Howdy! My apologies for being late. Work has been CRAZY and I've been trying not to get sick (everyone at the office is sneezing and coughing like mad) but here is the last section of the session. I asked a question of a few of you and you responding splendidly. After weighing your thoughts and my beta's (along with my own) I've come up with what follows. I appreciate all your help Otie1983, stlouiegal and SarahmUK.

Thank you to: Moonstarer, TessTrueHeart, SevernSound, Sarafly, NickyStokes72, Wiggle34, Hithui, leah-audreysgramma and NANCY1.

Onward ~

Part 34

Sara

He nodded. He'll try. At least I have that to hold onto.

I have to grab onto the couch as he turns back to the fish, silent and somber. Have to grab on so I don't fly across the room, drop to my knees and beg forgiveness. It's what I've wanted to do since I walked into this room but it won't mean what I want. It won't tell him that he can trust me, that I won't ever do anything like that again, that I love him, that he's all I'll ever need. The only thing that'll do that is if none of it ever happened.

And that's where life stinks. Stinks is too tame. Sucks! Sucks the big one! Why can't life be like a movie? You know, some magic potion is taken and - voila! – the big bad thing that happened didn't; the anger never was; Oz still exists.

You don't die of a broken heart, you only wish you did.*

Oh, that's so uplifting and does not help! Nothing can help me! I'm on the wrong end of the salvation gauge. This is my mess, mine, and I have to dig myself out one way or another.

But how? How do I tell him what I don't know?!

I DON'T KNOW WHY I DID WHAT I DID!

But there should be some deeper reason. People don't do such things without a reason. Right? Maybe, maybe when he grabbed my arm I flashed on my father yanking me out of my chair or-or when he yelled at me I was cringing in the closet as my parents raged in the other room. I don't know. And respect? Of course he respects me. He's told me and shown me often enough so toss that away. He gave himself to me, all of himself, and he couldn't have been more loving, taking me to heights I'd only dreamed of. That man is great in the sack so it's not that either. Yes, we've had our fights but that doesn't relate either.

Jesus!

Think. There has to be a reason. Okay, I was pissed. I was royally, genuinely pissed but it can't just be that. Can it? Could it be I lost the best thing in my life because I had a temper tantrum?

Christ almighty! That can't be all of it! That just can't.

"What case were you working on that night, Sara?" comes Philip's voice invading my thoughts and I jerk my eyes toward him.

"What?"

"What case was it? Ally Corrs, right?"

"Um, yeah," I reply narrowing my eyes at him in question.

"What was different about that case?"

Gil has turned now and is staring at Philip.

"It was a rape/murder case," I answer.

"But something must've been different about it." He's eyeing me and I'm not connecting the dots. "Was there anything out of the ordinary?"

"I . . . well, I hadn't been on one of those cases for awhile," I admit still puzzled.

"And why's that?" he continues.

Because they make me go off the deep end. "Sometimes I don't handle them very well," I say instead. "Gil had been keeping me away from them."

"So why were you on this case?" He's pushing and I don't want to go there. Gil looks irritated.

"There wasn't anyone else and the quicker you get to the scene the less chance there is of someone contaminating possible evidence."

"Could you have asked for help? Nick, perhaps."

"He was busy with his own case."

"Would he have come if you'd asked?" Philip tries.

I press my lips together and don't look at Gil. "I . . ." I fumble with my hands. "It didn't occur to me. I'm a CSI. It's my job to take what's there."

"But you have problems with those scenes," he adds.

I start fidgeting. "I admit I was nervous but it's my job. So I headed to the scene."

"Then what happened?"

"I took photos, canvassed the house and gathered what I could. There wasn't much to go on. No forced entry, the room wasn't upended and there were just a few magazines on the floor. Then David showed up to check the body."

"David Philips?"

"He has to clear the body before we can touch it," I explain.

"Then?"

I feel my heart speed up, images of that night flashing in my head. "He, ah, turned her over and . . ." I shake my head. "I should've gone outside, should've let him take photos, but I stayed and couldn't take my eyes from her battered face. I was so very thankful she was dead because I didn't want her to end up like Pamela Adler." Philip's brow creases.

"Pamela Adler was beaten, raped and fell into a coma," Gil explains.

"And she'll probably never wake up," I add. "I lost perspective on that case. Gil tried to tell me but I wouldn't listen. I had to find justice for her no matter the cost. It seems I haven't learned a thing."

"Did you recognize what was happening?" Philip continues.

I nod. "A part of me kept yelling 'get the hell out' but I ignored it. Ally's family needed closure and I was going to get it for them." I look down at my ginger ale can, noticing it's a bit crushed, and place it on the side table. To keep my fingers still, I clasp my hands together.

"Why do you feel that way?" Philip asks and I gape at him.

"Because we're all they have," I say, louder than I intend and let out a long breath. "See? Haven't learned a thing." I stare at my hands so as not to look at either of them.

"We are all they have," Gil adds and I glance up. His eyes hold a knowing look and it spreads warmth through me. "We're often the last line of defense for the families," he continues, eyes drifting toward Philip. "I've been known to lose myself in a case."

I shudder, thoughts falling back on how it felt to hear he'd been attacked by Syd Goggle. Thank God for Catherine.

"What happened next?" Philip asks.

"Ah, when I came back to the lab with nothing to show for it, I was angry. Whoever did this was going to get away with it. I couldn't let that happen so back I went." I look up at Gil. "I never once thought of what could happen to me. And you weren't a consideration because all I saw was the house, the room, the endgame." He's watching me closely, a hand stuck in a pocket, lips pursed. What I'm telling him he already knows. He's witnessed it enough over the years. "Then I came back and you ripped it all away from me."

"You scared me," he plainly says. "I just reacted."

"Your hands trembled. I remembered that later. I had no right to talk to you that way. No one has that right."

"No, they don't," he whispers.

I cringe but carry on. "I'm not making excuses, Gil. There is no excuse for turning on you like that. None. You should've fired me."

"I'd never do that."

"You should've. You should've yelled right back; should've shaken some sense into me."

"I'm not sure that would've helped."

I stare at him a moment. "Probably not," I agree then sigh. "What I did was childish. I needed to get my way and when I didn't . . ." I shake my head.

"Why'd you come back to town, Sara?" Philip asks. "Was it because Jim called you?"

"He what?" Gil asks drawing Philip's attention.

"When Jim found out it was you at the store, he called Sara and was surprised to get her. He'd been trying for awhile."

"So was I." His voice is sad and I jut out my chin to keep it from trembling.

"I was crawling back to see if I could pick up the pieces," I tell him. "I was desperate. When Jim called it seemed meant. You were in trouble. There was nothing that would keep me away."

Gil frowns then. "I wondered how you could be there."

"I needed to explain myself and it scared me that you would, that you could die before I had the chance. It wasn't until I heard what you said to that man that I . . ."

"You heard me?" he interrupts, blanching.

Oh, I shouldn't've said that. "When you, um, fell to the floor I ran inside to make sure you were all right. I told you then I'd heard you."

He slowly shakes his head. "I-I don't remember," he quietly admits.

"I needed to make sure you were okay. I wanted so badly to touch you but I didn't have the right anymore."

"I wanted your touch but . . . I never wanted you to see me that way."

"What way?"

"Lost."

"Why?"

"I . . . " He stammers to a stop then heaves a heavy breath. "I don't like being so out of control. I'm not usually so irrational."

"That didn't scare me," I admit as he looks at me. "What scared me was never being able to apologize for what I'd done. I always told you I'd never break your heart and there on the floor was evidence that I had all because I couldn't separate work from you." I shake my head. "I don't know how you can stand to be in the same room with me." I lean forward then quickly stand contemplating a run for the exit. "I deserve this. All of this."

"Sara . . ."

"I can't turn back time; can't undo what's been done no matter how much I wish it. You'll never forget and I'll never forgive myself." I turn and pin him with a look. "But I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you because I love you, Gil. That will never change."

He stares at me and I can see a hint of something in those blue eyes that flares for just a second before it fades. It reminds me of how he used to look at me and it's heartening to know it's still there.

Grissom

I have to move away in order to stop the protective urge that flashes through me. I've never been able to close my eyes to Sara's pain, no matter what it was, always willing to take her in my arms and soothe it away. But now is not the time, not her time. It's mine. I need to feel something other than misery. I can't be led from what I need to do, what I need to believe or I'll never believe again.

Closing my eyes, I work to control myself, control those feelings that race from one end of the spectrum to the other, that upend me when I don't need to be. I should treat this like a case. Yes, a case where I consider the evidence, tie the pieces together, watch facial expressions, listen to the tone of voice. These are all things that can seal a conviction or, at least, point me in the right direction. But, even now, flashes of memory keep getting in the way. Her smile, her touch, her laugh.

Muscles tighten in my back and I roll my shoulders to try and relieve some pressure. I must stand firm. I won't let her play me . . . if she's playing me . . . maybe she's not. Or is she? Damnit! I can't tell the difference anymore. And if I can't now will I ever?

The pounding in my head increases and I plaster my hand to my forehead. There's too much thinking, too much emotion, too much not knowing what's coming 'round the bend. I'm not comfortable with this kind of crap. Not used to it one single bit. It was so easy before to ignore it, to make it seem like it didn't matter to me. Yet it did and it does and it always will.

Christ. I'm making myself dizzy. I'm barreling my way right into a wall again, an impasse of massive proportions and there's no way around it.

"Gil?" Philip's voice pulls me back with a jerk and I lay a hand on the couch so I don't keel over. "Gil?" he says again as he sits forward. I guess I should acknowledge him.

"I . . . I need to step out for a moment," I finally say and Philip agrees. It doesn't matter if he doesn't.

"Of course. We should take a breather."

My legs are shaking, keeping my race to the door at a slow pace. Eyes straight, I slip out into the short hall and keep walking, soon to find myself standing outside the shark exhibit eerily devoid of people. That works for me. I don't need people I know to see me this way let alone strangers.

Walking inside I take comfort in the slow movements of the sharks as they ease themselves through their watery world. A sigh escapes me and I embrace the calmness that envelops me. It slipped away when I walked into that room and will again once I return but, for now, this is bliss. Hearing a squeal of excitement out in the casino, it comes to me that it would be very easy to keep walking, get in my car and drive away, pack up my stuff and move to L.A., Denver or Alaska, out in the hinterlands with no one around but Hank. Then I'd be away from everyone and everything that could possibly hurt me.

Ah, what a life.

"Shit," I mumble and lean my forehead against the cool glass. I can't run away and be at peace with myself.

"You know," comes Philip's voice as he sidles up next to me, "this won't be solved in a day."

"Why the hell not?"

Philip laughs. "I've said that many times myself."

Turning, I slide to the floor, arms braced over my knees. Philip joins me. "Did she leave?" I ask watching a hammerhead glide past.

"No. She's in this for the duration."

"That's new," I huff then sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Stop being sorry, Gil," he says. "You hurt. She hurts. All of this talking is supposed to start the healing. Communication is key."

I glance at him. "Supposed to start?"

"Well, that's what it says in all my psychology books," he deadpans then can't help but grin. I don't. His fades. "It does start the healing, Gil. If you keep everything inside it festers. Talking lets everyone know what's going on whether they like it or not."

"I know," I say, brooding over life as I know it.

"And you both have done much more than some of my other clients. Where you are now can sometimes take years."

"Oh, God," I say dropping my head into my hand.

"That won't happen here," he quickly assures me.

Years. Years of feeling like I've been ripped apart and put back together incorrectly? That would be really bad.

"So, you don't remember Sara telling you about the tape."

"No," I admit.

"Well, you weren't in a fit state at the time." He's right. I wasn't. "She saw it with Jim."

"He didn't tell me."

"Should he?"

Raising my head, I'm ready to say yes but close my mouth on the word, shaking my head instead. "I'm sure there are a lot of things he hasn't told me."

"He's a friend to you both, Gil, walking that fence very carefully, keeping you and Sara in his line of sight."

"He's a good friend."

"He says the same of you."

A lopsided grin touches my lips. Jim, the person who thought he'd let me down and yet, serves a much greater service – being the one who can get through to us both.

"I don't really want to but I keep thinking I should watch the tape. It's all a bit hazy."

"That's natural."

"Maybe," I give back staring at the floor. "But I don't like not knowing. It seems like it was a different person; someone unknown to me."

"What do you remember?"

"I wanted to hold her and tried not to then gave in. It was wrong and right all at the same time."

"Why?"

I shrug. "She left me. I was angry. But then I didn't care. I just wanted to feel her and thought this'll work." I sigh. "But I knew it would gnaw at me and I just wanted to be away." I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. "Is this working?"

"Are you upset, in turmoil, debating with yourself on whether you should run for the hills or see if you can break something?" he asks and a slight chuckle comes from me.

"So you determine your success on whether or not I break something?"

"Do you want to?" he says pointing to my cast.

I cradle it to my chest. "No! I get this off tomorrow. I don't want another one thank you very much."

"Then you've succeeded in controlling that particular monster."

I run a hand over said cast, remembering the yelling, the words, that poor painting, Hank whimpering and know I'd do anything not to have that happen again. As I've already confessed I don't like being so out of control. It's not me. Well, it's never been me before.

I feel Philip's hand on my shoulder. "I'm going back in to sit with Sara awhile. You gonna be okay out here for a bit?"

"Yeah. I won't be much longer."

"Take your time."

He stands and strides off and I lean my head back, feeling that throb moving into a pulsing ache at the base of my skull. Great. I wonder if the gift shop has something that'll make me think I feel better so I can get through the rest of this. Wishful thinking, I know, but it gets me off the floor.

The walk'll do me good.

Sara

"Did he leave?" I ask when Philip reappears.

He smiles. "No. Just getting his second wind."

"I shouldn't have brought up the tape."

"Why not?"

I look at him like he's insane. "Because he wasn't himself."

"What was he?"

I shake my head. "You heard him."

"What was he to you?" he asks again and I hesitate.

"Vulnerable," I finally answer. "I've only ever seen that a few times and it always seems to embarrass him. Now he knows I watched it all."

"And what did the tape tell you?"

I laugh a bit and fold arms across my chest. "That I'm a heartless bitch."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"So what did it tell you?"

"That he's an honest, loving man, who cares deeply about things."

"About you?" I can't answer that so keep quiet. "You know Gil told me he was worried you'd think he was a wuss. He didn't care if Jim or Catherine thought that. Only you."

I clear my throat. "I don't know why he'd think that."

"Because he couldn't soldier on like most men would in his situation."

"He's not like most men. He's very sensitive to the world around him and hasty comments and snide remarks hurt him like the rest of us. I know that and did it anyway. Why would I forget something like that?"

"Because you wanted to hurt him."

"No, no . . . Yes, I did." Admitting that rips out my heart. "How am I ever going to fix this, Philip? I see no way out for us."

"Well, as I just told Gil it's not going to happen in a day. You're both here, you're talking and you're listening, the most important part of all."

"But . . ."

"It takes time, Sara. Everything important takes time."

"But how often can I say I'm sorry before it makes a difference? Or will it ever make a difference? That's my fear, you know, that all of this, all this time and effort won't end how I want."

"And what is it you want?" he asks and I can't help but toss him an angry look.

"I want him back. I want to feel him, his touch, his all-encompassing love that healed me. I want the forever after. I need that more than either you or he will ever know. He's my life's blood. I'm, I'm . . ."

I stop, my tongue losing any control over more useless words and start crying. God, this is not what I want to do!

Philip points me to the bathroom and I hurry from the room. Once inside I decide to let them think I've gone home 'cause I'm staying here the rest of the night. That would be the best for all concerned because, as much as I wish it, there is no out. Not this time. Once trust is gone that's it, at least, in my experience. It's been years since I've spoken directly to my mother and, no matter how hard Gil tried to get me to visit her, I balked. Seeing her wouldn't change a thing so why bother.

Splashing water on my face, I glare at the sink. I don't want that to happen to us. I don't us to never speak again or have to act like we're mere acquaintances. There was so much more. We were starting a life together, a life we both held dear to our hearts. I need to fight for that. I need to make this more than two people passing in the night. I need him. I need to have him in my arms, my bed, my life. It's all I've ever wanted.

Taking a deep breath, I dry my face, thoughts moving to what I saw just moments ago - Gil still loves me. He said the words then I saw it in his eyes. I need to hang on to that, to keep that memory close. I'm not going anywhere anymore and the only thing that'll make me quit is if he tells me to go. I cringe. Please don't ever let me hear him say that.

"Not ever."

My voice echoes about the bathroom and I stare into the mirror, quickly wiping my face, determination filling me. Taking a few deep breaths, I stand tall and start back. I'll not let anyone say I skipped out. I'm seeing this to the end.

"Dr. Kane, I need you to come quickly," comes at me from down the hall and I quicken my pace.

It's a young woman, the same woman I saw at the front desk, and Philip is moving after her without question so I follow them through the shark exhibit and onto the casino floor. Now he's stopped at the gift shop and kneeling. There's someone sitting on the floor. I can't see . . . It's Gil!

My heart quickens and I move forward, trying to get a glimpse of him only to shiver when I do. He looks like he does when . . . God, he's got a migraine. It's written all over his pasty skin and, from the looks of him, it's a bad one. Damn. He'd been rubbing his neck and forehead and he had a slightly pinched look. I thought it was because of what we were saying to each other. Those are all signals and I missed all of them. Why didn't I notice that?

Bells go off on a slot machine and a woman screams, her voice hitting the high notes. It makes me flinch and I watch as Gil clutches tightly to the trash can resting in his arms.

"We've got to get him out of this noise," I urge, automatically reaching for Gil's arm and nodding to Philip to grab the other. "Excuse me," I say to the front desk girl as we pull Gil to his feet.

"Sandra."

"Sandra, would you get me some ice water and a towel and bring it back to the VIP room?" She nods and is gone.

Making our way back, we slip inside the room and sit Gil on the couch. I dim the lights, Sandra meeting me at the door with everything I'd asked for along with a bottle of water. Smiling my thanks, I dunk the towel and squeeze out the excess water then drape it over Gil's neck. He hisses but doesn't move. Hesitating only briefly, I sit close to him and run a hand in lazy circles across his back. He'll have to ask me to stop before I will.

"I'll be okay in a minute," comes at me in a soft voice.

Philip touches my shoulder and gives me a questioning look. I shake my head no.

"We're going to end this session, Gil," he whispers.

"No, I can . . ."

"No, you can't," I interrupt.

I know. I shouldn't've done that but you know what? I don't care. He can't go on like this and I won't let him no matter what. Setting down the trash can, he leans back. He's gray and sweaty and looks awful. I try not to feel guilty but it doesn't work.

"Do you have any of your meds in the car?" I quietly ask.

"No," he answers. "Forgot to put in a new batch."

I turn to Philip. "I might have something in mine."

"Well, let's get him out there then." My eyes bug out in surprise. "If you have anything or not you can take him home." My surprise turns to fear. He leans closer to my ear. "You know how to take care of him when he's like this. I don't. Think of it as a good thing."

Leaning back he raises a brow and I try to retrieve my stomach from my throat.

"We can go out the back way," Sandra whispers.

"Perfect," Philip responds then looks at Gil. "Feel up to going home?"

"Please," is the only answer that comes and, between the both of us, we get him to his feet again.

Grabbing my stuff, I follow after Sandra as Philip carefully maneuvers Gil out of the room, down the hallway and into the cool night air.

"The elevator is to your right and the stairs are next to it," Sandra explains. "I hope he feels better."

I hear Philip thank her but am intent on getting to my car which, thankfully, is on this level. Scrounging through the glove compartment before they arrive, I'm elated to find a small container tucked in the back with one pill inside. Easing Gil into the car, I hand it to him along with the water then quietly close the door.

"Call me later and let me know how he is," Philip requests before I can say anything. There's no way I'm going to get out of this now.

Nodding, I slide behind the wheel and very carefully shut the door. Starting the ignition, my hands fly immediately to the radio as it blares out.

"Sorry," I whisper. He doesn't say anything and slowly we back out and head for the exit.

The drive home is slow and quiet and torturous. Normally, I would be chattering away about something but this is neither the time nor the place. Yes, I feel incredibly awkward and, at the same time, absolutely blessed that my man is sitting next to me. Even though he's not putting two and two together right now and probably won't remember much about this ride home, I plan on saving this memory forever. It'll help in case he says goodbye at some point.

Ten minutes later, I'm leaping out of the car and racing around to open his door. Gently taking his arm and hauling him out of the seat, I rifle through his pockets for the house key. A wave of cursing rockets through me at my idiocy – if I'd kept my key we'd already be inside.

Keys found, we move ever so slowly toward his front door and I can't deny how wonderful it feels to have him leaning against me. I know. He's in pain. It's horrible to admit that that makes me happy but I already know I'm a terrible person so deal with it. Placing the key in the lock, I barely feel it settle when the door pops open and I jump, clutching Gil tightly to my side as the eyes of a stranger meet mine. He looks as stunned as I do.

"Jeez Louise," he mutters as he casts a glance at Gil. "Get in here," he says, kindly pulling on my arm, telling Hank to go get Annie.

Annie? Annie?! Shit!

"I'm Paul. Do you want me to take him?"

Paul. Fab Five Paul?

"Okay," is all I say but Gil won't let go.

"Gil!" I hear as Annie Grissom comes down the hall her eyes moving from him to me as her hand moves up and down his arm.

"It's a migraine. He collapsed at our . . . Dr. Kane asked me to bring . . . I wasn't trying . . ." I slide to a stop when she holds up a hand.

"It's okay, Sara. Take him back would you?"

"Ah . . ."

She smiles at me. Smiles. Can you believe it?

"You know how best to take care of him when he's like this. Go ahead."

"Okay." Yes, I said that again. I'm in shock okay? Annie Grissom just smiled at me.

Leading Gil down the hall, I push open the door and ease him onto the bed, my eyes automatically looking for our photo on his side table. I don't know why I did that except it was something I did every night when I came home. It's not there, the photo. My heart lurches even though I understand its absence. Tossing those thoughts from my head, I pry the trash can from his hands and replace it with the small ladybug one I gave him last year. Silly, but it please me he still has it.

"I'll get your meds. Don't move," I whisper then dash to the bathroom.

Emptying the contents of the trash can in the toilet, I retrieve his pills and some water and head back. Quietly whispering his name, I hand him the items then pull off his shoes, jacket and release his belt, sliding it off him as he lies back on the bed. His eyes close and I fight the urge to run fingers through his hair.

"Ah, do you want your mom to help you with your clothes?" I quietly ask, hating that I can't just do it myself.

To that question, he opens one eye. "Not likely." I grin. "I'm fine the way I am," he adds.

"All right." I drape a comforter over him.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"You're welcome."

My hand hovers over his arm then I slowly back away, glancing about the room to take in the feel of it and that's when I see the photograph. It's on the dresser sitting in the space left vacant when I took the shell and unicorn. Blinded by tears, I quickly leave, everything coming back in a rush. Hearing voices in the other room, I hurriedly wipe at my face then walk out to meet them head on. Running for the door is cowardly. I've done that already.

"Should I be doing anything?" Paul asks, his voice and face filled with concern.

"Cold water on a washcloth would be good. And you might want to get him out of his clothes. His sleepshirts and pants are in the second drawer of the dresser on the left. He might be sick a few more times. Other than that he just needs to sleep for as long as he can. I got his meds into him but a little late so he may still hurt when he wakes."

"I'll postpone his doctor's appointment then."

"Doctor's appointment?" I ask, my concern showing.

"He's getting his cast off tomorrow."

"Oh."

"He needs the sleep more than the ability to write," he says with a grin. Suddenly, he takes my hand. "Thanks for bringing him home, Sara."

He's either a really good actor or means it. For now I'll go with he means it. "It was the least I could do."

He holds on a bit longer then he's off down the hall and all I can do is stare after him.

"Sara," comes Annie's voice as she touches my arm and I jump.

"Ah, I should be going," I blurt out but her touch becomes a light hold.

"Would you stay awhile?" she asks.

"I'm not sure . . ."

"Please?" She smiles at me again and I find myself nodding yes. Such a glutton for punishment. "I'll get us some coffee."

Sitting on the couch, I don't look around. I'm not ready to feel the same longing for this room as I did for the bedroom or any of the other rooms. My selfish actions have already robbed me of so much. In case I'm never back here again I'll not let it rob me of my memories.

"Two sugars if I remember correctly," Annie says handing me a mug. I shouldn't wonder at what she recalls of me. She's always been very thoughtful and gracious.

"I'm sorry," rolls off my tongue before I can stop it.

"I know," she answers and I shake my head.

"How can you even look at me after everything that's happened?" Here comes that smile again along with a warm hand over mine.

"I could go on and on about life and its speed bumps or I could just say that anyone important to my son is important to me." Tears, once again, fill my eyes. "And despite everything that's happened you, Sara, are very important."

*Quote by Marilyn Peterson

Whew! They got through it! Yippee! Now what? Oh, crap. Now what? :-D (I know what now what is so don't get your knickers in a twist . . well, maybe a little twist)

For right now, I must inform you that I'm taking a month off to work on an entry for a writer's contest due in May. I must get started now to get the framework ready (the backstory is already in place), do a first draft, then reduce it all down to 4000 words. Sounds easy? It's not. As you can see from Blink I seem to have a lot of words to spew. Being concise is new to my nature and needs work.

But, if everything goes as planned, I might (might) be back early with Part 35. Once again I thank all of you for sticking with me on this journey and whenever you think I've strayed or have an idea or want to know what the heck I was thinking, drop me a review or PM. It lets me know that not only are you reading my work but enjoying it and I love that!

I'll be back as soon as I can. :-D