Author's note: As always, I so appreciated all the reviews. Glad to see some new reviewers!
Bluejolteon – There are a few details about what Sara is going through with the treatment process in this chapter, but for the most part I'm focused on what happens after the sessions at the hospital rather than those visits themselves. I hope you enjoy this chapter, though! Thanks for reviewing!
Thanks to everyone for reviewing, in fact! You guys keep me writing, and it's such a joy.
Now, on to the story…
Moments of Truth
Chapter Six
Sara hadn't answered the phone.
And so Grissom was rushing home from work nearly an hour before the end of shift.
It was a bit silly, perhaps. She was sick as a dog and quite possibly fast asleep in bed. She might have turned down the ringer. Hell, maybe he had turned down the ringer himself and been too bone-tired to remember it.
But she hadn't answered, and she was alone, and she shouldn't have been alone.
Not right now.
She needed help, no matter how much she insisted that she didn't.
It was Grissom's first day back at work since he'd taken two days off to be with her while she dealt with the initial days of her second round of chemotherapy.
I should have taken more than two days. The thought repeated itself over and over again as he arrived and parked and made his way quickly to her door.
He was feeling a little bit panicked, but not so much so that it didn't occur to him to be quiet in case she was sleeping.
A quick glance around the main living area told him that it was empty.
Her bed was empty, too. Ruffled, slept-in, but empty.
He pushed open the bathroom door and saw no sign of her.
And there was nowhere else to look.
Would she have gone out on her own? Even if she'd been feeling somewhat better today, she didn't have the strength for that, and they both knew it.
And he'd just left everyone who might have taken her somewhere at the lab.
Standing in the little area between her bedroom and bathroom, Grissom's breath came as raggedly as if he'd just run up a few flights of stairs. His right hand moved toward the cell phone attached to his belt.
He wasn't sure who he was calling or what he would say, but he quickly punched in one of the speed dial codes.
"It's Grissom," he said shortly into the phone, forgoing all formalities. "Have you seen or heard from Sara? … Yes, Greg, I do think she should be here resting! I --"
Grissom paused sharply when a quiet sound reached his ears. Where had that come from? He let his cell phone fall to his side and listened intently.
"Griss?"
Forgetting Greg entirely, Grissom turned off his phone and stepped into the bathroom, following the sound of her worn out voice.
"Sara?"
He found her lying in a heap in the empty bathtub, in her bathrobe, partially hidden by the sides of the tub and the shower curtain, which he pulled back now.
Her eyes were closed, her body lying face down, her legs bent behind her because the tub wouldn't allow them to stretch out, her face pressed against the smooth surface.
Grissom nearly cursed out loud.
"Are you dizzy? Did you fall?" He knelt down and reached out for her, to help her up, but her brow crinkled disapprovingly and she shook her head.
"No," she murmured. "It's cool… feels good. And close," she added, and it was clear to him she was speaking of the proximity of the toilet.
"Honey, you'd be more comfortable in bed."
"Don't wanna move," she mumbled, and Grissom relented, even though there was something that felt rather inhumane about letting her rest in a cold, hard bathtub.
He sat down on the edge of the tub and leaned down to touch her, to rub his hand over her back and her shoulders, in an attempt to comfort her that did more to make him feel better than it did for her.
She was getting far too thin, he thought to himself.
"Have you tried to eat anything today?" His question was met with a little shake of her head, and he made a mental note to talk to her about that later. "Can I at least get you a pillow?" he asked after a moment, but she only shook her head stubbornly, and her eyes never opened.
He sat still and silent for several seconds, and then was a bit startled when she suddenly started speaking to him unprovoked.
"Go," she said quietly, turning her head and opening her eyes to look at him. "Go get some work done or something."
"I don't think so," he told her, slowly shaking his head just to be clear.
"I just want to lie here for a while," she insisted. "I actually feel better than I did before I got in here."
"Sara…"
"Didn't you bring work home with you?"
Grissom nodded after a moment. He had brought work home with him. Several different case files, in fact. They were all sitting outside in the passenger seat of his car.
She looked him over, moving her eyes but not her head, as he sat perched on the edge of her tub.
"You don't look very comfortable," she told him.
"Neither do you," he pointed out meaningfully, but she didn't react.
"You should get some work done," she said again, turning her face back toward the cool surface of the tub, apparently done discussing it.
Grissom wasn't sure why he was being dismissed. If it was a matter of pride, she was a little bit late. He'd seen her at her worst over the past two days.
He stood up but didn't leave the room, didn't stop watching her.
"I got bored earlier, called Greg," Sara said suddenly, and since she made no attempt to turn her head toward him her words were slightly muffled. "I asked about work. He said you've got… some rare bug thing going. Billingsley. Said that was the name of the case. So I know you've probably got some entomology textbook to dig into." She paused, and though her eyes opened she didn't turn them toward him. "And I don't want to be the thing keeping you from that."
"It can wait," he said immediately.
"It doesn't have to. I'm fine here for a while. Go. Work. You can leave the door open."
Grissom hesitated, but decided he was satisfied with that. Thinking that he should call Greg to apologize for his earlier abrupt hang-up, Grissom took a step toward the door.
He stopped in the doorway.
He had to say something, to give her even just a phrase to cling to right now, and it took him a moment to settle on what exactly it was that she needed to hear.
"When you're feeling better, I want your input on this case." He told her, and paused briefly before continuing. "I need you."
He went out into the living room then, leaving Sara alone with her thoughts and the illness that seemed to share the room with her.
She didn't want to hold Grissom back. No matter how easy it would be to justify selfishness right now, she wasn't going to be that person.
Even so, being alone and quiet gave her too much time to think.
The memory of watching what basically amounted to a kind of poison drip through the IV tubes and into her body was strangely traumatic. Her doctor had given her a lecture that was far too glass-half-full for her taste, reminding her that the chemo was meant to destroy cancer cells, not healthy cells, and that she had to think positively about that.
Thinking positively wasn't something she was particularly interested in at this point.
Her body ached with the kind of extreme fatigue that made moving almost painful, her stomach had been upset on and off for three days, the sensations in her fingers seemed to alternate between numbness and tingling, and the discomfort in her upper right abdomen reminded her that somewhere under the symptoms of the treatment lied the symptoms of the disease.
And her hair was still falling out.
Her goddamn hair was still falling out, even now.
…
Grissom had gone out to the car to get his books and files, but they sat on the couch untouched.
He was busily looking through all the books and personal items in her living room for any sign of information on her family, and more specifically her brother.
He felt guilty about snooping, but he didn't hesitate.
He hit pay dirt when he came across an old photo album.
He scanned one page, and then another.
The book didn't seem to be organized chronologically, which was strange given Sara's usual precise habits. He wondered if she hadn't acquired her organizational skills until she became a criminalist, and had left the book as it had been.
He had no trouble picking her out in the various pictures. In one she looked about five, in the next maybe seven, and perhaps three in the one after that. Sometimes the bright-eyed (if troubled) childhood version of Sara was sitting with a miserable-looking woman who he could only guess was her mother, and once in a blue moon she stood or sat with a mustached giant of a man who must have been her father.
But it was the boy in the pictures that mattered to Grissom now. He knew from Brass that the boy had grown into a man who had run into trouble with the law too many times to count, but he seemed innocent enough in these pictures.
He guessed that this Josh was about six or seven years older than Sara, and they seemed fond enough of each other, as much as they could in the still images.
There he was standing behind her in front of a sad looking Christmas tree, and then there they were, grinning away in one of few pictures in which she looked truly happy, smiling at something she probably wouldn't even remember now.
The book wasn't anywhere near full, which was a sad enough fact about her childhood in and of itself.
But he ignored that thought when it came to him. It wasn't important now.
He performed a quick and efficient search, seeking out what looked like the most recent picture of Joshua Sidle. He was just a wiry young teenager in the picture, but it was a clear shot of his face, and it would have to do.
A moment later he was on the phone with Nick, making plans to meet him briefly sometime soon to discuss "a very important case".
Seconds after he hung up he heard the distinct and cringe-worthy sound of vomiting coming from the bathroom, and he quickly tucked the photo album back where it had been and went to check on Sara.
…
It wasn't until the following day that Grissom finally got around to digging into his textbooks and working on a case file, but when he did he found himself getting lost in the work in a way he hadn't been able to for some time now.
Perhaps that was part of the reason why he was startled when Sara came walking out of her bedroom.
The other part of the reason was that she was dressed. She was in sweats, and wearing no makeup, but dressed nonetheless.
"You're feeling better?" He asked with a hopeful smile, and she gave him a little nod.
"Better than I was, yeah. And Catherine is coming over."
"Catherine?" Grissom's face betrayed the surprise that he tried to keep out of his tone, and Sara nodded and moved a book so that she could sit down next to him on the couch.
"I need to talk to her about a few things."
"That's… vague."
"Not as vague as you've been about this case," she told him, purposefully changing the subject, and he looked down at the books scattered around him.
He opened his mouth to launch into the detailed story of the gruesome murder case, but caught himself before he got started. It occurred to him that if Catherine was going to be here, it just might be the perfect time to take off and speak to Nick without leaving Sara alone any more than necessary.
"I'll have to tell you about it later," he said apologetically, standing up. "This is actually good timing, because I have somewhere to be."
"You're going out?" she asked, surprised but pleased, since she had been hoping to speak to Catherine alone and wasn't sure how to handle that with Grissom nearby.
He nodded and then looked at her for a moment, getting the distinct feeling that he wasn't the only one being carefully cryptic.
He brushed it off and grabbed his cell phone and his keys, and then picked up a particular file that he'd been careful not to let Sara get her hands on in the past few days.
It wasn't labeled, but he would have known which folder it was even if all the others around it had also been unlabelled. He'd come to know every crease and ripple.
"I have to meet Nick, about a case," he explained, not entirely inaccurately, and he gave her a gentle goodbye hug. "I won't be long."
"Take your time," she replied, and as he headed out, he got the unsettling feeling that she really meant it.
…
As Catherine approached Sara's place, she had the thought that she had only been here three times in over five years.
Twice she'd come by to pick up files Sara had been studying from home, and once she'd dropped Sara off after they'd gone out for beers, after discovering that what's-his-name had been cheating on her.
She'd never really been inside, and she had no idea what she was doing here today.
Catherine knocked, and several seconds later Sara opened the door.
She looked like hell, but Catherine smiled politely.
"You look good," she offered warmly, but Sara laughed a short laugh.
"If you say so." Sara held the door open wider, and when Catherine had stepped through she let it swing shut.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"No thanks." Catherine shook her head, in the process of looking around and taking the place in. "It's cozy," she commented, and Sara took a seat and gestured for Catherine to do the same.
A few awkward seconds passed.
"Can I be blunt?" Catherine asked.
"Have I ever stopped you before?" Sara teased, and Catherine didn't argue with that.
"Sara, why am I here?"
Sara considered making a joke, but decided against it.
"I've been making some plans," she started, looking at Catherine very seriously. "I'm going to sign a DNR."
DNR.
Do Not Resuscitate.
Surprise registered on Catherine's face. She began to look vaguely horrified, but to her credit she forced an understanding nod.
"Isn't it early days to be thinking about that?" Catherine asked carefully, and Sara nodded.
"I want to get things in order now. When I'm still thinking clearly." She left a beat. "When no one can try to tell me I'm not thinking clearly."
Realization dawned in Catherine's eyes.
"You think Grissom will fight it?"
"That is why you're here," Sara clarified. "I could get witnesses from a law firm, or do it in front of my doctors… and I might do that, too… but I want to do this in front of someone I trust, and more importantly in front of someone that Grissom trusts. Someone he won't be able to fight on this."
"And that's where I come in," Catherine said unnecessarily. She felt uneasy about the whole idea. This was big. "You're absolutely sure you want to do this?"
"It's not akin to suicide, Cath," Sara insisted, not without emotion. "The facts are already there. Keeping my body going in a hospital bed that should be given to someone who has a real chance to survive…"
Sara left it at that. Catherine nodded haltingly after a moment, and Sara took it as agreement and got up and went into the bedroom. She came back seconds later with what looked like legal forms.
They said nothing as Sara set the papers down in front of them on the coffee table with shaking hands that betrayed her facade of calm.
Sara found a pen and sat down next to Catherine on the couch, and they exchanged a look full of the enormity of what signing these papers meant.
Sara turned her gaze to the forms in front of her.
She didn't need to read them yet again, nor did she need to think it through any more than she already had.
She forced herself to reach out and sign her name, and then drew in a slow breath as she pushed the pages toward Catherine and pointed out the place for a witness signature.
Catherine looked the page over for a moment, stalling, then quickly signed her name.
"Grissom might hate me for that," she said lightly, if for no other reason than to break the silence.
"I know the feeling," Sara told her, and Catherine gave her a skeptical look that said that neither of them really believed for a second that he could hate her.
Sara was trying to find a polite way to tell Catherine she could go now when Catherine suddenly spoke up.
"Three years ago," Catherine began quietly, "During the summer… I found a lump in my breast."
Their eyes met, but Sara only waited for Catherine to go on.
"I had a biopsy, had to wait a few days for the results… kept working, took out the stress on everyone else… especially you," she added with a little smile. "And I didn't tell anyone for most of those few days. I just figured I was strong and I didn't need anyone else and that I didn't even have to think about it if I tried hard enough." Catherine paused again, a thoughtful look on her face. "I was scared," she admitted, her tone matter-of-fact. "And eventually I went to Jackie. I broke down. Rambled for the longest time, probably incoherently, and I don't even remember half of what I said. Jackie just let me talk, let me cry." Catherine waited for Sara to meet her eyes. "I'm not going to be so… so insulting… as to pretend that any of this means that I have any idea what you're going through right now. But I'm just saying… well, I guess I'm saying that if you need a 'Jackie', I'm available."
Sara took all of this in for a moment, surprised that it wasn't really awkward or strange for the two of them to talk like this. They'd never said this much to each other before outside of work and work-related meetings, and God only knew they'd had their differences.
And yet here they sat, and the truth was that Sara did need 'a Jackie'.
And she found herself doing something she never thought she'd do.
"I was raped when I was eighteen." She said it simply, not wanting to give more than she had to. "That's how this all happened, how I got the Hepatitis C."
Sara looked over at Catherine briefly, but quickly turned her eyes away when she saw that Catherine looked sickened, and like she might actually cry for her.
That was too much, and so she continued what became a little monologue with her gaze locked on the far wall.
"Grissom knows. I told him not long after all of this started. We haven't really talked about it since. And I think that's mostly my choice. But it's… it's partly for him. I can't seem to forget the look on his face when I told him, and so I don't really want to bring it up again. For my sake, too, you know, I'd like to just leave it in the past. But the thing is…" She took in a deep breath. "Thing is that I'm losing my hair now. Because of the chemo. And every time Grissom notices me noticing, he says I look fine, good, no different at all. And I always just kind of nod, like that helps, but the truth is it doesn't really have much to do with how I look. It's just that…" She sniffled back tears. "That night, when I was eighteen, he pulled me into the bushes by my hair… He pulled out so much of my hair… and now it's like here we are… all these years later, and… he's just… he's still pulling my hair out."
Sara finally turned to meet Catherine's eyes again, and found them nearly as watery as her own.
"He's still pulling my hair out, Cath," Sara told her brokenly.
And there was nothing left for Catherine to do but reach for her hand and let her cry.
…
Grissom wasted no time with pleasantries when Nick slid into the booth across from him in the diner.
"Here," he told him simply, and thrust the folder into his hands. "Sara's brother. Joshua Sidle. I've got name, age, 'cause Brass just came through with a birth certificate, but there's no death certificate, thank God, and there's an old picture, most recent one I can find, and you've also got his rap sheet there."
Grissom blurted this out somewhat less than coherently.
Nick looked confused and a little overwhelmed as he opened the file and glanced through it.
"Guy's got a rap sheet as long as my arm," he noted casually, and Grissom nodded.
"That might be what kept his criminalist sister at a distance, no?"
"Could be," Nick agreed.
"But it's mostly petty stuff. Con jobs, fraud charges… the guy isn't a murderer."
"Not on record," Nick pointed out, but Grissom ignored the comment.
His eyes were on the prize, such as it was. Saving Sara's life was a precious, precious goal.
"He could be a living donor. This is about her life, Nicky."
"Well yeah, agreed, but what do you really know about her family history?"
"Look," Grissom said, getting a little bit frustrated, "I suspect her reluctance to find him right now might just be as simple as her not wanting to risk anyone else's life to save her own. Especially the life of her older brother."
Nick nodded, but didn't look entirely convinced. He looked down at the file for a moment, then up at Grissom.
"Why come to me?"
"Warrick's... attached, to that girl of his. Catherine has Lindsey. Greg is too emotional over this thing." Grissom rattled off the points, and then added seriously, "And I trust you."
Satisfied with that, Nick nodded.
"Okay."
"I need you to go to New York, look him up at his last known address, ask around… do whatever you have to do to find him." Grissom paused for a moment, and Nick nodded. "But don't make contact," Grissom added. "Except maybe to confirm who he is. But don't tell him about Sara, not without talking to me first, at least."
"Okay. When do I do this?"
"Now, preferably. If you can get home and get a bag packed I can have you on the next flight. I'll put the ticket on my credit card and reimburse you for anything else."
Nick thought it over for a moment, then nodded.
"Okay."
They both stood up, and said nothing as they exited the diner and went out toward the parking lot.
"Hey Griss?" Nick called, and Grissom stopped and looked up on his way to his car.
"Yes?"
"Feels good to at least have something to do about all this, huh?"
Grissom nodded and got into his car.
It sure as hell did.
…
It took only sixteen hours.
Sara was sleeping.
Grissom was wrapped up in researching the details of a case.
The phone ring, and he dove for it, only to keep it from waking Sara.
Nick's words rang inside his head.
"I found him."
…