Title: In Hell with Love

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or its characters. I'm just a fan

Author's note: I'm sorry for the long delay. I've been really busy, juggling between 2 jobs and school. Hopefully I didnt lose any fans in the process.

A big "thank you" goes to: bene (thank you for your review. I really appreciated your feedback) SaraLou (Haha. the chapter was confusing for me to write. But Im glad your happy with it), necira (thanks for your wonderful review. I'm writing the next chapter of Fall to Earth and will post it soon. Sorry for taking so long), apcJodi (A novel, you say? a big hug goes to you), Meg-Breanne (I glad to get such a powerful response from you.), jdcocoagirl (hugs for your review), Mma63 (I always look forward to your review. Sorry for the long update. I'll try to update sooner. Btw, I cant stand those fluffy fics either.), maricejayo (hugs for your review.), leana9101 (hugs for your reviews), Crazedzombiemonkey (thank you for your review. Im glad you loved it), loisje (Haha. thank you for your review. Im hoping to use the pancho thing again -smile-), xoSnickersxo (Thanks for your review. Your nickname always inspires me when it comes to "snickers" moments), c'estmoi (thanks for your review. I wont say mine is the best, but hearing that from someone else makes my day), babes (I glad you liked the hug. Thanks for your review.)

Its now 3am in the morning. I'm tired and disorientated. But writing for you all makes it worth it. Thank you for your patience.

Chapter 19

She always wondered when she'd end up here. If there was such a thing as a family curse, this would be it. She kept telling herself it was inevitable, unavoidable. Her mother had been through this. It was only right that she would end up this way— in hospital, beaten up, abused, with everything to fear…

Like mother like daughter.

With the bruises as her makeup, the IV and electrodes; her accessories and the hospital gown; her dress, her loving husband was hers again. Empty promises of a better life, fake kisses and stupid apologies were enough to redeem the monster of his sins. Her mother was gullible, weak. She would believe anything, anyone who promises to save her from this damned life. She believed that he was the cure, not the cause. She should have hated her mother for that. But why didn't she?

Was it because that was the only time he was her father? The kind of father she saw on TV during the commercials, the man in movies with the pearly white smile, with lovely soft hair that she could run her hand through. The protector of the meek and the saviour of the weak. He actually hugged her mother without choking her, brushed her hair lightly without slapping. He wasn't angry, he was sober, his touch was gentle and he was her father. He was perfect. He told her that her mother fell down the stairs and she told herself that he must have forgotten: he was the one who pushed her down in the first place. He reassured them that it would not happen again for the umpteenth time and each time she forgave him. She didn't know why… it was like she had no other choice. After all, he was her father.

He brought her out of her mother's hospital room to buy ice cream and sat with her as she ate. Wiping each creamy smear that appeared at the side of her mouth with a handkerchief out of his own pocket. The fresh white material stained with smirches, threatening to remain there for the rest of its life. It made her feel really bad, guilty. It was his favourite handkerchief… but he assured her it was okay. Everything will be okay…

That day was heavenly. He was her father again. He smiled at her and that made her feel special. She was his little princess, his little angel. He vowed to treat her like that from this moment on. She had heard that one before…but what if he meant it this time? All he wanted in return was a promise not to tell what really happened and she promised not to tell a single soul. Why? Because he was her father, and for that moment—that tiny moment—he loved her; ice cream justifies that…

She wouldn't have taken the bribe if she knew. She wouldn't have promised if that was the outcome. For that day, she had sold her mother's safety for ice cream and she had killed her father with her promise of silence…

She deserved what she got—being kidnapped, tortured and left for dead—she deserved all of it. She deserved to suffer, just like her mother did…

Like mother like daughter...

"What the hell happened?" Brass asked, closing the door behind him. He arrived to the hospital to find several medical personnel outside Sara's door, pointing and murmuring about the commotion like visitors at a freak show. He was enraged. Furious. He would not stand here and let Sara be disrespected this way. Within seconds, he drove them away with his voice and hand gestures alone, threatening to put their medical skills to the test when he's done hurting them.

After making sure that Sara was safely back in her bed, they went over to the next room to see if Nick needed stitches on his face. Fortunately, he didn't. The cut wasn't deep enough…

But everyone knew that it wasn't the cut that hurt.

Placing the band-aid on his nose, Catherine pushed her chair back to admire her work, cocking her head to the side like a sculptor looking at her statue. The wheels beneath the chair rolled uncomfortably across the tiled floor before coming to a halt, its sound disappearing into the walls of the empty room.

"Sara woke up." Came a reply. But any pleasure she had in delivering the "would-be" good news had vanished. "She's in pretty bad shape Jim…"

"Damn…" he sighed, expelling air out through his nose. He pressed his lips together thoughtful, wondering what was the right thing to say at a time like this. He looked around, trying to find something to stare at as he processed his thoughts. The chair, the door, the table, the floor… Nick. He looked as demoralised as a kid who lost a fight to a bully, "You alright Nick?"

A nod.

Brass gently pointed towards his own face. "Did Sara do that?"

Another nod.

He placed his hands into his pocket, the tip of his fingers playing with a mint that he had saved for Sara's awakening. It was her favourite, the kind that she ate when she's on a case. The one she relied on when she tried to hide her drinking. The one that she presented to him once she had stopped drinking. In his excitement, he had bought it for this special moment, imagining the look on Sara's face once he gave it to her. But it looks like it'll have to wait. Brass clenched his fist around the mint for a moment before releasing it back into his pocket. Somehow, that action alone was enough to bring him some sort of assurance.

"She's a fighter, you know. Always has been."

A smile. In fact, there were three.

A frown. In fact, there were two.

The door creaked quietly as the two men walked in.

Dust motes swirled lazily around their shoes with each step, glittering in the sunlight that had forced its way into the gloomy room. Curtains that were once white had turned to a shade of yellowish grey, swaying with the breeze that came through an open window, uninvited. Sara must have forgotten to close her windows again…

They haven't been here in a while. Sara's apartment…

Nostalgia crept up behind Grissom and Greg as they stood in the middle of her living room. The landlord had refused to rent out Sara's apartment and would not even open the door for the two CSIs until they proved to him that they were her friends. Sara was always nice to the man. She never made fun of his age, or commended on his bald spot. There were times where she bought him gifts, sometimes a cup of tea or a piece of cake. There were other times where she would just sit by him, listening to old war stories that nobody cared about. She had a way of making the old lonely soul feel special and everyday, he looked forward to her return. But, since Sara went missing, he kept himself locked in his apartment, and all that joy that Sara had worked so hard to manifest in him had disappeared…

"I don't understand why we have to be here." Greg complained, dragging his feet across the dusty floor in a desperate attempt to get rid of the gloomy silence. "Brass said that Sara's coming around. What are we doing here? We should be by her side…"

Grissom didn't even look at the young CSI. Something else had caught his eye, a couch: the same couch he sat on when Sara told him her family secret. He stared, unmoving, as he imagined that day: her knees closed to her chest as she cried, pouring out her soul to him. In response, he held her hand. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but he wished that he had done something more.

…Should have done something more.

"When Sara wakes up, there's no telling what she remembers and what she does not." He tore his eyes away from the couch, turning to Greg. "We have to look for something that would remind her of what her life used to be… what she used to have."

Used to… Grissom thought, thinking back to those moments that felt like a lifetime ago.

"She won't remember?" Greg asked, his eyebrows arched in a worried state.

"The mind has its filters…." He stopped abruptly. A sense of déjà vu washed over him in a wave of goose bumps. He said the same thing to Sara when she could not remember the name of the woman who took her to foster care… Grissom walked towards Sara's bedroom, not wanting to be in the same room as the familiar couch. Greg followed close behind.

Her room was just as she left it. Untouched like a time capsule. Sara had left her forensic books out and open, to pages relating to a case that she had been working on before she went missing. They had solved that particular case on her behalf, and they hope she wouldn't mind. A clock next to them ticked steadily, rhythmic as a human heart, time moving on without her.

Greg sat heavily at the edge of Sara's bed, and picked up a paper crane that had lost its support against a lamp. A big piece of dust hung from its beak and he eyed at its descend as it floated gently to the ground.

His stomach twisted, threaten. He clamp down hard on it, the back of his throat burning as he stared at the paper bird. He shifted his attention to her answering machine, a small red bulb flashing in a hypnotic sequence, as if begging to be heard. He hit playback, his finger coated with dust as he glided it off the machine.

"Hi. This is Sara Sidle. I'm unable to answer your call right now, but I promise to get back to you as soon as I can. Leave me a message after the beep…(Beep)."

It was great to hear her voice again, even if it wasn't her…. physically. He knew what was on it; he almost had it memorised. He had called her many times while waiting for her at the diner, leaving messages of impatience and disappointment. He thanked God she didn't hear any of them, Sara would have felt so bad, if she heard it… and probably want to make it up to him somehow.

He didn't look up from the spot he was staring at. All he could see, whether his eyes were opened or closed, was Sara.

"I was so mad at her when she didn't show up…"

Grissom looked up from the closet he was inspecting and turned towards Greg.

"…At the diner… I asked her to meet me there… Not this. She didn't ask for this." he continued, not making any sense, as Grissom walked towards him, listening to the machine ramble the rest of the message before plunging the room back into silence. He knew Greg blamed himself; heck, they all did. But he had this tendency of putting himself down. Like having less experience than the other CSIs had made him inferior somehow, and Grissom wondered if Sara ever talked to him about that yet… like she wanted.

"You're not helping her if you keep thinking this way… Did this happen because of her? It was her decision to meet you. Did this happen because of her choice?"

Greg looked at Grissom, not expecting such a stoic response from him. "What—Is that all you can say? She didn't choose to be kidnapped and tort—"

"No." he replied, cutting him off. "No one does. What happened to Sara was horrific, there's no denying that. But it happened. These things happen…there's nothing we can do about it…"

"How can you be so cold…?"

"Because… It's Sara. And right now she has nothing…" He was frowning; his dark eyes shining with his own unshed tears. "All this time, she knew what she had to do. She had to survive. She had to fight the urge of falling into an eternal sleep, to conquer loneliness, to tolerate torture… She had an aim—an objective to fulfil. And that is to see us again. Our dear Sara… she did it. She had managed to survive. She had focus all that energy that. But now that she had done what she was suppose to do, what is left for her? In those years in her prison, she had something to hold on to. Now… in her mind…she has nothing left…"

Greg looked at his boss, feeling slightly disconnected, unnerved yet somehow disturbed by his words.

"We have to give her something back. We owe that to her. If we don't, we're just as bad as the person who tortured her. I will not have that on our consciences."

More riddles. Grissom always finds a way to stump everyone. Saying cryptic things, pretending nothing in this world bothers him. He was the only one who did not shed a tear upon Sara's disappearance…

Why?

"That's why we're here. We have to give her something…so that she'll tell us who did this. As Sara's friend, I should be at the hospital. But right now, as your CSI supervisor, I'm going to stay here. I suggest you do the same. If you can't handle it, I don't want you here."

All this while, he was only interested in the case…

He stared, mouth agape and frowning at his words. "Fine." Greg said angrily. He took the paper crane and stuffed it into the pocket of his shirt. He grabbed a few picture frames that had Sara and the CSI team and shoved them hurriedly into his kit. "I'm all set. If you need me, I'll be at the hospital."

Do you not care?

"Sara was right about you. You don't feel anything." He said, trying to shake him. To rattle what left of Grissom's composure.

…Shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have said those things.

Greg went out the door, but not before he saw the tears rolling down his boss's face, as he sat on Sara's bed that warm afternoon, the orange sunlight coming through the windows and casting long shadows on the carpet floor.

"…. We have given her something for the pain…she had tore some of her stitches but we have managed to patch her back up… Your friend is very lucky. She'll be fine."

Strange, I do not feel fine…

"You call this lucky? What kind of doctor are you…?"

There were people talking, around her. She had forgotten what that sounded like. It seemed almost impossible that there could be people talking.

"Don't you dare tell say that she's lucky when you have no idea what she's been through. Get out of here, you son of a—"

Sara blinked a few times, confused. Her body felt detached, like it belonged to someone heavier and softer. Her vision was out of focus, like a fish in a fishbowl, but she was still able to make out some details. The room was definitely different from the prison she had come to know and adapt. The walls beyond the edge of the bed were white, spotless. There were vases of flowers. The kind her mother used to love. She groped for a name, but she couldn't find one. She had forgotten about them; hadn't seen any for so long…

Nevertheless, she was just happy to see flowers again…

She tried to swallow, but that caused her to shut her eyes in discomfort. Her tongue felt swollen and foreign and she gently probed the inside of her mouth, tasting the cooper tang of blood that reminded her of thoughts that she wanted to keep away. Her head ached, a dull throbbing that radiated through her entire body. There was a needle in the back of her hand, clear fluid inside the tubing. She could see dried blood under the bandage that held it in place. She focused on her vein, blue beneath her pale skin. She had a foggy recollection of ripping the needle out of her arm moments ago and it made her cringed. She shifted slightly on her bed.

"She's waking up! Hey you guys, Sara's coming around."

She wasn't sure if she was hearing things or if it was her mind playing tricks on her. But she figured that it couldn't be her because she never found a reason to get up since she was taken. She never thought anyone would be that excited to see her awake.

"Welcome back Sara. You had us all worried."

She wanted to apologise to the voice for the trouble she had caused but she couldn't find her own voice. It was like it was sealed up inside of her, and she couldn't push any words past her lips. There was something about the voice that made her feel… special. Before this, she was yesterday's trash. Now someone was talking like she was made of expensive china. She felt this pressure on her heart, like the emotions she had kept within her were squeezing its way out.

"You're safe now." He whispered. "Don't be scared."

She blinked again and he appeared in her field of vision. Despite his blurred outline, she knew who he was. Nick reached up and brushed her face with the balls of his thumb. Like her mother used to do, when monsters came out at night… His touch was feather-soft. Sara flinched.

"Hey Sara…"

Sara's eyes began to fill with tears, and the room blurred into shades of gold and white as Nick's hand tightened around hers. She took a deep, painful breath as she said her first word.

A word. In fact, there was only one.

"H—h-hi…"

TBC

I kinda felt bad leaving some characters out of my story. That's where Greg and Grissom (he may sound alittle harsh in this chapter. But we have to remember that he does care for Sara very much.) come in. I tried staying true to the characters, do let me know how I did.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. If you like it, do leave a review.