Sara regained consciousness soon after she'd fainted, and all she had to show for the incident was some nasty ice burn on her cheek from where she'd teetered sideways to fall onto the snow. When Chris pulled in to Boston Police headquarters, Thomas and Megan were waiting outside, even in the icy cold.
She had the distinct impression that Megan wanted to make a comment about her relative sanity in relation to wandering Boston Common at one in the morning, but Thomas touched the older woman's arm and shook his head. Together, they helped Sara into the building despite her protests that she was fine, and if she could just borrow a van to drive home, she would stop bothering them in the middle of shift.
They ignored her, of course, and she did have to admit to an incredible sense of relief when they draped her across the couch in a mostly unused break room, one that was generally used for CSIs pulling doubles to catch some sleep. It smelled musty, and boasted nothing more impressive than a sink and paper towel dispenser. Its most important furnishings were without a doubt the two overstuffed garage sale couches lining the walls.
Thomas left and returned with a damp towel, which Sara pushed away irritably. "I'm not wasting away from scarlet fever, Thomas. I just want to go home, okay?"
"Nope, not okay," Megan said cheerfully, and Sara squinted at her, trying with little success to inject venom into the gaze. "You're not driving yourself anywhere."
"Then I'll call a cab." She tried to get up, but Thomas's strong arm held her to the couch.
"Home," Sara repeated stubbornly, and ruined the effect by popping her jaw with a yawn. Her eyes drifted shut for just a moment, and she rolled her head to the side. "Home," she mumbled again, unsure whether she meant her Cambridge apartment or the Las Vegas townhouse.
"She needs to see a doctor, Thomas," Megan hissed sotto voce, apparently unaware that Sara was awake enough to hear her, much less understand her.
"She's not sick, Megan, and she hates doctors. You know that," Thomas chided gently.
"If she's not sick then what is she?" The second half of the sentence dropped dramatically in volume, as if Megan had only remembered halfway through that Sara was lying on the couch semi-conscious.
"Under a great deal of stress," Thomas rebutted. "Alec came to me and asked me to have her taken off the Itzin case. She was becoming too involved."
"What happened between her and Gil?" Megan's fingers reached out to brush some of Sara's dark hair from her forehead, and in her sleepy state Sara smiled softly. She still wasn't quite sure if she was dreaming or not, and a slight pang of guilt told her she probably shouldn't let them go on thinking she couldn't hear them, but she was so tired.
"It's between her and Gil."
"Dammit, Thomas, it's killing her. It's killing both of them." Megan's hand shook on Sara's forehead.
"I'll forgive you the melodrama, Megan," he said, and Sara smiled lazily again. She could picture his face as he said that - eyebrow raised, head tipped slightly to the side.
There was a pause that Sara imagined was full of Megan glaring at Thomas. "You know, don't you. You know what happened." There was a whoosh of air at Sara's ear as Megan stood abruptly. "I was doing the sabbatical in Scotland when Sara came to Boston. Something happened during the six months I was there."
It was comforting to know that there was someone within a hundred yard radius who hadn't heard Grissom yelling after her down the hallway.
"Gil called me when Sara submitted her leave of absence in Vegas," Thomas admitted.
"You didn't feel the need to enlighten me about that when you called me to tell me Sara was going to Boston. What did he tell you?"
"It's none of our business."
"You are so infuriating sometimes, Thomas," she snapped at him. "It's times like these I'm glad you never married, and especially glad I never married you." There was no response to that, and in a few seconds, Megan spoke again. "What are we supposed to do?"
"Nothing. Don't push her, Megan. Whatever you do, don't push her. She and Gil will either work this out, or they won't. Sara's strong. She'll survive this."
Sara came fully awake when he said that, every sense straining to discern how he was going to finish that thought. Thomas knew probably better than anyone in the world just what she could survive. But he didn't continue.
"And Gil? Will he?"
Thomas didn't have an aswer for that. "Take her home, Megan. Get that scrape treated, put her to bed."
There were a few moments of silence, and then Sara felt Megan's hand on her shoulder. "Wake up, kid. I'm going to take you home."
She faked a rise to consciousness, and refused Thomas's offer of a shoulder to lean on to walk out to Megan's car.
~*~
"I really should be driving you straight to the hospital."
"I just want to go home," Sara said softly, forehead pressed against the cool glass of the passenger side window of the rented Lexus. "It's the next left."
Megan drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as they passed a blue sign with a white H in it - an arrow underneath pointing straight ahead. She rolled to a stop at the lights and kept her fingers rolling in a staccato beat, finally flicking on the blinker to turn left just as the light turned green.
"Do you have a couch?"
"Yes," Sara answered, confused, and then sat up straight. "No, Megan, you're presenting in the morning. Thomas shouldn't have kept you out of bed by sending you with me."
Megan pulled the car into the parking garage and into the first available space, turning the car off before responding. "I would say that we care about you, but given how that's been received in the past, I'm not going to try."
Sara winced slightly; she had, in a way, deserved that. But that didn't stop the frustration from spilling out. "What brought this on?"
But the older woman had already exited the car and was coming around to Sara's side. Before Megan could reach her, she hissed and opened the door herself, grinding her teeth through the blood rush to her head that momentarly incapacitated her vision.
"Keys," was the other CSI's only word as she held her hand out flatly, and Sara dug into her bag and dropped the key ring into the outstretched palm.
They were both still silent as they climbed the stairs and entered the darkened apartment. Megan, businesslike, took Sara's jacket and bag and set them on the coffee table and then searched around until she disappeared into the bedroom.
Sara watched her; the cycle of hyperactivity and utter exhaustion she'd been running on for the past few days seemed to have reached another one of its low points, and when she saw Megan enter the bedroom she gave up on trying to figure out what the other woman hoped to accomplish and slumped down on the couch.
"This will sting like hell," Megan told her, materializing at her side with a swab in hand. "Grin and bear it, or suffer through my lecture on the scientific analysis of just what types of bacteria are likely to be found in snow."
It did indeed sting, and snapped Sara back to the situation at hand with a yelp, but Megan was already done and dabbing at the rash with gauze.
"I'm not going to cover it, so just remember to sleep on your other cheek tonight, okay?"
Sara nodded slightly, and wondered what time it was, exactly, A shift of her head brought her in line with the clock on the cable box - 2:03 AM. "I'll, ah, I'll go find you a blanket or something." The linen closet was in her bedroom, and she concentrated on placing foot in front of foot to get there; later, she wouldn't be able to swear to the exact chain of events, but eventually she did end up in front of the couch holding several blankets and a pillow.
"Sit down, Sara." Megan patted the couch next to her. Sara dumped the blankets and pillow on the coffee table, adding to the already precarious pile there, and sat down obediently.
The serologist took a deep breath, and Sara watched her expectantly, feeling two years old but willing to humor her friend if it would lead to her sleeping sooner.
"You're not going to want to hear any of this, but I'm going to say it anyway." Before Sara could express her opinion on the as-yet-unknown subject either way, Megan barreled ahead, her words clipped and running together.
"You're one of the best CSIs I've ever known. I regretted losing you to the Vegas lab for months, but I was so happy you'd gone. I knew what it would mean for your career." She looked down at her laced fingers. "I can't say I wasn't too surprised when I heard that you and Gil had married. I knew you two knew each other, and I remembered how eager you'd been to see him again." She finally looked up from her fingers again to look Sara in the face. "And then barely a year later Thomas called me, and told me that you had come to him asking for a temporary assignment. I won't apologize for being nosy, but Thomas has known you even longer than I have, and...he's been so worried about you. And now I can see why."
Silent tears were running down Sara's face as she looked at her former mentor, but didn't say anything, so Megan continued.
"What happened to you, Sara?" she whispered. She held up her hand quickly. "No, I know. This is something even I can't blunder my way into making you explain. But there's obviously something going on that no one but you and maybe Gil understand, and it's tearing you apart. And it's not just destroying you, it's destroying your career. You have to fix this."
Sara was silent for a few long moments, and then she nodded slowly. Thoughts were churning in her head, words from the past mixing with images mixing with all the grief and pain that she'd managed to convince herself was behind her when really, she'd just ignored it in the hopes that it would fade quietly.
"I know. I...I know," she said shakily, and stood and took a few steps toward the bedroom. "Megan?"
The older woman looked back at her apprehensively.
"Thanks."