A Trial of the Heart: Chapter 2
A/N: All right…I (Rouch) have to admit I messed up…I am willing to admit when I make a mistake, but I blame sleep depravation and lack of caffeine… There is something I need to fix before anyone reads any further… LaughAtClouds is not called Jess in the real world…nope, it's Lisa… I tried to change her name but she wouldn't have it… Jess is writing a great fanfic that I have been beta reading, and I highly encourage it when she posts! It's just like watching an episode. So let's recap… Lisa not Jess, Lisa—thanks for the feedback, Jess—great story, must read.
So let's end the suspense shall we and get on with the story:
Reminder: Flashbacks are in bold; thoughts are in italics because likes to mess with formatting…grrr…
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Standing by,
All the way.
Here to help you through your day.
Holding you up,
When you are weak,
Helping you find what it is you seek.
Catching your tears,
When you cry.
Pulling you through when the tide is high.
Just being there,
Through thick and thin,
All just to say, you are my friend.
Brittani Kokko –
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Grissom had watched Sara standing in the hallway, and felt a pain stab in his chest as she ran away from him. He had wanted to see her all day, but had avoided her the entire shift. She had made her wishes painfully clear in the hospital, and after their experience he was willing to give her all the space she needed.
He took a step forward to follow her. All he wanted out of life was to comfort her.
"See what she's willing to go through for you?"
Grissom winced as he heard the voice echo in his head. He placed his hand on the door that stood between himself and Sara, and slowly lowered his head to rest on the wood. 'She needs space. Seeing me will not help her recover,' he told himself. Pushing off the door, he sought someone to check on Sara.
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The door opened, and she knew who the individual was that had entered-- but she refused to acknowledge them-- or to acknowledge that she needed help. Sara kept her head pressed against the coolness of the mirror. In her mind she imagined Grissom's reaction, and felt extremely guilty. She knew she had to talk to him, to apologize for involving him in her torment.
"Sara?" Catherine approached the brunette, and lightly touched her splinted hand.
Sara stiffened; squeezing her eyes shut.
"Give me your hand Sara." His voice was so calming…so deceptive.
She knew if she did not obey Grissom would suffer. Sara lifted her hand out, but refused to look; leaving her head pressed into the ground. He caressed her hand, and suddenly snapped her index finger. She moaned and drew it back quickly.
"Give me your hand Sara." His voice never changed.
She whimpered, and could still hear Grissom screaming. Sara once again placed her hand in her tormentor's, and felt another sickening snap.
Sara pulled away from Catherine, "No!"
The blonde instantly took a non-threatening stance, raising her arms slightly in the air. "Sara, it's ok, you're safe. It's over." With each word Catherine took a step closer to the scared women in front of her.
Finally, Sara opened her eyes. They were filled with tears she refused to shed. Catherine studied her. Her eyes were unfocused, and Catherine was sure she was suffering from a flashback, so she continued to whisper encouraging words.
Catherine let out the breath she was holding as she saw Sara's eyes slowly focus back on her. "Catherine?"
"Yeah, Sara, it's me." She held her hand out, waiting to see if the younger women would take it. "You ready to sneak out of here?"
Sara used her sleeve to wipe the tears that were on the verge of falling away. She took Catherine's offered one with her other hand, eliciting a smile. Sara smiled slightly back, "Yeah, any chance we can get out of here without seeing…anyone?"
Catherine felt instantly sorry for both Sara and Grissom as she translated who the 'anyone' was. She nodded, "I bet we could convince Greg to streak down the hallway, and we can escape in the midst of the confusion."
Sara laughed quietly, "Let's not subject the lab to such torture—" She meant it to be funny, but couldn't believe how different the word's meaning was to her now. It was not a word she would ever use in daily conversation again.
The blonde cocked her head toward the door, "Let's get out of here." She led Sara out the door by the hand, letting Sara walk protected behind her.
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Grissom watched from his office as Catherine led Sara out of the building. He grabbed his coat and followed discreetly behind them. Catherine made sure Sara got into her car, and Grissom's heart broke a little as he watched her quickly find the lock. Catherine in turn got in her car and drove off, but Sara's brake lights never lit up.
He walked around several cars so he could approach the vehicle from the front. He didn't want to startle her, but he needed to see her. Her eyes suddenly locked on his. He stopped in his tracks as he waited for her to decide his next steps. When she didn't turn the car on and drive away he took it as a signal that he could continue forward.
Sara rolled down her window halfway, but waited for Grissom to speak.
He knelt down, and placed a hand on the window. Sara jumped back. Does she think I'm going to hurt her? How can she think that? He was horrified.
Sara could sense the hurt she caused him, and mentally berated herself. If I love him, why do I keep causing him pain?
"Sara, I just need to know that you're all right…that we're alright." He held his breath, waiting to hear her answer, expecting an, 'I'm fine.'
She hesitantly touched his hand, and he could see the effort it took for her to reach out to him. "I'm fine, and we will be. I just need some time to deal with some issues."
He nodded. "Sara… I'm going to see someone tomorrow, to talk through some things. I hear she's really good, and I think maybe you should make an appointment."
She quickly withdrew her hand. "Griss, the last thing I need is to deal with another psychologist."
He cringed; it never occurred to him that she would draw that parallel. "Sara, Lee Wilson was not—"
"Grissom!" She cut him off abruptly, and instantly regretted her harshness. "Let's never talk about Dr. Wilson again." She turned her car on and backed out of her stall quickly. Leaving Grissom standing alone, forced to watch her run from him.
Grissom drove home, thinking about Sara. His thoughts occupied him to the point that he was surprised when he pulled into his driveway.
He walked through the door, grabbed some water and a migraine pill. He knew Sara was not dealing with her 'issues', and he was beginning to realize that avoiding him was helping her avoid confronting the memories. He couldn't blame her, but it didn't make her avoidance any less painful. He sat down heavily on his couch, and rubbed the sores on his wrist.
Grissom felt the bile rise in his throat when he focused on his fingers and remembered the moment Sara let the psycho break her fingers. Then he heard the voice.
"It's amazing the pain she's willing to endure for you isn't it? Look how willingly she gives me her hand back."
Sara's answering screams would haunt his mind for the rest of his life.
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Sara ate her yoghurt while she sat on the couch staring at the TV. It wasn't on, but she didn't seem to notice. She was pulled from her trance by a knock at the door. Her first instinct was to ignore whoever it was, but she soon realized the consequences of such actions. More then likely it was Greg or Nick, and if she didn't answer the door they would overreact and break it down.
She threw the half-eaten cup of yoghurt away, and walked to the door. Before she could reach the dead bolt, a persistent knock echoed through the apartment again.
"Sara?" The muffled voice of Greg Sanders was dripping with worry.
She unlocked the door and slid the chain off its track. As she drew it open she saw Greg posed to knock again. She held up her wrists. "Haven't slit them, you can relax," she stated sarcastically and walked back to the couch, leaving the door open in her wake.
Greg was determined to help her, and he knew that meant he had to deal with her biting words. He stepped in, locked and chained the door and set his duffle bag down. He covered half the distance between himself and Sara, and studied her.
Sara knew he was concerned, and he was really the one person she wanted around her. He was watching her, making her feel uncomfortable. Trying to relax, she leaned back, but winced at the pressure placed on her wounded back.
Greg saw the pain flash through her eyes. He placed the plastic bag he was holding on the coffee table in front of him, and sat down next to her.
She instinctively leaned against him, and he wrapped his arm around her, allowing her to finally cry openly. It was the second time he had seen her breakdown. He would never forget seeing her sobbing in the warehouse. She hadn't allowed herself to release her emotions since they found them.
Greg stroked her hair and whispered comforting words in her ear, until the sobs finally subsided. He tried to wipe the tears away, but her good hand was pinned and the splints on her fingers made it impossible. He pulled some tissues out of his pocket, and gently wiped her tears away.
"You always carry Kleenex around in your pocket?" She asked with a hint of amusement.
He nodded, "Every time a friend's gonna need some."
She smiled gratefully. "What's in the bag?"
He smiled triumphantly at the object. "That Sara Sidle, is all the ingredients needed to make a killer eggplant Parmesan," he explained proudly.
Sitting up straight she chuckled. "Since when do you know how to boil water, let alone cook?"
Smiling sheepishly he confessed, "I've been working on it since they found you. After two weeks of practice I'm ready."
"Greg, that's really sweet, but—"
"—yoghurt and crackers." He interrupted.
"What?"
"Yoghurt and crackers. I'm assuming that's all you've eaten?" He explained.
"How?" She was stunned.
"I've been taught by the best," he answered, patted her knee and stood to walk to the kitchen, bag in hand.
Sara followed and leaned against the doorframe, watching him rummage for a pan and utensils. She was really touched by his concern, and was honestly glad he was taking the time out to be with her. "What's in the duffle bag?" She asked cocking her head in its direction.
Greg continued to slice the eggplant, "Clothes, shower stuff…it's my emergency bag."
"You think you can force me to eat and then crash on my couch?"
He never looked up from his task; he was actually more concentrated in his cooking than she had ever seen him in the lab. "That's the plan."
She nodded. "Thank you," she whispered and walked back into the living room, turning on the TV.
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