Summary: After viewing a horrific accident, Sara makes some hard decisions about her life. Obviously, a Sara-centered story, but with lots of friendship and a little bit of G/S at the end.
Rating: R for subject matter
A/N: No real spoilers. The chapter titles are opening lines from Emily Dickinson poems.
Thanks to Burked and all the others who previewed this for me.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to CSI. If I did, I'd be on a tropical beach right now.
Chapter 4 - I lost a world the other day
Sara jolted upright in the bed, sweat rolling down her body. She took several ragged breaths before climbing out of Lindsay's bed and stripping out of her pajamas. Slipping into her robe, she opened the bedroom door and headed into the hallway. All was quiet. Good. She didn't want Catherine asking questions.
A few moments later, she was standing under the hot spray of the shower, washing away the remnants of the nightmare. She let the warm water massage her tense muscles, trying to relax and control her breathing.
Sara started to sing softly. Anyone listening would have found the scene bizarre. The tune was Gilbert and Sullivan's "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General" but the lyrics had been replaced by the ordered listing of elements from the periodic table. A drunk classmate at Harvard had discovered the words fit perfectly into the song and it quickly became a hit in the physical sciences building.
Sara always found the tune to be oddly relaxing, although she had never needed the mnemonic device. She had a photographic memory which allowed her to clearly recall information long after viewing.
She could describe the evening she had seen her first meteor shower, down to the salty smell of the ocean breeze to the clothes her father was wearing as he held her in his lap in a beat-up lawn chair. She remembered the feel of her first kiss, from her shaking knees to Ronny's nervous twitching to the slight taste of chocolate on his lips. She could list the seven kingdoms of the English heptarchy without thought; quote mathematical theorems flawlessly; recognize the smell of human viscera with frightening accuracy.
Combined with her attention to detail, it served her well as a crime scene investigator.
Throw in her empathy, and it gave her incredibly vivid nightmares.
She shuddered at the memory of the pleading voice and the haunted look in his eyes. The boy died. He thought she was his mother. She was holding him when it happened. She hadn't left him to die alone in the burning bus.
Had she?
Giving herself a shake, she pushed that thought down. "No, dammit, he was already dead. I was too late," she swore softly, turning off the shower. She leaned her head against her arms resting against the front wall. When would this end?
A drop of warm water fell from the shower and landed on her shoulder. Drops of still-warm blood had been falling from the ceiling.
"Damn!" Grabbing the washcloth, she frantically scrubbed her shoulder where the water had hit.
She hated nightmares. They always left her edgy.
~~~~~~~~
Back in the lab, Warrick scrolled through another screen of information. He had returned to the lab after taking Nick and Leah to Lake Mead - the press which had followed them weren't amused when they saw the tattooed lab tech instead of Sara. Warrick didn't really care that they were upset.
Nick and Leah had gone home after they returned to the lab, but Warrick stayed behind to do some research. He had hoped to reassure himself. Instead, each additional piece of information made him more nervous. Picking up another article from the printer, he added it to the thick pile of paper.
He checked the time. If he hurried, he'd have time to shower and change before the news conference. He didn't plan on talking to any of the reporters hassling his friend, but he would be there as moral support.
Sara was going to need it.
~~~~~~~~
Leaving the bathroom, Sara noticed the smell of coffee. Following the aroma, she ended up in the kitchen. Catherine leaned against the counter, cradling a steaming cup in her hands.
"Hey."
"Hey. Wanna cup?"
"Sure, thanks," Sara answered, wandering over to take the coffee.
"Real bitch, aren't they," Catherine said, giving her colleague a sympathetic look. "I hate nightmares."
"Sorry, Cath, didn't mean to wake you up," she said apologetically.
"No problem. It was about time to get up anyway. You done with the water? Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes. Help yourself," Catherine said, nodding towards the refrigerator. She gave Sara's shoulder a gentle squeeze on the way out.
Catherine quickly showered and dressed. Normally, she liked to linger in the shower, especially when she didn't get enough sleep. But Grissom was on his way over and she wanted to be ready when he got there. She had called him as soon as she had heard the water start. Sara's nightmare must have been intense; the scream she let out was enough to wake the dead.
The older woman wasn't surprised. She couldn't imagine how she would have reacted in Sara's place. She had been to enough accident scenes to know what Sara must have faced. Catherine shuddered at the thought. If thinking about it was uncomfortable, what was it like to have gone through it?
Catherine had heard about the accident on the way home from work, grateful that Lindsay's bus went nowhere near that area. When she watched the evening news that night, she found herself staring transfixed at the still images of Sara and the children.
For a woman who insisted she wasn't good with children, Sara was a natural.
The tender expression on her face as she handed over injured children, gently wiping away tears showed clearly in the photographs. Catherine remembered how well she had handled Lindsay after Eddie's death, feeling guilty for the abuse she'd heaped on the younger woman. She had never apologized to Sara.
The woman in question was still in her robe, standing before a shelf of photos of Lindsay, Catherine, Eddie, friends and other family members. Sara didn't look up as she picked up a photo - Catherine's favorite - showing the mother and daughter in a hug. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" Sara's voice was very soft.
"Thank God every day."
"Good. Don't stop," she said, giving herself a shake. "I'm going to get dressed."
Catherine watched her carefully, hoping Grissom would hurry up. He wasn't the greatest when it came to social skills, but Sara was closer to him than anyone else on the team. Even if they didn't talk, she'd feel better with him there.
~~~~~~~~
Sara slowly changed into the outfit Catherine had picked out. It was a pair of black slacks and a sleeveless dove gray shirt. It was a good choice: dressier than the jeans and T-shirt Sara usually wore but still casual enough for her to be comfortable in.
By the time she had dressed, applied her sparse makeup and brushed out her hair, Grissom had arrived. Sara regarded him in surprise. He was wearing a grey suit with an open black shirt. He seemed to be very nervous.
"Grissom? Why are you here?"
"Didn't think I'd let you face the 'vultures' alone, did you? Figured I offer you a lift to the conference," he said in a light tone. His body language didn't match his voice.
"Really?" Sara turned to Catherine, raising an eyebrow as she glared at the blonde. Catherine looked back innocently.
"Did you eat? Want to grab something on the way over? We still have enough time for a quick stop before the conference," Grissom asked.
"I'm fine; we can stop if you want something."
He nodded and escorted her out the door.
"Thanks, Cath. I really appreciate this," Sara called out. Her inflection wasn't lost on Catherine, who just smiled sweetly at her. Sara may be embarrassed that she told Grissom about her nightmare, but Catherine was certain the younger woman would rather be with her former mentor than anyone else right now.
Wouldn't she?
It was so hard to tell what was going on with those two. They went from hot to cold, close to distant so quickly Catherine usually felt she was watching an emotional tennis match.
"Hold on, guys! I'm going with you!" Pulling out her cell phone, she quickly called her sister to stay with Lindsay for a little while after school.
~~~~~~~~
The restaurant was in a quiet residential area of the city and rarely saw tourists. Grissom and Catherine ordered sandwiches while Sara stuck with coffee. Both tried passing off their pickles and chips to Sara, who eventually ate something so they'd leave her alone.
Grissom was nervous. When Catherine had called, she only said that Sara had had 'a hell of a nightmare' and for him to get there quickly. There wasn't time for the two to talk before Sara reentered the living room.
Now, he tried to gauge Sara's current condition. She wasn't eating, but that wasn't surprising. No one could accuse Sara of having a normal eating schedule. She seemed fine, if a bit tense. Well, she had made it clear she didn't want to talk to the press, so it would be natural she'd be feeling a bit stressed now.
"Sara, don't be nervous. You'll do fine," he said, giving her a gentle smile. "Don't feel like you have to answer any questions. If something's too personal, just tell them so."
She just made a noncommittal shrug. "Like they'd settle for that," she muttered.
"You really don't like the media, do you?" Catherine asked in surprise. She'd never noticed this about Sara before.
"What's to like?"
Grissom and Catherine exchanged worried glances. Maybe taking her to a press conference in her current mood wasn't a good idea. Catching the looks the two were sharing, Sara tossed her arms up in frustration. "Guys, I'm not going to go postal! I didn't even bring my gun!"
Her loud exclamation carried through the still restaurant. The startled looks the nearby patrons threw their way caused Sara to blush. When people started pointing and whispering, she slid down in her chair and bowed her head.
"Sara, are you okay?"
"Practicing to become a journalist, Grissom?" Sara didn't care how harsh her voice sounded. After a few silent moments, she shrugged and leaned forward on the table. She saw the hurt in his eyes.
"That's the type of stupid questions they are going to be asking me, Grissom. How do you answer something like that? 'Fine, thanks. I just watched a busload of kids have their lives ruined. And you?'
"I meant what I said earlier. They are vultures. Death makes them excited. They're happy those kids died," she said quietly. "They don't care what this is doing to the families of the kid's who died. They don't care about the kids still in the hospital. All they care about is this will get them ratings. Which will get them more money. It's sick."
Neither of her friends knew what to say. It wasn't as if they disagreed with her assessment of the situation, even if she was perhaps overly harsh.
"That photographer was there the whole time, guys," Sara finally added. The pain in her voice was clear. "He could have helped, but he took photos instead. Those kids were hurt and scared and needed help. He exploited them instead. What kind of bastard does that? And those other 'vultures' - they admire him. They wish they had been there instead of him. They're dreaming of the day when a tragedy happens so they can cash in on it.
"I want them out of my life. I don't want to have to hide, or ride around in the coroner's van. I just want to get this whole thing behind me," Sara said softly. "I just want to forget this ever happened. And they are going to keep harping on me to relive it over and over so they exploit it. I just want my life back."
The group looked up as the wait staff came over with a cake topped by flaming candles. After explaining it was compliments of the house, they started singing "For She's A Jolly Good Fellow" while the other patrons started clapping.
Sara hung her head, so they wouldn't see her tears.
Grissom and Catherine exchanged concerned glances, uncertain over how to help their friend.
TBC
Rating: R for subject matter
A/N: No real spoilers. The chapter titles are opening lines from Emily Dickinson poems.
Thanks to Burked and all the others who previewed this for me.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to CSI. If I did, I'd be on a tropical beach right now.
Chapter 4 - I lost a world the other day
Sara jolted upright in the bed, sweat rolling down her body. She took several ragged breaths before climbing out of Lindsay's bed and stripping out of her pajamas. Slipping into her robe, she opened the bedroom door and headed into the hallway. All was quiet. Good. She didn't want Catherine asking questions.
A few moments later, she was standing under the hot spray of the shower, washing away the remnants of the nightmare. She let the warm water massage her tense muscles, trying to relax and control her breathing.
Sara started to sing softly. Anyone listening would have found the scene bizarre. The tune was Gilbert and Sullivan's "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General" but the lyrics had been replaced by the ordered listing of elements from the periodic table. A drunk classmate at Harvard had discovered the words fit perfectly into the song and it quickly became a hit in the physical sciences building.
Sara always found the tune to be oddly relaxing, although she had never needed the mnemonic device. She had a photographic memory which allowed her to clearly recall information long after viewing.
She could describe the evening she had seen her first meteor shower, down to the salty smell of the ocean breeze to the clothes her father was wearing as he held her in his lap in a beat-up lawn chair. She remembered the feel of her first kiss, from her shaking knees to Ronny's nervous twitching to the slight taste of chocolate on his lips. She could list the seven kingdoms of the English heptarchy without thought; quote mathematical theorems flawlessly; recognize the smell of human viscera with frightening accuracy.
Combined with her attention to detail, it served her well as a crime scene investigator.
Throw in her empathy, and it gave her incredibly vivid nightmares.
She shuddered at the memory of the pleading voice and the haunted look in his eyes. The boy died. He thought she was his mother. She was holding him when it happened. She hadn't left him to die alone in the burning bus.
Had she?
Giving herself a shake, she pushed that thought down. "No, dammit, he was already dead. I was too late," she swore softly, turning off the shower. She leaned her head against her arms resting against the front wall. When would this end?
A drop of warm water fell from the shower and landed on her shoulder. Drops of still-warm blood had been falling from the ceiling.
"Damn!" Grabbing the washcloth, she frantically scrubbed her shoulder where the water had hit.
She hated nightmares. They always left her edgy.
~~~~~~~~
Back in the lab, Warrick scrolled through another screen of information. He had returned to the lab after taking Nick and Leah to Lake Mead - the press which had followed them weren't amused when they saw the tattooed lab tech instead of Sara. Warrick didn't really care that they were upset.
Nick and Leah had gone home after they returned to the lab, but Warrick stayed behind to do some research. He had hoped to reassure himself. Instead, each additional piece of information made him more nervous. Picking up another article from the printer, he added it to the thick pile of paper.
He checked the time. If he hurried, he'd have time to shower and change before the news conference. He didn't plan on talking to any of the reporters hassling his friend, but he would be there as moral support.
Sara was going to need it.
~~~~~~~~
Leaving the bathroom, Sara noticed the smell of coffee. Following the aroma, she ended up in the kitchen. Catherine leaned against the counter, cradling a steaming cup in her hands.
"Hey."
"Hey. Wanna cup?"
"Sure, thanks," Sara answered, wandering over to take the coffee.
"Real bitch, aren't they," Catherine said, giving her colleague a sympathetic look. "I hate nightmares."
"Sorry, Cath, didn't mean to wake you up," she said apologetically.
"No problem. It was about time to get up anyway. You done with the water? Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes. Help yourself," Catherine said, nodding towards the refrigerator. She gave Sara's shoulder a gentle squeeze on the way out.
Catherine quickly showered and dressed. Normally, she liked to linger in the shower, especially when she didn't get enough sleep. But Grissom was on his way over and she wanted to be ready when he got there. She had called him as soon as she had heard the water start. Sara's nightmare must have been intense; the scream she let out was enough to wake the dead.
The older woman wasn't surprised. She couldn't imagine how she would have reacted in Sara's place. She had been to enough accident scenes to know what Sara must have faced. Catherine shuddered at the thought. If thinking about it was uncomfortable, what was it like to have gone through it?
Catherine had heard about the accident on the way home from work, grateful that Lindsay's bus went nowhere near that area. When she watched the evening news that night, she found herself staring transfixed at the still images of Sara and the children.
For a woman who insisted she wasn't good with children, Sara was a natural.
The tender expression on her face as she handed over injured children, gently wiping away tears showed clearly in the photographs. Catherine remembered how well she had handled Lindsay after Eddie's death, feeling guilty for the abuse she'd heaped on the younger woman. She had never apologized to Sara.
The woman in question was still in her robe, standing before a shelf of photos of Lindsay, Catherine, Eddie, friends and other family members. Sara didn't look up as she picked up a photo - Catherine's favorite - showing the mother and daughter in a hug. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" Sara's voice was very soft.
"Thank God every day."
"Good. Don't stop," she said, giving herself a shake. "I'm going to get dressed."
Catherine watched her carefully, hoping Grissom would hurry up. He wasn't the greatest when it came to social skills, but Sara was closer to him than anyone else on the team. Even if they didn't talk, she'd feel better with him there.
~~~~~~~~
Sara slowly changed into the outfit Catherine had picked out. It was a pair of black slacks and a sleeveless dove gray shirt. It was a good choice: dressier than the jeans and T-shirt Sara usually wore but still casual enough for her to be comfortable in.
By the time she had dressed, applied her sparse makeup and brushed out her hair, Grissom had arrived. Sara regarded him in surprise. He was wearing a grey suit with an open black shirt. He seemed to be very nervous.
"Grissom? Why are you here?"
"Didn't think I'd let you face the 'vultures' alone, did you? Figured I offer you a lift to the conference," he said in a light tone. His body language didn't match his voice.
"Really?" Sara turned to Catherine, raising an eyebrow as she glared at the blonde. Catherine looked back innocently.
"Did you eat? Want to grab something on the way over? We still have enough time for a quick stop before the conference," Grissom asked.
"I'm fine; we can stop if you want something."
He nodded and escorted her out the door.
"Thanks, Cath. I really appreciate this," Sara called out. Her inflection wasn't lost on Catherine, who just smiled sweetly at her. Sara may be embarrassed that she told Grissom about her nightmare, but Catherine was certain the younger woman would rather be with her former mentor than anyone else right now.
Wouldn't she?
It was so hard to tell what was going on with those two. They went from hot to cold, close to distant so quickly Catherine usually felt she was watching an emotional tennis match.
"Hold on, guys! I'm going with you!" Pulling out her cell phone, she quickly called her sister to stay with Lindsay for a little while after school.
~~~~~~~~
The restaurant was in a quiet residential area of the city and rarely saw tourists. Grissom and Catherine ordered sandwiches while Sara stuck with coffee. Both tried passing off their pickles and chips to Sara, who eventually ate something so they'd leave her alone.
Grissom was nervous. When Catherine had called, she only said that Sara had had 'a hell of a nightmare' and for him to get there quickly. There wasn't time for the two to talk before Sara reentered the living room.
Now, he tried to gauge Sara's current condition. She wasn't eating, but that wasn't surprising. No one could accuse Sara of having a normal eating schedule. She seemed fine, if a bit tense. Well, she had made it clear she didn't want to talk to the press, so it would be natural she'd be feeling a bit stressed now.
"Sara, don't be nervous. You'll do fine," he said, giving her a gentle smile. "Don't feel like you have to answer any questions. If something's too personal, just tell them so."
She just made a noncommittal shrug. "Like they'd settle for that," she muttered.
"You really don't like the media, do you?" Catherine asked in surprise. She'd never noticed this about Sara before.
"What's to like?"
Grissom and Catherine exchanged worried glances. Maybe taking her to a press conference in her current mood wasn't a good idea. Catching the looks the two were sharing, Sara tossed her arms up in frustration. "Guys, I'm not going to go postal! I didn't even bring my gun!"
Her loud exclamation carried through the still restaurant. The startled looks the nearby patrons threw their way caused Sara to blush. When people started pointing and whispering, she slid down in her chair and bowed her head.
"Sara, are you okay?"
"Practicing to become a journalist, Grissom?" Sara didn't care how harsh her voice sounded. After a few silent moments, she shrugged and leaned forward on the table. She saw the hurt in his eyes.
"That's the type of stupid questions they are going to be asking me, Grissom. How do you answer something like that? 'Fine, thanks. I just watched a busload of kids have their lives ruined. And you?'
"I meant what I said earlier. They are vultures. Death makes them excited. They're happy those kids died," she said quietly. "They don't care what this is doing to the families of the kid's who died. They don't care about the kids still in the hospital. All they care about is this will get them ratings. Which will get them more money. It's sick."
Neither of her friends knew what to say. It wasn't as if they disagreed with her assessment of the situation, even if she was perhaps overly harsh.
"That photographer was there the whole time, guys," Sara finally added. The pain in her voice was clear. "He could have helped, but he took photos instead. Those kids were hurt and scared and needed help. He exploited them instead. What kind of bastard does that? And those other 'vultures' - they admire him. They wish they had been there instead of him. They're dreaming of the day when a tragedy happens so they can cash in on it.
"I want them out of my life. I don't want to have to hide, or ride around in the coroner's van. I just want to get this whole thing behind me," Sara said softly. "I just want to forget this ever happened. And they are going to keep harping on me to relive it over and over so they exploit it. I just want my life back."
The group looked up as the wait staff came over with a cake topped by flaming candles. After explaining it was compliments of the house, they started singing "For She's A Jolly Good Fellow" while the other patrons started clapping.
Sara hung her head, so they wouldn't see her tears.
Grissom and Catherine exchanged concerned glances, uncertain over how to help their friend.
TBC