Apologies for the brevity and the lateness of this chapter, I've been battling a nasty case of bronchitis for weeks now. I just really wanted to get this up for you guys so I hope it's not too terrible. Please forgive any mistakes as it's 5:44 am my time and I'm awake and hacking my lungs up. Thank you all for your kind words so far.

How much does it cost,
I'll buy it,
The time is all we've lost,
I'll try it,
He can't even run his own life,
I'll be damned if he'll run mine, Sunshine,
Sunshine go away today,
I don't feel much like dancin',
Some man's gone,
he's tried to run my life,
he don't know what he's askin'
-Jonathan Edwards' 'Sunshine'

She wakes up to the brightness of Nevada desert sunshine pouring into her bedroom and she pulls the covers up over her head for several long moments before she slips from under the covers and stumbles her way over the blinds to close them. Days after migraines are always the worst for her senses and she feels overwhelmed by the world. Nova digs through her bag until she finds what she's looking for, the softest pair of pajamas that she owns. A quick shower and then she's clad in them, feeling slightly less overwhelmed by the world as she slides her ear buds in and thumbs her way through her iPod until she finds what she's looking for – the instrumental sounds of Mogwai coming out at a decibel too loud for most but it soothes the teenager.

Perching cross legged on the bed, she props a sketchbook on her knees and begins to draw. Living up to her name, Nova Grissom has a predilection for the sky. With charcoals her grandmother had gifted her for her birthday, she sketches the cosmos with only the occasional glance at her astronomy text book that she was glad she had brought along with her. She loses herself in the drawing, disappearing into the Andromeda galaxy as she tries to push as much detail into the art as she possibly can.

Her mother takes her by surprise when she pushes against her back in a hug from behind, arms wrapping tightly around her middle and a chin coming to rest on her shoulder in the firm touches that the oversensitized girl craves. Sara plucks an earbud from her daughter's ear. "Good morning fluorescent adolescent."

"Morning," she mumbles back as she drops the charcoal to silence the music but pushes the earbud back into hear to help mask the outside noise.

"The world is loud," Sara asks and Nova nods. "Between the migraine and all the excitement of yesterday that's probably to be expected so I thought we could just keep it low key today. Watch some movies, hangout, and maybe order some food because it has been way too long since I've been shopping."

"That sounds good," Nova agrees.

Sara reaches around her to grab the sketch pad. "Wow, kid. This is a far cry from those stick figures you used to draw on all my important papers."

"My grandmother is an artist," Nova replies with a shrug as she takes the sketchbook back from her mother and closes it before casting it toward the end of the bed. She leans back into the embrace, relishing the way her mother pulls her tightly into the hug as if their cells might converge in some sort of reverse mitosis. "I'll never be Rembrandt or anything but I like... I like losing myself in it."

"It's good," her mother tells her. "You need an outlet that's just yours."

Her cellphone rings on the bedside table and she grabs it before reading the name with a frown – it's her father. She turns to her mother and holds the now offensive object out to her. "Please... Mom. I can't... I can't talk to him. Not right now."

"Okay." Sara takes the phone from her and watches with a frown as she slips away to lay on the other side of the bed. As she slides the unlock across the screen, Nova curls onto her side and the sounds of Mogwai once again drown out the world that at the moment is too cruel to her little girl's sensibilities. "Hey," she greets the man just forty-eight hours ago she referred to as her husband. "It's me."

"Nova got there then," he asks.

"Yeah. Last night around eight," she tells him quietly. "She had a migraine last night and she woke up this morning having a bad sensory day so... She's not ready to talk, Griss."

"I doubt that has anything to do with her mood and more to do with how she hates me," Grissom tells her.

"Don't," Sara warns him. "Don't be petty about this. She's hurt, Gil. She thought all she had to do was get through high school and she could finally have the normal life that she's been begging for since she was old enough to talk." Her hand lays heavy on Nova's back and she hates the shaking she can feel in her daughter's chest, hates the sadness that is radiating through her silent sobs. She wants to take it all away, wants to curse her husband for breaking both their hearts, wants to curse herself for being unable to walk away from the job she loves for the man she loves.

"Do you think I like disappointing her," he asks and there's a weariness in his voice. She can imagine him on his lunch break between classes, staring out his office door at the beautiful campus with his fingers pinching at his nose. He adds quietly. "Do you think I like disappointing you?"

"Then why are we calling it quits," she asks him and quietly stands, moving to the hallway just in case her daughter can hear over the loud music. "Why can't we work through this?"

"Because it's not working," he tells her. "And neither of us are willing to bend."

"Griss... Gil..." She sighs, unsure of what to even call him. "I... I can't go and sit around Paris while you work at the university and I wait for a grant that I might never get to do work I'm not even sure I want to do when I love my job that I have here. And my friends that I have here. And our daughter who is here and wants her family. We could have a family like we always talked about if you just came home."

"Sara, I can't walk away from this job."

"Then you're walking away from your family," she tells him.

"I didn't call to fight," his voice quivers and she hates that, hates the way it pulls at her heartstrings. "When Nova's ready... I'd like her to come see me in Paris. No matter what goes on between the two of us, she's still the priority and I would like the chance to see my daughter."

"I'll let her know," Sara relents. "When she's ready."

"Of course."

They hang up without the pleasantries of goodbyes and tears pool in Sara's eyes as she makes her way back into her daughter's room to find the teenager sleeping. It reminds her of those early days in San Francisco when it was just the two of them – when they only saw Grissom on weekends when he could slip away from Vegas. Back when her baby was still a baby, all brand new, and the little girl slept like a log. Back when she'd cuddle into her mother's touch and on Sara's days off they rarely did more than snuggle in bed. Sara crawls across the bed and curls around her daughter, she can't stop her little girl's heart from breaking just like her own but she can make sure that she isn't alone in her pain. With firm touches, she wraps an arm around her daughter's waist and settles against her back. "I love you, Nova," she breathes into her ear as emotional exhaustion pulls her toward sleep. "I can only hope that it's enough."