Moments of Truth
Chapter One
Sara felt hollow.
Nothing seemed real.
The smell of disinfectant was overpowering. She'd always loved that smell. Clean was good. Hospitals were supposed to be clean, after all.
Today that scent made her sick. Or more sick, rather, under the circumstances.
Working a case that brought her here was one thing.
Aimlessly wandering hospital hallways because everything hurt… and fear and dread overwhelmed her… and she had no one to go home to… that was something else entirely.
The words echoed in her head as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, again and again.
"It seems that the situation may be somewhat worse than we initially thought."
"I really am very sorry."
"It's just one of life's cruel jokes. Health can be an illusion."
"Is there someone we could call for you?"
But there wasn't anyone to call, because her family was dead or otherwise unavailable to her, and her friends… well, seeing her fears reflected in their eyes would just be too much for her. She would have to acknowledge reality, and be strong for them, and she couldn't do that just yet. Some small part of her still wanted to pretend.
Sooner or later she would tell Grissom. He deserved to know, so that he could be prepared, both as her supervisor and her friend.
There was more to it than that, of course. There was always more to it than that when it came to Grissom.
Selfish or not, weak or not, the bottom line was that she needed him. Standing on your own too feet was well and good until you couldn't anymore. Somewhere along the line even Sara Sidle needed support. And that point was rapidly approaching.
She wanted him to hold her until she stopped shaking. And for a while after that. Maybe forever.
Sara kept wandering until she found herself at the edge of the moonlit parking lot, with no concept of time passing or light fading.
Moments later, alone and still in her quiet car, her blurry vision told her she was crying.
Damn him, she mused silently.
Logical thought evaded her. All that existed was the hellish knowledge of what was to come. And more to the point, what was not to come.
Her life might be occasionally lonely and miserable, but she had her joys and triumphs; her friends and her successes. That was enough for now. And she'd had hope for so much more. Perhaps even with Grissom.
It was several minutes later that Sara reached for her key ring and lifted it to the ignition. This tiny motion caused the slightest ache in her arm muscles, and the pain in her abdomen intensified briefly, and the tears came harder and faster.
It wasn't fucking fair. It had been too many years.
And she'd tried so hard for so long to be strong.
…
"Sara Sidle took a day off? What is the world coming to? Hey Warrick, you think they're doing axels in hell right about now?" Nick teased, and Warrick played along, tossing a grin in Sara's direction.
"Oh, yeah, I think I saw a hog or two flying past the window earlier."
Back at work and relaxing in the break room before the start of shift, Sara managed what she thought was an amused smile and sat down heavily at the table.
"Jealousy suits you, Nick," she threw at him. "You have a lot of experience in that area?"
"Me? Jealous?"
"Ten weeks on the books, Nicky. What have you got racked up?"
Leaning back in his chair comfortably, Nick opened his mouth to form a smart ass response, but when Grissom and Catherine entered he sat up and got ready to work.
Sara, on the other hand, let her mind wander. She knew she'd taken moments like this for granted. The silliness with Nick and Warrick. The camaraderie of being part of their team.
She wanted more time.
"What have we got?" Nick asked Grissom curiously.
"419 at the Golden Peacock Motel, down by the I-15," Grissom informed him, "And --"
"I'll take it solo, thank you very much," Nick tried good-naturedly, and Grissom shook his head, indicating 'no'.
"You can be the primary, but you're taking Catherine and Sara with you. Warrick and I have a jewelry store robbery."
Warrick looked less than thrilled, but said nothing.
"And Greg is?" Catherine asked Grissom.
"Has the night off," Grissom told her, following Warrick out of the room.
Catherine acknowledged Grissom's answer with a tiny nod and followed Nick toward the door. They both turned back in confusion when Sara didn't automatically get up and come with them. Nick caught Sara's gaze and gestured toward the door.
"You coming?" He took on a joking tone. "Or you taking another of those vacation days you've got racked up?"
Whatever trance-like state had come over Sara quickly disappeared, and she joined her colleagues in the hallway.
"I'm driving," Nick announced.
"No, I'm driving," Catherine corrected him.
"Who's the primary?"
"Who's the senior CSI?"
Nick and Catherine both wore amused smiles, and Nick turned to look at Sara.
"You not going to fight the good fight on this one?" he asked her, and she shrugged and walked on in front of them.
They watched her go, curious about her attitude and lack of response for only the briefest of moments before moving on to discussing something else.
…
"…samples… DNA…"
Sara blinked rapidly a few times, and tried to shake her head back and forth as slowly and inconspicuously as possible. What had Catherine just said?
"…once in a blue moon… timing doesn't suck…"
Sitting in the back of the vehicle as the trio returned to the lab from their crime scene, Sara tried to focus, tried to clear her foggy mind. The doctors had listed extreme fatigue among symptoms to be prepared for, but this lightheadedness and disorientation was more than she had expected at this point.
"Sara? You got that?"
"Sara?" Nick echoed Catherine. Cath had parked and they were both stepping out into the parking lot. Sara shoved her own door open.
"Sorry… my mind was somewhere else…" Sara managed to speak rather coherently, or so it seemed to her. "You were saying…?"
"Can you get these samples to DNA?" Catherine asked for the third time, glancing at Nick when Sara didn't meet her eyes.
"You okay?" Nick asked, his voice full of concern. "You're white as a sheet."
"I… haven't eaten anything… in a while. Or slept. I'm… a bit lightheaded. S'okay."
Knowing it was past time to stand up, Sara swung her legs around slowly, and with considerable effort. Nick's eyes narrowed.
"Sara…"
Sara ignored him and made a feeble attempt to exit the vehicle, but she found herself pitching forward. Had Nick not reached out for her, only the concrete would have broken her fall.
"Hey! Hey, Sar? Sara?" Nick's tone took on a vague note of panic.
"Fine…" Sara told him as clearly as she could manage. "Tired…"
"You're not fine!" Catherine told her emphatically, and it was all Sara could do to shake her head in disagreement.
Her two colleagues began discussing what to do with her as if she wasn't even present, and in the time it took for them to argue over whether to take her to Grissom or call for Dr. Robbins, she found the dizzy spell beginning to pass.
"I'm fine," she told them again, but this time she sounded well enough that it seemed relatively plausible that she was telling the truth, and Nick loosened his hold on her.
"You been sick?" Catherine asked, and Sara shook her head, well aware that she was lying through her teeth.
Nick looked her over for a long moment, then sighed and relented.
"Okay. But you're not driving anywhere!" He declared. "And you should probably get a checkup or somethin'. You nearly passed right out cold."
His voice was authoritative but vaguely brotherly, and Sara gave him a crooked smile.
"Will do, Nick."
"Can I give you a ride home?" he offered, but before Sara could respond Warrick's voice broke into the discussion.
"Ride? Home? And here I thought I could talk you boring work-a-holics into grabbing a beer. Or five!" Warrick tossed a smile in Catherine's general direction as he approached them. "You game?"
"For the one, sure. Not the five. I've gotta pick up Linds later."
"Nicky Stokes?" Warrick turned to face him.
"Sure. I might be up for the five," Nick said with a smile. "But I'm gonna drop Sara at her place --"
"No, I --"
"What's up? You sick?" Warrick questioned Sara, and she shook her head.
"No, I'm not, and no, I actually don't need a ride home, either --"
"Sara…" Nick's tone was one of warning.
"I don't need a ride 'cause I'm not leaving yet," Sara explained, glancing at Nick, who seemed to accept that for now. "You guys go ahead. I've, uh… I gotta talk to Griss."
There was a brief moment of awkwardness, and then all four exchanged parting looks and Catherine, Nick and Warrick wandered off together.
Sara headed across the lot toward the lab on tired, achy legs, anticipating and dreading what she was about to do.
Part of her was afraid to tell him. Afraid he wouldn't let her work anymore. Afraid of the pain that would or wouldn't be in his eyes.
But it had to be done.
Sooner rather than later, clearly.
…
"Grissom?"
Grissom looked up from the folder in his hands and carefully hid the smile that threatened to appear on his face. Sara in his doorway was such a familiar and welcome sight at the end of a shift. There was something to be said for the comfort of familiarity.
There was also something to be said for the sheer, fleeting joy of the presence of the person you most wanted near you. Even if you couldn't say it out loud.
"How was your 419?" Grissom asked conversationally, but before he even finished the sentence something in the back of his mind was screaming at him that something was wrong. She wasn't smiling softly and awkwardly, or frustrated over a case. That would have been normal.
He couldn't put a name on the expression on her face, but it was something like weary, something like defeated.
Something like afraid and almost apologetic.
Sara wandered into the room and looked at him almost as if asking for permission, then turned and closed his office door without waiting for a response.
"Sara?"
"You have a minute?" she asked softly, expectantly, and he could only watch her and let his mind drift to distressing thoughts.
She'd been quiet lately. And pale. And tired. And dressing for comfort.
And Nick was leading overtime for the month.
He prayed that all of that didn't have to mean anything.
"Why did you shut the door?" he asked her, his voice calm but laced with something that sounded distinctly like fear.
She sat down across from him and met his gaze.
The silence seemed somehow loud as they looked at each other, and she tried to find the words.
"I've been dealing with some things lately," she started quietly. "And at first I hoped it wouldn't have to affect work, but it's, uh… It's going to."
She paused, deeply affected by the emotion he was trying but failing to hide.
"I'm sorry, I…" she stumbled over the words. "I didn't want to make this a big production… I didn't mean for this to get intense, I just… I don't know how to explain this."
"Tell me."
"I'm sick," she finally said simply. "And it's serious. And… I, uh…"
Her voice broke, emotion threatening to overcome her, and she looked away, unable to look in his eyes and say what she had to say.
She had to make it about work. She could say it if she made it about work.
"I just figured you needed to know… that, uh… you might have to replace me by this time next year. If not sooner."
Grissom might have laughed at the absurdity of the words if they hadn't pierced his heart so acutely.
Sara, replaceable? It was unthinkable.
He stared at her, his mind a mess. Something inside of him was screaming in protest. A mantra running through his head pleaded for more time. He found himself looking her over for signs of distress.
"Are you in pain?" He had to know.
"Sometimes."
He wanted to cry at that, and the part of him that was used to denying what he felt for her insisted that he wonder why.
"What is it?" He finally asked, when the intensity of the silence and the staring and the reality of what she'd just told him was too much.
"Hepatitis C. Quite possibly also liver cancer. I'm waiting on test results… they're monitoring my liver function. As an outpatient."
Grissom took a minute to digest that. He knew a little something about Hepatitis C, but his mind refused to call up many details.
"When did you…" He cleared his throat. "When did this start?"
"I haven't known long, but it started a while back. I was so tired… such fatigue… folding laundry actually made my arm muscles ache. And I thought if I stopped pulling doubles and got some real sleep it would go away, but… it didn't. And when I started getting other symptoms, I eventually went to a doctor."
"Other symptoms?"
"Bruising I couldn't explain. Occasional nausea. Pain." She stated all of this simply but not without emotion, and placed her hand on her upper right abdomen when she mentioned the pain.
They were quiet and still for what could have been seconds or minutes for all either of them knew.
He wanted to ask her how she acquired the disease, but he thought he remembered that it could lie dormant in the body for years, even decades, and he didn't want her to shut down and back away emotionally if he stumbled onto a childhood memory she wasn't willing to share.
"Treatment?" He finally asked, fearing he knew the answer.
"They tell me my symptoms suggest either advanced Hep C or advanced liver cancer. Or both. There's a chance they'll be able to treat it with drug therapy. Interferon, it's called. But if it's advanced as far as they think it is, the only effective treatment is a transplant."
She delivered this blow with an almost sympathetic look, and Grissom closed his eyes briefly. He knew only too well what that would likely mean.
Transplant.
Death by waiting list.
Dear.
God.
No.
He met her gaze and she looked back at him without a word. Something almost tortured was brewing in his troubled eyes. They mirrored her own.
With their eyes locked, and their hearts heavy, for one moment there was something pure and uncomplicated between them like nothing that ever had been there before.
Appearances and insecurities meant nothing now. In the quiet and stillness and devastation of his little office, there was room for nothing but emotional truth.
He stood on rubbery legs, and she stood too, for no reason other than that he was standing. He rounded his desk and approached her slowly, and she stared at him with eyes pleading for comfort as a lone tear made its way down her cheek.
When he reached out to her he was tentative at first. It was new and precious, foreign but somehow a kind of relief, when he ever-so-gently pulled her to him and enveloped her in his arms.
She closed her eyes and marvelled at the fact that the nightmare she was living had been the catalyst for this moment.
He closed his eyes and held on tight.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Grissom had always known that he could love Sara, if he ever found a way to give himself the chance. But it wasn't until this moment, with the strongest woman in his world trembling in his arms, that it occurred to him that he already did.
Dear.
God.
No.