Life In Darkness, a csi fanfic

Title: Life In Darkness

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: GrissomSara

Summary: She's never been afraid of the darkness but it has never been her comfort… until now. Angst, I think, with a nice bit of romance.

Spoilers: 6x05 Gumdrops

Disclaimer: If I owned CSI do you honestly think I'd still be writing fanfiction? Of course I would be! And this is how the episode would have happened. Don't own 'em. Don't sue me.

Life In Darkness

She was, for some reason, comforted by the darkness surrounding her. Darkness. Solitude. Neither had ever bothered her. She had always been a solitary person. Unable to show her emotions properly and deal with her past, it had always been easier to turn in upon herself and be alone. But, before now, she had never been comforted by darkness.

Sara Sidle drifted on the edge of sleep. Blinds drawn, air conditioner on high, comfort at its best. The soft thrum of the window unit lulled her as she struggled to feel the warmth of his arms around her. She needed him. Needed his warmth, his strength, his love and support. She wanted him there with her. But she was selfish. He was the one in pain now, the one in need of comforting, and she was angry with him because she needed him.

They hadn't been together long. Based on a timeline of dates, of kisses, of sessions of lovemaking, their time together had been short. The beginning of this so-called timeline was marked by Nick's kidnapping and rescue.

May 23, 2005: They had saved him. Nick was alive. He wanted his team back. Ecklie had given it to him. They had driven. Back to the lab to write up the report. He had kissed her at a stop light, lingering too long and holding up the traffic behind them. He had set them into motion.

But that had been the start of their physical relationship. Emotionally, they had become involved so many years before. So many years that sometimes it was difficult to count, but she could never forget.

February 8, 1991: It was her sophomore year of college. She was late for a seminar. Running across Harvard Yard in sneakers and her workout gear. She had come from the gym and was sticky with sweat. It was snowing out, adding to the three feet of white powder already on the ground. He had been running late as well and they had collided, just outside the lecture hall. She had fallen, landing hard on her butt. He had dropped his notes and slides. They had gone to coffee afterwards. She had laughed. He had smiled. And that had set them in motion.

The call from his aunt had woken them both up. It had been the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday and neither of them had gotten much sleep. Work had been consuming the night before and he had hesitated when reaching for his cell phone. He'd picked it up, rolling away from her in order to let her go back to sleep. But she hadn't. She had been awake, picking up pieces of what his aunt had been saying. Your mother… this morning... passed away. Her voice was strained with tears and his suddenly changed as he was given short details of what needed to be done. He'd promised to be on the next flight out of McCarran, breathed a quick goodbye before disconnecting the call. For a few moments he hadn't moved. He'd simply sat there, head in his hands, tears threatening to fall, and Sara was unsure of what to say. She had sat up beside him, moving closer to him, wrapping her lanky arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into her chest. He had wrapped his arms around her waist, his face buried in the hollow between her breasts. And when she had felt the hot rush of his tears on her skin, she let him cry, her own tears silently falling.

She had held him long after his tears had stopped. She was suddenly his anchor, and in that moment, she thanked God that he had been there for her all of the times she had felt this way. They had been silent as they'd gotten dressed. He had called Catherine, letting her know that he would need a few days off, not giving her details, calling it a family emergency. Sara had packed a bag for him while he spoke to the other woman, happy they had been at his townhouse when his aunt had called and not at her apartment. Neither of them had been in any real shape to drive.

After he had hung up with Catherine, they were on their way out the door. She had insisted on driving him to the airport and when he had argued, she had simply told him that she loved him and that she wasn't going to let him be alone any longer than necessary. He had kissed her then, in his own way echoing her words.

They had made it to McCarran in record time, Sara breaking every traffic law she knew of on the way there, and probably some she wasn't quite aware of. He'd been able to find a flight leaving less than half an hour from the time they arrived and she'd walked him to the gate, flashing an LVPD Crime Lab badge at the security guards when they argued that she wasn't allowed through without a boarding pass. She wasn't about to leave his side. He needed her. She was his anchor. She knew what it was like to be in pain and be alone. He wouldn't have to go through that.

They sat in silence at the gate, their hands entwined and resting in his lap. She had rested her head on his shoulder, content for a moment when she had felt the weight of his on top of hers. When the stewardess announced that they would be boarding, he had let go of her hand, turning slightly in his seat to face her.

He had kissed her then, hand in her hair and on her face, showing her all of the things he suddenly had no courage to say. She had kissed him back, wanting him to know that she understood. They were lovers. These were the things that lovers did. She loved him.

She had stood at the gate after he had boarded, waiting for the plane to take off before finally turning and heading in the general direction of her vehicle. It had taken her a while to find her car, as she hadn't really been paying much attention to where she was going. She'd been too lost in thought to even worry about where she had parked. His mother had died that morning and he'd clung to her as he cried and she had wanted nothing more than to buy a ticket on the next flight to Los Angeles and be with him while he mourned.

She didn't. She had found her car in the parking garage, pulled out of the space, and drove away from McCarran airport with tears in her eyes. She needed him and he had left her.

Work that night had been nearly unbearable. He hadn't called since his plane had landed at LAX and he had only muttered that he had made it there all right and that he would call her later. He had yet to call when she'd been handed an assignment slip. She had gathered her kit, checking her cell phone to make sure that it was still in working order, before climbing into an LVPD issued vehicle with Nick, Greg and Warrick. She had checked her phone at least a dozen times on the way to Piocht, Nevada. A small speck on the map and the sight of a quadruple homicide. He still hadn't called.

She had been in the McDermott family's kitchen, dusting everything in sight for prints, when her cell phone had vibrated, indicating she had a call. She had handed the job over to Greg, making up some lame excuse, before venturing outside to answer her cell.

He had sounded tired. Exhausted really, like he had spent most of the night crying. She had expected that. His mother had just died, the only person in his life he had ever really been close to, and she wasn't there to hold him in her arms and tell him that she loved him. A poor connection on her cell phone at a crime scene was the only connection they had had since he'd left for California and she had refused to hang up. They had talked for less than ten minutes simply because Greg had felt the need to check up on her and she had had to pretend that it was someone from the lab calling her. He had whispered a simple I love you before disconnecting the call and she had been forced to shake away the threat of tears.

That night had proven even more difficult for Sara as she had been subjected to staying in a sleazy motel, lying alone in a bed she wasn't comfortable in, thinking of the one person who could have made her comfortable in that moment.

She was selfish. She couldn't deny that.

They had wrapped the case and she had come home. Home to his townhouse, not to her apartment. She had needed something of his, she had needed to be close to him even if she couldn't be in his arms. So she had gone the extra distance to his townhouse, letting herself in with the brand new key he had put on her key ring, and making her way into his bedroom. Once there, she had drawn the blinds, turned up the air conditioner, and wrapped herself in his quilt, her face buried in the mass of pillows that smelled of him.

And now here she was, lying in her lover's bed without his arms around her and she was angry with him for not being there.

He had called a few hours earlier, knowing that she had the night off, to tell her that he missed her and to tell her some of the trivial details of his mother's death. He and his aunt had been left to deal with his mother's attorney and her estate which, from what Sara gathered, was a rather large one. He had mentioned bringing back a few of her things, things that had meant something to him as well as his mother. They hadn't discussed when he'd be coming home, skittering around the subject in order to keep the conversation from becoming awkward. When the tone of his voice had suddenly become laden with sleeplessness, she had said goodnight, adding a tentative I love you, listening as he returned her words before she hung up.

Their conversation had lasted nearly forty minutes and in the entire span of that time, neither of them had mentioned work. Sara hadn't brought it up, for fear of worrying him, and he hadn't brought it up because it wasn't important. She also hadn't mentioned that, as they spoke, she was curled up on one end of his couch, wrapped in the blanket from his bed, donning a pair of sweatpants that hung low on her hips and a T-shirt that was at least three sizes too big. She hadn't mentioned that she needed him, or that she had cried herself to sleep without him in her bed. She hadn't wanted to worry him.

And so, after his call, she had wandered to the bedroom, forcing herself to lie down in his bed, to close her eyes, and dream of something happier than the death of a family that she didn't even know.

Her dream that night hadn't been a happy one. She had dreamt of his mother's funeral. She had watched him beside his aunt, so far out of reach. She had seen him cry for the woman who raised him. And she had cried for her as well, for this woman had given him to her. Without her, she wouldn't have the love of her life.

She had cried in her sleep, sobbed really, a pain so strong that it had shaken her from a deep sleep, and she had been startled at the sudden feel of warm skin on her face, wiping away the tears. She had struggled to turn in the arms suddenly wrapped tight around her, desperate to see his face, to feel his gaze on her.

He was home. She was in his arms. And as he squeezed her tighter, she buried her face in his chest and cried with him as the darkness of death and longing enveloped her.