How could he have known?

At the time, loaning Sara to Catherine's shift to investigate the set of tarred bodies abandoned in the desert had seemed like a good idea. Knowing her thorough nature and ability to uncover plausible connections where none seemed to exist, Grissom felt she was the perfect choice for this case.

He was now aware of just how mistaken he was.

This case had gotten under Sara's skin. By all accounts, she had become "obsessed" (Catherine's word) with her "unsubstantiated" declarations of their main suspect's spousal abuse, and implications of his past abuse leading to the death of their second victim.

Catherine was making these heated claims during her diatribe, as she circled Grissom's desk like a vulture. It was obvious to him she was out for blood. The redhead's nature gave no quarter. Catherine wanted the young CSI to pay for the in-your-face rant Sara had leveled at her.

He was unprepared, however, for her final statement concerning how Ecklie had "saved" her from total embarrassment in front of the whole lab. Grissom sucked in his breath as she smugly related the details of Ecklie's "intervention" and subsequent suspension of the CSI whom Catherine now described as "out of control".

She stood before him, a bit out of breath from her vehement speech. Catherine waited for a sympathetic response. They had been friends for a long time and had always had each other's back. She could always count on him.

He stood from his desk and came around to stand in front of her.

Gil looked Catherine squarely in the eyes. Without a word…he bolted for the door.

-------------------------------

Sara sat on the floor under the bay window in her darkened apartment. There was no friendly moon to shine upon her miserable state. She drew her knees up close and wept until there were no more tears.

She felt the memories entwining themselves over her. The feel of his hands, the stench of his liquored breath, the look in his eyes, the bitter taste of his advances…the sounds of his screams.

It finally had become too much.

Berating herself for her cowardice in not following through with her destructive decision on that fateful night, Sara was becoming unglued. She did not fear death. She feared living, living this life.

Sara felt trapped.

With the reflexes of a caged animal, she ran around the apartment – turning on lights, loading her disc drive on the stereo, tossing her catalogs and even her answering machine in the trash, grabbing her timeworn quilt from the couch and wrapping it soundly around her…frantic to maintain control before she acted on her desperation.

She ran to the kitchen and popped open a beer. She guzzled it straight through before reaching for another. By this time, she had calmed herself somewhat. She stood for what seemed like forever in the midst of her living room, breathing in more slowly. Her heart rate was returning to a more normal rhythm. The alcohol was relaxing her initial hyperactivity.

Her panic attack was abating.

She dropped the quilt back on the couch. Still clutching the second beer, Sara sat down at her desk and stared at the blank pad in front of her. Lowering the volume on her stereo, she picked up the pen in front of her.

She had never felt more alone.

For the second time in as many weeks, her job performance had come under unfavorable scrutiny. She had lost out to Nick for the promotion, and now Ecklie would have her fired for insubordination. Work was all she had left.

And now even that had been taken away from her.

And with it, any hope of forging a relationship with people she could really care about.

She had no one.

Who would miss her?

Taking a swig of the ice-cold ale, Sara thought about what she would say in a farewell letter.

"I'm sorry." But I wouldn't be! This hell would be over!

"There was nothing you could have done." But somebody could have loved me!

"It is better this way." But I don't want to die!

She flung the pad and pen angrily across the room. Sara took another swig and propped the bottle onto her desktop. She fell forward onto her folded arms and took calming breaths.

She wanted to run away.

She wanted to be safe.

She needed to get back to her Better Place…before it was too late.

After a long while, realizing she was too upset to return there at this time, Sara rubbed her hands over her tired features. She took another swig of the room-temperature drink and stood shakily from her desk. Walking stiffly, she retrieved the pad and pen and returned to her spot next to her desktop stereo.

A small smile formed as she decided to write to the only person who seemed interested in the "real" Sara. Someone who made her feel safe, comforted. Someone she felt she could trust with her innermost secrets. Her pen scratched out the beginning of her correspondence:

"My dear Sir G. – "

She paused as she looked at his name. Instantly, she was flooded with memories of listening to his initial revelation about his life. She remembered wanting to reciprocate in kind, and how the branch had cracked off in her hand. It was as if her truthful sharing had caused her to remove a bit of the brambles that stood between them. If only it could really be that easy…

The knock on the door startled her, causing her to come out of her reverie.

She sat for a moment…wondering…could it be?

Had he read the beginning of her letter?

Had Sir G. become …real?

Had he come to take her away from all her pain?

Her muddled state caused her to grasp at this final straw. She reached for the handle just as the knocking resumed. Sara flung open the door…and came face to face with Gil Grissom.

-----------------------------------

They both knew why he was here. Their opening conversation did not exactly include "pleasantries", but her civility caused her to ask her "guest" if she could get him anything. As she spoke, she began to pace the room in an unconscious attempt to put distance between them.

Gil stood still near her breakfast counter, observing her movements. It appeared to him that she was placing physical barriers between them. His heart broke. By coming here, he had hoped to tear down some of the emotional barriers between them and learn what was really causing her uncharacteristic behavior.

Well, perhaps it was not uncharacteristic after all.

This was what he needed to uncover.

So to answer her hospitable query, he said, "Sure. I'd like an explanation."

At this, Sara donned her well-worn dance shoes, smiled, and raised the curtain on the same song-and-dance routine that had worked well for her in the past.

Only, this time, her audience was not buying it.

He began making some vague movie reference as she folded herself onto her overstuffed living room chair, reflecting on what her next move would be.

That's when she heard it.

Her head jerked up, causing her to hear a snap in her cervical vertebrae.

Defensively, she was beginning to set her jaw and raise the drawbridges. Sara refused to look at him as she huffed, "Leave it alone."

Most people who had previous dealings with Sara Sidle knew that the jaw set plus the huffed statement equaled a call to run for the hills before she exploded.

This time, Gil Grissom was standing his ground.

Perhaps, that was one reason her senses went to overload when he repeated his statement:

"I want to know why you are so angry."

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It is hard to tell exactly what happened after that.

It is best to assume that she curled her legs up close to her, for protection from her thoughts. Forgetting Gil stood within arm's length, Sara initially retreated to those final moments in her Better Place.

She had reached out to her mysterious companion.

She wanted him to stay.

She wanted to tell him her story.

She didn't want to be alone anymore.

Her small personal revelation that day had caused the thicket that divided them to a break apart in a small measure.

But this was not her Better Place.

She had no comfort here…no protection from discovery…no safety.

Though she had never seen him, she felt she could trust Sir G. with her innermost thoughts.

In her fantasies, she felt he would take on her demons to protect her.

But this was Gil Grissom.

He had hurt her before when he pushed her away.

The devastation of his leaving, after making him privy to even a bit of her past, would crush her.

As her internal debate raged, Gil became concerned at the length of her silence.

He seated himself across from her on the edge of the couch. He continued to scan her features, patiently waiting, hoping she was gathering her thoughts before speaking.

As she recalled her encounters at the thicket, with her fight-or-flight instinct engaged, her gaze fell on his worried countenance. Partially obscured by the top of her jean-covered knees, she shrank down a bit for protection. But those blue eyes held only heartfelt concern, perhaps even worry. She sat a bit taller, hugging her legs tighter for safety, and gazed into his eyes – attempting to read what was on his mind.

He felt exposed. He was sure she could see into his soul. Suddenly, he was overcome with the urge to hold her, comfort her, welcome her fully into his lonely life. He thought back to his Better Place. He wished to grab Sara and return there. Build her a castle in the sand, romp on the beach…remove her from her pain…love her.

He smiled. It was as if he could see her building defenses to protect her inmost castle. He thought back to the thicket and recalled the freedom he had felt as he shared unguardedly with the mysterious Lady G. He suddenly wanted to know all about Sara's past. He wanted her to tell him about the demons that plagued her. He wanted to be her protector, her champion.

As she continued to gaze uncertainly at him, Gil finally spoke.

Build on, and make thy castles high and fair,
Rising and reaching upward to the skies;
Listen to voices in the upper air,
Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries. Longfellow

She blinked. Hard. Did he somehow know about her Better Place? Or could it be that they shared this common need to escape from the pain of a lonely life? She thought about the lesson of the cracked branch. Could it really be that easy to tear down the walls between them?

She turned her head to avoid his gaze. Her eyes shot to the pad on her desk. The choice was clear: save her revelations for a dream world knight in shining armor or…

Sara returned her gaze to the now silent Grissom. She took a deep breath. She felt she had nothing else to lose.

"I want to tell you a little bit about my family…"

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After a lengthy revelation that merely touched upon the details that had been reported in the local news and could be verified through any search of her hometown newspapers, Sara wept and hugged her legs to barricade herself against what she was now sure would be his impending departure.

Yet…he reached out and held her hand.

His heart broke for the deep-seated agony his love was now enduring.

He stood and placed his arms under her shaking knees and behind her back.

He carried her to the couch and held her on his lap.

She cried.

He comforted.

They fell asleep huddled together on the comfort of the overstuffed cushions.

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She was not sure why her beachside retreat left her feeling…lost.

Glancing uphill, she scrambled to her feet, kicking up a sandstorm in her wake.

She clawed at the thicket, but the branches were unmoving.

Wide-eyed, she slumped with her back to the black forest. She tried to remember the events of the evening, but something was blocking her memory. Sara was only aware of one thing:

She wanted to be with Grissom.

She stood again as she heard her stranger entreating her to answer him.

------------------------------------

He was aware of sitting near the edge of the rising tide. His usually happy spot now left him feeling…lost.

Glancing uphill, he scrambled to his feet and walked resolutely towards the thicket.

He pulled on the boughs, but they were unyielding.

The previous events of the evening seemed lost to him. Gil Grissom was only aware of one thing:

He needed to be with Sara.

So he stood there calling out to his partner on the other side of the thicket, hoping she would help him find his way back to the woman he now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, was his true love.