As soon as the door shut on Brass Laura turned an anxious expression toward her daughter. Sara's face was scrunched up with sorrow, her bottom lip wobbling like a child's. Her chest began to shake with small sobs, then bigger ones, and she turned away. What on earth had just happened? Laura wondered. Grissom had looked so distraught, so miserable, leaving – no, fleeing – without even acknowledging her presence. Brass's gaze had been soft and apologising, and she knew Grissom would be taken good care of, but something was very wrong.
Laura quickly strode to her daughter's bedside. "Oh, Sara." Her hand raised to her face, gently coaxing it up toward her. "Sweetie, what's the matter?"
Sara lifted sad watery eyes to her mother. "Mess-dup," she said between sobs.
"You messed up?" Laura repeated, seeking confirmation. Her eyes suddenly widened with shock and she gasped. "You told him? You told him about…your amnesia?"
Sara let out a heart-breaking, "No."
Laura's face softened compassionately. "Then what happened, huh?" she asked, gently picking up Sara's hand. She took a breath and let it out slowly, her heart breaking at her daughter's desolation. "Sweetheart, what happened?" Making eye contact she wiped her free hand under Sara's eyes in a vain attempt to dry her tears but she couldn't even begin to curb their relentless flow.
Sara didn't reply at first and Laura's hand stayed on her daughter's cheek, gently stroking as she made soothing, shushing sounds. She wanted nothing more but to follow her instincts, wrap her arms around her and hold her to her chest as she had done countless times when Sara had been a little girl. But afraid to overstep the mark and break the fragile bond they were beginning to forge she didn't, instead reluctantly making herself keep a little distance.
"Sara, you can tell me," she prompted when Sara was a little calmer. She gave her a small comforting smile. "What happened that got him so distressed, huh?"
Sara's reply came in a low raspy voice, quick words all merging into one, and Laura's face fell with anguish. "I don't understand," she murmured despondently. "I'm sorry."
"Eenosomfingsrong," Sara lamented again.
Laura's gaze narrowed uncertainly as she replayed her daughter's words in her head, and when she still couldn't make sense of them she smiled uncomfortably. "I'm sorry Sara," she repeated softly, her hand brushing under her daughter's right eye and cheek tenderly, "but I didn't catch that either."
Sara closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, and then another one, and wondering whether she'd ruined her chances of reconciliation with her daughter Laura withdrew her hand.
"Gil-bret," Sara said after a moment, pausing as her eyes reopened. They were sad and defeated, but dry. "Ee-knows."
Fear flashed across Laura's eyes. "I didn't tell him," she defended quickly. She gave Sara's hand a strong squeeze. "I swear to you, Sara. I didn't tell him. I promised I wouldn't and I didn't."
Sara's head shook, refuting her mother's words. "Eesworktout."
Laura's gaze narrowed uncertainly, and she lifted a sad helpless shoulder.
Sara's eyes drifted toward the door. "Eesgone. Lostim."
"Lost him?" Laura repeated anxiously. "Lost who? I don't understand."
"Gil-bret."
"No, Sara," Laura said, a reassuring smile forming on her lips as understanding finally dawned. "You haven't lost him. He's just gone for a coffee with Captain Brass. He was upset, that's true. But he will come back, when he is calmer. Captain Brass is with him." She held her daughter's gaze, smiling as she tried to convey the truthfulness of her words.
Sara watched her mother for a moment before eventually nodding her head. "Opso."
Laura's smile broadened fondly. "I promise you; he will be back."
Sara's nod this time was less doubtful.
"Do you know what upset him?" Laura went on quietly.
Sara's eyes dropped to the comforter, DVD's and books on the bed, and she shook her head sadly. "Donmember," she said in a sigh of frustration.
Laura's frown was puzzled and she wished she was more in tune with her daughter. "You don't remember what upset him?"
"No," Sara said, looking up. Her eyes shone with a film of tears. "Donmember – myfings."
She followed her daughter's gaze to the gifts, noticing that they weren't new and that Brass had most probably brought along some of Sara's belongings. One book, a visibly well-thumbed textbook with a bright green caterpillar on the front cover, stood out, catching her eye. She sighed. "You think he noticed you didn't recognise your things," she mused with sudden understanding. "And you think he's worked it out. Or that he's about to." She looked up abruptly, meeting Sara's fearful gaze, smiling sadly as Sara gave her a forceful nod in agreement.
"Then you need to tell him, Sara," she said, staring at her daughter intently as she spoke the words. "Be upfront with him. It's not fair on him not to know, or for him to find out like this, to work it out for himself." She paused, unable to stop the small twitch of a smile pulling at her lips as a defiant look about her face Sara turned away. Sara had never liked to be told what to do as a child and Laura was pleased to see that despite what had happened she was still as doggedly stubborn. "And he will, won't he?" she added gently, "Work it out for himself?"
"Memberfirst," Sara mumbled under her breath.
This time she didn't need to understand the words to know what her daughter had said. "Do you love him?" she asked quietly.
As she'd expected her change of tack took Sara by surprise. Her head snapped round, dark eyes narrowed in incredulity. She didn't reply.
Laura lifted her brow. "Well, do you love him?" she asked again, her tone soft but probing.
Sara gave a confident nod. "Yes."
"How do you know? When you don't remember?"
Sara swallowed. "Jusdo."
Laura's face broke into a smile. "And he loves you. You know that, don't you?"
Sara gave a slow nod.
"Then you've got to trust him."
Sara looked all around her and the room. "Do."
"Not just with your care, Sara, and your wellbeing, but with your heart." She caught and held her daughter's gaze. "Do you trust him with your heart?"
Sara paused, her gaze drifting to a point in the middle distance. Her face took on a haunted look.
"Well, do you?" Laura asked again.
Sara refocused sad eyes onto her mother. She watched her long time before admitting, "Dunno."
"Why not?" Laura challenged levelly. "When you're so sure you love him."
Sara shook her head. Tears filled her eyes and she looked away.
Laura let out a long despondent breath. Her hand came up and she brushed Sara's hair out of the way, idly thinking that her daughter was in need of a haircut. "I do," she said quietly. "I know why."
Sara looked up, questions in her eyes.
"I know why you can't bring yourself to trust him." Her lips formed into a small smile. "And it's my fault. What I did to your father had repercussions on who you are, on who you became, but also on your ability to trust. Mr Grissom says it made you stronger."
"Eenosboutdad?" Sara gasped, her face dropping miserably.
Laura nodded her head slowly. "Yes, he does," she replied, and reading more question in her daughter's eyes added in a shrug, "When I met him he already knew. You must have told him. You must have trusted him enough to tell him about your darkest secret."
Laura's words seemed to give Sara pause.
"The way I see it, for all it's worth," she went on, "the Sara you know now, the Sara you remember has never been able to put her trust and faith in anyone before, let alone in a man. Am I right?"
Slowly bringing her gaze up to her mother Sara nodded.
"But the Sara he knows and loves has. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Laura waited for Sara's cautious nod to make her point. "That Sara has put her trust and faith in him, and he has done the same. What's happened to you isn't your fault. He knows that, he will understand."
"Mnot – eesara – anymore," Sara said heartbreakingly, making herself pause between each word.
Laura's eyes filled. She took her daughter's face with both hands, staring straight into her eyes as she said, "Oh, darling you are. Believe me, you still are his Sara."
"Mscared."
Laura smiled, nodding, "I know." Her gaze lowered in hesitation as she thought carefully about what she was about to confide. She blinked a few times, forcing a bright, yet shaky smile as she refocused on her daughter. Sara was watching her intently as though knowing that what she was about to hear would make all the difference.
Laura took a final breath, going for broke. "Sara, there's one thing I think you should know, something that Mr Grissom won't ever be able to tell you himself, and if he knew-" her voice broke and she closed her eyes, sucking in a breath, "if he knew I'd told you he would be very upset."
Sara nodded that she understood and Laura pulled back from her, her eyes averting hesitantly. When she spoke her voice was barely above a fraught whisper.
"After your…accident, we were told by the doctors that…that…that you weren't going to make it." Tears she'd been fighting to keep at bay fell and she glanced up at Sara, smiling through them, her lips pinching anxiously at the recollection. "And that if you didn't die you wouldn't wake." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Sara, we were told that your brain was dead, that either way, you were gone."
Sara's eyes were intent on her mother. They were dry, her expression curious but detached as she listened.
"Mr Grissom was devastated," Laura went on quietly, a little calmer now, "and he fought the doctors and their decisions. Told them they'd made a mistake, that they were wrong. So they did the tests again, and when they came back the same…" she stopped short, shrugging the rest of her words off. "What made it worse for him was the fact that he had no control over any of the decisions. Everything was out of his hands."
"Donderstand," Sara said in a whisper. "Why?"
Laura's eyes closed, and then reopened slowly. "You had a living will drawn, Sara." She paused, letting her words sink. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Sara dropped her gaze and after what felt like an eternity nodded her head.
"What you were asking him to do was too much, and he wouldn't do it. Couldn't do it."
Sara's eyes snapped up, fixing on her mother, suddenly knowing but not accusing. "Butyouwoudov."
Averting her eyes Laura slowly acquiesced with a nod. "Yes, I would have," she said at last, glancing up. She stared at her daughter for the longest of times and deciding that it was time for honesty made herself confess, "And I almost did. Out of love and respect for you." Her lips pursed in a tight smile. "But he couldn't, out of love for you."
"Eesnt –ready."
Her smile softened and she shook her head in disbelief. She'd just admitted to almost killing her own daughter and it hadn't even registered with Sara. "That's right, sweetie, he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to let you go. And he thinks you changed your mind, that by waking up you decided it wasn't time for you to go. That's why, Sara," she said with a growing smile, hoping that by opening up she'd made her point in a manner Sara would understand and not stubbornly reject, "you could never lose him. He's just too grateful that you're still here with us and at the second chance of a life with you you've granted him." She paused, gauging Sara's reaction, praying that she hadn't made a mistake in opening up like that. "He's a good man, Sara, kind, dedicated, and completely devoted to you. You've got to tell him – before he finds out and gets his heart broken all over again."
Sara nodded, her eyes glancing toward the door, part-fearful part-hopeful. "Will," she said resolutely. She made eye contact with her mother and smiled. "Will."
Laura's face lit up at the look of gratitude she saw in her daughter's eyes. "Good," she said, her smile broadening pleasurably.
She cupped her hand to Sara's face and closing her eyes gently leaned down, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to her cheek. An immense feeling of wellbeing and relief flooded through her and she relished the moment as she realised she'd waited twenty-two long years to do just that. When she pulled back Sara's eyes were shut. Her breathing was slow and even, as though she had nodded off. Laura brushed her fingertips along the curve of her face, her smile turning wistful.
She was making herself comfortable on the chair when Sara called in a whisper, "Mom?"
"Yes, sweetie?" she replied, her heart filling with love at the use of the long-forgotten term of endearment.
Sara's eyes slowly drifted open. "Avchilden?" she asked, her words low and slurred.
Laura's brow furrowed and she moved to the edge of the seat closer to the bed. "Children?" she repeated uncertainly.
"Gilbretanme. Avchilden?"
A look of understanding flashed across Laura's face. "Are you asking if you have children? Sara, is that what you're asking?"
Swallowing, Sara held her mother's gaze and nodded.
"Oh, sweetie, no, you don't," she replied with a smile, reaching and squeezing her daughter's hand affectionately.
Her eyes closing Sara smiled and nodded, mumbling something akin to "That's what I thought," but Laura couldn't be sure. "Music," she then said in a whisper, "Sleepbetterwivmusic."
Laura sprung to her feet, immediately reaching for the iPod on the table. Her eyes on her daughter she slowly unwound the cord, slipped the buds in her ears and switched it on, making sure the sound was turned low. Sara's face filled with contentment, a soft smile forming on her lips as the music filled her ears.
Laura spent a long moment watching her while thinking back to their conversation and hoping that she hadn't made a mistake by confiding what she had. Slowly, she cleared Brass's gifts off the bed before straightening the comforter over Sara's body. Resuming her bedside vigil, she picked up the largest of the books, the one with the caterpillar on the cover that had caught her eye earlier on. The Science of Entomology, she read, briefly musing over the meaning of the word before letting out a long sad sigh as she realised that there was a lot she didn't know about her daughter.
She opened the book, idly flicking through the pages full of text, pictures and diagrams of insects, surprised that Sara should be interested in them when she'd never been as a child, until she came to a stop at the title page. The short message neatly penned there immediately caught her attention. Merry Christmas, it read, From Grissom. Her head shot up in realisation. Had it been Sara's non-reaction to this particular book that could have been the cause of Grissom's distress earlier? Her eyes flicked to Sara. Should she wake her to tell her?
Totally engrossed in her thoughts Laura didn't notice Grissom had returned until he was standing by the bed. "Mr Grissom," she exclaimed with a start, bringing her hand to her heart. A smile broke across her features. "I didn't hear you come in."
Grissom didn't reply. He simply reached for the iPod lying on Sara's lap and smiling as he checked the display switched the device off before gently easing the buds out of her ears. Leaning down he kissed her softly on the forehead and closed his eyes, his lips lingering on her skin for a moment before reluctantly breaking away. Sara smiled, stirring as a small breath escaped but she didn't wake.
"I'm sorry I took so long but I went for a walk," he said quietly. His eyes were on Sara as he spoke, and Laura couldn't be sure whether the words were meant for her or her daughter.
"You don't have to explain. I'm happy to be here with Sara," she replied, adding with a smile when he turned toward her, "I've a lot of years to make up."
Grissom gave an absent nod, his eyes refocusing on Sara. "She's been okay?" he asked, the concern undisguised in his tone.
Laura sighed, her shoulder lifting as she stood up. "She's fine. She's worried she upset you before."
He smiled, nodding, his hand lifting to Sara's face but not quite making contact. His fingers uncurled, their tips brushing a little hair away from her eyes. "She looks so peaceful," he said in a whisper, "So beautiful. When I watch her sleeping like this I almost forget and it's like before." His hand lowered and he turned soft eyes toward Laura, enquiring, "Have you noticed anything…different about her?"
Laura swallowed a sense of foreboding. "Different?" she repeated uncertainly, her eyes drifting to Sara.
Grissom shrugged. "There's something's different about her, Laura," he said sadly, "And I'm not talking about her physical injuries. She's…" he covered his eyes with his left hand, rubbing at them roughly, leaving his sentence unfinished.
"Changed?" Laura prompted when she saw him falter.
Keeping his face hidden he slowly nodded his head.
"It's only to be expected, don't you think?"
"I don't know," he said in a small voice, looking up and meeting her gaze.
Laura let out a long sigh at his wretchedness. "You're asking the wrong person," she told him. "I don't know the Sara you know at all. I only know the frightened twelve-year-old, and now the frightened thirty-three-year-old," she added quietly.
"Still, you're her mother."
"Yes, I am," she said, almost sounding surprised, her lips pulling into a proud smile. Her smile suddenly turned pensive and she lapsed into silence, wondering whether she should help Sara by telling Grissom about the amnesia herself.
Sara stirred, cutting short Laura's musings. Her eyes drifted open, softly locking onto Grissom's. Shy, tentative smiles formed on their lips at the same time, and Laura silently moved away, gathering up her things and leaving the room as quietly as Grissom had entered it, now surplus to requirements.
She'd played her part, now it was Sara's turn.