Disclaimer: CSI and its characters belong to CBS, Anthony Zuiker and Alliance Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended.

This work has been crossposted to Archive of Our Own, as SugarsweetRomantic.

Summary:

« Our life together was the only home I've ever really had. I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love you. I always will. Goodbye. »

Gil couldn't let her do this. He wouldn't let her do this.

Grissom goes after Sara after he reads her farewell letter.

Our life together was the only home I've ever really had. I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love you. I always will. Goodbye.

While Gil read Sara's farewell note, a feeling of dread began to set in his bones. He could feel his chest tightening, his flow of oxygen becoming restricted. This couldn't be happening. He should have been paying better attention to her - to his girl; his fiancée. He hadn't. Instead, he had been burying himself in work like he always did, presuming that she would come to him if she needed him. He should have known better. Sara wasn't the kind of person who would come to others. She would try to solve her issues herself, until either they ceased to exist, or they ate her alive. The brunette was an expert at bottling things up and fleeing when it became too much, and though he wasn't much of a 'feelings'-person, he couldn't let her do that this time. He wouldn't let her do that this time. Folding the letter so it fit into his pocket, he carefully tucked it away and continued towards the reception.

"Judy, I'm clocking out." The friendly-faced executive's brow furrowed as she gently protested: "You never leave this early, Sir." Grissom shook his head in response.

"I know. If anyone's looking for me, I had a family emergency."

"Yes Sir," the woman replied. Reaching out to touch his elbow, she asked: "Can I do anything to assist you?" Gil gave her a slight smile, though his body and heart rioted at the action that was so opposite to his current emotions.

"No, this is something I have to fix myself. Thank you." He brushed past Hodges on his way out, who called out something to him, but it didn't register in his mind. The elevator leading towards the parking deck couldn't arrive fast enough, but the seconds spent waiting in front of the metal doors gave him the opportunity to try to get his thoughts in order. Sara. Sara was leaving. Sara was running. Where would she go?

I have no idea where I'm going, but I know I have to do this.

Still, he knew her better than she thought he did. Sara might say that she wasn't sure where she was going, but she walked out of this building with a destination in mind. Her apartment was too obvious. That wasn't where she needed to be.

...out there in the desert, it occurred to me that it was time for me to bury them. I can't do that here.

She wasn't going to stay in Vegas. He pondered her options while he stepped into the elevator, pressing the button leading to the basement of the edifice.

I've spent almost my entire life with ghosts.

Where would she go to confront her ghosts? Harvard didn't feel like the right place for her to return to. Berkeley wasn't the destination either; he was ninety-nine percent sure of that. She would go somewhere where she would see, experience, physical reminders of her ghosts - somewhere where she wouldn't be able to avoid them anymore. Sara didn't like confronting her demons, but he knew her well enough to be able to say with confidence that she would do exactly that if she said she would. She was a woman of her word. That meant there weren't too many locations left. Hannah West had been haunting her for over a year now, but that confrontation was over. Marlon was dead, and the child prodigy was all alone now. That was over. Sara was referring to older, darker, more suffocating ghosts. Foster care? The woman was smarter than that; smarter than returning to what was possibly the darkest place of her childhood, right? Gil sighed as he approached his car. Where would she go? His gaze landed on Catherine's vehicle, parked next to his. A pink sweater crumpled up on the passenger seat - obviously too small for the strawberry-blonde - caught his attention. It had to be Lindsey's. No matter what, Catherine was always a mother first, and a CSI second. He respected that.

Suddenly, it dawned on him. Her mother. Sara had to be going to her mother in Tomales Bay, or to San Francisco at the very least. It made the most sense. As he unlocked his car and got in, he eyed his navigational system. Sara was leaving, so she wouldn't be taking her car. That was department-issued. As far as he knew, there were two options for her to get to San Francisco that didn't involve hitchhiking or walking five hundred and thirty-something miles: plane or bus. The flight took about ninety minutes; the ride would take at least thirteen hours, taking the traveller to Los Angeles before being able to continue towards the Paris of the West. Any sane person would choose the airport, especially one with the funds available that came with working nights and living frugally like she did, but for some reason he felt that he had a better chance of catching up to her at the bus station.

Know that I tried very hard to stay. Know that you are my one and only.

Gil could barely breathe as the Greyhound logo came into view.

"Please be here…" he mumbled softly to himself and to God. He didn't call upon the Lord often, but if there was ever a time, it was now. He considered double parking, but he couldn't bring himself to doing that. Spotting an empty parking space, he guided his car between the marked lines before quickly shutting off the engine and nearly jumping out of the vehicle. A group of tourists nearby eyed him with curiosity as he sprinted towards the front entrance of the station building. His optimistic spark of hope left his soul the moment he made his way inside. There were large queues in the lobby; this was going to take forever. Making a snap decision, he elected to abuse his title for the very first - and probably last - time in his life. Digging past the letter, he pulled his ID card out of his pocket and showed it to the attendant while he hastily announced: "Gil Grissom, Las Vegas Crime Lab." The uniformed man stepped aside to let him through. "Has a brunette woman, five foot nine, come through here?" The man gave him a helpless shrug.

"A lot of women fitting that description, Sir." Of course. The question had been useless from the get-go.

"Where's the bus to L.A.?"

"Platform nineteen, Sir. Through the doors, to your left." Nodding, Gil sped up, following the instructions. Approaching the platforms, his eyes began scanning the signposts, counting upwards from ten. When he reached number nineteen, he scrutinized the crowd of passengers standing there, waiting for the bus that would take them to the City of Angels.

His breath caught in his throat when he spotted his own angel. She looked broken, but it did nothing to affect her beauty.

"Sara."

She looked up at him, surprise in her eyes.

"Why are you here, Gil?" Her voice was rough and missed the brightness it normally had. He inwardly cursed at himself for letting it come to this.

"You," was his honest answer. She shook her head, laughing incredulously.

"I specifically wrote that you shouldn't be around for this. You don't want to see this." This time it was his turn to shake his head, but he didn't laugh. Keeping his voice calm, he retorted: "I think I get to decide what I want to witness."

"It's not going to be pretty."

"I don't care." He tentatively reached out to hold her hand, and she didn't shy away, for which he thanked the powers above. "I love you." As those three words left his mouth, he tried to convey everything he felt for her. She was his queen bee, where he was nothing but a worker, in awe of her. His feelings for her were so strong, that he doubted he would ever be able to fully convey them into words. Sara had awakened parts of his soul he had never known even existed. He had taken to memorising every single curve and crease of her body, every shade of brown in her sparkling irises, and every emotion she had ever exhibited in his presence, and he had come to the conclusion that she was a breathing, walking, living work of art. In her words, she was his one and only.

Time seemed to stand still while she contemplated his statement, until she uttered a single word in response: "Okay."

Smiling gently in relief, he whispered: "Let me help you. Let me take you home, and we'll figure it out together."

She nodded.

"Okay."

Thank you very much for reading! This has been my very first time writing GSR, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!