Disclaimer: I don't own them. :(

Thanks to mingsmommy for the wonderful beta and princessklutz04 for reading and nudging me along. :) All mistakes are my own.

The cab pulls up to McCarran International Airport and I barely know what to do with myself. I consider having the driver turn around and drive me back home.

But I can't heal there.

I feel stuck. I want so badly to be free of my past, but I'm terrified to leave the comfort of the one place that's ever felt like home.

Trying to wipe the last of my tears in a pathetic attempt to make myself presentable, I prepare myself for walking into an airport with no idea of where I'm going. I shuffle out of the cab and the driver follows suit, helping me get my two suitcases from the trunk.

I manage a weak smile and thank him for his help. He looks at me with worried eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? Do you need me to call anyone?" His voice is so soothing and calm; I can't help but let a few tears slip down my cheeks.

"No, no. I'll be okay," I say softly. "I, uh, how much do I owe you?"

He clears his throat, "Twenty-five dollars, Miss."

I shove him thirty dollars, tell him to keep the change and watch as he gets back into the cab. He takes one last look at me before he drives off. I stand there for a few minutes, my two suitcases besides me and look around as if expecting a random person to stop and tell me what to do.

Amongst a city of millions, I feel alone.

I could go anywhere, any place I'd ever dreamed of going to was within my grasp. When I was younger, I dreamed of going to Europe. Spain, France, Italy, Germany, all of it. I found the idea of kings and queens, princes and princesses fascinating and wanted to go to a place that would make me feel important.

I always knew it was silly, but I thought maybe the Queen would want another daughter and adopt me. That way, I could wear a real crown and not get yelled at for being a stupid five-year-old girl. I can hear my father's voice in my head. "You are never gonna be no stinking princess. God, Sara, you need to grow up."

Or instead of Europe, I could go to Africa. I could make myself useful there. Thousands of people would benefit from my traveling there; I could finally do some good. South America is a good destination, too.

But I know, as grand and wonderful as those ideas may be, my demons don't lie in the grand palaces of Europe, the poor slums of Africa or the tropical rain forests of South America. Plus, I think sadly, if I were to visit any of those places, I'd want Gil with me.

A few more tears manage to roll down my face and I quickly wipe them away. This is was so much harder than I thought it would be. Grabbing both suitcases, I proceed into the airport.

I get in the shortest line I can find, which at five in the morning isn't more than five people. An obnoxiously cheery woman greets me with a plastered on smile. "May I help you, ma'am?"

"Uh, yeah." I look down at my feet for a moment. I still have no idea where I'm going.

Gil and I thought about going to San Francisco earlier in the year. We both thought it would be a nice place to relax and would pay homage to the place we first met. And I knew if I wanted, he would have helped me contact my mother.

We never did get our vacation and I wish I could call my little sojourn a vacation, but vacations are meant to be peaceful and something you do to relax. Even if I did fool myself into thinking I was taking a vacation, I doubt it would work.

Already I can feel fresh tears starting to well up. "Ma'am?"

"Right," I wipe at my face. "I need a one-way ticket to San Francisco."

She smiles at me and starts typing. "Let me see what I can find for you."

I turn and look behind me, half expecting to find Gil standing there, ready to wrap me in his arms. There's no one behind me besides a weary looking businessman waiting in line. I give him a half-hearted smile and turn back to the woman in front of me.

"Okay, I've got a flight in an hour. Does that work for you?"

I simply nod.

"Alright, ma'am, that'll be 130."

Handing her my Visa, she beings frantically typing again. She hands me back my card and ticket with that damn smile still plastered on her face. "Have a nice flight, Ms. Sidle."

I mumble a quick thanks and make my way down to the main concourse. For as early as it is, the din of the airport is almost deafening; music plays over the speakers, occasionally broken up by the numerous flight departures, and the conversations of those walking by meld into each other in an unidentifiable mesh of words.

Feeling the dull ache in my muscles, I make my way over to the nearest bench and sit down. Staring down at my ticket, my hands begin trembling. I've never been this confused, this lost before.

I wish I could blame this last case for my problems, but I know I can't. It's more just the straw that broke the camel's back type of thing. For the past year, things have been piling up, making it harder and harder to cope with my…issues.

When Gil went to teach in Massachusetts, I was stunned to say the least; I'm a little ashamed to say I never really got over it. For a long time, and even a little now, I wondered if I had done something to prompt his leaving. I wondered why he couldn't just tell me he was leaving. I could accept not being able to go with him; hell, we were trying to maintain a secret relationship.

His leaving also brought out a lot of insecurities I had about myself. While he was gone, I nearly convinced myself he didn't love me the way I loved him. And while nearly seven months passed in between Gil's sabbatical and me being tied in the back of a maniac's car, her words still haunt me.

Ernie loved me more than Grissom could ever love you.

She may have been an off the wall nut, but sometimes I wonder if she had a point. I feel tears burn at my eyes and I force the idea out of my head.

No, she was just crazy.

Or maybe I went a little crazy in the desert. But after I was able to go home, I never really felt the same. I had been dragged through hell and survived; I should have been jumping to the moon at the chance of living again.

But instead, everything started to weigh on my shoulders with an oppressiveness that wouldn't go away. I switched to Swing hoping the sunlight would help lighten my mood. It didn't help; if anything I felt worse, I never saw Gil.

I truly am sick of death. My mother killed my father, I work with death and I was nearly killed. I'm tired of being the sad one, the one that lets cases get the best of her.

I need to find the Sara Sidle that loved a good mystery. I need to find the Sara Sidle that can wake up every morning with a smile on her face and know the world's a good place.

I know she's not totally lost; I was her once.

I hope I can be her again.

I rest for a while before I get up and wander the airport, absentmindedly making my way over to the gate. I never really noticed how huge this place was and just how many stores and restaurants filled the space. At several points, I see slot machines, waiting to be played by tourists already eager to make a few bucks. Or hoping to cash out big before the go back to their mediocre lives.

Let it never be said there is nothing to do in the Vegas airport.

At gate D alone, there are nineteen different shops, eighteen different places to eat and about eight bathrooms. I briefly think about just staying here. But that would never work; there are so many places I could be in Vegas, someone was bound to find me. Besides, no shower.

I make my way into a small bookshop and a young woman greets me with the standard, "Can I help you find anything?"

I blink at the woman for a moment and shake my head. "No. Just looking."

I walk up and down the aisles, not paying attention to any of the titles I read, just reading them to pass the time. When I stop at the section on nature and see books about bugs, I almost start sobbing. My fingers trail over the spines, as if I can reach Gil through the books.

I stop at the book "How Many Bugs in a Box?" and pick it up. It's stupid, childish and meant for nine to twelve year olds, but I can't help myself.

Continuing through the store, I hold the book against my chest as if it is offering me some protection. At the checkout counter, I notice postcards with butterflies decorating the front. I grab seven and add them with the purchase of the book. I quickly pay, offer the cashier a small 'thank you' and head back to my gate.

As I'm heading back, an automatic message comes on over the loud speaker: Flight 46 to San Francisco will be boarding shortly. Passengers waiting to board Flight 46 should proceed to gate 34 D at this time.

A small line of people has formed and I quietly slip in line.

I haven't left Vegas in eight years. I came as a favor for a friend with false pretense that maybe he wanted something more. For five years, I was played with like a toy on a string until finally I was wanted. The past two years I had a home with the man I loved. And now I was leaving it all behind.

A small part of me felt like I was betraying everyone. Catherine, Warrick, Nick, Greg, Brass, Gil.

Myself.

They'd all come into work tomorrow and with the exception of Gil, they'd have no idea I left until they noticed me missing.

They'd want answers. Answers to questions Gil didn't have. Answers to questions I don't have. I hope they can accept the fact I need to go away for a while.

Not forever.

Just a while.

I step up in line and as I'm about to hand my ticket to the attendant, my phone vibrates against my hip. I know it can only be only person. I smile apologetically at the attendant and unclip my phone.

The seven letters of his name glow brightly at me: GRISSOM.

I flip open the phone and briefly contemplate answering it. My finger lingers over the TALK button but I shake my head and let out a sigh. If I answer, I'll never make it on the plane. I shift my finger and hit the END key, shutting off my phone.

There have been a lot of "firsts" in my life, but I never thought ignoring Gil would be one of them. For so long I pursued him and now I'm ignoring him? God, that's so backwards.

"Sorry," I mumble, shoving my phone back in my pocket.

The attendant just smiles at me, hands me my ticket back and says, "Have a nice flight, ma'am."

Every part of my life until this point had been routine. Get up, shower, eat, go to work. Repeat. In the almost eight years I've lived in Vegas, nearly every day has been the same. I was sure of myself, I knew who I was. I had purpose in every action and I thought about what I was doing.

Hell, even me pursuing Gil for as long as I did was thought out. When I set my mind to something, I work at it until I get it right. And despite the many setbacks and tremendous amounts of frustration, he's the best thing I ever went after.

But this—me leaving—this is not routine.

Boarding the plane, I enter a place of uncertainty.