasn't what she had thought it would be. Nothing there except grass and trees and silence. There were no answers, no apologies; just her and her memories. Inexplicably, she felt tears filling her eyes and she lowered herself until she was sitting cross-legged on the ground. The scent of cold earth surrounded her and she breathed deeply, letting the cold air burn her nostrils.
"Hi." Her voice was small, fragile. Sara swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "I told myself I wouldn't cry. I've shed more than enough tears over you in the past."
Nervously, her fingers plucked at the grass in front of her, pulling up piece after piece and tossing them aside. Her breath came in short pants, and she fought the rise of bile in her throat. Being this close to her father, even knowing he could no longer hurt her, was overwhelming.
"I hated you, you know." Sara's voice broke and she gave in to the sobs she had been holding at bay. For a long time she simply allowed herself to cry.
When she could speak, she continued, "I loved you, too. No matter what you did, I loved you."
Her voice shook, just a bit. "I'm not sure why I'm here. What's done is done, right? I mean, it's not like you can take it all back. And even if you did you'd only be lying"
Anger washed over her. "Just like all the times you said you were sorry. All the times you said it wouldn't happen again. Lies! Every word!"
Sara broke off abruptly, clamping a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide, horrified. Her stomach began a slow roll, the kind she felt as a little girl when she knew she was in trouble. The fear surrounded her now, just as it had all those years ago. Drawing her knees up, she hugged her legs tightly, as if trying to make herself small enough to avoid the wrath she knew was coming.
Sara was silent for a long time, her whole body shaking, as she fought past the fear. Slowly, she relaxed. And when she spoke again, her voice was quiet.
"Did you think we'd forget? Did you think any of us would ever forget?"
Her eyes and her voice took on a faraway quality. "I can still hear it. The way it sounded when you slapped one of us, when you punched one of us. They make different noises." Her eyes slid closed and silent tears slid from beneath her lashes. "And they hurt in different ways, too."
Sara drew a calming breath. "I have let that, and you, control me. My whole life has been about hiding what you did. Every visit to the hospital for a 'fall down the stairs' or a 'bicycle wreck' was a lie we all told in your name.
"When I told Laura's attorney that I didn't know why she picked that day to snap I lied. I knew. And I've spent the rest of my life lying about that."
Once again, tears rolled down her cheeks. "I felt dirty and ashamed…and guilty. I was a child. Your child. And you took that away from me. And when she killed you for it I felt like that was my fault too."
Scrambling to her feet, she began to pace, her hands gesturing wildly. "You took my childhood. You took my innocence. And you made me feel like I was to blame."
Stopping, she wrapped her arms around her waist. "But no more. Do you hear me? No more!"
Sara resumed her pacing. Her steps were jerky, uncoordinated. She was blind to the slow slide of the sun across the sky, unmoved by the biting cold. Tucking her hands in her pockets, she moved back and forth as if she could out walk the past.
Memories washed over her; the antiseptic smell of the hospital, the sting of the needles, the worried eyes of the doctors and nurses. But those memories were soon replaced with the sound of her father's laughter as they walked along the beach, the way his mustache would tickle when he blew raspberries against her stomach, the way she felt when they would load up in his old pickup, just the two of them, and drive into town for a burger and a coke. It seemed that for every horror there was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy.
"Why?" Sara whispered. "That's what I don't understand. The why of it all." With a shudder, she blinked back the tears that were threatening again. "You could have had it all."
Glancing up, she noticed that the sky was growing dark. Sara looked at her watch and realized it was nearly four o'clock. She was shocked that so much time had passed.
"I guess it's time for me to go. I just want you to know one thing." Dropping to her knees, she let her fingers graze the marker. "I'm not that little girl anymore. I'm not going to be the victim. Not ever again."
"I have been your victim for far too long. I want my life. I have a right to my life." She could feel something inside her shift, loosen. "It may not happen today. But soon, very soon."
Sara knelt there, the cold of the ground seeping through the knees of her jeans. Finally, with a last press of her palm against his name, she stood.
"Goodbye, Daddy. I miss you."
When she turned for the car, Sara's eyes were dry and her soul was at peace.
Like the little school mate in the school yard
We'll play jacks and uno cards
I'll be your best friend and you'll be my Valentine
Yes you can hold my hand if you want to
'Cause I want to hold yours too
We'll be playmates and lovers and share our secret worlds
The wind off the bay was still cool but it carried a hint of spring. Sara followed the path from the cottage down to the rock strewn beach, breathing deep to capture the clean scent of the pines that grew along the ridge. The water rolled in and out, just as it had for centuries, just as it would for centuries to come.
Six months she had been here.
Six months of climbing inside her own head, of digging through memories, of finding her center.
Six months away from Grissom.
She was nowhere near finished with her journey…but she had learned that no one's journey was over until they died. During her time in this place, days spent watching the tide crash in before sliding away again, Sara had taken the hardest steps on the road and she felt like she was finally starting a new phase of her life. And she was definitely ready to share it.
Pulling her coat a little tighter, Sara dug her cell phone out of her pocket. Flipping it open, she dialed and pressed the phone to her ear, listening to the rings.
When she heard the voice on the other end, she said, "Hey. Are you still in the market for a roommate?"
A laugh bubbled up from deep inside her when he asked if she was sure. Giggling, Sara nodded. "Yes Gil, I'm coming home."