Rating: K+
Spoilers: None
Disclaimers: I think by now we all know that Jerry Bruckheimer, Alliance Atlantis, and the CBS execs own these characters, right?
Author's Note: Gee, I should get sick more often… this is the most I've had time to write in months (between my catnaps and self-medication, of course)
Caution: Major sadness to follow… please arm yourself with tissues. You have been duly warned.
Cut Short
by Lapsus Stili
Everyone was there. Family and friends, many of whom worked at the lab or PD and knew them both well. It was beautiful with the sun shining and all the flowers. The lilies and orchids, roses and carnations, and even the wildflower sprays filled with lemongrass, yarrow and sweetbush provided mingling scents which wafted through the air, fighting for attention. A towering arrangement of live succulents stood proudly to one side, a testament to his love of the desert. Lovely as they all were, no one was there for the plants.
From a distance, the congregation that was gathered on the lush lawn resembled a black hole in a sea of green. In the center of the mass stood Sara, her trembling hand resting on the edge of the casket. Grief poured down her face, would've left black streaks of mascara along her cheeks if she had bothered to wear any. She didn't. She didn't care what she looked like, and she didn't bother to wipe away her tears either. They fell one after another. It didn't matter.
No one touched her. No one held her. She wouldn't allow it. When Catherine had arrived at the cemetery, she raised her arms to embrace the crying woman, but Sara quickly stepped out of reach, wrapping her arms around herself and shaking her head furiously. After that, Catherine stayed close, offering her support in the only way she could. She quietly, but efficiently, prevented any other well-wishers from violating the personal space that Sara so desperately seemed to need right now.
Some were there to mourn the loss of someone they had known for years. Others were paying homage to the ones left behind, there in the solidarity of the living, crying tears alongside them. Only the minister was a stranger among them. Still, they all looked to him, taking his soothing words and using them to mend their hearts, to help make sense of the tragedy that brought them there.
Other than the occasional sniffle, not a peep came from Sara. No cries, no sobs, no pleading with God for a reason. At least not out loud. Inside, she was screaming… writhing… tearing away at her soul. Why? God… this is so wrong! No. NO! It's too soon! I only had eleven years with him, and you've taken him from me! Why? WHY?
Her silent vigil continued as those around her exchanged murmurs of support with one another. Backs were rubbed, hands were clutched, but everyone let Sara be. The holy words being preached passed over her without sinking in. She wasn't even listening. I want him back. Please… pleasepleasepleaseplease… I need him! NEED HIM! I can't do this… God, why did this happen? I don't understand! PLEASE…
The black silk of her dress was soaked along the chest. There was no end to her tears. They filled her eyes, spilled over, only to be replaced by more. Only eleven years… Her fingers splayed across the rich cherry surface. The salts and oils from her skin were marking the finish, no doubt leaving her fingerprints. How fitting that was, that he would be laid to rest with her arches, whorls and loops. Just another part of her buried along with him. I miss you already…
As the sermon wound down, Sara flinched when she felt a slight vibration under her palm. The motor for the lowering device had been switched on, and her eyes flared as the casket began its slow descent into the earth. Her breathing became more ragged and she felt the panic take hold of her. No… please, no… wait… I'm not ready yet! Wait! Oh God... WAIT!
The howl that finally burst from her was heartbreaking. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
And with that, the floodgates were thrown wide open. All of her torment came spewing out. "Please… please don't take him from me! God, no… wait… WAIT! I love him so much… Please stop! Please… I can't... NO!"
Those who were already weeping cried harder; those who had somehow managed to stay dry-eyed until that point were finally pushed over the edge, watching helplessly as Sara fell apart at last.
"God, Gil… why? WHY?"
A figure stepped forward from where he'd been watching over her. Coming up behind her, his shaking hands slid around her waist. The familiar contact tore down the last of her defenses, and Sara let herself fall back into his body, sobbing hysterically as he drew her into his embrace.
"Shhhh… I know, Sweetheart… I know," he whispered over and over, rocking them back and forth. "I miss him too."
The couple clung to one another, united in their anguish. He stroked her hair and slowly lowered her to the ground. They wept as the others watched over them. When Sara turned her face into his chest, the man looked over her head to gaze once more on the bronze engraving plate set in the sandstone memorial rock at the head of the plot. Through blurred vision, Gil read once more:
Shawn Michael Grissom
May 3, 2006 - June 11, 2017
"Sleep, my little one, sleep"
A/N #2: I'm so sorry... but I did warn you! Cheers!