A/N: Many thanks to mingsmommy & losingntrnslatn for their quick beta on this. It's been a long time since I was struck with the CSI writing bug, but Sara really floored me last night. Hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Sara doesn't intend to start crying. Having learned long ago that tears don't get you anywhere, she hates to cry. But as soon as she hears Grissom's voice the tears are there, clogging her throat and burning her eyes. It's a credit to how well he knows her that he doesn't panic (not that panic is in his vocabulary). Instead, he waits patiently until she can speak; waits until she can explain.
"I told a complete stranger about my mother today." The words spew out in a rush, splattering against the still air of the room.
He's quiet, and Sara can picture him there on the tiny balcony of their pied-a-terre, jacket zipped against the cool of the morning, coffee cooling in the thick china mug he loves so much, Hank sprawled at his feet. She knows that his blue eyes are clouded with worry. Finally, he clears his throat. "Are you okay?"
The laugh is meant to lighten the mood. Instead, it just morphs into a choked sob. "No. Not really." Running a hand through her hair, she drags in a deep breath and curses ever giving up cigarettes. "Sometimes this sucks. I mean really sucks."
It does suck. The distance and the time zones and the past. All of it. She misses Grissom with a fierceness that doesn't diminish. It's a constant presence in her life. Just like her father's death and her mother's illness.
"What can I do?" The question is heartfelt, and only makes her tears come harder and faster. "Sara?"
"Nothing," she sniffles and hates herself for sounding whiny. "I'm okay. Just hit me harder than I thought."
"Want to tell me about it?" She hears it then, the gentleness he seems to reserve only for her, and she knows he would sit there all day if she needed him to. No matter how odd their relationship seems to the rest of the world, this is just one of the many reasons it works for them.
"It was this case." Sara wants to laugh again at the utter ridiculousness of that statement. Here in Vegas it's always a case. "It really got to me."
From there, the words pour out. She tells him about Julian Santiago and his need to escape from the horrors inside his mother's house. How Alisa is blaming her mother's illness for her own pathology. She talks and talks, drawing parallels between Marta Santiago and her own mother that Sara knows he will understand, laying her fears out for him to inspect. Slowly, with a sense of peace stealing over her like a warm blanket, she runs out of words.
"Wow," Sara gasps. "That was a lot of crap to throw at you."
His chuckle is warm and low and sends a jolt of warmth through her. "That's what husbands are for."
"Really?" She teases, a smile lifting her voice. "And here I thought they were for…"
"Sara," his chiding laughter cuts her off mid-sentence. "You're not your mother. You're the best woman I know."
Sobering, she sighs. "I miss you, Gil."
"I miss you, too." His response is instantaneous and filled with such longing that she feels tears pricking against her eyelids once again.
For a few seconds, she clutches the phone, listening to him breathe. Then she forces back the loneliness and says, "So, tell me about you. How's Hank?"
And life, as always, goes on.