Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, etc. But I should.

A/N: Anyone know what's coming? :)


Chapter 17: Nightmares and Explanations

We spent the next day in our hotel room, sleeping in, renting movies, and ordering room service. We made love, several more times—as if we couldn't get enough of each other. I would not have said I was disinterested in sex, before Sara, but I had never needed to be with someone desperately, after only a few hours.

Each time we wrapped ourselves up in each other, it felt as though I'd been waiting months to have her, all over again. For that matter, I had never been with a woman who seemed to not only be willing but eager to make love so frequently… several times in a day had to be rare, right?

We only had a few days of vacation left—we met with the real estate agent, again, finished clearing out Jim and Marlene's home, made the trips to good will and loaded up her trunk and back seat with the boxes she wished to keep. The boxes for Jim's sister were sitting inside the entry way—she evidently had a key, as she had let the mourners in, after the funeral.

We drove back to San Francisco, and I couldn't possibly have told you much I had missed her little apartment, kept compulsively clean. The first night back I hadn't had time to appreciate how used to cooking in her kitchen I'd gotten, or how I knew that her books and movies were organized alphabetically, within their respective genres. I hadn't really understood how intimate it was that I knew the lotions in her medicine cabinet were stacked in careful rows, with her favorite on the far left all the way to her least favorite on the far right, or that I could tell you where she kept her tampons, and her birth control pills, and her time-of-the-month emergency chocolate supply.

But I appreciated it now, and it was true that day shift was supposed to have an opening in the next few months… with her education, her experience, and my recommendation, I couldn't believe that she wouldn't be hired, even with Ecklie as the supervisor. She was brilliant, how could he not hire her? I found myself hoping again—planning for a future together, in Vegas.

She had a lot of furniture here, after all. Maybe we'd need a bigger place—the townhouse was a three bedroom, but the office was quite small, and with our combined books, there was no way there was enough room, and certainly not for her bed, even if it was only a double. Maybe we'd find a place with a real office, and the third bedroom could be another guest room or… or even a nursery.

I didn't know if Sara wanted children, and if she didn't I was certainly fine with that—I had given up the dream of a family after losing my second baby, but if she did want children… well, I didn't think I was too old, yet. I had a few more years, hopefully, before people would assume that any infant I carried was my grandchild rather than my child.

Still, the idea of painting a nursery, assembling a crib… I couldn't help but be excited, even for just the possibility. And so I resolved that, before I left, I would explain whatever had sent her running from me in the first place—the only problem was that I didn't want to bring up her leaving me… I didn't want to remind her that she had found reason to run before, in case she decided she wanted to again.

I was deathly afraid of her leaving me again.

And so it was on my last night in San Francisco, with an early flight the next morning, I had determined I would talk to her. I had to talk to her. …Because she would be harder to convince with the miles between us and I wasn't willing to risk it. I made her the pasta dish I had made the first night I'd cooked for her, complete with wine and candles, and we actually made it to the beach, a task we had never managed to complete the first time I had stayed with her.

What I was not prepared for was the truth behind one of the first things she'd ever told me—She liked sex on the beach, apparently, and with a little effort she found a secluded spot and dragged me down, into the sand with her, and proceeded to love me senseless.

We walked back home in a heady afterglow, giggling at ridiculous things, and tumbled into her bed, exhausted. I did not think of what I should have been talking about until she was already sleeping, and I was drifting off myself. …Apparently it was going to be a breakfast conversation. I double-checked that the alarm was set, so that we would have time for the discussion, and then let myself slip into a deep slumber, thinking that no matter how long or often I showered, I would probably never get all the sand off of my body.

What I didn't anticipate was the nightmare. Sara had had nightmares while sleeping with me before, but they were minor—I would never have known, then, if I hadn't been awake already. She had tossed her head on the pillow, and muttered or whimpered once or twice, and then slipped into a deeper and hopefully more peaceful sleep.

But tonight, it was entirely different—alarming, scary even. She had been curled against me, and I woke to feel her head tossing. I gently stroked her arms, to try to lull her into a more serene sleep, but then she was muttering "No, no, don't touch me… don't do this, please. No." And she was crying.

She didn't just sound like she was crying, she was actually sobbing, her body wracked with the force of it, streams falling from her eyes in a torrent. And then she was thrashing—violently, kicking and throwing her arms, and I had to grab them and pin them to her sides to even get close enough to try to wake her.

And then she was screaming—a bloodcurdling thing like I'd never heard in my life. She sounded like she was dying, like she was in excruciating pain. And all the while I'm shaking her, shouting "Sara! Sara, honey, wake up… wake up, sweetheart, it's okay… please wake up, Sara. Sara!"

She jerks abruptly, her eyes fluttering open and her thrashing slowing and finally stopping altogether. "…Gil?" she asks, breaking free from my hold and frantically wiping the moisture from her cheeks, her breathing labored. I swallow hard.

"Yeah, I'm here honey. Are… are you okay?"

"I… Why? What, uh… what did I do?"

I look at her closely. She knows she had a nightmare… she's assessing the damage. Determining how much she has to explain… how little she can divulge. I purse my lips. "You were muttering 'no' and… and 'don't touch me, please don't do this…' and kicking, thrashing… screaming…"

Her face pales, though I don't know if it's in memory of the dream or because she's upset I was witness to it, but I wrap my arms around her. "It, uh… it was a…"

"Nightmare. I figured…" I don't ask, and I know she's waiting to see if I will. I bite the inside of my cheek, just to be certain that I won't.

She sighs heavily, and buries her face in my chest. "Oh, god, Gil, it was terrible!"

I take this as permission to ask, at the very least. "…Do you want to tell me about it?"

She shakes her head. "N-no… I don't ever want to think about it, ever again! Gil… oh god…"

I gently brush her hair from her face and the tears from beneath her eyes, wrapping her up in my body—even my legs intertwining with hers, so that she knows I'm there, completely. "…You don't have to relive it, honey, just… tell me what it's about…"

And she shakes her head again, but a sob breaks through her lips along with a name I'd only heard once before. "Ken."

I quiet her, and rock her, calm her and kiss her until she drifts back into an uneasy sleep, exhausted by the sobs that had wracked her body. Then, and only then, do I allow myself to process the information she's given me. Ken Fuller had been her only one night stand. She had been dreaming about him, saying 'don't touch me' and struggling as if her life depended on it. And there was a scar on her perineum that I could not imagine her getting from anything other than a violent rape or a difficult birth.

Either way, I just knew somehow that it related back to him… and if she had been saying 'don't touch me…' my best guess was rape, rather than birth. That and her glaring lack of a baby… but then, I was a father or two without a child either. But I know I can't ask. I can't and I won't.

I barely slept—every time she twitched, murmured, or whimpered in her sleep, my eyes would flutter open and I would rock her and sing the lullaby my mother had sang to me—sang to Joshua—until she was deeply asleep once more. And the next morning, when the alarm went off and I rolled away from her to turn it off quickly, her eyes flickered open slowly and she looked exhausted, but happy that I was there.

"Hey."

I smile. "Hey."

"I, uh… I'm sorry about… last night."

I shake my head. "Don't be. I want to be the one to hold you through your nightmares."

She sighs, softly. "I guess I… owe you some explanation." She looks border-line angry, though I can't imagine why or at whom the emotion is directed.

I shake my head again. "If you want to give me one, you can… but you don't owe me anything. But, uh… I did want to talk to you, about something, before I go…"

She looks apprehensive. "…Okay?"

"I, uh… Sara, I… I wanted to explain whatever it was… whatever secrets you thought I was keeping from you… when you left."

Now she shakes her head, going so far as to place a finger over my mouth when I open it to argue. "No, Gil… I don't need to know. In fact, I don't want you to tell me, right now… because I've decided that I was the one who screwed up, back then. I didn't trust you, and so… I am now. I… I need to explain myself."

I swallow hard, nodding. "…Okay."

"I… Gil, I panicked. You had pictures all over the townhouse of… of Laura." I'm surprised she knows the name, and I'm also curious—I only had one picture of Laura, and it's only because it was of the night I found out about Joshua. It's the only picture of him that I have the heart to see on a daily basis, because it isn't so overt.

"I mean, nobody keeps baby pictures of an ex-girlfriend… pictures ranging the span of her entire lifetime… unless they're still in love with her. And I… I snooped, Gil, a lot. I looked in the back of the picture, and I saw when it had been taken… I couldn't handle that you'd been in love with someone else for eleven years. How could I compete with something like that?"

She starts pacing, and I try to speak—to correct her misconception, but she silences me with a look. "I need to get this out while I can… I… I was sitting at your computer desk, loading the internet, while you were out that day… and I saw your bank statement, and the letter from the FBI. And from that much I could tell that they were taking money, without it showing up to your bank who they were… and that it was half of your monthly income.

"…Which made me think… you know, who gives money to the FBI? Somebody who's in trouble or somebody who is FBI. You wouldn't have the lab cover-up if you were openly an FBI agent, which would mean that you lead a double life… the second half of your income supporting the second half of your identity..or something. God, that was scary… I still don't really understand what it means, Gil, but… but I'm trying very hard to have blind faith, right now."

She flexes her fingers in agitation, and sits down again. I open my mouth, again, but I'm silenced once more. "There's more, Gil… I… I did a lot wrong. I, uh… your email is the first page that opens, Gil, and… and your bank sent you messages about… about account activity."

My eyes narrow in frustration. Was there anything in my home she hadn't invaded? Any single piece of circumstantial evidence that she would have given me the benefit of the doubt over? …Or at least waited to discuss with me, before running away and leaving me with nothing?

"A lot of money was deposited… and then even more was spent, an hour later, when you claimed you'd gone to the lab… and then when I asked you about the FBI you… you brought up the scar I have. I.. Gil, you know how I am with… vulnerability...

"And then… you were hiring in Vegas but you didn't even think about how I was more than qualified… how we could have been together. It didn't even occur to you… and then, when you were arguing for me to wait for the day shift position you… you pulled the 'I'm-a-man-my-job-is-more-important-because-I'd-have-the-primary-income card.'"

I stare at her in awe, my mind racing over all the new information… all the things that were so easily explained, and yet she had thought the very worst of me… misconstrued everything, down to the purchase of the engagement ring, into something twisted and deceitful and wrong.

I run a shaking hand through my hair, not certain whether to argue, to explain, to lash out… I loved her, trusted her, even when she told me that there would be things I might never get to know, and yet she hadn't been able to trust me even when I'd told her, at the time she confronted me, that I would tell her everything…

If she could change so many innocent situations into a labyrinth of lies, would this be the way the rest of our lives would be? Any time I worked a double, any time I wanted to surprise her with a present, any time I needed a few days to work through a difficult case before talking about it… would she believe it was something else entirely? Would she run away, again and again, leaving me with nothing every time?

But when I don't speak, her face crumples, softly, tears spill over their brims, and I sigh, pulling her against my chest. "I just… Sara, I need some time to process all of that, okay? I love you honey, and… and I'm not saying that I can't get over it, but… it's hard, knowing how little faith you had in me… how I was never given the benefit of the doubt. Sara, I… I wanted you in Vegas. I still want you there… and my comment about the primary income wasn't about being a man, it was because I knew that I would make more than you… I know what they're paying the new CSIs, Sara, that's all. As for the rest of it—"

"Don't." She stopped me. "When the day-shift position opens… when I… move to Vegas, you can explain everything. Until then, I want to make sure you know that I'm doing this on blind faith alone. …You deserve that much, after how I didn't trust you… You can tell me in Vegas."

I nod, slowly, aware how truly difficult a step that is for her to take, and hug her tightly again. "I love you, Sara."

She kisses me. "I love you too, Gil. I'm sorry."

I shake my head softly. "You don't need to keep saying it, honey, I know. Let's, uh… let's just get some breakfast, enjoy our morning together… put all of that behind us, for now. I need some time to process it all, but I don't think there's anything I couldn't forgive you… maybe that's not very smart of me, but… it's true." I sigh, but smile at her just the same. "Come on, come jump in the shower with me… I'll wash your hair for you."