Disclaimer: I don't own them...if I did, I'd be living in a huge mansion with butlers and drivers, cooks and maids...nope, I'm still on level with the average folk.
Author's Notes: Hey guys! Sorry this took so long, things have been going crazy! Last week I went in for minor surgery, to remove some ovarian cysts. It was supposed to be a simple laproscopic procedure, in and out, but it turned into the removal of an entire ovary. Just when I was getting back on my feet from that, I had to go back for emergency surgery to remove the other ovary. Needless to say, I've been knocked out with pain medication and suffering enough to not want to do much of anything, even write. I was supposed to be out of work for 4 to 6 weeks, but here I am, a week later, working my butt off. It's great to be needed, but this was really overkill, ya know?
I'm almost done with this story, and if you want to see how it ends, you'll leave me a reply telling me:-) Yes, I enjoy reading your comments, and I appreciate each and every one of you who leave me a note on your way out. You guys are the best.
Special thanks to Emmithar, who encouraged me to rewrite this twice, lol, although inadvertently (I think). Anyway, if I would have posted my original, you would all be very, very unhappy with me. You probably wouldn't have liked my second draft either. Lol. Anyway, girl, you rock!
Jenny
Eleven:
Sara's hands shook as she let the gun fall to the floor, unable to pull the trigger. She sank to her knees, bending over and covering her face with her hands as she started to sob. She swore she could never kill, a personal pact that extended to herself as well. It wasn't that she particularly wanted to live, because at this moment she could care less whether she lived or died, but she couldn't do this to her family.
By family, she didn't mean her mother or her grandparents, she meant Greg, Grissom, Nick, Warrick, and even Catherine. They were closer to her than anyone in her biological family had ever been, and were the only ones on this wide planet that even slightly cared whether or not she lived or died.
As the barrel of the gun had been pressed to her throbbing head, she had realized they would be the ones who found her, whether it be because she didn't show up for work and Greg or Grissom became concerned or because the neighbors started to smell her decomposing body through the walls of her apartment. They would be called out, they would see what had become of her, they would have to tear her apartment apart for evidence to make sure no one had murdered her. She couldn't do that to her friends, her family, not after they tried to hard to save her from herself.
As she contemplated Grissom and Greg dusting for prints and looking for any signs of fowl play, she also remembered that most women do not use a gun for suicide. If she did, it would raise red flags in their minds, prolong their acceptance that she was just too weak to survive. She didn't want them to go through that pain, either.
Doc Robbins would lay her on his cold steel table and search her body inch by inch to make sure that the gunshot wound would be her cause of death. He'd check her cold, naked body for signs of rape, trauma. He'd find the many fractures on her legs, arms, and ribs from her rough childhood. He'd see the signs of past abuse, and would be required to tell the others. Of course, Greg already knew. She told him about her hellish childhood, but the others would be surprised. They'd feel guilty for not knowing, they'd realize why she reacted to come cases as emotionally as she did.
Someone would notify her mother, in the women's penitentiary or perhaps the foster family who had finished raising her. Her next of kin had, actually, been Grissom. When she had arrived in Las Vegas, she didn't know who else to put. Perhaps he'd feel honored that she thought that highly of him, perhaps he would be upset that she had never told him. They would have a small service, her team would attend. Brass would definitely attend, perhaps Ecklie would find it in his cold heart to make an appearance. They would probably be upset by her death.
Someone would have to clean the blood from her apartment walls, brain matter from the floor, the walls, the sofa, the window. She couldn't do that to the people she loved. If she was going to take the final step, she had to find a better way.
Sara knelt on the floor, doubled over with agonizing emotional pain for nearly an hour, until a persistent knocking on the door broke her from her unrelenting sea of pain. She made no move to answer it, she couldn't find the strength to move, the desire to see or speak to anyone who would be coming by.
She tried to stop her cries, fearful that someone would hear and know she was home, but was unable to focus on the task through the unbearable heartache. Somewhere through the fog surrounding her mind, she heard a familiar voice, although she wasn't quite sure who it belonged to. Two hands were trying to pull her to her feet, but she resisted the assistance and began to sob harder, her breathing coming in shallow gasps as she fought to maintain her sanity, which was drifting farther and farther away.
The same to hands were reaching out for her again, and she fought back this time with words, quiet and desperate, although she intended them to be angry and firm. "Leave me alone! I don't need your help!"
"I think you do, Sara. You need to let somebody help you."
The voice sounded far away, and Sara chose to ignore it, unable to break away from her painful thoughts and ideas. In the back of her mind, she knew there was something she needed to do, some reason this person should not be in her home, but she was unable to remember what it was she was ashamed of.
By the time she remembered what it was, the person in her apartment had already spotted it, "Sara Sidle! Why the hell is your gun out? What were you doing? What are you thinking? Are you insane?"
Was she? She was beginning to think so. She was still unsure of who the other presence was, but she did know she didn't want to be a disappointment, and the voice did sound very disappointed. She sobbed harder, weak and lightheaded from her sporadic, shallow breathing, unable to make herself stop, although she wanted to do badly.
"I'm going to be right back, you need to go to the hospital." The voice said, starting to sound nervous and worried.
Sara managed to yell "No!" quite forcefully, scrambling wildly to try and control her crying. The hospital was the last thing she needed right now, then everyone would know.
She wasn't sure if the other person did call 911, but she assumed not as time passed on and the only sounds in the apartment were her own hysterical sobs. The voice had tried to reach out to Sara several more times before giving up and pacing angrily around the room trying to think of what to do. Sara was still doubled over, her body wracked with sobs, but she could hear the steady clop of the other person's shoes as they hit the tile floor. The repetitive sound began to calm her down, and soon after, her tears were beginning to slow and her sobs were now shallow breaths and moans as her lungs tried to fill with oxygen and her body slowly calmed down.
Her eyes were swollen and burning, her face wet with tears. She felt like she was going to collapse from exhaustion at any given moment, her body worn from the emotional display. This time, when the hands reached out to her, she allowed herself to be lifted and led to her bedroom. She collapsed on her bed, rolling onto her side and hugging her pillow tightly. She wanted to be left alone to try and decide what she should do next. She was embarrassed that someone had seen her like this, afraid that the other person would piece the details together and have her admitted under suicide watch. She was afraid that if that happened, she'd lose her job, her apartment, everything that she hadn't lost already.
After she had finally calmed down, nearly asleep as her body decided it was too weak to go on for now, she recognized the voice who had been whispering soothingly to her since her emotional tirade had stopped.
She was shocked by the sincerity and worry of the voice, by the worried gesture, by the obvious concern. As Sara drifted asleep, she was relieved she didn't pull the trigger after all, maybe someone did care.
Catherine paced nervously around Sara's living room, growing more and more agitated with the ringing on the other end of her phone.
It seemed as if all she could do was anxiously pace around Sara's apartment, nothing else seemed to be doing any good. Sara was obviously on the verge of losing it, and she sure as hell wasn't the right person to be handling the overly emotional woman. This was definitely a job for someone Sara trusted, but neither Greg nor Grissom were answering their cell phones.
She resisted the urge to go check on Sara once more, even though she knew she had just checked on the sleeping woman moments earlier. While her head was telling her that nothing could happen to Sara in her sleep, her heart continued to ache with worry and sadness for her friend.
She had heard Sara's cries, had seen the gun, had watched as her friend was reduced to a wheezing, sobbing, puddle of tears on the floor. To come in and find this... it wasn't hard to figure out what was on Sara's mind. It was unnerving to know Sara was thinking of suicide, and what even worse was the gripping fear that Sara could actually succeed.
She punched in the numbers to Grissom's cell again, once more getting a message saying he was unavailable. She slammed her phone down on the counter, cursing softly. What good was telling her to stay in contact if they wouldn't answer their damn phones?
She let out a heavy sigh as she bent down and picked up Sara's gun, emptying the bullets into her hand and shoving them in her pocket, putting the gun on top of the cabinet. She knew it was probably a pointless precaution, but she knew that if Sara thought of it once, she may try it again. She rummaged through Sara's cabinets until she found the one with plastic bags, and taking a small sandwich bag, she emptied the bullets into it, placing the bag into her own purse. Her philosophy had always been "Better safe than sorry", especially when it came to her friend's lives.
She wasn't quite sure when she started considering Sara a friend. They had certainly not been friendly when Sara began working in Vegas, their first encounter had been a tense one. They learned to co-exist in a setting that had usually been dominated by males, and as much as Catherine had dreaded another female on her shift, she didn't find it all to different from having another male.
They were never really paired together on cases, and on the select few that they did work in each other's company, they disagreed. Sara had her own way of working a scene, she was working for the pure pleasure of being a CSI, the dedication to the job. On the other hand, Catherine had plans, plans that did not include being just a CSI forever. She was a great CSI, she was skilled in the politics it would take to be a supervisor. She was working not only to get the most out of her career, but to move as high up as she could be. Some people would say she was selling out, being hard on the others while she was lead to prove she was capable. In actuality, however, she just enjoying being the leader. Some people were natural born leaders, Catherine was one of them.
They almost bonded after Sara found out Hank was a two-timer, but a morning in a quiet bar had barely nudged them from "coworkers" to "friendly coworkers". Of course, Eddie's death hadn't helped out much. She had taken a lot of her grief out on Sara, much like Sara was now doing to everyone that crossed her path, and while she knew it was wrong, she hadn't been able to come up with an apology for the younger CSI. After awhile, she forgot about her hurtful words and moved on.
They remained "coworkers". Sure, Sara went out with Warrick or Nick sometimes after work, and sometimes Catherine tagged along, but she never actively sought out the younger woman's company. In her own defense, Sara hadn't really sought out Catherine's either.
Everyone knew Sara had gotten popped for a DUI, although no one ever talked about it. Catherine's heart had gone out to Sara on her short leave of absence, but she never approached her over it. After Sara's return, she seemed to be feeling better, although she was still more withdrawn and quieter than she had been in the past. She had assumed they were friendly, although she wouldn't go to say they were friends.
Then the shifts were split apart. Catherine had found herself thankful that she had gotten to bring Nick and Warrick on her long-awaited journey to management. It was then she found out how much headache came with the job. She had been used to working with a large group of people, where it was rare you couldn't find someone to help you out on a case, to a three person team which was constantly knee-deep in cases.
She had been on edge since her promotion, and then she and Sara had gotten into an argument in the hallway. Both had said some things they probably didn't mean, and as a result, Catherine's seniority had ruled in her favor. It probably would have been okay if Sara hadn't gotten cocky with Ecklie, but Sara was fired up and ready to stomp over anything in her pathway.
She couldn't deny that she was jealous that Grissom had taken off to speak with Sara, and then had taken Sara's side in the issue. She didn't know the whole story, but from what she could tell, the "new" graveyard shift and the "new" swing shift were pulling apart and the loyalty was changing with it. When Greg brought up the fight, Catherine knew that her work family had changed, and worked hard to create the same type of support system with her new shift that she had with her old.
She had tried to stay out of it when Greg and Grissom had been fighting in the hallway over Sara, she had tried to convince herself she didn't care. After all, she couldn't care less when something was going on with one of the day shift CSI's, why should grave be any different?
Needless to say, that idea was out the window. Apparently, she hadn't been the only one greatly impacted by the change, along with many other changes.
As she searched through Sara's apartment, trying to gather up anything that could be easily used as a weapon, she couldn't stop the tears that rolled silently down her cheeks. She couldn't help but feel that if she hadn't alienated herself from her old "family", things wouldn't have gotten this bad. Grissom was as clueless as they came when faced with an emotional crisis. Greg was still a kid, he didn't know how to handle situations as serious as this, he didn't know what to look for, what to do. Nick and Warrick only saw the old team in passing, Catherine rarely volunteered her guys to pull doubles. There hadn't been anyone paying attention to the obviously withdrawn young woman, and Catherine was certain that if she would have been around, she would have noticed. She may not have acted on it, but she would have known.
A shrill scream broke Catherine from her thoughts, and she quickly dumped all of the items she had found into a brown paper bag, setting it down and rushing into Sara's room.
Sara was thrashing around in her bed, tears falling from her closed eyelids, her face red and her body drenched in sweat. Catherine tried to make out what she was mumbling, but Sara was too quiet to understand.
Catherine sat next to her on the bed, shaking her gently, "Sara, wake up, you're dreaming. Wake up!"
Sara continued to thrash around, her mumbles turning into cries for help. Catherine tried to figure out what Sara was dreaming about, hoping it would be some clue to her suicidal behavior, but was unsuccessful. After a few firm shakes, Catherine realized she wasn't going to get very far in her quest to rouse Sara. Pulling her into a sitting position, Catherine gave her a few more firm shakes before pulling her into a tight embrace, hoping to at least soothe the younger woman's pain enough to stop whatever horrible dream she was having.
Sara's eyes shot open and she pulled away from Catherine, still half asleep, scratching at her arms wildly, sobbing hysterically.
"Calm down, Sara. Wake up, it was just a dream." Catherine soothed, reaching out to touch Sara's arm and retreating when the younger woman flinched.
Sara shook her head desperately, "I've got to get it off...I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to...I'm so sorry...Katie...No!"
In her fierce attempt to rid herself of her haunting dream, Sara tumbled from the bed onto the floor, where she scrambled to her feet and staggered into the bathroom, still panting heavily and rubbing at her arms. Catherine went to follow her, but stopped when she heard the locking of the bathroom door.
"Sara! Let me in! I just want to help you." Catherine said, her head resting against the door, "Please, Sara, let someone help you."
"I don't need your help! I don't want it! I don't deserve it!" Sara shrieked hysterically, using a hardened sponge to scrub her arms.
She sank to the floor of the bathroom, her knees hitting the cold tile as sobs began to disable her. The dream was so real, she could still see little Katie's blood on her hands, her arms, covering her clothing and face. She could still hear the child's pleading screams as she raised the knife over and over again, spraying innocent blood over every surface of the 'Dora the Explorer' themed bedroom. She could feel the warm, wet feel and the bitter, metallic scent of the blood that had filled the child's bedroom. She had murdered her little girl, in her dream and in reality. She didn't have what it took to keep her safe and healthy. She was a failure to herself and to her child, children.
She stumbled into the shower on wobbly legs, still overpowered by her breathtaking sobs, still trying in vain to get the imagined blood off of her tainted skin. Sinking to the shower floor and curling herself into a tight ball, she allowed the scalding hot water cascade onto her guilt-ridden body, unaware of what was taking place outside of her bathroom door.
TBC