The Secondhand Brick

…

She might as well have been a mason; she had a talent for building walls.

…

Greg Sanders didn't bother knocking on Sara's door; he simply pushed in the key and turned it with a soft click in the lock. He didn't spot her in the cozy little living room, but noticed her jacket tossed haphazardly over her couch, her keys on the table, and her shoes neatly by the door. She was here somewhere, and she needed him, even if she didn't know it. Nick had called him twenty minutes ago, weary of the cold shoulder he was getting from her. He knew that it was close to the end of shift when Sara's cell phone had rang, and he hadn't seen her since then.

Nick had explained that she hadn't responded to him, but that the call had come from the San Francisco Women's Penitentiary. Greg had told the older man that he would take care of it, and had hung up before scrambling into his making his way to Sara's apartment building.

Living room, no. Kitchen, no. He made his way to the bedroom at the end of the hall, cracking open the door only just, letting out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, relived to have finally found her. She had curled up under the comforter, her wild curls sprawling across the pillow, a box of tissues beside her, a few crumpled up used ones scattered along the floor near her bed. Greg frowned, worried, and opened the door wider to slip inside the room, closing the door again behind him.

"Go away, Nick. I told you I was fine." Sara didn't even look up from her nest of bedding, and he smiled softly at her assumption that he was Nick. He stood with his knees against the foot of her mattress, shoving his hands into his pockets casually.

"Good thing I'm not Nick, then." He watched the bump under the comforter roll over quickly, and almost instantly she sat up, and he got his first look at her, unruly curls cascading gently around her tear stained cheeks, eyes red from crying.

It was right then that he decided that uninhibited, emotional Sara was his favorite side of Sara.

"What are you doing here, Gregory?" she sighed, holding back a gentle sob, and wiped at her eyes roughly, failing in removing the moisture from her cheeks, and he found himself amused at the childish gesture that was so unlike her.

"You don't look fine to me, Sara."

"Nick called you, didn't he?" She bit her lip, and rolled over, disappearing from his sight as she lay back down against the pillows again.

"He said you wouldn't let him in." She sniffled loudly, causing him to smile.

"He'd want to talk about it, and I don't want to talk about it."

"He's really worried, Sara."

"He'll get over it."

"You're being really mean to him." Greg shifted his weight, and Sara let out a short laugh, rolling onto her back and propping herself up on her elbows to face him.

"So you're the delegate here on behalf of his feelings, Greg?"

"No, I'm here because he said the call was from Frisco, and based on the manner with which he mentioned it I'm thinking he has no idea what that means. I wanted to make sure you were okay." He flashed her a gentle smile, and she rolled her eyes, laying back down. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine, yeah." She wiped at her eyes again childishly, laughing sadly to herself. She didn't turn to him as she heard him kick off his shoes and felt the bed dip slightly under his weight as he slipped in beside her. She made no motion to resist him, and he slid his hands around her middle, pulling her against him, and pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder. She groaned, closing her eyes as he kissed her neck, willing the tears away.

"What happened, love?" His voice was barely above a whisper, gentle and soft, warm against the thin fabric of the tee shirt she was wearing. "Talk to me, Sara." He ran his fingers soothingly just under the hem of the tee shirt, and he felt her instantly relax under his touch, the tension leaving her body so fast she almost appeared deflated.

He had done it again.

He could always do this to her.

She didn't have to think with Greg. She could just exist. He knew that. She loved Nick, really, really loved him. But she couldn't bear to weigh down his shoulders with her shoeboxes of secrets meticulously packed away. Greg, however, Greg could keep her secrets. Greg was her best friend. She rolled onto her back beside him, and his fingers grazed along her stomach, curling around the far side of her hip, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing the soft skin of her side gently, stroking her side in a casual manner that lulled her heart rate back to normal, calming her down slowly. His expression remained compassionate, concerned; and Sara rolled over, pushing him down onto his back, and curled up to his side, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath her ear, taking comfort in the lazy strokes of his fingers through her curls.

"My mother died." Her voice quivered slightly, and she balled the front of his shirt up in her fist. He hugged her tightly, and pressed a kiss to her head.

"I'm so sorry, Sara." She shook her head dismissively, wiping her tears on his shirt.

"Don't be. I don't know why I'm so upset. It's not like I've talked to her or seen her since I went out to Frisco that last time." Greg furrowed his brow in concern. The last time Sara had gone to San Francisco was at least four or five years ago. If he hadn't seen his mother in five years, he'd be going mad, itching to be on the next plane to Brooklyn. He continued to stroke her curls soothingly, supposing that was why he and Sara were so different.

"It's okay to be upset, Sara, she was your mother." He dropped a chaste kiss to her hair, and tilted his head to catch her eye. "Did your brother call?"

"Uh, no. He um. He doesn't want anything to do with it. The prison said they tried to contact him first, because he's closer, but he told the to just call me and hung up on them, and when I called him, his useless wife answered the phone, and told me they didn't want whatever it was I was selling, and hung up."

"Bastard. So what's your plan?" He shifted slightly, allowing her knee to wander between his thighs, running his fingers along her arm, draped possessively over his abdomen.

"I have to claim the body. I'm going to tell Grissom after shift, then take a few vacation days. Put her affairs in order, have a liberating, fantastically satisfying argument with my stupid brother, and be back by next Friday."

"Let me come with you." He offered even before he thought about it, but even as the words left his mouth, he was okay with it. She needed a friend, she needed support, and she obviously didn't want to explain it to anyone, or go it alone. Understandable. She hadn't let anyone into her apartment, never mind into her bed, since getting the call, and Greg couldn't help but think that maybe he was here, holding her against him, soothing her fears, because she wanted him. Needed him. Maybe he just needed her.

Truthfully, he never stopped loving her, loving her still even after the past few months of keeping his hands and his bed to himself. She broke his heart more than anything, even now, all he wanted to do was take her, claim her again, show her what love could mean, what family could be. He had missed his chance, though, and that was it. They had grown apart after Nick's ordeal, and while Walter Gordon had a carpe diem effect on Warrick, Greg and Sara had dealt with the aftermath of Nick's kidnapping reversely, stepping away form each other, freighted, on some level, that they would be next, and their emotional involvement would hinder them down the road. Well, that's what Sara had said. Greg had wanted to hold her closer, never let her go.

She sat up, pulling out of his grip, and sliding off the side of the bed, and coming to stand beside the other side of the bed. He frowned, his body missing the heat of hers, and he sat up as well, bringing his knees up and resting his elbows across them, watching her get dressed.

"You don't mean that. You don't want to get involved in my well, my lack of family."

"You need a friend."

"I don't want to burden anyone with my stupid family."

"What are you so afraid of, Sara?"

"I'm not afraid of anything." She pulled his old Stanford tee shirt off her frame and turned to her closet, pulling an oxford shirt of it's hanger and thrusting her arms through the sleeves, turning back to him as she buttoned up the front, giving him a glance of the skin of her chest and abdomen without thinking.

"D'you think I'll love you any less?" She paused, fingers on the button that would hold in her breasts, and met his gaze. "You are the world to me, Sar, I'm not going to stop loving you because your family is nuts."

"I don't want you to see it."

"Why?"

"Because the last time you told me you loved me for who I am, it was in the middle of a conversation about whether or not to put blueberries or chocolate chips in the damn pancakes, and you meant that you'd love me even if I wanted fruit in my breakfast, but I can't help but think that this woman who was my mother, this man who was my brother, they are my family, they are a part of who I am, what they put me through, that is a part of me as well, and how could you possibly love that? No one loves that."

"You haven't given me a chance."

"I don't want to deal with it anymore, Greg, I don't want to think about it anymore, and as soon as you meet my worthless brother you're going to want to know why he's so worthless, and then I'll have to talk about it and I don't want to talk about it, I just want it to go away."

"Family doesn't go away, Sara."

"Mine should." She bent, finding the shoes she was looking for and shoving her feet into them.

"Don't shut me out, Sara."

"I'm not."

"That's bullshit, and you know it." He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face wearily. "For once in your life, let someone help you. You don't have to shoulder everything all the time all by yourself."

"It's not your problem, Greg."

"No, it is. I love you Sara. I love you so much. I still roll over in my sleep, still wake up expecting to find you beside me. I said I loved you for who you are and I meant it. I mean it still. Let me in Sara. Stop building walls where there should be fields."

TBC