A/N: My muse has disappeared, which ironically enough, led me to the idea of this story. This piece started off attempting to be humorous, but took an odd turn of events. Although this is not one of my better stories at all, I think my muse is trying to make a come-back.
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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Spoilers: Up to Sara's departure.
Title: To Live
Summary: Something is missing in Sara's life. Can Greg help her start to rebuild?
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Sara stared at the computer monitor in front of her, her face screwed up in a look of pure confusion and concern. Restlessly tapping her fingers on the keys, she tried to come up with something—anything, really—to add to the three sentences that she already wrote for her report. It was impossible, though. Something was missing, and Sara just didn't know what it was.
"Hey, Sara," Greg acknowledged her presence, bounding into the room with a slight smile. Although still fairly carefree, his recent harrowing years in the field as a regular CSI made the once-jovial Greg seem somewhat older to everyone around him. His serious nature wasn't horrible, it was just—different. Some could even say it was sad.
"Hey," Sara replied, glancing up at him with her own tiny smile. Despite the fact that she was constantly smiling, she wasn't as happy as she used to be; the events of her kidnapping and near murder affected Sara in ways that no one, not even Gilbert Grissom, knew about. Sure, being in a committed relationship with Grissom helped Sara cope with her recent traumatic experiences, but she had a difficult time opening up to him. Odd, given the fact that before dating him, she had always wished that he would just talk to her. But regardless, Sara had to remain strong—she had to be the Sara Sidle that everyone expected her to be, rather than the Weak and Silly Sara Sidle.
"What're you still doing here?" Greg wanted to know. "You solved your case hours ago, didn't you? In any event," he continued, shrugging his shoulders, "I brought you some coffee. The good stuff," he informed her, setting the steaming mug down beside the computer.
"Thank you," Sara pursed her lips in amusement, taking a hold of the mug with both hands. "I appreciate this, and to answer your question, I'm still working on my concluding report."
"Oh," Greg frowned in understanding, taking a seat beside her. "Not really my favorite part of the job, but I guess it's important."
Sara simply nodded in response, returning her gaze to the almost blank computer screen.
Peering over Sara's shoulder for the briefest of moments, Greg blinked in surprise. "You, uh, haven't gotten very far, eh?"
Sara tried to hide her discomfort. It wasn't as if she was wasting time, it was just that she had no idea what to write. "I'm trying to be very thoughtful and considerate in my response, so that my conclusions are summed up perfectly," she finally told him.
"So—" Greg ran a hand through his hair. "It's taken you two hours to write your opening paragraph?"
Sara bit her lip, mulling over how to answer his very simple question. "… Yeah," she mumbled.
"Your muse is gone," Greg informed her, peering at her out of the corner of his eye.
"Excuse me?"
"Your muse," Greg repeated. "It's gone."
Sara glanced over at Greg, a smile—followed by a rare chuckle—escaping. "My muse isn't gone, Greg," she tried not to roll her eyes. "I don't have one."
"Yes you do," he immediately countered.
"No, I don't," Sara insisted.
"Do."
"Don't."
"See?" Greg asked, gazing at Sara with another smile.
Sara gazed right back at Greg, once again at a loss for words. "I don't see anything," she shrugged her shoulders.
Greg leaned on his elbows, his head still turned to the side so that he could look at Sara. "Let me refresh your memory," he began. "You said you don't have a muse, I said 'yes you do,' you said 'no I don't,' I said 'do,' and you said 'don't."
"And?" Sara prompted him.
"Your muse was kind of playing with my muse for one second. We were having a creative exchange, back and forth."
"Are you crazy?" Sara asked, her gaze once again focused on her computer.
"No, not really," Greg replied, staring at the computer monitor for a moment. "But I know what it feels like."
Sara again blinked in confusion. Know what what feels like? She wanted to ask him. Being crazy?
"I know what it feels like to lose your muse. Your creativity. Your outlet. To feel… tired, and defeated, like there's no reason to live."
Greg wasn't making any sense to Sara, who still refused to look at him. He was crazy. He had to be. Or… was he?
"You know," he softly continued, staring down at the table so that he wouldn't be forced to look at Sara. "Stress and depression'll do that to you, especially when you don't deal with it."
"I'm not stressed or depressed," Sara spoke up, her hands frozen in place on the keyboard.
"Yeah you are," he told her. "I know you are, because I've felt the same way."
Sara quietly folded her hands in her lap, turning to study Greg. "I don't feel anything right now."
"Sure you do," Greg insisted. "You feel empty, like your world has been turned upside down. When I was, you know, beaten up," he pointed to his face and body, "I stopped trusting the people around me. I approached witnesses like they would pull a gun on me at any moment, and I started jumping at the smallest sounds." Shrugging his shoulders, Greg exhaled the breath that he had been holding in. "I felt empty, like something had been taken away from me. My creativity was gone, my desire to live was gone, and I just felt… dead, for lack of a better word."
Sara tried to smile, her smile slowly fading into a frown of acceptance. "I… find it hard to concentrate," she admitted to him.
"So did I."
"And… I find it hard to laugh, even though I smile."
"You're trying to be strong."
"I find it hard to talk to my friends."
"Because you don't think they'll understand."
"And I find it hard to…live."
"Because you almost lost your life. But that's just it, Sara," Greg whispered, reaching a tentative hand out to her. "You almost lost your life, but now it's time to live. It's time to lean on those around you, and to re-find your happiness."
"But what if I can't?" Sara swallowed, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.
"You will," Greg softly told her, not pulling Sara into an embrace, but holding his arms out in a way that told her she could lean on him, if she chose to do so.
"But… if I can't?" Sara asked again, her face crumpling at the thought of never regaining her sense of self.
"Your friends will get you through it. That's what we're all here for."
Sara slowly shook her head no, finally moving into Greg's embrace. "I can't bring them down with me, you know what I mean?"
"No, I don't," Greg shook his head, wrapping his lanky arms around Sara's body. "Because friends are there for more than just the good times; friends exist to help their friends through the rough spots, too."
Sara considered Greg's statement for a moment, silent tears spilling down her cheeks.
"And when you start to feel better," he continued, "Things will slowly start to get better. Not all at once, mind you," he tried to smile, "But over time. You'll be able to concentrate, and you'll be able to laugh, and most importantly, you'll be able to live."
"I hope," Sara whispered.
"I know," Greg replied. Pulling away from her, he nodded toward her computer screen. "But first thing's first. Let's get this stupid report done, and then we'll go out for pancakes."
Sara stared at Greg, a slightly dumbfounded expression on her face.
"What?" Greg cracked a real smile this time. "I'll help you with your report, and then you can spring for the pancakes."
"Oh, is that how it's going to be?" Sara asked, wiping her nearly dried tears away.
"Yeah, that's how it's going to be," he gently teased her back.
"Okay then, you've got a deal," she finally smiled.
"Deal," came Greg's sincere reply.
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FINIS