The Consequences of Swimming

Rated: M

Summery: What does black panties, Catherine Willows, and a pool, have in common? Sara Sidle and Greg Sanders are about to find out.

A/N: Well here is the new chapter, its completly future so I hope you enjoy it. Read and Review as always.

Disclaimer: Okay, okay, okay, I don't CSI, I admit it.

She knew the symptoms; she had the exact same herself when she was young. She was having man trouble. But it seemed more than that, almost as if that someone else had caused it, or rather, caused her to really let it register. She really had no clue what, who or why her daughter was sulking about, or for, but she knew that with another crack at the computer she would get her to open up like a soft shell taco- not that she would ever eat one in the first place. Despite her age, she was still a dedicated vegetarian.

She slowly moved, her joints creaking as they always did. Making it into her small chair, she pulled up the program that held her precious memories inside. It wasn't that she minded Diane reading them; it was just that it was her memories. Even to this day not a soul knew how the couple came to be. They all had suspicions granted, but not a soul, not even Nick, their loving and trusting friend, knew about the steps they made to get to where they were.

She let the memories fill her, swallow her up and taking her by force. Every memory, every dream, every weakness she had of him all came back, and she was a venerable and ready, almost like she was renewed, as she was years and years ago. Almost like, she was when it all began.

And through the house, the small sounds of dim peaks on the keys could be heard, way into the night.

Her ears had become well trained to the sound of her grandmas slow and soft pecks onto her laptop. Normally she would have been ecstatic – literally running to see what memory she had cooked up next. It had become quite the addiction, her grandmother's memories and all. Just listening to such a romance, rocky as it may be, or as smooth as well, had captured her from the beginning. Could such a thing really exist? A romance so pure, so dedicated?

It almost seemed like a piece of fiction, the story of them. Her mother had always taught her that true love never lasts; eventually it dies, in one way or another. But then again, she never set much by her mother either. She had always been her grandmothers girl, perhaps it was because she really knew the man so many proclaimed, she to be his mirror image in so many ways.

Who was he? Was he really the man in story seemed to be, or was that just a pretty painted, a work of beautiful fiction? How can a man love so much, feel so much, be so spontaneous, be so adventurous and carefree, yet have so much care and kindness inside him? How could it be possible to find this almost perfect man? And how did some see that she was his mirror image?

She laid back on the extra bed, well now her bed since Jenny had officially wanted her key back. She watched the ceiling, fiddling with many things of mind and heart. To follow her heart meant to sit no store for careful thinking, rationality, and the laws she had sat down for herself. Complete disregarded of all knowledge. But to go by her mind meant giving up things that could, be what she was meant to be, to have, after all.

Why did fate have to intervene?

Why couldn't the fates leave her be, why did she have to walk in the library on that day so many months ago? If she had never met him she would never be here? What is the point of all that heartbreak? To lead her to nothing but trouble and confusion. She thought you went through things to find something beautiful, apparently not.

She wanted love; she wanted someone to care for ever fiber of her. But how was it possible when everything and everyone seemed to be so set against her happiness? Maybe she should have told Jenny everything after all, maybe she wouldn't have lost a friend.

But what her privacy? What about her feelings and her thoughts? Did they mean nothing to a best friend? Did she mean nothing to her?

Well damn her and her books both to hell. If she couldn't wait and consider her, she couldn't trust her own friend, then she must have not been a true friend after all. Not that it mattered now.

She rolled over and watched the clock as it chimed five. He would be leaving soon, waiting for her.

Was she to disappoint him?

A soft knock at the door employed her off the bed and she turned the knob to see her unhealthy, weak Grandma standing before her.

"Grandma! You shouldn't be up after running about all day! You need rest," she insisted as she led her from the room.

"Pish posh, Come here for a moment, I want you to see something."

She led her closer to the computer, and forced her down in the seat.

It was a new chapter, but now with everything else, she somehow didn't seem quite so enthused.

"Read it. Maybe, if we're lucky, it will open an eye, or maybe two."

Furrowing her brows at her Grandmother, but trusting her none the less, she began to read.

She watched her Granddaughter for the longest time, as she just stared at the screen long after she had finished. She understood how she felt, with all honesty. Even though she didn't have someone to open her eye with the past as she had for her. She still simply understood how hard it was to take the step, without a little push, or even two.

"This isn't real?" She asked, "It's to . . .almost identical. It can't be? Cant it?"

"It can, and it is. For those four days I had the hardest time facing up to my fears," she started. She sat down next to her taking her hands in hers. "I'm old Diane. I know I don't seem as though I feel it, but I do. More than ever now. It has been long, to long since I had lost him. He was my one and only, the only thing I needed. He completed me in ways no one else could. I miss him terribly, even after so many years after loosing him. I still smell his scent here, I still feel his touch. I still taste his kiss after so many long years. But I never regret it. Even if I knew then, what my actions would lead me to. Years of loneness and uncomfort, I still would. He was the only thing in my life I did right."

She paused for the moment, watching her Granddaughter's face melt from confusion, hurt, realization and soften.

"So, it never matters what you go to get them, or what happens after you loose them? All that matters is what you feel in the moment, because even if their gone, the memories last forever."

"Exactly. See, I don't know who this man of yours is, or what has happened. But what I do know is a broken girl, without her other half. I don't even know if this guy is that guy for you. But it's always worth it."

"Shit! It's past 6! He will think I have stood him up!" and within a moment, she was gone.

Sara smiled lightly, sitting back down and continued to type.

Her work, for now, was done.

But it was one of the best times she had in her life.

She ran closer toward campus, seeing the library building in the distant future. She didn't know why, but all she wanted to do was to kiss him. Take him by the collar and push him into the bookcase, like so many before her did. She really didn't care though, not anymore, and although she had no idea why, all she wanted, was him.

Running through the door, she greeted the indoors with welcome. Wiping her feet off on the rug, she persisted through the library toward the very back.

Just before she made it back, she stopped. What would she say? She looked horrible, she was drenched, and she was late. Composing herself, she made her way around the book case, taking in a deep breath.

"Jordan?" she asked just before she made her way around.

She was crest fallen. He wasn't there. Had he planned to come at all? It was only 15 after six. Was it just a joke? What had happened that made it so important to stand her up?

Fully pissed and completely embarrassed, she turned back around, all eyes following her as she walked out into the fall rain.

She had took a chance, she had made the step, and fallen flat on her face.

She wanted to literally fall on her face.

She wanted to die.

She wanted to just drown in the rain.

Falling on the wet, muddy grass, her dirty blond hair falling into her hazel eyes, Diane Sanders began to cry.

She loved him. And she had no idea why.