A/N: Here's a long one--Happy 4th!

Finding Memories Chapter 4:

The rest of the day, they spent together. He watched as she moved around their house, touching things, pulling a book from a shelf, and replacing it, packing a small suitcase. She took his shirt and folded it with her things. She sat with Hank, brushing his coat, and giving him extra treats. She pulled a photograph from her journal and put it on the refrigerator; the two of them in San Francisco. She was smiling at the camera; he wasn't. When he saw it, he told her all about that afternoon in minute detail, surprising her with his memories of that day.

Late in the afternoon, he took her to bed, where she promised to return, to call him every day. He promised to take care of Hank, pay bills, wait for her to call. He gave her two weeks, then he would come to her if she was not ready to return. She said she could not go back to work; she had seen enough of crime, murder, the dark side of humanity. She needed sun and time.

Grissom walked her to the departing gate—an official badge and knowing half of the security team opened doors when nothing else did. He stood watching as she was the last to board; she called him from her seat saying she was fine. He knew heart break when he watched her plane leave Las Vegas; he knew how she must have felt standing in the locker room when he left in a cab. He had no concept of how she must have felt until now.

Sara watched as pin dots of light became streets and buildings and tarmac. A taxi dropped her at a tourist hotel, non-descript, easy to find, basic room that fit her needs. She did not think she would sleep, but a shower, a phone call to Grissom, hearing his soft worried voice reassuring her, put her to sleep in the small rented room.

In Las Vegas, Grissom worked. He rebuffed efforts to talk, saying only that Sara was visiting her mother. He got concerned and anxious looks from those who knew her best. Ecklie signed leave papers. Not because Grissom threatened to quit, but by suggesting Sara's absence related to job stress. He worked and waited for Sara to call.

The thin drapes did not block the sun and the patterns of light played across the wall and along the bed as Sara woke in an unfamiliar room to strange street sounds. She was wrapped head to toe in her own sheet. Too many years finding too many stains caused her to pack her own regardless of the name of the hotel on the sign out front.

She stumbled around, managed to make coffee, and washed her face before punching the number one on her phone. Grissom answered so quickly that she knew he was at work.

"Still at work?"

"Yeah."

"Go home, you need rest."

"How can I rest without you?" His voice was worried but not stressed.

Sara made a quiet laugh. "You can rest without me, probably better."

He also laughed quietly at her joke. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Really, I am. How was work?"

He told her about Hodges' board game. She laughed when he described the playing pieces and Hodges' name for each. He would not tell her what Hodges said about her leaving—it was too near the truth that he had failed to see until she walked out.

He asked, "Do you have a strategy?"

Sara hesitated, knowing she had yet to develop a definite plan. At least she was in the right place.

"Take the day to walk around. It's been a long time since you were there. You don't have to do anything fast."

She agreed. Maybe a day as a tourist would help to calm her nerve as well as give her courage. She could also investigate her mother's neighborhood. She knew the address had not changed in more than a decade.

Grissom was talking again. "She's your mother, not an ogre. And she may want to see you as much as you want to talk to her." She knew he was giving her encouragement. "Call me any time. Promise?"

She promised. She tried to talk him into going home. Hank needed him, she said. He laughed. "Hank is with the sitter so he's happy." He did not add how lonesome home would be without her.

She dressed to walk, ate the free breakfast at the hotel, found a map, and headed out to revive what she remembered. She had chosen the hotel from an address that put her on a bus line, a few blocks from the cable cars, a few blocks from major tourist destinations, and another few blocks from the address of her mother. She walked up the street, realizing how she had missed the smells of San Francisco. Her nose was filled with fragrances of flowers from balconies and hidden patios. The air was moist and cool, unlike the hot, arid environment in Vegas with its artificially planted flowers and trees. She laughed at her own thoughts as she saw a huge bougainvillea hanging in solid color over a fence. Never happen in Las Vegas unless it was carefully tended and in a pot, she thought.

By lunchtime, she was standing at the top of Telegraph Hill with the Bay Bridge on her right and turning to her left she could see the Golden Gate Bridge. Why had she stayed away so long, she asked herself. Of course, the answer was in one person's name. She wished he were here now.

Sara walked down along a brick staircase feeling as if she were in the country instead of a city with ferns, ivy, and vines as thick as her arm growing in a wild, unkempt city-jungle. She located more steps where flowers grew in a natural environment and a few cats crossed her path, but no tourists. A small park square with old people sitting on wooden benches opened as she rounded a corner. She found food and a bench for lunch and afterwards turned her back on the bay and walked in the direction of the address in her pocket. She would see what she found; she did not have to stop.

The area was one that progress had by-passed or ignored, a neighborhood placed between the addresses of the very wealthy and a nighttime neon lighted arcade of the rude, boisterous crowd of all night parties. In the afternoon, both areas were quiet. The street she sought was one of store front family owned businesses that had managed to stay in business because of the surrounding neighborhoods; they offered fast service from groceries and drugs to dry cleaning and copies. The address Sara found was for laundry and dry cleaning.

She slowly walked by the small place, no more than fifteen feet wide. Passing the store, she looked up to see the second level with a balcony overhanging the sidewalk. Three chairs and flowers filled the small area. An alley led to another door at the rear.

Sara sucked in air several times, walked to the front door and pushed it open. A bell chimed above the door. From somewhere in the back, a small Asian woman appeared, smiling. She was not who Sara was expecting.

"Hi, I'm looking—looking for Laura Sidle." She managed to get the words out thinking this was probably a mistake; her mother was probably not at this address. How long could one work at a dry cleaner and laundry, she thought.

The woman smiled again and lowered her head slightly in greeting. "Laura, next door." She indicated a curtain covered door that separated the business from the next room. The woman's accent indicated she had learned English as an adult. "In there."

Sara pulled the curtain open and entered a sewing room. The work of machines hummed as three women worked on a variety of fabrics—drapes, a dress, and something dark. She realized she was standing in the doorway and no one had looked up from their work. Behind her, the first woman slipped a hand to a switch and flipped it twice causing lights to flicker. Instantly, all three women looked up and the room became quiet.

She had found her mother. One of the women, tall and slim with dark hair, stood, dropping her scissors as she did so causing the other women to look at her first. Then their eyes turned to Sara. Laura Sidle placed her hand over her mouth as she came to her daughter. Sara noticed the threads of silver in the dark hair of her mother and for the first time realized she saw herself in the face that approached her.

"Hello, Mom."