A/N: Thanks to everyone who read over this for me and gave me an opinion. Special thanks to LiT for keeping me sane.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

The cab driver who dropped Sara off at the house on Canyon Court must have thought she was crazy. She had been fairly calm until the yellow car turned the corner onto their street. That was when the tears came. Slowly at first but building quickly into a streaming torrent. By the time he pulled up in the drive she was sobbing so hard she couldn't even speak. She could barely even comprehend what he was saying when he told her the fare was twenty-five dollars, but she still managed to pull thirty out of her wallet and hand it to him over the seat. Ignoring the man's concern, Sara stumbled her way to the door and let herself into the house

She cried while she packed a few clothes and necessities, while she washed the last vestiges of the crime lab off her skin. She cried as she left another note for Gil, promising to call when she got where she was going. But when she had her bags stowed and she was finally settled behind the wheel of the car the tears stopped, only to be replaced by an eerie calm. Somehow, almost without her consent, Sara's car pointed itself toward the northwest and she set out to fix the mess that was her. Six hundred miles later and she was right back where she'd started.

Having survived her childhood, Sara wasn't afraid of much. But her first call to Grissom found her hands shaking and her stomach quivering. The butterflies in her stomach surprised her. It had been a long time since the thought of what he might say made her nervous. She stared at the phone for half an hour before she could find the strength to press the buttons that would speed dial his number. The ringing seemed interminable, but it was probably no more than two or three. In the split second of dead air that existed between him flipping the phone open and actually beginning to speak, she almost hung up.

Grissom's voice was soft, tentative. "Hello?"

"Gil." Sara breathed his name like a benediction. "It's me."

Silence for a heartbeat and then the question, "Are you okay?"

"Depends on what you mean by okay." Sara realized too late that it was not the time for flippancy. When he didn't respond, she said, "If you mean physically then yes, I'm okay. Emotionally, not so good."

She could picture him struggling to think of the right thing to say. "Can you tell me about it?"

Sara could feel the sting of tears and she fought desperately against them. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "The highlights were in the letter. The rest I'll tell you about, but not right now."

Grissom paused as if trying to comprehend her words. Finally he spoke. "Where are you?"

"I rented a cabin for a month in Tomales Bay. I got a really good deal because it's the off season. It's right on the beach and it's beautiful. Hank would love it here." Her voice almost broke on that last sentence but she reined her emotions in very quickly. "I need a place to do some thinking. I might work in some hiking and some vegetating, too."

"Need some company?" His offer was only half in jest.

"Gil…" Sara trailed off uncertainly. She had hurt him enough and she didn't want to make things worse. "What I want is for you to come and rescue me. What I need is to get my shit together. Please tell me you understand."

"I do, sweetheart. Honestly." Grissom tried to let his words convey what he was feeling. He didn't understand why it was so hard for him to just tell her how he felt. For a long moment he listened to the faint sound of her breathing and took comfort in the familiar rhythm. Finally he asked, "Do you have a plan?"

"Not really." When he didn't answer, she continued, "I promise, Gil, that you will be the first one I talk to when I get my head on straight. But I'm not there yet, not by a long shot. Please be patient with me." The last was a whispered plea.

"I love you, Sara. Whatever it takes, that's what I'll do."

With a sigh of relief, Sara replied, "I love you, too."

The silence stretched out between them until Sara could take it no longer. "I need to go. I just wanted you to know I was safe. And I miss you."

"Oh, Sara," he began.

With a whispered bye, Sara broke the connection.

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For a week after she left Vegas, Sara spent all of her time running away from her running away. For two days she wallowed in self-pity. She cried. Her cheeks were raw from the tears of anger and pain and frustration, tears she had held at bay for years. Many hours were spent roaming the narrow beach in front of the cottage. She found several hiking trails that took her just along the edge of the bay, through the tall conifers and sparse undergrowth. She would walk until she was sure she couldn't move another muscle, and then she'd head back to the cottage and build a fire. With a cup of tea clutched in her hands she would collapse on the couch and let her mind wander. That was when the reality of where she was and what she'd done hit the hardest.

Her life had never been easy. For as long as she could remember there was violence. Her parents fought constantly. Her father couldn't hold down a job. Neither he nor Sara's mother could turn down a drink. There was never enough money, never enough food, never enough of anything to make either of them happy. And all that unhappiness was directed at those around them.

For years, twenty or so if one wanted to be technical, Sara had been hiding from what had happened when she was a child; the fear, the shame, the horror. Sometimes, when she would let her guard down, she could feel the memories crowding around her; their cold, dark fingers scrabbling against the wall she had erected around that part of her life. However, the time she spent in the desert, and everything that had happened since, put a crack in the wall. And the crack was too wide for her to repair. Everything was crumbling and the she was overwhelmed.

Somehow, some way, Sara was determined to fix her life. She had everything she'd ever wanted – Grissom, friends, important work – and it wasn't enough. Maybe she was more like her parents than she ever wanted to admit. Maybe she could never be satisfied.