AN: I know I've already done an entire post-ep fic for this one, but that had kind of a different purpose… anyway, I was watching this episode recently and felt that I needed to do something and… this was the result
Probably the last one for a while, though I did start one for The Two Mrs. Grissoms last time I watched that ep, maybe I'll get around to finishing it this time!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI
Goodbye and Good Luck
How long she sits staring at her phone, turning it over in her hand, Sara has no idea. The rain is pattering against the windowsill, a calming sound. Not that it does anything for the turmoil in her mind.
She left her department issue phone in her locker, and just… left her personal one off, because she knew she wouldn't be able to resist if he asked her to stay. She briefly considered turning it on after getting off the plane, but it was the middle of the night, and she was so tired. So she just took a cab to the nearest motel that wouldn't cost her an arm and a leg, and collapsed into a thankfully dreamless sleep for almost twelve hours.
Which brings her to now.
She can't remember the last time she slept this long… actually, she can't remember the last time she slept more than an hour or two at a time without a nightmare.
No, that's not true. She can. It just hurts to think about too much.
Taking a deep breath, she flips the phone open. One step closer.
The motel room is depressing, the same bedspread she's pretty sure she's processed at a dozen different crime scenes on the bed, standard prints on the walls, ratty curtains drawn closed across the windows. Closing her eyes doesn't help, though, because then she's transported five hundred miles, the stunned look on Grissom's face as she walked away from him fixed on her retinas.
Taking a shaky breath, she pushes the power button on the phone, her heart starting to beat a painfully fast rhythm in her chest. The screen lights up as the device powers on, and she waits for it to connect to the cellular network.
Each beep signaling a missed call or text message makes her flinch, the vibrations almost painful as they reverberate through her bones. When it finally goes quiet, she takes another breath and clicks to open the menu.
Seventeen missed calls. One for each hour since she walked out of the lab. She's not sure if she expected more or less, to be honest. Nine text messages, four of which are alerts for voice mails. Everything is from Grissom, so he must not have told anyone she's gone yet, or she knows she would have as many from Greg.
Her hands shake as she hovers over the button to open the last text message, but she just can't. Squeezing her eyes shut, she flips the phone closed again and drops it on the bed.
Where it promptly starts ringing.
She stares at it for a moment, the fear of his anger and disappointment warring with the need to hear his voice.
In the end, the latter wins out, and she flips open the phone, bringing it to her ear.
"Sara? Honey? Are you there?"
He doesn't sound angry at all, just worried, and it's the last drop. The tears she has been keeping at bay since she last saw him burst forward, and all she can do is slump down on the bed as she sobs into the phone.
He lets her cry, mumbling soothing words over the line, telling her that he loves her, that everything will be OK, that they'll get through this together.
But how can they? She left. She walked away from their entire life.
"I'm sorry," she finally manages to get out when the tears have dried up. "I'm so sorry."
"Stop it," he chides her gently, and his soft words almost make her cry again. "You did what you had to do. If anything, I should have…"
"No," she interrupts him, because she doesn't want him blaming himself for something he had no control over. "It's not your fault, please don't think that."
"It's not your fault either, honey. None if this is. Promise me you won't pile guilt on top of everything else."
She doesn't want to lie to him, so she offers the best she can. "I'll try."
"OK. Do you need anything? Money? Help hiding a body?"
She chokes out a surprised laugh. "No, I'm… I'm OK." She is, at least physically, so it's technically not a lie.
"And can you…" He pauses, lets out a breath. "I don't want to… I just need to know that you're OK. Will you… stay in touch?"
He's trying so hard, and somehow it actually eases the burden that's been dragging her down. If only a little.
"I will," she promises. "You're not… going to ask where I am?"
"You'll tell me when you can," he replies, his certainty warming her from the inside out. "And… you'll tell me if you need me?"
She wants to say that she always needs him, because she does. She can't even imagine the next how many days, weeks, months without him.
But even if she doesn't know what she's doing, she knows she has to do it alone.
"Of course."
He takes a deep breath, and she can almost feel him relax over the line. "Then that's all I need to know."