Disclaimer/Author's Note – See Chapter One.

Chapter Four - Nightmares

Sara felt as if she had been frozen to the spot. Everything suddenly felt incredibly surreal. One moment, she had been enjoying a magical evening with Grissom. Now all of that had fallen away, to be replaced with shock and grief.

Her throat closed over, a sob building there but refusing to surface. She had no idea how long she had been standing there, but gradually she became aware that Grissom was talking to her.

'Sara?' she barely heard him say.

She dragged her eyes away from the telephone and looked at him. His expression was worried, his eyes tender. She couldn't bear to look at him and so her eyes darted away once more.

'Sara?' he tried again. 'What's wrong?'

She shook her head, whether in response to his question or to clear the images that were flooding her mind, she wasn't sure. She felt the tears building and squeezed her eyes shut to stave them off.

'Talk to me.'

It was a conversation she knew she needed to have with him. She'd accepted that. She'd planned out what she wanted to say – what she needed to tell him – in minute detail. She had planned on bringing it up. She had planned on sitting him down and talking him through the horrors that had been her childhood. She had planned for his reaction. She had planned it all.

She just hadn't planned on doing it right now. And she certainly hadn't planned on her mother calling, out of the blue, while Grissom was within earshot.

Grief and fear and who knows what other emotions shuddered through her and she knew this was not the right time to tell him. She wouldn't be able to form the words.

'I can't,' she whispered. 'I can't deal with this. Not now.'

Turning away from him, she strode quickly to her bedroom and shut the door.

Grissom stared at the space she had just vacated, worry and confusion mingling in his soul. He had never seen Sara so complete shut down. He had seen her upset, angry, frustrated and even frightened, but this seemed to go beyond all of that. It was as though her entire system had gone into shock.

Not for the first time in his life, Gil Grissom felt completely helpless. Knowledge was power in his neat, orderly life. He craved knowledge like other people craved food. To know was to be in control, and at this precise moment in time, he didn't know enough about Sara's past to explain why she was so upset. And because of this, he felt completely out of control and powerless to help her.

Deciding to give her a few moments alone before going to her, he moved to the kitchen and made tea.

She was shaking from head to foot. Tears stung her cheeks and she pressed angry fists into her eyes, trying to force them into retreat.

Why now? What possible reason could her mother have for contacting her after all these years? She had last written two years before, with a change of address and contact number 'just in case you change your mind, Sara, and want to get in touch.'

Sara didn't know how Laura Sidle had found out she'd moved to Vegas. She hadn't written back to find out.

A fresh wave of guilt swept through her like nausea. This was her mother. The woman had given birth to her, had raised her for the first thirteen years of her life. And yet, the thought of talking to her, of being in the same room as her, sent a chill through her heart. To face her mother was to face her past; and that was something Sara, as strong as she was in other aspects of her life, was completely unable to do.

She sat down on the corner of her bed and took a long, steadying breath. Wiping her eyes, she remembered the man she had left, alone and confused, in her living room. She'd have to explain things to Grissom. At least enough so that he wouldn't worry about her. She owed him that much.

Moving from her bedroom to the adjoining bathroom, she splashed water on her face and regarded her reflection in the mirror. Puffy red circles were an immediate give away that she'd been crying. Reaching for the compact on the counter-top beside her, she dabbed on make-up and checked the effect. Satisfied that she at least looked less of a wreck than she felt, she moved back out to the living room to face Grissom.

She found him leaning against her countertop, staring into a cup of tea that was growing colder by the second. His face was lined with worry, and she felt her heart constrict at the thought of him worrying about her. It was all he seemed to do lately.

'Hey,' she said softly and he turned, the lines on his face easing slightly as gave her a small smile.

'Hey. You okay?'

Sara shrugged. 'I… uh. I guess you want to know why I freaked out like that.'

Grissom cocked his head to one side and looked at her. 'I do. But you're not ready to tell me.'

Surprised, she frowned. 'How do you know…?'

'I'm an investigator, Sara. As… socially inept as I am, I am still fairly skilled at reading people. And I know you're not ready to talk about it.' He moved towards her and placed a hand on her cheek. 'It's enough right now to know that you want to tell me. That you're willing to tell me. And when you're ready, I'll be here to listen.'

She smiled at him in wonder. 'What did I ever do to deserve you?'

'You have that backwards, honey. I'm the one who doesn't deserve you.'

She placed a hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. 'How about we call it a draw and say we both deserve each other?'

He smiled broadly. 'I can live with that.'

He drew her towards him and held her close, making her feel so safe and warm that, in that moment, she felt like nothing bad could touch her. They stayed like that for the longest time, basking in each others warmth. Finally, with a certain amount of reluctance, Grissom pulled back slightly.

'I should go and let you get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.'

Sara was confused. 'Big day?'

'Oh. Didn't I tell you?' He grinned. 'Hmm. Must be a surprise then.'

'Gris…'

He smiled again and kissed her on the nose. 'Trust me,' he whispered. 'It'll be fun.'

When she nodded in agreement he kissed her, soft and gently on the lips. 'I'd better get going,' he told her and started towards the door.

'Grissom?'

'Mm-hmm.'

'Stay with me?'

He turned back to look at her. She looked fragile all of a sudden and his heart ached. 'Sure.'

The smell of iron lingered, thick and cloying in the air. There was so much blood. Sticky and red, she felt as though she was covered in it from head to toe; the smell of it creeping down her nose, down her throat, making her want to wretch.

She stared at the cast-off on the wall, like some grotesque Pollock painting she had seen once in a book … and when she finally looked away from the wall, he was still there - dead eyes, staring blindly at her.

Her mother sat, curled like a child in the corner, grasping a steak-knife, sticky and red. Sticky and red. Sticky and red. The words repeated in her head, over and over, like a children's rhyme.

Her mother did not cry. She didn't do anything, in fact. She was just… gone - her eyes as vacant as those of the body that lay motionless on the bed.

Laura Sidle didn't move, so Sara crept forward towards her father. She felt the bile rise up in her throat as she felt both grief and relief, horror and nothing… nothing at all. He was dead. She was free. And yet, she was not.

His eyes locked with hers. A bloody hand reached out and grabbed her arm.

'You worthless little bitch,' her dead father told her. 'Like mother like daughter.'

Sara woke up screaming. Coated in sweat that at first felt like the blood in that room, she panicked, struggling to throw off the sheets that tangled round her writhing form.

'Sara?'

Grissom awoke to a train-wreck. Sobbing and shaking, when she felt him put his hands on her shoulders, she turned towards him and sank into his comforting arms, seeking sanctuary from her nightmares.

No. Not nightmares.

Nightmares were a fiction. Her memories were real. Over and over, she could hear the viciousness in her father's voice, as he punched her again and again, telling her how worthless she was, telling her how like her mother she was.

He had beaten her to within an inch of unconsciousness, like she had seen him do to her mother for years. And that, in the end, had been the last straw for Laura Sidle.

Still haunted by those words, Sara cried herself to sleep in the arms of a man she knew would never treat her like that.

She was closer to her old self again when morning came, but dark circles told of a night of little rest. Grissom made it clear that he would press her for no information that she would not willingly give, but he still eyed her cautiously all through breakfast.

After breakfast, he left her for an hour to 'get things ready' and returned with a picnic basket brimming with fruit, snacks and pasta salad.

'What's going on?' she asked.

'Told you,' he smiled in reply. 'It's a surprise…'

They spent the day at Lake Mead, stretched out and relaxing in the sun. In the warmth of the Nevada afternoon, by a crystal blue lake and sitting hand in hand with the man of her dreams, Sara's earlier nightmares seemed very far away. And, for a moment at least, she allowed herself to forget.

Grissom had taken four days off work, the remainder of Sara's leave. On the second day, they lazed around his townhouse, reading journals, watching movies, making love. Not that she complained, but for someone usually so active, Sara was still having the culture shock of her life not being at work for such a long period of time. So she suggested they find a project for their remaining two free days.

Grissom's hand paused in its caress of her skin when the suggestion was made, and he smirked. 'This could be our project.'

Her laugh, when it came, was deep and throaty and, most importantly, genuine. Grissom huffed out a sigh of relief. In the two days since the phone call, he hadn't once heard her laugh.

'Has the workaholic finally decided to slow down?' she asked him.

'The 'workaholic' has found another workaholic with whom he'd like to slow down,' he replied. 'Just a little,' he qualified.

She rolled over and kissed him. 'Well, tomorrow you can slow down in my apartment and watch me paint my bathroom.'

'No woman should look that good in overalls,' he commented appreciatively. She was wearing an old pair of overalls from the lab and they hugged her in all the right places.

Smiling suggestively, she wiggled her butt at him.

'You really went to town with this 'home make-over' thing, didn't you?'

'Well, you know me. I don't do things by halves.'

Grissom was sitting on the floor, in the hall outside the bathroom, drinking a beer and watching her work. He had tried to help, but she refused to let him, saying – 'I like the idea of my workaholic entomologist kicking back and doing nothing for a little while. Besides, you'll only be under my feet.'

He had only agreed not to help when she had promised to engage in his suggested 'project' once the bathroom was finished.

Glancing down the hall to the living room, he cocked his head in contemplation. 'I kind of miss the purple.'

'Oh yeah? Tough,' she grinned as her cell phone began to ring. Wiping her hands on a rag, she picked it up off the counter. 'Sidle.' Her smile faded instantly.

Grissom grew more concerned every moment she spent on the phone. Sara's whole body had tensed; gone was her happy demeanor of moments ago, now replaced with a frown and a clipped telephone manner. He caught words like 'trial' and 'testimony', and realized who she was speaking to.

'Brian,' she told him when she disconnected the call with the Assistant DA. 'He wants to meet me tomorrow about Jill's trial.'

'Three days time,' he recalled. 'I'd forgotten.'

Sara smiled joylessly. 'I hadn't.'

TBC.