A/N: I wasn't planning on following up on IDaD, but I just couldn't let it go when Grissom sounded like such a rat bastard from Sara's point of view. Plus, I got desperate e-mails from a fan or two begging me to tell them it wasn't so (yeeeah you know who you are). Not that this chapter is exactly happy pink bunnies or anything, but it leaves the issue more open-ended.
Part II: Two Weeks Later
Sara's gone. She's gone, and I didn't know. She's gone, and she didn't tell me. I didn't know how much she really hated me until tonight. I just . . . didn't know. Maybe it's poetic justice. I left her once with no warning, and now she's done the same to me.
We've never discussed that summer. I have no idea how my desertion affected her or what she thought. As far as I know, she's never spoken of it to anyone, even her closest friends and family. At least I'm not alone in being shut out, but that doesn't make me feel the slightest bit better.
I'm in shock right now. She must hate me. She wouldn't allow Ecklie and Mobley to say a word to me until her flight to Miami was off the ground. In case I decided to come after her, I guess, and I just might have. She hardly spoke to me in the past two weeks, and I guess now I know why – escape was the only thing on her mind.
I feel so lost. One of the few constants in my life has been knowing that I once had the love of the most perfect woman I've ever met, but I can no longer depend on that thought. Wherever she is, she has no feelings left for me. Well no, that's not true. She feels indifference, anger, and fear. I didn't know how much I hurt her that summer. I didn't know!
I said, "Hello I think I'm broken."
And though I was only jokin'
It took me by surprise when you agreed.
I was tryin' to be clever
But for the life of me I never
Would have guessed how far the simple truth would lead.
You knew all my lines. You knew all my tricks.
You knew how to heal that pain no medicine can fix.
That was the summer I was at Harvard, ecstatic that I'd found such an amazing teaching position. My first teaching experience in academia was that entomology class that she took. I suppose I was as starry-eyed as Sara was, in some ways.
Her face captivated me immediately. What you notice first about Sara Sidle when you meet her is that she's absolutely beautiful. Drop-dead gorgeous. Only later do you find out that much more of her beauty comes from within. I was no exception to that weak-kneed effect that she seemed to have on every male around. The girl in the front row was beautiful, but I was her teacher. It made me feel like a lecher to watch her during class, but I couldn't resist.
I watched her, and a few times I caught her watching me. Our eyes would meet, then quickly shift away as we tried to pretend that we'd been looking at anything but each other. I was hooked, but I was still fighting it. The girl was fifteen years younger than me, and fifteen years is a lifetime. It would be wrong to take advantage of one of my students, especially one so young. She was barely old enough to drink the summer I met Sara Sidle.
I buckled, finally. When I think back, I realize that it was almost unavoidable. We were drawn to each other by a force stronger than either of us. So one morning I gathered up every bit of courage I had in my body and spoke to her. The questions I asked her were just an excuse to speak to the beautiful girl in the front row, but when that beautiful girl opened her mouth and began relaying all the correct answers without parroting back what I'd said, she stopped being "the beautiful girl" and became Sara Sidle.
We talked for nearly an hour that first day, and it was obvious that there was a spark between us. I think I was much more surprised by it than she was. There I was, thirty-six years old and a man no woman would date, let alone marry, and a beautiful twenty-one year old was looking at me like I was a god.
I didn't ask her on a date that day. Conversation was acceptable, I told myself, but dating was not. I didn't speak as innocently as I had hoped I would, though, and I know that at least twice I dropped hints about a dinner involving her and me. Each time, her eyebrows rose and fell quickly and I could tell she was trying to absorb and interpret what I'd just said.
I fought it for two more weeks, but I lost. I threw all my virtuous intentions out the window and dove into a relationship with Sara. She was perfect, absolutely perfect. A brilliant mind, an amazing body, and a gentle soul. And she wasn't afraid of my bugs, either. You'd think it can't get much better than that, but it did. Because she wasn't just those things to me anymore. Sara couldn't – and still can't – be summed up so simply in words.
She understood me like no one ever had, and I like to think that I understood her just as well. Often, we didn't need to speak to communicate. It was almost like we could read each other's minds. How often in your life can you expect to find someone who sees you as clearly as Sara saw me? Well I don't know about you, but I've never found someone who can even hold a candle to her.
Gee, can you tell I was head over heels for her? The months I spent with her were, quite simply, the happiest time of my life. I'd met my match.
There were problems, of course. Though the age difference itself didn't bother us, we came from different generations. Sara wanted to go barhopping while I would rather have stayed at home and talked to her. We had some great conversations during those four months mainly because I usually won our arguments about what to do. Very few people on Sara's end knew that she was dating me, and I certainly didn't share the secret with any of my colleagues. The idea of us being found out and Sara suffering because of it was never far from my mind. I always won the "going out" arguments, I think, because she was completely infatuated with me. I knew it then and I know it now, and I still feel like I abused her affections when I won those fights.
And I bless the day I met you.
And I thank God that he let you
Lay beside me for a moment that lives on.
And the good news is I'm better for the time we spent together.
And the bad news is you're gone.
And then I left. Sara was getting serious about me by the end of the summer, and not only was I scared out of my wits, but I was sure that she didn't really love me, Gil Grissom. I thought she loved her idea of what I was, and she loved dating someone with a brain.
So while she was away that last week, I resigned my teaching position, packed up my life, wrote her a letter, and shipped off to California. I tried to make her understand in that letter; I tried to explain that I was doing this for her. I didn't tell her where I was going. Sara needed time to forget me, and I had to allow her that in the only way I knew.
Even as I sat on the plane, I couldn't believe what I'd done. I'd thrown away the best thing that ever happened to me. My reasons were honorable, I kept telling myself. I wanted Sara's happiness, and I wanted her to be able to find that happiness unencumbered by an old man tagging along after her.
Like I said earlier, her love was a constant in my life. Flying away from her, I took comfort in the fact that she loved me and that I was doing this for her. It sounds melodramatic, but I believe that the course of the rest of my life, post-Sara, has been guided by what I learned from her.
What I said in that note to her was true: I will never, ever regret the summer I spent with her. I could never trade those memories, even in exchange for my own eternal happiness. They were memories given to me by an angel who I flew away from, and who has now flown away from me.
Looking back it's still surprising
I was sinking, you were rising.
With a look you caught me in mid-air.
Now I know God has his reasons.
But sometimes it's hard to see them
When I awake and find that you're not there.
When I picked up the phone seven years later, I couldn't believe what I was doing. I knew Sara was in San Francisco – you'd better believe that I tracked her success over the years and took bittersweet joy in knowing that she was doing better without me – but I had never thought to contact her again. When the crisis in Las Vegas descended, though, there was only one name in my mind, and I followed that name even though I knew where it would lead me.
I was a mess. Warrick, who is like a son to me, was in deep trouble and needed my comfort and support. Holly Gribbs was lying in the hospital in a coma, on the edge of death. I was close to losing two of my CSIs in one fell swoop and was expected to solve and investigate their cases. What I really wanted to do was hide in my townhouse and try to make it all go away.
It was my responsibility, though, and I shouldered it, albeit unwillingly. I called Sara and asked her to come. I didn't know what she would say when I called her, and all I could think to say to her was that I needed her. She must have heard the desperation in my voice when I first spoke, because she spoke only of my problems, concern evident in her voice. "What's wrong, Gil?" I wanted to cry when I heard that soft, concerned voice, but I held it back and explained to her that my lab was sinking fast. That I was sinking fast.
And Sara came. She left a wonderful position in California for an indeterminate amount of time because I called, and she put her heart into the work I asked her to do. Neither of us said a word about that summer, and Sara went about her business with professionalism.
I wish that just once she had looked me straight in the eye, but she seemed unable to. Her voice was brisk when we spoke, and when I tried to get closer to her she always pulled away.
With all that hanging in the air, she still stayed. I begged her to stay in Las Vegas and work at my lab, and she did. Within three days, she had moved her life from San Francisco to here.
She wasn't the Sara I had known. I don't know whether I was responsible for the change in her, but I hope I wasn't the one who made her so sober, so reticent, so angry at life. She was all those things when she moved to Las Vegas, and yet I could swear that I still felt our connection tugging at me.
A few times I caught her watching me, just like those days far in the past. I tried to be close to her as much as I could, enjoy being near her before she was gone, and eventually she let me. We still haven't touched, other than incidentally, since the day she left Harvard for her parents' house, but we were always close to each other at work, and I know others noticed it.
I didn't say a word about it. Well, I tried not to. I had left Sara all those years ago because she didn't need me as much as I needed her, and I refused to ruin her life by taking her back into the past. Things slipped out, though. A comment on how beautiful she is, most notably.
She didn't say anything to me when I said it. She just gave me a wary look and walked away.
And I know it's because I walked away from her. I know I did the right thing for her, but when I wake up at night from a dream about her, it doesn't seem even remotely right. I left her ten years ago, but I still wake up and feel for her on the opposite side of my bed. I still feel her behind me, peering over my shoulder at some evidence, though I know that the days of our being close to each other are long past.
Despite what I imagine, she's never behind me. A year after she moved here, Sara started dating an EMT we work with. Any closeness she had to give went to him. She pulled away from me, and in return I pulled even further away from her. If she was trying to move on with her life, then I wouldn't interfere. She deserves all the happiness she can get.
You found hope in hopeless.
You made crazy sane.
You became the missing link that helped me break my chains.
There's no denying how alive I feel when Sara is near me. I think that the summer I spent with her tempered me into what I am. She gave me back my confidence and set me on the path that led me to where I am today. To steal a line from a movie Catherine once made me watch, Sara completed me.
And then I left.
And I bless the day I met you.
And I thank God that he let you
Lay beside me for a moment that lives on.
And the good news is I'm better for the time we spent together.
And the bad news is you're gone.
Up until tonight, it always seemed to come down to my leaving and her responses to it. I know I hurt her, but she won't speak of it. I was so frightened when she was injured in the lab explosion, and she looked at the four-inch gash in her palm and told me she was fine. She didn't want me near her, even when she so desperately needed help.
She asked me out to dinner once, not too long ago. No matter what I feel about her and how desperately I want her, I know that she's better off without me hanging on her. So I said no. I tried to make it look like I had no idea why she would ever ask me such a question.
I guess I did too good a job of convincing her I don't care, because now she's gone, and I'm still here. She left me a note, and as I look at it, I know that it's similar to the one I left her. I know she made it like that on purpose.
"Grissom." The same way I addressed her then, no softening words.
"I'm leaving this note in the care of Sheriff Mobley to give to you when you're back. The words right now are coming easily to me, unlike some in the past. I'm leaving, Grissom. I came when you called and I stayed when you begged, but now I'm leaving. You'll find out where I'm going, since the rest of the office knows, but please don't contact me again. I'm going back to the real world, where there's no one jerking me around. This is the best thing for both of us, trust me. We may have been friends once, but now we can't stand each other. Ten years ago, I thought you were human. I was wrong. Perhaps you can spend all the free time you'll have now that I'm not there to be tormented on learning how to be one, though I doubt it. Our relationship, such as it is at this point, isn't working. It was nice working with you. Despite everything, you're as much of a genius and a teacher as I remembered. I just can't let myself be your student anymore. I don't regret the experience, but I regret you.
Goodbye,
Sara."
And now she's gone. I couldn't resist bringing her closer to me after all those years, but I drove her away again. I shattered whatever new feelings she may have had for me, and she hates me. She regrets me, to be more exact. Hearing that hurts more than hearing that she hates me would. She regrets the time she spent with me, while I treasure every second of it. She regrets that summer, the summer that made me what I am and still gives me the will to go on during my worst times.
How can it be that all I can do is hurt her, and yet every time I think about her, I fall deeper into love with her? Maybe we'll always be at cross-purposes in our lives. At this point, it's a strong possibility.
But maybe she'll call me one day like I called her. And if she does, I'm going to have a long talk with her before I decide whether I can help or not.
