Disclaimer- I do not own, in any way, shape or form, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Alliance Atlantis, CBS or any of its affiliates. Insert wonderfully smart and witty sentence(s) here

Spoilers- Nesting Dolls and Burden of Proof

Author's Note- Unfortunately, this is my first time writing in the CSI fandom so my characterization's probably more than a little off. But then again, I'm not exactly an expert when it comes to someone being in character. Anyway, if you could include constructive criticism in your reviews (that is, if you wish to continue), that would be much, much appreciated.

Enjoy!

Retrospect and Recapturing

"We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly."

–Sam Keen

The darkness was overwhelming. Understandably, it was odd, considering the city of Las Vegas was rarely—if ever—totally encumbered with darkness. Typically, the sun would trade its place with the artificial lights of the Strip. However, this was a residential area; this apartment and it was darker than it was outside.

Only a quietly blaring television and a single fluorescent light lit the living room/kitchen combination, nevertheless, it did reflect the mood of the inhabitant. Her thoughts were turbulent; trailing along in her mind as eyes dully watched the colors of the screen. The dark leather of her sofa was covered up by her clumsily tossed blanket, in hopes of hiding the coolness of the material.

But, like the pain swelling in her heart for the past half-decade, nothing could hide the cold. Since he was one of the more…constant things in her life—for lack of a better word; he was seen day by day, night by night, whether in reality or her dreams. Not that it was good most of the time…at least recently, considering the damage it did to her.

Maybe five years ago—was it only five?—she would have said otherwise but time aged them. They weren't the same people they were before. That comfort level they had no longer existed; in fact, it felt like a small eternity since they connected on an intellectual medium rather than several years. And she didn't think they connected much on an emotional level—let alone a physical one!

Taking a deep breath, she breathed some warmth into her hands. It was frightening to work so closely with a person who didn't care about her, a person who she once trusted, a person that she was…passionate about. It was unnerving to stand beside him while they spoke directly to you but in a way it was as if you weren't really there. It definitely hurt to see him being challenged, and challenging another woman when that woman used to be you.

As an adolescent, she thought she knew what heartache and pain felt like when her mother killed her father; when sentiments of hate and love mingled when she deliberated about that fateful night or when she found herself missing the childhood she could have had but…Sara knew better now. It was pain beyond excruciating when she clocked into the job she once loved and enjoyed. Or worked with friends she trusted. Even when she found herself learning from Grissom once again.

But it seemed the only thing she really learned was that rejection from someone you knew, hurt more than a thousand red-hot needles. She picked her coffee cup by its handle and held it to her lips. After teetering on the edge of an emotional breakdown, she realized it wasn't worth it.

He wasn't worth the jealousy, the self-deprecation, the anguish, the tears, the trembling hands…after all this, she almost sighed in relief that the DUI wasn't because of him. It was pathetic. She was pathetic. And in forcing the lukewarm liquid down her throat, she realized she didn't put nearly enough sugar.

She stood from her place on her couch and went to her kitchenette and scavenged through her drawers for sugar packs. As she searched for those elusive packets, she reached a stunningly horrible revelation about herself. Her life was centered on the bad figments in her life. Her mother, Las Vegas, Grissom…it all added up.

Sara Sidle was Sara Sidle's own worst enemy. She put herself in situations where she was setting herself up to be tortured. After her mother went to prison, she let herself be dragged down by the memory. But…who wouldn't be?

Yeah well, there was no excuse for a lifetime of guilt and picturing cast-off on the walls. None for falling for an emotionally unavailable man either. Or staying in Vegas after what—an almost infinity of ignorance and unrequited feelings?

Oh yes, Sara Sidle's mind was the epicentre for…most of her "me" problems. Unfortunately, fixing her "me" problem meant adjusting her thoughts. And shifting her mindsets weren't like cleaning out her closet; she couldn't just throw out anything without irrevocable damages…not to mention the difficulty in the task!

Of course, she also wondered why it took her so long to figure out this supposed revelation. After all, she was a CSI, she should be observant so, why wasn't she? Was she really so love-struck that she was blind to his motivations and intentions?

Smiling suddenly at her discovery of her treasured sugar packs, she sat back down on her couch and ripped the paper, all the while pouring the crystallized goodness in. The silent television flashed in front of her. Apparently, some kind of late-night soap opera was on. It wasn't the most entertaining thing on but she enjoyed taking occasional breaks from her reading for some good-ole fashioned, mind numbing, TV watching. Goodness knows she needed it.

As the main male character on the screen ran after his on and off girlfriend—who was in tears after finding out he had cheated on her with her best friend—she internally winced to herself. It was so…cheesy. Stirring her coffee with a spoon, Sara was startled to hear a soft rap on her door. Standing with cup in hand she strode towards it. Tightening her pink robe around her, she looked through the peep-hole…

…And nearly dropped her coffee because of it. Sara stood in absolute bewilderment. Before long, she recovered her bearings and went to unhinge the chain on her door. Wait! A soft, oddly rational voice spoke in her mind. Do you really want to let him in? Grissom already barged in once and made you spill the beans, so why should this be the same?

Her hand stopped mere millimetres away from the cool metal. Don't listen to that idiot on the other side. She's angry that the one thing you kept secret was the one thing you told. Sara, let him in. Just do it, it's not going to hurt you anymore than you've already been.

Don't even start talking about that! It was her secret to tell but, I'm worried about her well-being. What if he's there to tell you to quit or leave because of Sofia? That he can't stand you being there since it makes her jealous? I'm just watching out for you kid.

She hesitated but after several more knocks—albeit louder ones—she decided to keep her distance. "Grissom? What are you doing here?" She put her ear to the wooden surface of the door, coffee long forgotten.

AHA! She took my side! IN YOUR FACE!

"Sara…I have some files that you needed for the Milton case," He responded. Peering through the peephole, she studied him closely. He stared back, the image of him severely altered. Looking up and down the hall he asked, "Can I come in?"

NO!

DO IT! You have nothing to lose!

SHUT UP! HE'LL HURT YOU! He'll make you lose control again!

"I-uh-can't right now. I'm a little…underdressed," Nodding slowly; lowered his head in an almost sullen understanding. Sara only felt a pinch of guilt for her lie. "Sorry for the trouble of coming over here and-"

Grissom quickly waved her off. "It's fine, I need to ask you something regardless," That made her eyebrows rise.

"Work-related?" She asked her interest more than a little peaked. For the first time since he arrived, he seemed…anxious. Or was it discomfort?

"No…no,"—he took a breath—"It's—uh—" He bumbled a little longer before a deep, lingering silence fell upon them. Sara watched him expectantly. Déjà vu Sara? This is not a good sign. Interrupt him and get him out of here!

Sara, be patient, you've waited five years…what's five minutes gonna hurt?

That's it, Sar, it's five years too late. Remember what you said.

"Grissom, you're gonna have to plan this stuff out in advanced because I'm getting really tired waiting for what you're trying to say," Grissom's head snapped up in vague surprise and disbelief.

"Sara…I apologize. It's difficult to say things—personal things—to you."

"Why? I mean, I don't expect you to tell me anything these days but I've been thinking about it and, I want to know why you're so…emotionally constipated," Sighing, he shrugged, almost crest-fallen.

"All change is not growth, as all movement is not forward," Sara was shocked and suddenly began to realize his point of view, his way of thinking. Another silence.

See, he was scared of you…scared of the change you would bring.

"Ellen Glasgow," She said softly, worrying wearily if he had heard it at all. With a long gaze at that sight hole, they inadvertently locked glances. "I guess I'll see you in a couple of hours then," His wonderful blue eyes widened in sync with the hole in her heart.

"Actually, I still haven't done what I came here for," His eyes went down to his hands for a moment. "Do you still have the…that plant?" Sara's eyes flickered towards the small, almost frail plant she had cared and nurtured for three years. It sat in the middle of her apartment. His stare went up to her again.

"Yes," She answered. With a barely audible sigh, Grissom gave a half smile and bid her good-bye. Confusion settled in the pit of her stomach as he walked away. For a while, as she listened to the muffled tick of the clock on her wall, she pondered the odd conversation in her mind. What was the point in this? What was the significance of the plant to Grissom? Or—more importantly—why was it important to her? For a paid and trained investigator, Sara honestly had no idea.

But it did give some insight to his character—and her own, however small piece to the puzzle, but it was likely one of the biggest she'd acquired. Perhaps it was a start.

Changing out of her robe, she prepared for work. This time, she opted not to straight-iron her hair or style it in anyway. This night, she wanted to be exactly who she was when she arrived in Sin City. The curly haired woman who was happy, who was…strong; that person wearing that horrible tie-dyed shirt and green sweater. She wanted to be herself again.

With a deep breath and kit in hand, she unlocked the bolts and chains carefully before turning the brass knob. As the cool hallway air hit her face, she realized it felt really good to be Sara Sidle again.

End