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.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading thus far. :)

The next few days go by quickly and I can't believe I've been here a week. My mind's calmed some, but I still feel like it's running faster than I can keep up with. But since talking to Gil, I feel more confident I can remain here and heal.

Many of the other guests have gone home, leaving only a gentleman from Washington and myself for the Thanksgiving weekend.

I throw on a pair of lounge pants and make my way down the stairs. I can already smell the dinner Mary's preparing for tonight. Butter, onion and turkey invade my senses, and for a brief moment, I wish I ate meat. Walking into the kitchen, I find Mary standing over the counter, reading a cookbook and humming softly to herself. Without even looking up, she greets me as I sit down on a stool across from her.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Sara." She smiles at me warmly and hands me a cookbook. "I know you won't be eating the turkey, so why don't you look through there and find something I can make you."

"Oh, no, that's okay." I try to hand the book back, but Mary refuses.

"I insist. You're one of two people here; it's really no problem."

I cave and start flipping through the cookbook, trying to find something reasonable to make. As I turn a page, a piece of paper falls out from between the pages. Recognizing my mother's handwriting, I drop the paper as if it's burned my fingers.

Mary looks at me with a curious eye and I pick up the paper and offer an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Paper cut."

Picking up the small sheet, I trail my fingers over the slightly faded ink and I suddenly feel as if the entire room has faded away and all that exists is this paper and I.

"Sara, would you like to help me bake?"

Her voice is soft, and I look between were she stands and where my father had left moments before. His words still echoed in my head and I know they still lingered in hers.

Watching my movements, she places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "He won't bother us again. It's okay."

I wanted to tell her it would never be okay, that no amount of baking could ever make the things he said or did okay. Instead, I slowly nodded my head and followed her into the kitchen.

Mary's soft voice pulls me back to reality. "Sara? Are you okay?"

I blink at her. "Uh, yeah." I clear my throat. "Where did you get this?"

Taking the recipe from my hand, she looks at it and smiles. "Oh, this? I found that hidden in one of the kitchen drawers when Frank and I first started renovating the place. Makes some of the best baked macaroni and cheese I've ever had."

I continued to stare at the recipe but I spoke softly, "I'd like to make it. If that's okay."

"Sure thing," Mary smiled. "I'm almost positive I've got macaroni noodles around here."

With Mary off in search of noodles, I take the opportunity to look around the kitchen. Not much had changed but the room would never be the same. The walls were painted a soft yellow, much different from the stark white that once colored them. The floor tiles had been replaced with hard wood, but I could still visualize where my father's body lay in a pool of his own blood.

Catherine would have had a field day with all the spatter.

"Ah! Here they are!" Mary called from the pantry.

She hands me the box and I smile. After Mary gives me a small tour of the kitchen, I gather up all of the supplies I need and set up a workstation on the counter across from where she stands.

"So, how did you meet Frank?" I ask, starting a pot of water.

Mary cuts a few more potatoes before looking up. As she wipes her hands on her apron, she answers, "My father use to own a hardware store and on weekends he'd let me work there. Well, Frank walked in on a Saturday, and I just knew." Pausing, she starts to mash the potatoes and looks at me. "You married, Sara?"

I look down at the water as if hoping the answer was floating around just waiting to be stirred up. "Um, engaged."

Mary's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's wonderful! Have a date picked out?"

I sigh. "No. We both move slowly. Well, relationship-wise anyway."

A wordless noise bubbled from her lips. "Sounds like Frank. Waited five years before working up the courage to even ask me out. But, I suppose, with him being ten years older, he had a lot going against him."

Looking up at Mary, I feel a new sense of closeness, something I haven't had with anyone, even those I've known the longest—except for Gil. "Eight."

Her brow furrows and confusion sweeps across her face. "Excuse me?"

Clearing my throat, I answer, "It took Gil eight years to ask me out."

At that, she smiles, "Ah, then you understand." She mashes more before she turns back towards me. "You know, Sara, I think men are just afraid of feeling what women feel. When women love, we love completely and that scares them. Men are always portrayed as strong and seemingly emotionless, that when they finally feel that way, they get scared."

I look at her in slight disbelief. "Uh, yeah."

Giving a shrug, she goes back to her work. "Just my take on it. Works out for the best though, right?"

I simply nod. "Yeah. It does."

I finish making the rest of the baked macaroni and help Mary finish up making dinner for her family and the other guest before she shoos me out of the kitchen. I take the time to grab a quick shower before dinner's ready.

Over the past couple of days, the apprehension I had about entering the bathroom has dissipated and I feel more at ease; after all, it's just a bathroom.

After a quick wash, I wrap the towel around my frame and head back to my room. Closing the door behind me, I eye the phone sitting on the bedside table and notice the small flashing red light. Sitting on the bed, the mattress depressing under my weight, I pick up the phone. Flipping it open, I see my favorite seven letters and smile.

We've talked three times since I've arrived here, each conversation increasingly falling into our normal comfort level, which I'm grateful for; leaving him was hard enough and with our only communication via telephone, the more normal the better.

I hit redial and after the second ring, his warm voice floods through my system. "Sara."

I smile—and it's a real smile. "Hey, Gil. Sorry I missed you."

"It's okay," he says softly. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

Ignoring the fact I'm clad in only a towel, I lie back on the bed and attempt to get comfortable. "Rough day?"

He sighs heavily into the phone. He tells me everything is fine back home, but part of me knows he's covering up his feelings to make my being here easier on both of us. But I know he's hurting just as much as I am. "Hodges has been running around coercing everyone into playing some game he made up."

"Sounds mildly amusing," I laugh.

"It's Hodges."

For a few moments, he doesn't speak and a comfortable silence floats between us. When he finally speaks, there's sadness in his tone. "Uh, Nick asked me out to breakfast." He clears his throat. "They keep asking about you."

I shift uncomfortably. I knew my leaving would raise eyebrows and lead to questions; they're all trained investigators after all. And I know they want nothing but the best for both us, but I can't help but feel bad for Gil for taking the brunt of it all. "What do you tell them?"

"I don't know what to tell them, Sara."

I swallow hard. "I'm sorry," I say softly.

"You should never be sorry. You're doing what you have to do."

A smile pulls at my lips. "Thank you."

He doesn't speak, but I can practically see him nod. "How's your day been?" he finally asks.

"Today…today's been an okay day," I say, pushing myself from the bed to go look for something more comfortable than a damp towel to wear.

"Eventful?"

"Um, so far. I found a recipe of my mother's tucked into one of Mary's cookbooks. I uh," I bite my lip and pause slightly, staring at the plain white shirt in my hand, "I felt like the paper burned my skin. I haven't touched anything of hers in so long."

"Have you found anything else?"

Looking down, I eye the floorboards. As I rock slightly, I can hear the slight creak and I quickly step off. "No, but I really haven't been looking. I'm still trying to get over the fact I used to live here." I look around and sigh, "There are a lot of bad memories here."

"But you're okay there?" he asks, his worry evident.

"I'm okay here."

In the background, I hear Hank bark and Gil shoo him away. "I should walk him. He's been bothering me all afternoon."

I laugh, "Yeah, and we both know if you don't do it soon, he'll bark until he gets his way. Kinda like you."

Gil snorted, "I do not bark. I just have ways of making you succumb to my will."

I scoff in mock annoyance, "Go take care of your dog, Gilbert."

"Yes ma'am," he says, and if I could see him, I bet any money he was saluting as well. "I'll talk to you later?"

"Yes you will. Bye, honey."

"Oh, Sara?"

"Hmm?"

"Happy Thanksgiving."

I smile, "Happy Thanksgiving, Gil."