A/N: I'm so sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I had the worst case of writter's block. I knew what i wanted to happen in the next chapter, but couldn't figure out how to get there. Also, I have to admit, I was a little wrapped up in a new story I'm writing. Thank you to everyone who reveiwed the last chapter, and anyone who is still reading this.
Chapter 8
Someone was jumping on her. She was pulled out of a sound sleep by the bouncing, as well as the repetitive calling of her name.
"Sara, Sara, Sara..." The voice wouldn't leave her alone. Sara refused to open her eyes. She pulled the comforter over her head, taking refuge in the darkness and the muffling of sound. She was exhausted. Between the nightmares, the memories, and Grissom's method of distracting her from both (okay, that part she wasn't complaining about) the only thing she wanted to be doing right now was sleeping.
"Sara, wake up." The jumping had ended, but now she was being poked. Whoever was trying to wake her up was too damn persistent.
"Ten more minutes," she muttered from under the covers.
"Nu-uh. Miss Catherine says it's time for you to get up. We get to go pick my mommy today."
The voice sunk in before the words did. Maggie was the one currently sitting on her bed. As her brain began to awaken she analyzed Maggie's speech.
"Catherine's here. Now?" Sara started to get out of the bed. Suddenly she froze, realizing that she wasn't wearing any pajamas. Grabbing at the comforter, she pulled it up to her neck.
"Sweetie, go tell Cath I'll be out in a minute, okay."
"Okee doke," Maggie agreed. With one last bounce she was off the bed.
"Hey Maggie," Sara called out just as the little girl was about to exit the room, "tell Grissom there better be a pot of coffee already made."
She wished that she could say that telling Grissom her story yesterday had made her feel better. Okay, maybe it did, a little. At least she felt more secure in their personal relationship. If he stuck around after hearing all that, nothing else she could say was going to scare him away. She still felt like she was falling apart, though. Memories from twenty plus years ago weighed on her, wrapping around her like the coastal fogs she had grown up with. She fought to push them away, at least for a little while longer.
Sara dressed as quickly as she could, limping around the room to collect jeans and a T-shirt, re-velcroing the walking cast to her foot. Grabbing the crutches lying next to the bed, she left the safety of her bedroom.
Grissom had a mug of coffee waiting for her, lightened by a splash of cream and sweetened with too much sugar; just the way she liked it.
"Oh, Sara, what did you do? Does it hurt? Can I sign it, like I did my mom's?" Maggie gestured towards Sara's cast as she asked her barrage of questions.
"Sorry, Mags. This isn't the kind of cast you sign. I hurt my toe, and have to wear this until it feels better." The rather simplified version of the truth seemed to be enough to please the girl. Content, she bounced away into the living room, settling quickly into one of her favorite TV shows.
Catherine watched the exchange from her seat at the dining room table. She waited until Sara had found her own seat, coffee mug in hand, before speaking.
"So, round one of Sara versus the dumpster didn't turn out so well," she commented dryly.
Silently, Sara cursed Nick and his big mouth. She knew she never should have told him how she hurt herself, but she had been tired and unfocused, and he wormed the story out of her.
"Seemed like a good idea at the time." Sara tried to brush it off as a
joke.
Grissom entered the room then, carrying in two plates of toast and scrambled eggs. 'Eat' he mouthed at Sara before he walked back to the kitchen. Only the fact that Catherine was at the table kept Sara from rolling her eyes or sticking out her tongue.
"So how was Maggie?" Sara asked to change the subject. "Was she alright, spending the night at your house?"
"Maggie was fine. Followed Lindsey around the whole time, wanting to do whatever she was doing. Lindsey loved it, gave Maggie a makeover." Catherine had marveled at how secure the little girl was, after the last few days. She had reacted with a simple 'cool, can I go play in Lindsey's room?' when Catherine had told her that she was spending the night there, instead of back at Sara's.
Sara remembered that feeling, of latching on to an older girl as a role model. The first foster home she had been placed at, it had been Kansas. Sixteen years old, with a wardrobe of torn jeans and punk shirts, Kansas had taken the shell shocked girl under her wing. Taught Sara about the system she had already been a part of for ten years, how to give the social workers
the right answers, how to hide her possessions when she was away from the house. Taught her how to smoke, too. For six months Sara had followed the teenager around like a ghost. Then Kansas had run away. 'Time to try it on my own,' she had explained. That was the last time Sara let herself get close to any of her foster siblings.
Once breakfast was finished, Catherine excused herself with an excuse of errands that needed to be run before Lindsey got out of school. Glancing at the clock, Sara realized that she had her own errand to run. Check out time at the hospital would start in half an hour.
"Maggie, you ready to go get your mom?"
Within seconds, the TV was turned off and Maggie was standing by her side. "Really, Sara?
"Really, Maggie. Go tell Griss we're ready to go."
"Sorry." Sara apologized for the second time since entering the lab five minutes ago. Twice she had almost run into someone, accidents only avoided by the other person's quick movements. A combination of walking on crutches and not paying attention made Sara a lethal person to be around. Her mind was not on the here and now, but the pair she had just left. She and Grissom had picked Debra up from the hospital, staying with her until it was time for work. Sara knew that logically there was no reason she and Maggie couldn't be alone. A broken arm made chores more difficult, but not impossible, and there was no need to worry about Wes coming back. He was safely locked up. She still felt uneasy, though, and wished that she could
have stayed longer. Work, as always, beckoned.
"Hey Sara." Nick was the only other person in the break room when she entered. "How's the toe?"
"How's the mouth?" she countered.
"Nothing wrong with my...oh, sorry." His cheeks turned pink. "You know I can't keep anything secret from Cath. She called me last night."
"Talked to Catherine, talked to Griss. You have any minutes left on your phone plan?" Sarcasm dripped from Sara's voice, but then Nick looked at her, and she relented. It was hard to stay mad at Nick when he gave one of those 'awe, shucks' expressions.
"What happened to you, girl?" Warrick's voice sounded from the doorway.
Sara glared at Nick, preventing him from answering the question. "I hurt my toe. No big deal." She dismissed the injury with a shrug of her shoulders, glad that even those who knew how she got hurt didn't know of the why behind it. No one but Grissom had any knowledge of her past, and she wanted to keep it that way.
"It's some kind of deal, if the cast and crutches are any indication." Warrick looked her over, studying her with piecing eyes that seem to see through her. He shook his head a little, as if sensing that something was off, but didn't say anything further.
Catherine entered the room then and Grissom a moment later. Sara gave him a half hearted smile before she limped out of the room. She had no desire to stay for assignments, when she knew there wouldn't be one for her. She was lab bound for the next few weeks. It was almost enough to make her consider using some of the vacation time she had accumulated. Almost, but not quite. After all, what would she do, besides sit around her apartment and stew?
No, better to work, even when work was limited to the four walls of this building.
Warrick found her in the layout room, almost four hours later. She was working an unsolved case from a week ago, a woman shot coming out of the grocery store. The table was covered with plastic evidence bags, while pictures of the crime scene were taped to the walls.
"How's it going?" he asked, even though the expression on her face made it clear that it was not going well.
"I can't figure it out. It's like the answer is right in front of me, but I can't see it for all the other pieces." Her voice was infused with frustration, partially at herself but mostly at the crime she couldn't solve. A young boy would now grow up without a mother, and she at least needed to tell him why.
"Stare at it long enough, the only thing your going to get is a headache. I'm in need of a break too. Why don't you come with me to the diner, and we'll grab some food?"
"No, thanks. I need to work on this some more, see if I can't figure out the why, if not, the who." She picked up a bag from the table, this one containing a .35 caliber bullet.
"There isn't always an easy why, Sara."
"I know," she sighed, not meeting his gaze, "But I need to try."
"Try after we eat. Maybe, if you take a step back, you'll see something you didn't before. If nothing else, you'll have enough fuel to last a while longer," he rationalized.
"I don't..."
"Food, Sara. Come take a break with me, okay?"
Sara looked at the pictures pinned to the wall, the objects on the table, the case file that she had been staring at for hours. Then she looked at her friend, standing with his arms crossed, watching her.
"Alright," she decided. "But then I'm coming right back here."
"I wouldn't think you'd do anything else. In fact, if no new cases come in, I'll help you out. See if a new perspective changes anything."
