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 11 - The soul selects her own society
Sara exited the service elevator, wiping the moisture from her eyes before throwing on her sunglasses. The glare from the desert sun wasn't helping her headache. She tilted her head in surprise when she saw Catherine's car parked beside her SUV. The blonde was leaning against the bumper.
"What are you doing here?" Sara called as she crossed the parking lot.
"Somebody has their cell and pager turned off," Catherine said. "I couldn't get a hold of you."
"What's up? We have a case?" She hoped her voice didn't sound as desperate as she felt.
Catherine chuckled. "Sorry, kiddo, you're still grounded." Sara allowed a smile to cross her face when her colleague held up a large cup of coffee in consolation.
"Thanks," she said taking the steaming cup.
"Thought you could use something about now. Figured I'd hold out on the booze until we got to my place," the older woman said.
"Thanks, Cath, but really, I just want to go home."
"I know, but there's still a bunch of reporters there. I didn't think you'd want to face that," she said kindly.
Sara hung her head, giving it an aggravated shake. "You don't have to go to that trouble, Cath."
"Yeah. Borrow a bed, hot water, a pot of coffee, my company. That's a lot of trouble, I know, but that's the kind of gal I am," she said in mock-seriousness.
Sara looked up to study Catherine. She wasn't used to the other woman being this nice to her. They weren't really friends. Part of her mind told her to be cautious, but she didn't want to have to go through a media gauntlet to get to her apartment.
"Sure," she said, sighing in defeat. It wasn't like she was planning on sleeping any time soon, anyway. What difference did it make where she stayed?
"Hey, I know it's not the Ritz, but still," Catherine quipped. Sara didn't take the bait. "I'll drive. If the press sees your Tahoe in the driveway, they'll trap you inside. I know you wouldn't want that," she tried again.
"Okay," was the only response.
"Okay, then," Catherine said, trying to keep her frustration from showing.
The older woman stole occasional glances at her companion during the drive. The brunette stared out the side window at the passing landscape. It would have been obvious even to Grissom that Sara didn't want to talk. At the least, though, she should have some warning about the latest news reports.
"Have you caught the news this morning?" Catherine asked.
"No," Sara answered, without looking up.
"Your parents gave an interview. I think someone messed up the quotes, though," she said cautiously. Sara didn't respond. "I just thought you'd like a heads up. In case, you know, anyone asks." Still no response. "The quotes weren't ... nice," she tried again. Sara was perfectly still. This was becoming unnerving.
"Sara, if you don't want to talk, that's fine. But could you at least blink or something. So I know you're still with me," Catherine said in a concerned tone.
Sara turned her head slightly towards the blonde. When Catherine glanced over Sara very slowly and deliberately blinked one time, before returning to staring out the window. "Smart ass," Catherine muttered when she saw the slight smile playing on Sara's face.
"What did they say this time?" Sara eventually asked.
"It, ah, sounded like they weren't happy with what you've done with your life," Catherine said delicately. She didn't want to upset her colleague if it turned out the quotes weren't accurate.
"Sounds like something they'd say," she said with a sad chuckle.
"What!" Catherine gave her a startled look. She had expected that from her own parents? What kind of relationship did they have?
"They didn't want me to go into law enforcement," Sara told her. "They don't like the police."
"Why?" Catherine asked as she pulled into her driveway. She wondered if Sara was going to ignore the question. She had just shrugged her shoulders before exiting the car. Once they entered the house, they settled at the kitchen table. Catherine gave Sara a curious look.
"They were hippies. They never completely outgrew it," she joked. Catherine continued to look at her. "They got busted a lot when they were younger. Drugs, sit-ins, peace marches, anti-nuclear protests, vandalized military equipment, disrupted board meetings. You name it, they were there. When they decided to go into business, they had a hard time getting loans, permits. They never felt they did anything wrong and resented the troubles it caused them later," Sara explained.
"Your parents are radicals?" Catherine asked in shock.
"Were. They settled down some once my older brother was born. And they freaked when they caught him with drugs. Guess they had too many friends OD," she said. When she noticed the confused look on Catherine's face, she continued: "Yeah, I always blamed the hospital for the mix-up. There's a couple of CPAs out there wondering how they ended up with a radical-vegan-lesbian-anarchist with more body piercings than teeth."
Catherine smiled politely at the joke, trying to imagine Sara's childhood. What would it have been like for the by-the-book science geek to be raised by a watered-down version of Bonnie and Clyde? Could they have appreciated their daughter's gifts? They certainly didn't acknowledge the service she provided to the public.
"I'm sorry, Sara," Catherine said kindly.
"Why?"
"That you didn't have a better home ..."
"Whoa! What the hell do you know about my parents? You're not in any position to talk about them," Sara said hotly. Catherine was clearly startled by the outburst.
"Sara, all I'm saying is they could be more supportive ..."
"You want them to lie? Cath, honesty is one of the best traits my parents have. They aren't happy with how I live my life. It's no big secret how they feel about it. We don't agree on stuff, that's all," she said. Sara saw the other woman wasn't getting her point. "Look, Cath, let's say Lindsay grows up to be a, a murderer. You gonna be proud?"
"No ..."
"You gonna be bragging about her?" Sara continued the questioning before the other woman could interrupt.
"No."
"Are you ever going to stop loving her?" Sara asked pointedly.
"Of course not. I get the picture. Sorry," Catherine said contritely. "But there is a big difference between your kid living their own life and being a criminal."
Sara gave a small nod of acknowledgement to the blonde's point. "They were good parents, Cath, really. Odd, but good. We didn't have a 'normal' childhood, that's for sure. My parents weren't big on material things. Birthdays and holidays were more about spending time together, rather than gifts. We got kites and books instead of board games or dolls.
"But we always knew they cared for us. I know they spent more time with us when we were kids than most parents ever do. They made sure we were a part of everything they did. We'd go for long walks in the woods, play on the beach for hours. Mom taught us how to cook. Dad showed us how to fix cars and catch frogs. They would read to us every night," Sara said fondly.
"You know how to cook? Ms. Carryout?" Catherine laughed gently. That was a side of Sara she never expected to exist. The brunette gave her a dirty look.
"Cath, my parents ran a very successful bed-and-breakfast. From the time I was big enough to stir a pot, I spent every weekend growing up cooking for a bunch of strangers. I can cook. I just hate to do it. It was always a chore, not something I wanted to do," she said.
"So, you okay with your parents coming?" Catherine asked.
"Yeah. It'll be good to see them again," Sara said, anticipating the other woman's question. "I haven't seen them since I moved out here."
"That's going on three years," she said. "Is everything ... okay?" Catherine asked cautiously.
"Yeah. Cath, really. It's ... we are just so different. We love each other, but I guess you could say we don't really like each other. Visits start out good, but they get ... intense ... if they go on for too long."
Catherine decided it was time for this conversation to end. It wasn't a pleasant topic for the other woman. She didn't want to upset Sara any more than she already was. Catherine noticed her hands were shaking and she was pale. Given all that had happened to her over the past two days, it wasn't surprising. Not good, either. "What would you like for breakfast?"
"Huh? Oh, nothing. I ate before going to the hospital," Sara said quickly. Her stomach was too twisted to even think of eating.
"Why don't you go to bed then? You've got to be beat," the blonde said kindly.
"Actually, I think I had too much caffeine. I need to wind down some," she said, pulling a notebook out of her bag. "I was going to start getting the messages off of my home machine. I'll sleep later."
"Okay, you know where the room is," Catherine said. Something in Sara's tone caught her attention. Was she avoiding sleep so she wouldn't have a nightmare? Catherine couldn't really blame her, but she also knew that the younger woman needed to rest. Sara might be able to go days without sleep normally, but there was nothing normal about her current state.
How to get the mule-headed woman to sleep was the question. A mug of hot milk would be too obvious. Alcohol would work, but despite her earlier joke, that was the last thing she'd be giving Sara. It could too easily become a crutch.
"Say, I'm going to do some laundry. Why don't you go change into your pajamas and I'll toss your stuff in with mine?" Catherine asked. If Sara was more comfortable, maybe she'd fall asleep.
"Okay," Sara said in confusion. The offer was unexpected, but she really didn't have a reason to turn it down.
While Sara went into Lindsay's room to change, Catherine grabbed the laundry basket and threw some clothes into it, making sure to rumple them first. Taking Sara's addition, she headed into the laundry room. She hoped the younger woman would sleep soon; she wanted to do some research, but didn't want to take a chance of Sara catching her.
After changing, Sara sat cross-legged on the couch and called her home number, punching in the codes to start playing back her messages. The digital voice informed her she had 99 messages. Was that the maximum the machine could hold? Sara had never come close to finding out before.
While listening to message fourteen - the twelfth request for an interview - the loud squeal of tires from a near-accident down the street broke the silence. Sara jumped from the couch and dropped the cell phone as her mind added the sounds of crashing glass and shredding metal. Dropping to the floor, Sara tried desperately to stop the images of a young boy from haunting her.
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 11 - The soul selects her own society
Sara exited the service elevator, wiping the moisture from her eyes before throwing on her sunglasses. The glare from the desert sun wasn't helping her headache. She tilted her head in surprise when she saw Catherine's car parked beside her SUV. The blonde was leaning against the bumper.
"What are you doing here?" Sara called as she crossed the parking lot.
"Somebody has their cell and pager turned off," Catherine said. "I couldn't get a hold of you."
"What's up? We have a case?" She hoped her voice didn't sound as desperate as she felt.
Catherine chuckled. "Sorry, kiddo, you're still grounded." Sara allowed a smile to cross her face when her colleague held up a large cup of coffee in consolation.
"Thanks," she said taking the steaming cup.
"Thought you could use something about now. Figured I'd hold out on the booze until we got to my place," the older woman said.
"Thanks, Cath, but really, I just want to go home."
"I know, but there's still a bunch of reporters there. I didn't think you'd want to face that," she said kindly.
Sara hung her head, giving it an aggravated shake. "You don't have to go to that trouble, Cath."
"Yeah. Borrow a bed, hot water, a pot of coffee, my company. That's a lot of trouble, I know, but that's the kind of gal I am," she said in mock-seriousness.
Sara looked up to study Catherine. She wasn't used to the other woman being this nice to her. They weren't really friends. Part of her mind told her to be cautious, but she didn't want to have to go through a media gauntlet to get to her apartment.
"Sure," she said, sighing in defeat. It wasn't like she was planning on sleeping any time soon, anyway. What difference did it make where she stayed?
"Hey, I know it's not the Ritz, but still," Catherine quipped. Sara didn't take the bait. "I'll drive. If the press sees your Tahoe in the driveway, they'll trap you inside. I know you wouldn't want that," she tried again.
"Okay," was the only response.
"Okay, then," Catherine said, trying to keep her frustration from showing.
The older woman stole occasional glances at her companion during the drive. The brunette stared out the side window at the passing landscape. It would have been obvious even to Grissom that Sara didn't want to talk. At the least, though, she should have some warning about the latest news reports.
"Have you caught the news this morning?" Catherine asked.
"No," Sara answered, without looking up.
"Your parents gave an interview. I think someone messed up the quotes, though," she said cautiously. Sara didn't respond. "I just thought you'd like a heads up. In case, you know, anyone asks." Still no response. "The quotes weren't ... nice," she tried again. Sara was perfectly still. This was becoming unnerving.
"Sara, if you don't want to talk, that's fine. But could you at least blink or something. So I know you're still with me," Catherine said in a concerned tone.
Sara turned her head slightly towards the blonde. When Catherine glanced over Sara very slowly and deliberately blinked one time, before returning to staring out the window. "Smart ass," Catherine muttered when she saw the slight smile playing on Sara's face.
"What did they say this time?" Sara eventually asked.
"It, ah, sounded like they weren't happy with what you've done with your life," Catherine said delicately. She didn't want to upset her colleague if it turned out the quotes weren't accurate.
"Sounds like something they'd say," she said with a sad chuckle.
"What!" Catherine gave her a startled look. She had expected that from her own parents? What kind of relationship did they have?
"They didn't want me to go into law enforcement," Sara told her. "They don't like the police."
"Why?" Catherine asked as she pulled into her driveway. She wondered if Sara was going to ignore the question. She had just shrugged her shoulders before exiting the car. Once they entered the house, they settled at the kitchen table. Catherine gave Sara a curious look.
"They were hippies. They never completely outgrew it," she joked. Catherine continued to look at her. "They got busted a lot when they were younger. Drugs, sit-ins, peace marches, anti-nuclear protests, vandalized military equipment, disrupted board meetings. You name it, they were there. When they decided to go into business, they had a hard time getting loans, permits. They never felt they did anything wrong and resented the troubles it caused them later," Sara explained.
"Your parents are radicals?" Catherine asked in shock.
"Were. They settled down some once my older brother was born. And they freaked when they caught him with drugs. Guess they had too many friends OD," she said. When she noticed the confused look on Catherine's face, she continued: "Yeah, I always blamed the hospital for the mix-up. There's a couple of CPAs out there wondering how they ended up with a radical-vegan-lesbian-anarchist with more body piercings than teeth."
Catherine smiled politely at the joke, trying to imagine Sara's childhood. What would it have been like for the by-the-book science geek to be raised by a watered-down version of Bonnie and Clyde? Could they have appreciated their daughter's gifts? They certainly didn't acknowledge the service she provided to the public.
"I'm sorry, Sara," Catherine said kindly.
"Why?"
"That you didn't have a better home ..."
"Whoa! What the hell do you know about my parents? You're not in any position to talk about them," Sara said hotly. Catherine was clearly startled by the outburst.
"Sara, all I'm saying is they could be more supportive ..."
"You want them to lie? Cath, honesty is one of the best traits my parents have. They aren't happy with how I live my life. It's no big secret how they feel about it. We don't agree on stuff, that's all," she said. Sara saw the other woman wasn't getting her point. "Look, Cath, let's say Lindsay grows up to be a, a murderer. You gonna be proud?"
"No ..."
"You gonna be bragging about her?" Sara continued the questioning before the other woman could interrupt.
"No."
"Are you ever going to stop loving her?" Sara asked pointedly.
"Of course not. I get the picture. Sorry," Catherine said contritely. "But there is a big difference between your kid living their own life and being a criminal."
Sara gave a small nod of acknowledgement to the blonde's point. "They were good parents, Cath, really. Odd, but good. We didn't have a 'normal' childhood, that's for sure. My parents weren't big on material things. Birthdays and holidays were more about spending time together, rather than gifts. We got kites and books instead of board games or dolls.
"But we always knew they cared for us. I know they spent more time with us when we were kids than most parents ever do. They made sure we were a part of everything they did. We'd go for long walks in the woods, play on the beach for hours. Mom taught us how to cook. Dad showed us how to fix cars and catch frogs. They would read to us every night," Sara said fondly.
"You know how to cook? Ms. Carryout?" Catherine laughed gently. That was a side of Sara she never expected to exist. The brunette gave her a dirty look.
"Cath, my parents ran a very successful bed-and-breakfast. From the time I was big enough to stir a pot, I spent every weekend growing up cooking for a bunch of strangers. I can cook. I just hate to do it. It was always a chore, not something I wanted to do," she said.
"So, you okay with your parents coming?" Catherine asked.
"Yeah. It'll be good to see them again," Sara said, anticipating the other woman's question. "I haven't seen them since I moved out here."
"That's going on three years," she said. "Is everything ... okay?" Catherine asked cautiously.
"Yeah. Cath, really. It's ... we are just so different. We love each other, but I guess you could say we don't really like each other. Visits start out good, but they get ... intense ... if they go on for too long."
Catherine decided it was time for this conversation to end. It wasn't a pleasant topic for the other woman. She didn't want to upset Sara any more than she already was. Catherine noticed her hands were shaking and she was pale. Given all that had happened to her over the past two days, it wasn't surprising. Not good, either. "What would you like for breakfast?"
"Huh? Oh, nothing. I ate before going to the hospital," Sara said quickly. Her stomach was too twisted to even think of eating.
"Why don't you go to bed then? You've got to be beat," the blonde said kindly.
"Actually, I think I had too much caffeine. I need to wind down some," she said, pulling a notebook out of her bag. "I was going to start getting the messages off of my home machine. I'll sleep later."
"Okay, you know where the room is," Catherine said. Something in Sara's tone caught her attention. Was she avoiding sleep so she wouldn't have a nightmare? Catherine couldn't really blame her, but she also knew that the younger woman needed to rest. Sara might be able to go days without sleep normally, but there was nothing normal about her current state.
How to get the mule-headed woman to sleep was the question. A mug of hot milk would be too obvious. Alcohol would work, but despite her earlier joke, that was the last thing she'd be giving Sara. It could too easily become a crutch.
"Say, I'm going to do some laundry. Why don't you go change into your pajamas and I'll toss your stuff in with mine?" Catherine asked. If Sara was more comfortable, maybe she'd fall asleep.
"Okay," Sara said in confusion. The offer was unexpected, but she really didn't have a reason to turn it down.
While Sara went into Lindsay's room to change, Catherine grabbed the laundry basket and threw some clothes into it, making sure to rumple them first. Taking Sara's addition, she headed into the laundry room. She hoped the younger woman would sleep soon; she wanted to do some research, but didn't want to take a chance of Sara catching her.
After changing, Sara sat cross-legged on the couch and called her home number, punching in the codes to start playing back her messages. The digital voice informed her she had 99 messages. Was that the maximum the machine could hold? Sara had never come close to finding out before.
While listening to message fourteen - the twelfth request for an interview - the loud squeal of tires from a near-accident down the street broke the silence. Sara jumped from the couch and dropped the cell phone as her mind added the sounds of crashing glass and shredding metal. Dropping to the floor, Sara tried desperately to stop the images of a young boy from haunting her.