A/N: Thanks for all your responses and reviews to the story so far, I love every one of them! And thanks for sticking with me, the angst is on its way out, I promise...
Confrontation: a meeting of persons face to face, an open conflict of opposing ideas, forces, etc.
In its definition, it doesn't seem so intimidating. But the dictionary doesn't describe the fluttering of butterflies, the increased heartbeat and the anxiety that often accompanies a confrontation, everything that Sara Sidle was feeling as she sat gingerly on the sofa cushions, close enough but still far enough away from her husband on the other end.
"The closest… you could get to me?" he said, echoing her earlier words.
She nodded.
"I just… wanted you, so badly, and that… desperation just took over," she tried to explain.
When he stayed quiet for the next several moments, she tried again.
"I just want to make this clear," she said. "I still don't remember much of anything about our marriage and our relationship. But I do remember that night. I do know it was a mistake, something that should have never happened. But what I can't remember is why. Why was I so lonely? Why was I so desperate?"
Grissom blinked at her and she continued.
"If our marriage was… is… working, how could I be lonely enough to want to kiss a friend?"
Grissom couldn't tell if she wanted her question answered, but it definitely made him think. Her words started to bring back the feeling that had emerged just before Nick left, the rising sense of guilt and the idea that he, in fact, did have something to do with what happened between Nick and Sara that night. That sometimes, he didn't treat Sara how she deserved to be treated and he didn't pay her enough attention to mirror how much he loved her.
"Sara, our marriage is unique," he began. "But our love for each other… that's real. And it's strong. No matter what country or city we happen to be in, we know that nothing is going to change that."
He slid just a few inches closer to her on the sofa.
"You're… everything to me, Sara," he said, surprising himself at how easily the words were flowing from his mouth. "You've made me a better man… you've made me who I am. You're… the reason its worth getting up in the mornings. You're the reason I'm so happy. You're my heart, Sara, my everything."
For several pulsating moments, Sara's brown eyes locked with Grissom's blue ones, and they stared into the depths of each other, until Sara tore her gaze away and fixated it firmly on the hands folded in her lap. Her jaw was tight and square, and her eyes slightly narrowed, as if she were warning herself not to cry. The reaction wasn't exactly what Grissom had anticipated. He studied her as she continued to stare unyieldingly at her lap and remain silent.
"Sara?"
She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. He didn't know what he expected to see in her eyes when they made contact again with his own, but it wasn't profound frustration.
"What's wrong?"
He reached out to touch her, and her hand made the automatic, now normal gut reaction to pull away. She became distracted again, and couldn't meet his gaze, her eyes falling on every place but him.
"Grissom," she began as he realized how much he missed her calling him Gil. "This is a conversation for… two ably-minded people."
She glanced at him apologetically before looking away again.
"I can't do this," she said softly. "I can't return those words, because I don't know how I feel. I know I must love you. It's… really not hard to see why. But I can't have this conversation until I'm able to reciprocate. I just… I can't do this."
"Sara-"
"All I can tell you right now is what happened that night of the accident was out of loneliness," she said, cutting him off. "That much I know. I remember clear as day how I felt that night and it wasn't pretty. But until I can remember more… I can't have this conversation with you. I can't talk about a marriage and a love that I can't remember. I'm sorry."
Her apology was curt. He was disappointed to feel a rising frustration in himself, too. He'd been living with the ghost of his wife for the last week, and he wanted nothing more than to sit with her, be with her, and talk about what needed to be discussed. He needed to assure her that their marriage was okay, that they were okay, and he needed to hear affirmation in response. He needed to know that she didn't hate him when they were apart, resent their long-distance relationship and only pretend to be okay when they talked or met. He needed to know.
And Sara could sense it. She knew he wanted her to stay there with him and talk until it was all okay. But she couldn't, just literally couldn't do it, no matter how much she didn't want to let him down. The apartment was suddenly suffocating her. She needed to get out of it, away from the pressure for her to remember things she just couldn't remember. As much as she wanted to.
She rose from the couch abruptly.
"S-Sara?" Grissom stuttered, surprised. "Where are you going?"
She tried to look apologetic.
"I have to go for a walk."
"Is that really a good idea?"
"It's not you," she sighed, trying to explain, though she didn't want to. "I'm not… walking out on you. I just really need to clear my head."
Grissom studied her sadly, taking in every inch of her.
"Be careful."
"I'll be back soon."
She inched around the coffee table, grabbing a windbreaker from the kitchen as she passed and slipped out the door into the night.
After Sara left, Gil Grissom did something he hadn't done in a long, long while. He cried.
The last time in recent memory that he remembered shedding more than one tear was at Warrick's funeral. A day he didn't care to relive, and he pushed the thought from his head for fear of becoming even more emotional.
He was probably being pathetic, he knew it. But he couldn't stop the tears. He cried less for himself, and more for Sara and how much she was hurting. But most of all, he cried for what he was missing.
He missed Sara, his Sara, so goddamn much. He wanted the light to return to her eyes, the smile to her face and the bounce to her step. He wanted to be able to touch her without her flinching or looking like she wanted to run away. He wanted to feel her long, warm body curled up against him as they talked late into the night. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted so many things, and yet, he didn't know how to get them. And so, he cried.
When the tears ran dry, he was restless. He didn't know what to do with himself without her. He wanted to go after her, to find her, but he knew that's not what she wanted. He'd learned that the first time. He'd learned by now that sometimes, Sara needed her space. But she always came back to him. He would wait for her.
For her, he'd wait forever.
After she left, Sara did a lot of wandering the neighborhood. She never strayed too far; to make sure she could find her way back. She was pretty sure she'd be able to find her way anyways, but better safe than sorry.
It wasn't a particularly picturesque neighborhood. All the buildings looked the same, each block a clone of the last. The pattern was comforting to her, though. Familiarity was something she'd been lacking for a long while. But she soon became restless, and settled down on a park bench to people watch the stragglers that were lingering around the park at twilight.
She watched as a group of teenagers skulked around, passing a cigarette between them. She watched a dad and his son play basketball on the blacktop. She watched as bodies moved the swings back and forth, back and forth. She watched a pig-tailed girl draw on the blacktop, a quite a few yards away from the one-on-one basketball game, with pink chalk.
Chalk.
Chalk.
Sara had never had an out of body experience, but that was the only way to describe what happened. She was suddenly standing outside a different apartment building, where it was quite darker that it was a minute ago and she watched herself shrug and say, "chalk".
Chalk.
She could see what that Sara that night saw. It was Grissom.
Grissom.
She saw more. Her and Grissom holding hands, kissing on the Golden Gate Bridge. Grissom taping her wrists in a car. Placing a blanket around his shoulders as he sat on a folding chair outside. Grissom pinning her down. Grissom kissing her. Herself kissing him. Holding his hand in a helicopter. Trying to kiss with a beekeeping helmet. Getting married. Costa Rica. Paris. She remembered.
Everything.
All of it.
Grissom.
Gil.
A knock at the door nearly made him jump out of his socks. He put down the book he'd been pretending to read for the last hour and hurried to the door to pull it open. Sara was standing there, her chest heaving as if she'd just run several miles, breaths coming in quick and heavy. They stared at each other for a few minutes.
"I remember."
His knees nearly buckled. He wanted to gather up in her arms right then and there, but a lingering look of vulnerability in her eyes made him stay where he was.
"Everything?"
"Everything," she said, so softly he could barely hear her over the booming thunder. "All of it. I'm so sorry."
"Oh, honey."
He stepped out onto the front step, the night's wind howling around him, but despite the chilliness of the night, he felt a warmth sweep through his body as he pressed Sara against him. She was shaking at first, but began to calm the longer she stood wrapped tightly in his arms. His nose brushed the curve of her ear.
"Welcome home, Sara."
TBC! With one last chapter...
