The subject of what had been said that night bubbled away in the background for the next few days, even though the group steadfastly refused to talk about it, other than a few muttered comments of dissent. Even Grissom – unusually – was quick to dismiss it, stating firmly to Sara in bed that they would do things at their own pace, and in their own time, and that everybody else would have to deal with it. He was backed in this view by most of the group – especially by a furious Nick and Catherine – and although Warrick had an odd, knowing look in his eye, and Sara felt an inner discomfort that their families' concerns were only logical, she did not dare voice it. The others were not ready.
They stayed busy for the next week. Sara and Grissom began to build their house, the construction workers laying down the foundations, and Sara transferred her mother from the hospital in San Francisco to a private facility in Las Vegas. The facility was classy yet slightly expensive, but Sara managed it with another financial loan from Catherine, who insisted upon paying. Sara felt only slightly uncomfortable about accepting the loan – Catherine flatly insisted that they had all agreed they were family, and that if they were family then she had a right and a duty to help, and it was difficult to argue with. Catherine had a point, too, that it was the least of their problems, and there was more than a little truth to that. Sara nevertheless insisted that she would repay her – once they were on their feet – even though she had no idea yet when that would be.
The movement however did spark Grissom into reviewing his career plans. He felt firmly that he should be the one to support his family, and that any reliance on Catherine had to be temporary, generous as she was. To that end he resumed his efforts to re-establish contacts within the academic world, intending to sound out people about opportunities to do some guest lectures, and when one of his contacts passed through Las Vegas the following week, he was quick to set up a dinner. Sara had vivid memories of the last time he had gone out for a work dinner – when the protestors had stormed Dianne's property, and she had subsequently landed herself in hospital – but brushed the memory aside. She assured Grissom she would be fine, that it was only a few hours, and settled down for a quiet evening by herself.
It started out well. She had dinner, watched some TV, and was just starting to unwind when she heard a knock at the door. It was still evening, just around 8:00pm, and when she answered it she found Greg standing there, looking a bit nervous, but friendly.
"I was passing," he said, eyeing her as if unsure if his visit was welcome. "I saw your light on."
"Come in," she said.
She greeted him with a partial hug and waved him in, and they made small talk for a while, talking about his job, and the case that had brought him to the area. She made him a late-night coffee, but it was shortly after, when they were making conversation at the kitchen table, that he accidentally walked her into a proverbial minefield.
"You on your own tonight?" he asked, casting his eye around the empty house.
"Grissom's at a dinner," she declared, comfortably. "He's trying to re-establish contacts in entomology. The others have gone home."
"Oh. I thought you spent all your time together."
The question was innocent, but curious.
"Most of it," she agreed.
"I can stay if you want," he offered.
"I don't need a babysitter," she said, and when she heard the affronted tone of her voice, she immediately tried to soften it with a smile. "I can take care of myself." She paused. "But thanks."
"You're welcome."
He asked for the bathroom then, and after directing him to it, Sara hung around in the living room, waiting. It was getting late now, the sun had long set, and there was only a lamp on in the living room, casting a soft, quiet glow from the corner. But it was then, in that moment of rare quiet that his words came back to her, and that she felt the quiet sense of loneliness in the room for the first time. She was miles from anyone, miles from help, and the isolation registered in her mind – and in her senses – for the first time.
She wandered to the window, peering out at the dark, extensive desert, but there was no movement. No mirages, no sign of danger. And yet the loneliness of the world beyond was disconcerting. She stared at it a moment, a familiar ripple of unsettled anxiety in her chest, before she heard Greg emerge behind her.
"Sara?"
She sensed him watching her.
"You okay?"
She turned back.
"I'm fine," she replied.
She gave a tight smile, and moved past him, suddenly needing to move, to get away from the lonely vista outside the window. She straightened a few cushions, tidied a throw blanket that someone had left strewn there, and generally kept her hands busy, trying to stifle the awful writing of snakes in her chest. But it was no good. They slipped and slid, her pulse increased, and it was too much.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, watching as she paused, and took a breath.
She did not reply. She did not know how. Greg had not been there, and did not understand it. Suddenly she missed the others.
"Are you sick?"
"I'm good," she replied.
She gave another tight smile, but slid down with a steadying hand on the armrest onto the sofa, and put her hands over her face. It could have passed for fatigue, but through her fingers she sensed Greg still watching, puzzled.
"Are you tired?" he queried. He paused, then added, "Want me to go?"
"No, it's okay," she said, but she kept one hand over her eyes. "I just need a second."
He had no idea what was going on – she knew that – but it was at that fateful moment that she heard a distant clatter of keys, and then the squeak as the front door opened to the kitchen. She heard her four friends noisily enter, shuffling in with overnight bags, and in a second they were there, in the archway to the kitchen. They pulled up short, as they spotted Greg there. Evidently they had not expected him.
"Hey," Nick said, evidently surprised.
"Greg," Warrick greeted, equally stunned.
"I was in the neighborhood," Greg said, with a hesitant smile. It was almost as if he was not sure how he was going to be received.
"What neighborhood?" Sofia asked. It was solid desert outside, but Greg ignored her.
"You checking up on us?" Catherine asked, with a knowing, cheeky smile that was her trademark.
"Just seeing how you're doing," Greg replied.
"Well, we're good," Nick said. "We're actually –"
But he stopped short.
"Sara?" he said. His voice was concerned now. "You okay?"
Immediately the mood in the room changed. Through her fingers, Sara sensed the others move, and Catherine slid her overnight bag from her shoulder before carefully moving over. Her hand made contact with Sara's shoulder.
"What's the matter?"
Sara didn't answer, but she held up a finger, indicating for them to just give her a minute, and Greg endeavoured to answer for her.
"I think she's sick," he explained, on edge. "She went all pale …"
"It's an anxiety attack," Catherine concluded, quietly.
She had peered her up and down, and now sat beside her. She slipped an arm around Sara's shoulders, her hand roving in a familiar pattern up and down her back, and Sara took a long, slow breath, determined to get it under control.
"It's okay," Catherine said, softly. "Just focus on your breathing."
Sara did, and had it largely under control, but as she worked to calm down she heard Warrick's next remark.
"What were you talking about?" he asked Greg. "Did you ask her what happened?"
"No," Greg said, immediately defensive. "No, I didn't. We talked about work, I asked where you were …"
"Come into the kitchen," Sofia said. "Give her a minute."
She heard Warrick lead him away.
"Is she okay?" Greg asked, as their voices retreated.
"She'll be fine," he replied. "It happens from time to time. She'll be okay."
"I didn't mean to upset her …"
"I know, man. Don't worry about it."
Their voices retreated until Sara couldn't make out what they were saying, and she sensed Nick and Sofia creep closer. They sat opposite her on the coffee table, knees almost touching hers, and looked at her with sympathy.
"It's okay," Nick said, at ease. "You're safe."
"We're here," Sofia said, soothing.
Sara took another few slow, steadying breaths, and then let her fingers finally fall, satisfied that Greg was now gone – somewhere on the other side of the house. She looked at them, and had no qualms being honest.
"That remark he made," she said. "About being alone – asking where you guys were – it just made me realise for the first time that –"
"- That you were alone here?" Nick asked, finishing the sentence for her, with complete understanding. "That you were here by yourself for the first time? Since our return?"
"I guess," Sara said.
She had not even thought about it before, but now realised that in the two and half months since they had first made it back, she had never been alone. There had always been Grissom there, or one of the others, and she had never had to be in any house by herself – or hear the deafening silence. It was dangerous to be alone with her own thoughts.
"It's odd," she confessed.
"It's completely normal," Sofia corrected, also understanding. "Considering what we've been through."
"I think there's a sense of safety," Nick confessed, "that comes from being together. A sense of security, of knowing that no matter what happens, we'll be okay."
"Yeah," Sara agreed.
"It's okay to find being by yourself terrifying," Catherine added, her hand still stroking Sara's back.
"It's more disconcerting than terrifying," Sara mused.
"Then you're tougher than us," Nick said. "I don't mind saying it."
"Tough?" Sara asked, laughing. "I just had a panic attack because I was by myself. That's not tough, it's more like a child, or a damsel in distress."
Nick actually laughed.
"I would never paint you as a damsel in distress," he said, grinning as if he found the mere thought amusing. "You're hardly that, Sara."
"You're tougher than you think," Sofia said.
"If I was tough I'd be okay with this," she argued.
"You are okay with it," Sofia said. "You've coped with this better than the rest of us. Since we returned. You don't even seem fazed."
"This is your first panic attack in weeks," Catherine said. "Since we returned."
"Except that one where PD keep trying to get your shirt off, and who can blame you for that?" Nick added. "Those perverts can leave you alone."
"They're not perverts," Sara said, feeling a residual loyalty to their CSI colleagues who had, after all, just been doing their job – or trying to.
"Well you know what I mean," Nick argued. "I think you're a bit hard on yourself. You waver for the first time, and you think you're weak? The rest of us can barely sleep. We see things in our dreams. Nightmares, flashbacks. And I don't know about everyone else, but I'll always be looking over my shoulder. Everywhere I go."
"That's normal for what you've been through," Sara assured.
"I don't even like being in my own house," Catherine argued.
"That'll heal," Sara said.
"You're missing the point."
"What is the point?"
She had lost track of where they were heading.
"The point is," Nick said, "that it's okay to want to be together. Despite what Dianne and Jim say. And you're a bit hard on yourself. You expect to handle this perfectly, with barely a mis-step, and that's not how it works. You expect to handle looking after us, dealing with your mother and her situation, caring for Grissom, plus everything you've been through, both in the past and present … just stop being so hard on yourself. You're doing great. Okay?"
She did not reply, but nodded. She reached out and touched his knee briefly, in gratitude and solidarity. She squeezed Sofia's hand on the way back.
"Thanks," she said.
"The only thing we do need to talk about is how you handle this," Catherine advised, finally getting to the point.
"How's that?" Sara asked.
"Well you need to tell us for a start," Nick said. "Not rely on us to find out by other means. If you feel this coming on, where you can't breathe, you need to grab one of us. Straightaway."
"There's no shame in it," Sofia added.
"Just grab my hand," Catherine said. "You don't even have to say anything."
"If it makes you feel better," Sara said, agreeing.
"If it makes us feel better?" Nick repeated, looking amused.
"I love you guys, but you're over-reacting a little," Sara argued. "I can handle it."
"Well, great," Nick said. "But in the meantime, stop being stubborn and just grab us, okay? Quit the heroics."
"You don't have to be the strong one all the time," Sofia said, blue eyes looking into her. "We can take turns."
"We do take turns," Sara said. "We'll get through this together."
"Okay," Nick said. "Then let's agree to that, okay?" He reached forward and clutched her knee. "Now the night's young. What do you say we all go get a drink? Celebrate."
"Celebrate what?" Sofia asked, confused.
"Life," he said, joyfully as he stood. "Being alive. C'mon. Let's go."
Thanks so much to everyone who is reading and who left reviews - I really appreciate it. :)
