Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I'm posting this quickly before work because I have finals all through the middle of the day, so if I don't do it now, you guys would have to wait until tonight. :) Fanfiction was being mean last night.

Edge--this is the 'big event' btw. :)

Edit: I swore I put a line between the two perspectives. But apparently not. Sorry if that was confusing. :(

Chapter Sixty Four:

I convinced myself that I was just fine.

It was the first time in my life I had allowed myself to be truly vulnerable… to let myself risk everything to be with someone. And while I knew that had our interactions occurred in different circumstances, I might not have made the same choices… the fact of the matter was that I had. I had gone out on a limb, I had trusted her without the ability to check the evidence and be certain she wasn't playing me for a fool… I had loved her.

So really, it was my pride hurting. Gruesome Grissom reduced a heartsick fool by a thin little woman he'd only spent a few weeks in person with.

She wouldn't stop calling. First it was just my cell and home phones… I changed my home number, and resorted to ignoring her calls and deleting her messages. The emails came next, but when a day or so passed and I hadn't responded, she stopped.—I hadn't even read them. They were promptly deleted. I wasn't going to let her drag me back into a situation that most men would not have endured even if she had been faithful… and I knew she had the ability to drag me back. No other woman had made me act so completely idiotically. It was better not to give myself the opportunity to be swayed.

Then she called Catherine, at the lab. I worried that Catherine would take her side… but my worry was unfounded. Although Catherine had turned a blind eye to Sara's infidelity when it came to me, she was a woman who'd been burned—she didn't care about Jace, but seeing it happen to me was another story… The first time Sara called, Catherine ripped her a new one—I caught the tail end of it. All the other times, Catherine followed my example—delete the message, ignore the call, delete the email. Finally, I started receiving letters. I would open them, but not read them, to be certain they didn't contain my grandmother's ring—I wasn't going to ask for it back because the plan was to avoid speaking to her again entirely, but if she'd sent it back, I wasn't going to throw it away either—and to see if she'd sent pictures of Ayla.

I still loved the daughter, despite hating the mother.

I kept track of her age… she'd been four months when Sara and I stopped talking. I thought of her every day, looked up in the stacks of baby books I had what she would be doing in each month, wondering if she had rolled over yet… if she could sit up by herself… if she was crawling, or walking. I mean, I knew ten months was very young for that, but it had happened. I wondered what her first word had been, and how many she could say… which toys were her favorite and which foods she liked or hated and if her eyes were still blue or if they'd changed to brown.

I imagined her looking very much like Sara, and though this inspired a bittersweet feeling, I was convinced that she was the most beautiful little girl in the world.

I started thinking about sending her a birthday present, but the incessant calls from Sara had finally slowed down. …She still called me, once at day, at seven o'clock, like clockwork… but that was it. Eventually, I knew, she would give up… she would let herself be content in the life she had with Jace, and Ayla would grow up with two parents who, despite their other faults, obviously loved her.

I forced myself to be content with it—until a day in mid-June, about a month before Ayla's first birthday, when Sara did something she never did. She called the lab, but she did not ask for me—she simply left a message for me with Judy, asking that if I refused to read it, that Judy personally relay the information, because it was urgent. I did not, in fact, look at the message. I asked who is was from and she responded, "A woman named Sara," and I tossed the note into the garbage, unread. Judy cleared her throat, more than a little uncertain. "…She said… if you did that… I was supposed to tell you anyway."

I sighed in frustration. "Really, Judy, thank you for the zeal you have for your job, but I don't want to—"

"It's Ayla."

Two words, and my entire world shifted.

I spiraled out of control.

I hate to admit it, but Jace probably saved me… I had no idea how close I was to self-destruction until he dragged me to the doctor, insisting they look at me and determine if I had post-partum depression or psychosis. With a weary groan, I informed him that despite his knowledge of my family history of mental illness, he clearly didn't know much about mental illness in general… I was not psychotic.

But I was depressed—I was a master of hiding things from shrinks, but even I couldn't hide this. Gil's refusal to talk to me or even listen had taken its toll on me. I'd stopped going to work and, understandably, been fired. I'd stopped playing with Ayla—I went through the motions of taking care of her, and held her close to me constantly, terrified that I was going to lose her, but I didn't engage her… not even peek-a-boo.

I fought them on it—I didn't want to be medicated, and I most certainly didn't want to go to counseling. As I said, I've had my share of time with shrinks… I wasn't a fan. But when Jace pointed out that my mental illness, confirmed at this point, could affect my ability to raise Ayla… could lead someone to declare me an unfit parent… I gave in.

I think it's already clear that I would give up anything and everything I had and then some for Ayla… and so I did.

Months later, of course, I realize how bad I was… how much better I got, just in the first month. I realized how little Ayla had smiled, in those days, and desperately worried if I had not negatively affected her in some way already. Slowly but surely, though, I came out of myself. I did little things… I took Ayla for a walk. I cooked a real supper for myself and Jace while she was munching on Fruit Puffs. I cleaned the house, started reading forensics magazines again, slept through the night and woke up rested.

I think Jace expected that now that Gil was out of my life, and I was getting over my issues, eventually I would step back into the family mold he wanted. And while I was grateful that he'd seen how desperate I was for help and intervened on my behalf, that did not mean that I was willing to pretend that 'good enough' could ever be enough anymore. I was quieter, despite feeling like I had rejoined the living, and Jace and I rarely spoke. There was no animosity between us, at least not in words, because I knew that despite him causing me to lose Gil, this event being the catalyst of my break down, I had been headed in that direction anyway. He had saved my life by forcing me to get help, so I could restrain my anger for him.

Which is not to say that I was giving up… Once I was functioning again, I had a meeting with my former boss and explained what had happened and what I'd been going through, to an extent. I was hired back, on probation, and started saving my money. I might not want to be constantly fighting with him, but when I had the money, I was going to take Ayla and run. I didn't know where, and knowing how Jace's considerable income translated into considerable influence, I wasn't sure how… but I was going to.

In my more foolish daydreams, I thought we'd go to Puerto Ayora and I would work at the Research Center. I had this picture in my head of Ayla looking at Lonesome George the way most children looked at the family dog… and this whimsical fantasy that Gil would come to the center, sometime in the future, and see me there… see Ayla… and be so overcome with love once again that all would be forgiven, before I could even explain.

In the only slightly foolish dreams, I saw myself flying to Vegas to explain before convincing him to run away with me… but logically, I knew that didn't work.

To avoid the courts that could take her from me, I'd need to leave the country. To be untrackable once out of the country, I'd need to change our names. In order to do so without creating a paper trail, I would have to be prepared… and probably find a few people willing to break a few laws to help me. I mean, worst case scenario, I figured I'd hop a plane to somewhere in Europe, and once there, pay for transportation in cash, losing myself somewhere obscure and hopefully English-speaking, though I was not opposed to learning French or Italian. The problem was that, sooner or later, you had to give someone your name… but we'd cross that bridge when we came to it.

The first time I spoke to Jace in a unnecessary capacity was in the beginning of May—there was a massive oil spill off the coast of Costa Rica and the projections of damage to the environment and wildlife were devastating, without even considering the lost income for people who depended on tourism and fishing etc. to bring food home to their children. I wasn't going to mention it—it would just cause another fight, after all—but when they mentioned the name of the oil company, it struck a nerve.

"…Isn't that the company Murdoch and Mercer had a deal with?"

He glanced up from his supper to the small kitchen TV I had turned towards the table with the news on. He struggled to hear it because Ayla was banging her spoon on her highchair, but when they said the name again, he raised his eyebrows in a confusing expression—it seemed like half-concern and half-relief. The relief I could understand, so I went with that one.

"…Aren't you glad you're not involved with all of that anymore?"

He lowered his eyebrows this time, almost forming a frown. "Yes, I am. …I don't envy anyone involved in that."

"Think of all the damage it's going to do… all of the things we saw in Costa Rica that stupid incidents like this could prevent Ayla from ever getting to see…"

"I didn't see much of Costa Rica," he said, a little glumly, a little snidely. I looked at my plate, not because I was ashamed of my actions, but because he'd made me think of Gil again, and it hurt. I still called him once a night, every night, but other than that, I tried to keep him out of my mind. It didn't do me any good to dwell. If he answered, I would try to explain… but at this point, I really didn't expect him to. I would just keep calling, forever if I had to.

"…That oil company has a terrible safety record. I mean, usually their spills aren't this bad, but I guarantee you they weren't taking every necessary precaution to avoid this. …I can't believe Costa Rica would let them drill so close."

He stood up then, abruptly, having eaten less than half his meal. He moved to empty his plate and put it in the dishwasher, and then gave me an uncertain smile. "I, uh… didn't sleep very well, last night. I think I'm gonna head to bed early."

"…Okay." I frowned, watching him go, thinking that he was hiding something if he was leaving the first time I'd openly conversed with him in months and months… but what? Why would he be worried about the dealings of a company he no longer worked for?

It troubled me, but in the next moment Ayla lifted a spoonful of her applesauce into her hair, and I let the thought go—I would worry about it later.

On a night in the middle of June, I laid Ayla down in her crib, in her own room now that she was sleeping through the night, and headed to my own. I felt troubled… on edge. I couldn't sleep for the longest time, but eventually drifted to sleep around midnight… I woke with a start at four a.m. in a blind panic and without knowing why I felt this way, I just knew I had to get to my Ayla. I had to make sure she was okay before I could calm the pounding in my heart.

I hurried into her room, but I knew without looking into her crib that she was gone—the window had been open, her blanket slung over the side of the crib, a large stuffed turtle toy that she carried everywhere on the floor instead of resting on the little table beside her crib with her lamp. Still, I looked… I ran to the crib, clutched the rails, and confirmed my worst fear—Ayla was gone.

I ran into Jace's room, my desperate hope that she was in there with him, or that he was gone too… I would rather he take her from me than some stranger who wanted her for god knew what reason. Maybe he'd discovered my secret account and attempted to beat me to the punch. Maybe he—was sleeping soundly in his bed.

I let out a wail at the sight of him and was instantly at his side, shaking him and plucking his phone from the nightstand, frantically calling 911 and shouting to him and the operator at the same time that my baby was gone. My baby, my whole world, had been taken from me and I would die if anything happened to her.

By five am the house was filled with people, Jace and I on the pavement outside out home, shivering in the cool of the early morning, wearing flip flops and bathrobes over our pajamas, while a less than empathetic detective questioned us until my head was spinning. He suspected us, which was fine—I knew how these things worked—but upsetting me further wasn't going to get him accurate information. Finally, I just turned to Jace in the middle of the man's questions, fire burning in my eyes—I knew what I had to do if I wanted my baby girl back.

"I'm calling Gil to help."

His eyes widened in surprise. "…Sara, I'm sure they have it under control."

"…He's the best criminalist in the country and he loved her as much as either of us did… and you don't want him here, helping?"

The pause was infinitesimal, and then he handed me his cell phone without argument. I turned from the detective in irritation, calling information. "Las Vegas, Nevada." When the automated system gave me a real person, I steeled myself… I had to do this right, if I even wanted him to know what was going on. The only thing I could think was that I had to get someone who didn't know about me to pass on a message that he could understand. "Crime Lab, please."