A/N: Many, many thanks to Keegan for reading and editing this from the first chapter onwards. She's too awesome :) Longer AN at the end.
--
She falls asleep hours and hours after he leaves, dreaming not of images, but conflicting emotions like frustration, seething anger and elation. There are noises in the background, a scream of metal and a soft, soothing voice.
It's just a garble of words spoken in a voice that's warm and familiar, but as she strains her ears, they become clearer and clearer.
"…But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? / I paged you two hours ago / It is the east, and Juliet is the sun / I'm sorry, but I needed you / Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, / Solo / Who is already sick and pale with grief."
She wakes disorientated and the first thing she sees is Grissom reading to her by her side, still in his work clothes. He has a cup of coffee in one hand, a thick, hardcover book in his other and he gives her a gentle smile as she rubs sleep from her eyes.
"Hey," she says, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu at his words as they stare at each other, him giving her a smile and sipping his coffee, her fiddling absentmindedly with the IV in the crook of her elbow. "What are you reading?" she asks, breaking the silence and skirting the obvious topic on both their minds.
He looks at her for a second longer than usual before responding, as if he wants to say something, and she feels the heat rise in her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze. "Romeo and Juliet."
She frowns, and the nagging sense of déjà vu grows stronger. "Can you say that again?"
"Romeo and Juliet," he says slowly this time, and a look of worry appears in his bright eyes. "Can you hear me?"
She nods, and a word materialises in her head. "The Scarlet Letter."
He's looking downright worried now, and he stands to his feet, speaking as he places a hand on her forehead. "Romeo and Juliet was written by William Shakespeare, and The Scarlet Letter was by Nathaniel Hawthorne. You don't seem to be running a temperature, but I think we should call a nurse just to make sure…"
She pulls his hand away from her forehead; her eyes squeezed shut as she tries to make sense of it. "I'm fine, and I know who wrote what. It's just that my mind is telling me The Scarlet Letter has something to do with Romeo and Juliet…I'm sure it's nothing," she adds hastily, suddenly realising who she's speaking to.
It's too late, because the worry in his eyes shifts to fear in a blink of an eye, and as soon as it appears, it disappears behind a cool front. "Sara, the doctor says you're not supposed to push yourself in recalling the events prior to the accident."
"Why are you so worried about me regaining my memory?"
"I just don't want you to get hurt," he says, settling back down into his seat by her side with a grim expression.
"Too late," she says, gesturing to the machines by her side. "What does this look like to you? All I want is my memory back."
"Why do you want something that'll cause more harm than good? All that happened is that you were involved in an accident with no recollection as to how it happened. You're spared the post-accident stress, the trauma, everything."
"No one tells me anything! I work as a crime scene investigator for a living, Grissom. I solve crimes; I bring closure to the victims' families. One moment I'm closing the door to my apartment, and the next thing I know, I wake up here. All I want is closure, is that so hard for you to understand?"
"Knowing what happened won't change the past," he says, rising from his seat to pace the room.
"It may change my future," she says quietly, and from her position, she can see his face pale.
Her heart starts to race, and it shows on the EKG machine. She watches it rise steadily, reminding her of barely a day ago when he had kissed her – her heart stayed elevated for a full thirty minutes.
Except this time, it's from the fear rather than the adrenaline and elation.
"Stop it, Sara."
"You're hiding something from me," she says, just as calmly.
"And you're surprised?"
Her eyes widen as he winces, regretting his choice of words. She knows exactly what he's talking about: the things he hid from her in the past range from the Marlin case to him asking Sofia out to dinner.
It hurts more than she expects it to, and she speaks without ever feeling the words leave her lips.
"Leave."
She turns away, staring at the monitor as it continues to rise. Any higher, and she'll be in danger of a cardiac arrest. When she turns back around, he's gone.
She works fast, pressing the '2' button on the remote for the first time since being admitted. Closing her eyes, she sinks down into the pillow; her eyes squeezed shut.
This time though, it's more to stop the tears than to will her memories to return.
--
"Mr. Brown is on his way, Miss Sidle," the nurse says, just ten minutes after informing them of her request to see Warrick.
"Thank you," she says, toying with the pages of the book Grissom left behind. The words 'Romeo and Juliet' are written in gold on a beautiful deep brown cover, and two titles run in her mind, over and over.
Romeo and Juliet, the Scarlet Letter, Romeo and Juliet, the Scarlet Letter.
She flips open the cover, and there's something written on the inside of the cover.
"'Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.'
Romeo, Act I, scene IV."
Her blood runs cold as she stares at the words written in Grissom's beautiful script.
"Everything is fine with your stats, Miss Sidle," the nurse's upbeat voice rings out, bringing her mind back to the present. "Do you need anything before I leave?"
"Yes," she whispers. "I think I need some painkillers."
The nurse smiles warmly at her. "It's about time; with injuries like yours I'm surprised you lasted this long without them. What hurts, exactly?"
Everything, she wants to say, but settles on "My ribs."
"I'll get you some Hydrocodone," she says, giving her a kind smile and marking the clipboard placed above Sara's head. "Anything else?"
Sara hesitates for a fraction of a second. "I don't want to see anyone by the last name of Grissom."
She nods, and exits just as quietly as she entered.
--
"Hey, Sara," he says softly while looking around, as if expecting to see someone. A second later, he asks, "Where's Grissom?"
She ignores his second question, speaking as quickly as she can through a medicated haze. "I need you to do some research for me. I was reading Romeo and Juliet, and The Scarlet Letter popped into my head for no good reason. I need to know why because I have a feeling it has something to do with my accident. There are computers downstairs," she explains, "with internet."
He nods, not questioning her. It's one of the reasons why she picked Warrick to do the research for her, instead of curious Nick or nosy Greg.
"There's nothing Google can't find, Sara," he says, giving her a wink. "I'll be back as soon as possible."
He exits and she exhales, feeling her tension subside. She doesn't know if it's the fact she's closer to finding out the truth or the drugs coursing through her system, because as soon as she closes her eyes, she drifts off to a dreamless sleep.
The next thing she feels is a warm hand on her arm, shaking her awake gently. She opens her eyes to see Warrick, iPod in hand.
"Hey," she says, instantly awake. "What did you find?"
"It took less than a minute to find out that they're lyrics to a song, and I downloaded it into your iPod. They have iTunes on the computers downstairs," he explains, handing her the black music player.
"Thanks," she says, accepting the iPod from him, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest.
"I have to run, Grissom wants me in."
She bristles subtly, but shakes it off, choosing not to dwell on it. "Thanks for everything," she says earnestly, looking up at him.
He gives her a warm smile, shaking his head. "It's nothing, Sara, but…"
"Yeah?"
"You owe me ninety-nine cents," he says seriously.
She laughs, her first time in five days.
--
She listens to the song fifteen times straight, but nothing comes back to her.
Absolutely nothing.
It doesn't affect her the same way the scent of bubblegum does, because she remembered reading somewhere that scent is the sense tied closest to memory.
It's frustrating, because she can repeat every single word by heart, and she doesn't even like the song.
Sighing, she lowers the volume and yawns, taking a quick glance out the window. It's almost sunrise, and she takes a moment to appreciate the beauty. Footsteps and hushed voices draw her eyes from the window and towards the entrance of the room.
"I'm sorry," a vaguely familiar voice says firmly, "we can't let you see her. It's past visiting hours."
"It wasn't a problem just hours ago," another voice says just as calmly, and this voice is more than just vaguely familiar.
"Miss Sidle doesn't want to see you."
There's a long pause, and Sara realises she's holding her breath waiting for his answer. Her heart is starting to pound, again, and she doesn't even know why she bothers.
I must be a masochist.
She raises the volume of the iPod and pulls the blanket up to her neck, closing her eyes; determined to stop caring. She falls asleep to a song about Romeo, Juliet and scarlet letters playing in her ears.
--
She grips the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles are white, red-hot rage coursing through her. She can remember the last time she arrived to a crime scene late, the only time she arrived late: she was up in a vineyard tasting fine wine with Hank, on Grissom's wish that she 'get a life'.
"You're late, Sara," she hears him say in her head, replaying the conversation just minutes ago.
"By less than an hour, Griss. Cut me some slack."
He just stares at her, impassive. "Where were you?"
"I had things to take care of."
He purses his lips, unimpressed. "Okay. Take the evidence back to the lab, in a high profile case like this, we need to process as fast as we can." He turns away from her, going back to clicking the shutter of his camera.
She narrows her eyes; she's not about to be dismissed that easy. "I'll go once I process the exterior."
He looks up, eyes cool. "No, Sara. I want you to leave now."
She holds his gaze, deep brown against cool blue, neither one yielding.
"Sara," he says quietly, and she turns around, breaking eye contact, her body trembling with anger.
She hates him; she hates that he's her boss, she hates that she loves him.
Her mind is brought back to the present by a red light, and she leans back against the seat, taking in the singing of a girl about Romeo and her true love from the radio.
She wants to change the channel, but the lyrics are actually quite…telling, once a person looks beyond the cheesy 'prince/princess' theme.
Well, she thinks to herself, waiting for the light to change, at least my last day on the job is easy – transporting evidence is something Greg does.
The light flashes green and she accelerates gently, only to have a car collide into her from the left, spinning the car around, unleashing chaos. Everything is whirring around too fast, but there's only one thing on her mind:
Protect the evidence.
She has never been in a car accident before, and this feels eerily familiar – like riding in a bumper car.
The screeching stops and she finds her legs are stuck but she manages to see a little bit of the back by pressing her shoulder to the steering wheel. Panic is starting to set in, because she knows that the most important part of the case rests in the trunk of her car, seemingly untouched by the chaos.
Before the bright dots in her vision clear, the car shakes violently and everything descends into darkness.
"No!" she gasps, jolting up from bed, her hair matted to her forehead. The tiny earphones fall out from her ears as she tucks her hair behind her ears with shaking hands, and the entire room is still, save for her deep breathing.
I remember.
I remember everything.
--
"Looking good, Sidle," Nick says with a wide smile, appearing from behind a corner to walk by her side.
"Thanks," she says, touching her cheek involuntarily. The scar, along with various other cuts and bruises, are barely visible, thanks to a certain blonde. Aside from the cast on her right arm, she looks as good as new.
"So, you're back?"
"Nah," she shakes her head. "I'm just dropping by to see Grissom," she says, turning a corner and waving back as he continues onwards towards DNA.
"I hope you get your memory back!"
A shadow of a smile appears on her lips, but it melts off as she turns one last corner to face Grissom's office, its door shut.
Knocking firmly, she waits patiently outside, feeling strangely detached. She didn't make the decision the moment he left her broken on the bed, stinging from his words; she didn't make the decision under the calming effects of being medicated.
The moment her memory came back to her, she knew what she had to do.
"Come in," his familiar voice calls out finally, and she takes a deep breath before entering.
She waits in the dim light for a heartbeat while he finishes a note in the file, and when he looks up to see her standing before him, his pen falls from his grip.
"Sara."
The way he says her name, so soft yet firmly, makes her heart twist, and she despises the power he has over her heart.
This is not going to be easy.
"Here," she says coolly, reaching into her sling back to pull out a letter. The words 'request for leave' are printed on the envelope, and she sees his hands shake as he accepts it.
It isn't just an ordinary leave form, though; it is one requesting for an 'unspecified amount of leave'. She can take anywhere between a week to four months of leave, but everyone knows it's just another way of saying 'I'll be leaving sooner or later'.
He knows exactly what's written inside because this is just a replica of the original letter, the one she dropped off at the lab before leaving for the Heron crime scene in Seven Hills.
The letter was the reason she was late to the scene.
"I remember."
He pales, and lowers his eyes in shame as she settles down on the edge of the seat facing him, determined not to stay for long.
"It was never my intention to hurt you."
With a sad smile, she shakes her head. "That's not the point. I know what it's like to have people tell me how to feel, but never anyone tell me what I should remember or not."
He sighs, eyes still downcast. "I didn't want to lose you."
"You wouldn't have known I was going to leave for good, because it wasn't a resignation letter."
"Am I right, though?" he asks, looking up now, "were you thinking of leaving?"
She hesitates, because deep down, she knows that she never wanted to return. "I just wanted to escape this place for a little while, because I was tired of being emotionally stuck at the same place, with no way backwards or forward. Now…now I know there is no way back but I still have a chance by moving forward."
"Sara," he says, the desperation creeping into his calm voice now, "the lab—"
"I know, the lab 'needs me'," she says, standing up and using her fingers as air quotes. "But I have to go either way." He is silent, and she turns around to walk out but he surprises her by speaking.
"No, Sara, I need you."
She turns back, her eyes soft. "I've heard that one as well."
He shakes his head, the pain radiating from his deep blue eyes. "This is different," he says, voice breaking. "Please don't leave, Sara. Please."
She freezes, and she can almost feel his cold tears sear her arm once more. "No one's stopping you from following me," she whispers.
"I can't go," he says, eyes brighter than she's ever seen. "I'm stuck here."
A creepy sense of déjà vu settles over her heart, over her head, everywhere.
She watches him watch her and knows that at this very moment she has to leave, because each second she spends here is on borrowed time. She's not going to allow the darkness to consume and destroy her, and she feels her throat close up as the walls around her appear to close in. "I have to go," she gasps, the words forcing their way through, and she grasps the doorknob almost desperately.
At the last moment, she remembers, and pulls out a familiar hardcover book with golden script decorating its front before handing it to him. "Bye, Griss."
Without a backwards glance, she disappears, leaving him with a beautifully bound copy of 'Romeo and Juliet' in his hands.
He opens the book automatically, and there's something new written directly under the quote he penned, in a scrawl he can recognize in the middle of the Nevada desert with sand blowing in his eyes.
"'What must be shall be.'
– Juliet Capulet; act IV, scene I."
Her voice rings out in his head, haunting his mind as he reads the quote, again and again and again.
"Bye, Griss."
--
She walks around the park, feeling the bright sun on her skin. It's warm and incredibly bright, and that, combined with all the noise and rush of activity around her, lifts her spirits.
No more walking under murky night skies, no more harsh neon lights.
No more Grissom either, but that's okay.
Really.
It's been a month since she handed her request for leave slip to Grissom, and all thoughts on returning have disappeared.
She spent the first week relaxing, and the rest touring the country in search of the greatest bumper car rides. It is as though her accident reawakened her interest in them, and she travelled from Washington DC to Atlanta in search of the perfect ride.
And today she is in Chicago, at the Six Flags Great America theme park, waiting in line for the world's largest bumper car floor, the Rue Le Dodge.
Her right arm is still slightly stiff, but other than that, all the external evidence of her accident is gone. Her hair is longer now, and lighter, because of all the sunshine.
The line moves a step forward and she waits patiently, and the wondrous smells cast her in a dreamlike state – bubblegum, caramel, delicious cotton candy.
"Hey," someone says, tapping her on the shoulder and breaking the spell. She blinks and turns around to see Grissom standing before her, wearing his usual dark clothes but donning a baseball cap backwards, cotton candy in hand.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, genuinely surprised, and the temperature around them drops several degrees even as her heart starts to speed up. He beckons her to the side, and with a guarded heart, she allows him to escort her to a quiet part under a tree.
"I'm on extended leave."
She blinks at him blankly, and he gives her a tentative smile. "I realised that I wasn't stuck after all, and all I needed was a catalyst."
"That still doesn't explain why you're here."
"Do you know why I kissed you back in the hospital?"
She flinches slightly, but keeps her eyes on his. "I don't know; I don't think about it. Memories aren't always accurate, and they don't last forever. I'd rather not live my life dwelling on things that have passed."
I'm tired of living on memories, and I don't think I want to know why he did what he did at the hospital.
He hands her the cotton candy wordlessly, a peace offering, and she accepts it quietly. No one knows, except for him, that cotton candy is one of the very few things she has a weakness for.
Actually, as far as she knows, she only has two weaknesses, and both of them are right before her – one in her hands, the other facing her.
The flossy pink strands melt on her lips and on her tongue, and she asks again. "Grissom, why are you here?"
"I want to sort out the mess between us."
She bristles, narrowing her eyes at him. "There's no 'mess' between us. Actually, there isn't anything between us."
"Will you let me try, at the very least?"
"Fine," she says, equal parts annoyed and hopeful, and turns away from him. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going back to queue for my ride."
She takes three steps away when he pulls her back gently and before she can glare at him and ask him what he's playing at, he presses his lips to hers. The cotton candy in her hands falls to the ground, and she tastes caramel and delicious warmth, and as much as she tries to stop herself, she can't.
The memory she swore to herself she would never recall rushes back, and she relishes the taste of his lips, the warmth of his arms, the steady elation of her heart. The way it messed with her head; the giddiness, the confusion, the twinge of uncertainty – everything is too familiar to that night.
It's an intoxicating cocktail of emotions that swirls inside of her and she pulls away, tucking a lock of hair from her flushed cheeks, trying to retain some form of control over her heart. "I hate you," she says simply. "I hate that you're selfish, I hate that you mess with my head, I hate that I actually still care about you."
He looks at her calmly, taking in her words, and mutters the three most inappropriate words for a person on the receiving end of her words. "I love you."
She sighs, because at most times, she can never understand Grissom-esque logic, but today, it makes perfect sense. It's not, however, a cure-all phrase, because the hurt and the anger and the frustration are still there. "We need to talk."
A nod. "We both have all the time in the world – when do you want to start?"
She pauses, sizing up his hopeful smile and honest eyes, and wonders if it's enough.
"Not right now," she says at last, resting her head on his shoulder and allowing his arms to go around her, because she knows all too well that not even memories last forever. She has a feeling nothing will ever be enough, but for now, this moment, as imperfectly perfect as it is, is all that matters.
--
END.
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A/N2: This has been incredible to write, so thank you for sticking with it till the end. 'Romeo and Juliet' was written by William Shakespeare, and 'The Scarlet Letter' by Nathaniel Hawthorne. The Rue Le Dodge is located inside Six Flags Great America in Gurnee, Illinois. I hope you've enjoyed this, thanks for reading! :)