AN: Not sure where this came from, to be honest. I watched "Goodbye and Good Luck" the other day and was going through the lyrics of some of my favorite songs, looking for a title for another fic, and this just sort of… got stuck in my head. Post "Goodbye and Good Luck", obviously, not taking into account anything past that, so AU, I suppose (it's hard to write fic based on single episodes when you're binging!)

Title and lyrics from "New York" by Snow Patrol. It's an amazing song, I would definitely recommend it if you haven't heard it

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. Also unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine

New York

If you were here beside me, instead of in New York
If the curve of you was curved on me

The phone rings just as he's sat down on the couch and turned the TV on, and for a moment, he considers ignoring it. Statistically speaking, it's most likely either Ecklie, calling him in for a double, or Catherine, checking in.

He doesn't particularly feel up for either right now.

But even though it's been almost a week without the one call he so desperately wants, he can't help the tiny flicker of hope in his stomach that still hasn't gone out completely.

So he sighs and reaches for the phone on the table in front of him, heartrate picking up slightly at the word on the display. Unknown. Not Ecklie or Catherine, then. Not the lab. Possibly an insurance salesman, but maybe, just maybe…

Hand shaking, he flips the phone open and puts it to his ear.

"Grissom."

"Gil."

I'd tell you that I loved you, before I ever knew you
'Cause I loved the simple thought of you

For a second, he can't even form words, her voice over the line cutting off any communication between his brain and his mouth. Before he can pull himself together, she continues.

"I'm sorry." Her voice breaks on the last syllable and he shakes his head, even knowing she can't see him.

"No, Sara, no, you don't have anything to apologize for."

She snorts, the sound a little watery, but still like balm for his soul.

"Oh yeah? I can think of a couple of things…"

If our hearts are never broken, then there's no joy in the mending
There's so much this hurt can teach us both

"If anyone should apologize, it's me," he insists, pressing the phone closer to his ear, wanting to hear her breathing. "I should have realized, I could see that you weren't happy, but I thought it was the kidnapping, getting hurt. I thought you just needed time to work through it."

He should have pushed further, during the kidnapper-turned-serial-killer case, and later, when she demanded the West case, part two, but he hadn't. He might never forgive himself for that.

"I was happy," she insists. "You make me so, so happy. I just… I couldn't be there anymore. I know it doesn't make sense, I don't even understand it, but it had nothing to do with you. Please, never think that. If anything, you're the only reason I stayed as long as I did."

He lets out a long breath, something unknotting slightly in his chest. "Where are you?" he asks, continuing when she doesn't say anything for a long moment. "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me if you… if you don't want me to know."

"No, that's not… I honestly had no idea where I was going, or I would have told you before I left." She takes a deep breath. "I'm in New York."

Though there's distance and there's silence, your words have never left me,
They're the prayer that I say every day

It's not the last place he would have expected, but it's nowhere near the top of the list either.

She's on the other side of the country. Not as far from Vegas as you can get without leaving the continental US, but pretty close.

"My old college roommate offered to let me stay with her for a while," she continues when he doesn't say anything. "It was as good a place as any."

"What are you going to do there?" he asks.

"I haven't gotten that far yet." The line is silent for another long moment. "I don't even know if I'm staying, but I don't have anywhere else to go if I don't, so…"

It takes everything in him to push down the urge to tell her that she does have somewhere to go.

"I would offer to put in a good word with the local lab, but that's probably counterproductive," he says, only in part to try to get her to confirm that it was the job she left, and not him.

She chuckles a little. "Yeah, I think I'm done with death for a while."

Come on, come out, come here, come here
Come on, come out, come here, come here
Come on, come out, come here, come here
Come on, come out, come here, come here

"If I can help you figure something out, just say the word," he offers. "Please."

"I think I need to… figure some other stuff out first," she replies, and he knows she's not trying to be evasive or brush him off, but that's still how it feels. "But you've always been my favorite sounding board, so I'll get back to you about that."

He's not sure it's offered as an olive branch, but he takes it.

"Whenever you're ready."

The long neon nights and the eek of the ocean
And the fire that was starting to spark

"How's Hank?" she asks after another long silence.

"He's fine," he assures her. "He misses you." I miss you.

It feels like cheating, and when she draws in a shaky breath, he curses himself silently.

"What am I doing?" She sounds so lost and he hates everyone who has ever hurt her with a vengeance. Himself included. "Messing up my whole life, our life, for what?"

He has to take a moment, because he thinks that if he says the right – or wrong – thing, she would come back. But it wouldn't be the right thing for her, not yet.

It's never been more difficult or painful to be unselfish.

I miss it all, from the love to the lightning
And the lack of it snaps me in two

"You said it yourself," he reminds her gently, every single word of her letter etched forever in his mind. "You need to… bury your ghosts."

"Yeah."

He waits for a moment, expecting her to continue, but she doesn't. "I'm not quite sure what ghosts you might find in New York, though."

Like he had hoped, it makes her laugh, even if it's more a loud exhalation of breath.

"No, that's… I'm pretty sure I know what I need to do, I'm just putting it off for a while."

"Your mother?"

If you were here beside me, instead of in New York
In the arms you said you'd never leave

She sighs, but it's more thoughtful than tired or sad, he thinks. Hopes.

"Yeah. You know she's been… trying to reconnect, since she got out."

He does. The notice that Laura Sidle had been released arrived about six months ago, and the first letter a few days later. He knows there have been more since then. In fact, he found another one in the mailbox just yesterday. As far as he knows, Sara hasn't read any of them. She threw the first one in the trash after no more than a quick glance, but he salvaged it and tucked it away in one of his desk drawers, thinking she might change her mind eventually and regret throwing it out. They didn't talk about it, but he noted that more letters appeared along the first one over the next few months, all unopened.

They were gone when he went to put the last addition in the drawer, and he surmised that Sara must have taken them with her.

Looking back, he should have tried harder to broach the subject. He wishes he had.

There are a lot of things he wishes he'd done.

I'd tell you that it's simple and it was only ever thus
There is nowhere else that I belong

"She's in some half-way house in San Francisco," Sara continues. "So I guess that's the next logical step, I just… need to work up some courage, maybe?"

"I don't blame you."

"I, um… I called her," she admits after a moment. "After I got here, I… the first night, I had one of my old nightmares and I couldn't… I couldn't talk to you, so I called her."

Something glows white hot deep inside him for a brief moment, and he has to grind his teeth together to not lash out at her. He can't scare her off, not now, not when she's finally opening up.

"What did she say?" he asks when he's sure he has his voice under control again.

"That she was glad I called. And that she understood if I never wanted to see her again, which…"

"Do you?" he asks when she trails off.

Come on, come out, come here, come here
Come on, come out, come here, come here
Come on, come out, come here, come here
Come on, come out, come here, come here

"No. Yes." She sighs. "I have no idea what I want, but I think I need to. See her. Ever since the trial, I've pretty much been pretending that she's dead too, you know? But she's not, and I… I feel like I owe her."

"You don't owe her anything," he says. "If that's what you feel you need to do for you, to be able to move on and put it behind you, then you should, but not out of any kind of obligation."

"Aren't you supposed to be a Catholic?" she asks, sounding amused. "I thought that was all about forgiveness."

"Lapsed," he reminds her. "But even if I wasn't, forgiveness isn't… it's for you, not for her."

She hums. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive," he replies immediately, truthfully, even though he can understand if that's hard for her to believe.

There's a faint sound over the line, he thinks it's a sob, and then her voice again. "I love you."

"I love you."

"I should probably let you go, you must have just gotten home, you need to sleep."

The long neon nights and the eek of the ocean,
And the fire that was starting to spark

"Where are you calling from?" he asks, not ready to hang up yet. It's not like he's slept much in the last few days, anyway. "It said unknown, I..."

"Emma's landline." She pauses, lets out a humorless laugh. "I wasn't sure you'd pick up, if you saw that it was me…"

"Of course I would have. I don't care if it's been a week or a year or a decade, I'll always be here when you need me. Always."

He thinks he hears her sniffle a little over the line, but can't be sure.

"Do you think you could…" she starts after a moment, cutting herself off, as if afraid to ask him for something.

"Anything," he assures her.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask," she says, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Doesn't matter. Anything," he repeats.

"What if I asked you to kill someone?" She sounds curious.

"I do know how to get rid of a body."

I miss it all from the love to the lightning
And the lack of it snaps me in two

Her quiet laugh washes over him, and he closes his eyes, reveling in the sound, committing it to memory. Just in case.

"Nothing quite that serious." She pauses again, and this time he doesn't push, just listens to her breaths. One. Two. Three. "Could you come here?"

He sits up straight, suddenly completely alert.

"To New York?" It's not like she could mean something else, but he has to make sure.

"Yeah, just… you have some vacation time saved up, right?"

"Last time Conrad tried to get me to take some of it, seventy-four days. I'm sure he'd throw a party if I actually asked for a vacation."

"Would you? I know I… I don't have any right to…"

Just give me a sign, there's an end and a beginning
To the quiet chaos driving me mad

"Stop," he interrupts her. "If you want me there, I'll be there, OK?"

"Thank you."

"I'll talk to Conrad tomorrow. Did you have any particular time in mind?" he asks, as if they're planning a long weekend or something.

"Not really, but… as soon as you can?"

It shouldn't make a thrill run through him, considering it's only been five days since she left without a word, but it does.

"I have court on Monday, maybe Tuesday," he muses, going through his schedule in his mind. "I don't think it should be any problem to take a week or two off after that. However long you want."

"Maybe start with two?"

The long neon nights and the want of the ocean
And the fire that is starting to go out

The fear that he's lost her forever eases a little every time her number appears on his phone, every time she tells him she loves him, but it's not until she meets him at Newark, despite him insisting that he's perfectly capable of taking a cab into the city on his own, promptly throws herself in his arms and doesn't let go for a good five minutes, that it disappears entirely.