The Falling Stars, a csi fanfic

Title: Falling Stars

By: Angel Eyes

Pairing: Sara/Grissom

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. They belong to CBS and Anthony Zuicker. The poem was written by Rainer Maria Rilke, and it doesn't belong to me.

Spoilers: "Goodbye and Good Luck" (8x07)

The wind mindlessly rushed through her hair, giving her that last free Las Vegas breeze she'd craved when she'd rolled down her window a little. It was late. The sun had gone down long ago, and the Vegas strip was packed yet again. She wondered how many lives would fade away tonight, wondered how many souls would be broken by sunrise. Sighing lightly, she looked down at her hands, tracing the soft fabric of her shirt for a few minutes, before she looked up again. Neon lights sprinkled her view, dashes of red and yellow and blue dancing across her face. But she didn't see them. Everything looked black and white in her eyes, shades of grey fogging up her vision as the tears started to whelm over yet again. It wasn't the first time tonight, and she knew that it wasn't the last time either.

She tried so hard not to think about him, but it was hopeless. It was like her mind didn't know anything else, but him. His eyes, honest and filled with that sense of truth that she'd always desired. His lips against hers in the late hours, whispering softly, things she'd never thought she'd ever hear someone say to her. But he did. And he had meant every word of it.

It was all there in her mind, haunting her cruelly, tormenting her to the very core of her mind, and by the time she had reached her apartment, her eyes had dried yet again, but her fingers were shaking as she paid the driver, and got out of the cab. Inside, she stopped and looked around for a brief moment. She hadn't spent much time there lately, and the air felt thick, like she'd walked into a room that'd been locked up for years. Packing a few of her clothes, she tried not to look at his shirts that were hanging next to hers in the closet, tried not to look at the spare glasses he'd forgotten on her nightstand. She felt rushed, and she practically ran through the apartment to gather what she needed.

The bathroom smelled of him, a sweet and warm smell that she knew she'd never forget. As she picked up her toothbrush, her fingers brushed lightly against his, and no matter how hard she tried not to do it, she had to pick it up, had to just touch it.

"Go into the bathroom!"

He looked at her, puzzled, raising an eyebrow. "Sara, I-?"

"Just do it," she said with a smile so wide that her cheeks hurt.

And so he went, slowly peeking his head inside the little room, turning on the lights over the mirror there, suspiciously trying to find out what she wanted him to see. Towels hung like they'd always done, neatly on two hooks on the wall, a smell of sweet roses lingering still from the bath he knew she'd taken earlier. Soaps and bottles of lotion and shampoo, all in place, all neatly lined up on the edge of the tub. And then he saw it. A blue toothbrush next to her pink one. He smiled. Her arms snaked around his waist, and he closed his eyes as she placed a kiss under his ear.

Sighing, she left the bathroom in hope of letting go of that memory. The tears lingered on the edge of her eyes, tempting to fall over in any second, but staying put while she continued packing. Shirts and pants were thrown carelessly into the bag, her mind was somewhere else, and her heart was too torn up to care. Groaning in exhaust, she sat down on the couch, resting her face softly into the palms of her hands. This day had been too much. These last few weeks had been too much. Ever since that day under the car, the hours of walking through the endless desert, she'd been thrown in and out of herself, sort of like rolling in and out of consciousness. It was the long walk that had changed her. It was the sun burning her every cell, taunting her, wanting her to give up and fall down. It was his voice, echoing in her mind, telling her to keep moving, keep walking. He would save her. And he did. But now she wondered if it'd been better if she'd been left out there to die.

It was the nights without him that'd been the worst. When he was working and she was left alone to sleep, she'd been reliving the terror of almost dying. All her past ghosts lingered around her when she lay there, tossing and turning, forcing herself to fall asleep. It had never worked, and it'd been during one of those nights that she'd made up her mind. She needed to leave this place. And now she was.

She looked around as she sat there, her eyes landing on a book on the table in front of her. The tears instantly gathered up by her eyelids again, not waiting for her to even open it before they fell over the edge. Poems under Your Sky was the title, a book she'd bought him for the first night he'd spent there. It'd been a cold day, and though they'd both agreed on going out for dinner, he'd ended up in her apartment, with Chinese and wine. The sky had been so clear that night; it'd looked like the stars were made of glass. And they'd curled up under a blanket on her couch, her resting her back against his chest, and him reading softly from the book.

"Do you remember still the falling stars,
that like swift horses through the heavens raced,
and suddenly leaped across the hurdles,
of our wishes. Do you recall?

And we did make so many!

For there were countless numbers of stars:

Each time we looked above we were,
astounded by the swiftness of their daring play,
while in our hearts we felt safe and secure
watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate,
knowing somehow we had survived their fall."

"Wow," she whispered, "that's pretty amazing."

And he looked down at her with eyes so bright; she could see herself in them. "Yeah, it is." And then he kissed her, slowly and with a gentle sigh lingering on his lips, rolling her so she lay upon him, and holding on to her tiny frame as she braced herself on her elbows. Their heart were beating together right then, pounding through them as he'd whispered a silent "I love you," against her lips.

She got up from the couch with a grunt, stopping by her bed to place the book into her bag. She couldn't let go of that memory, she just couldn't. With a swift motion, she turned for the door. Everything was packed now, shoes and jacket was on. She turned off the lights and watched her home fade to black again. This was it, this was goodbye. Closing the door and locking it quickly, she ran down the hallway and out on the street.

Would he look for her? Would he hear her voice in his dreams? The tears fell down her cheeks as the thoughts spun around in her mind. Some day, she would be back. She would be back, and she would look for him. She just hoped he wouldn't hate her by then.

The End.