A/N: Again, thanks for reading and for the reviews. It's greatly appreciated.

Enjoy!


Part 7: Enjoy the Silence

Chapter 21

Thursday, March 18th, 1982

At nine o'clock, I transversed the city of Los Angeles along I-110. The city at night was always a stunning and beautiful sight from a distance. The tall skyscrapers, the lights, the hills behind it and the Hollywood sign lit up in the distance. It wasn't until the distance closed in, the feel of pavement under my feet and the smell of it in my nose, that the truth revealed itself. Between the beautiful buildings, among the disillusioned hopeful and painfully desperate, there were the leeches of the city. The ones that sucked the place dry.

They prey on the farm girls getting off buses seeking a better life by becoming a big star. They prey on the lost children who lived in rundown hotels or under overpasses. They prey on transients just passing through, stopping at motels along the coastline.

Using the key, I entered Harvey Lee Booker's apartment. The leech was up in the loft, packing a bag with the clothes hanging on the railing. I shut the door and locked it. He had yet to spot me. The lights were all turned on and I moved around the room to the bathroom door under the loft. The slide lock was shut; locked.

I slid the lock open and pushed the door open to reveal Abigail. She was alone. Her eyes like saucers as they stared vacantly up at me. Where in the hell was Sara? My jaw flexed as I saw movement on the stairs above me and felt the vibration in my palm as I touched the underside of the wooden steps.

Harvey was walking down from the loft. He rounded the steps, stopped, his eyes wide as we once again came face-to-face. The weight of my gun in hand felt even heavier as I extended my arm out and pointed it at his chest. If I killed him, I'd probably never find Sara. Killing him wasn't my goal. I just needed to find her.

The note had already been written but what I held in my hand wasn't the note. It was the picture. Sara in her heart-shaped sunglasses. I held it up for him to see. I tapped it. I waited.

Booker barely moved. His eyes went to me, the picture, as red crept up his neck into his face. Raising his hands, he signed to me, /You don't speak. Are you deaf, or mute?/

I blinked back at the signs as I felt my mouth run dry.

/Some of my parishioners are deaf. I learned to sign so I could communicate with them./

I didn't see a gun on him. He kept his hands visible, so I holstered the gun so I could sign. There were many ways to approach this. I could be demanding, point the gun at his head, but maybe all it would take was a little communication. /Mr. Booker, I'm only here for S-A-R-A. Please, where is she?/

Booker didn't answer my question. /You were at the brothel. He told me why you were there. You have to understand what I'm creating. The nucleus is the start of all creation. It contains our DNA and controls growth and reproduction. Same as a flower. They produce their own sperm cells and participate in fertilization, leading to seed fruit formation—/

I had no idea what he was talking about. It was nonsense. /They're children. I don't understand. Please, look at her picture./ I held it out for him to see it better. /She's not here, but she was. Where is she now?/

/You can't have her/ he said. /She belongs to me now. They all do. They're my flowers. A flower needs seeding to grow…And they will do anything for me. You know why? They love me./

He was sick, and insane, and I highly doubted anyone loved him. I took a step and felt something in my side. A sharp sting that stung all the way up into my chest. I went to swat it away when I felt another sting in my hand. It was suddenly there then gone before I felt it. The intense pain as a warm wetness pooled. My head was stunned as I seemed to not understand what had happened. I looked down and saw two things.

The first was a girl with blue eyes and flower earrings. It was Abigail. The other was the blood. My white shirt was filling up with blood. My palm was coated in it. I blinked the confused away as I noticed the box cutter in her hand with blood dripping to the floor.

She'd stabbed me in the left side. Sliced my palm open. I took a step as my left leg gave out and I hit my knee on the floor. The pain was everywhere. Maybe I was just in shock? It was getting hard to think. I blinked back the fog in my head as I took a deep breath that seemed to get stuck in my ribs.

Booker moved quickly as a blow shot through the right side of my head as my lights went out. I hit the floor as I felt my blood draining from my body. I was drifting on air, fading in and out as the room blurred. I had to move. I had to get up.

I blinked my eyes open and pushed up on my arms. The world tilted and I moved with it, collapsing onto my right side. Through clouded eyes, I saw Booker in the kitchen. He was pouring something into a shiny bowl. He put the shiny bowl into the microwave.

Then he was gone. They both were. I couldn't see them.

Gasping for air, I forced my body to roll over as I noticed the sparks in the microwave. I knew that a combination of household cleaners when heated with metal created a bomb. The shiny bowl was aluminum foil. It would explode and the fire, the vapors, would kill me.

I pushed the pain down as I tried not to feel anything as I used the stairs to get to my feet. I wobbled with the floor, stumbled towards the direction of the door until I was falling through it into the hallway. I was losing blood. That had to be why I was so dizzy. Abigail had hit an artery or something.

Through the greying edges of my vision, I saw the window and the fire escape on the other side. Pushing the window open, I climbed out and fell to the landing as I felt a rocking in my body. It vibrated all the way up into my teeth right before I felt heat. Rolling over, I saw the fire engulfing the window.

It hurt to breathe as I gripped the railing of the steps and stared down. I didn't stop until I got to the landing of the balcony above the front entrance. I took one step and fell. All my strength disappeared as I gave into the darkness.


Friday, March 19th, 1982

I awoke in a hospital room. There were monitors and a white curtain that blocked off the bed next to mine. I smelt antiseptic and it made me nauseous. Rolling over, I sat up and took in a deep breath. I could breathe easier. Nothing hurt anymore and I wondered if it was due to my will, or the drugs. Probably both.

Lifting the hospital gown, I saw the bandage on my left side and the bandage that wrapped my left palm. I still had the brace on my left forearm. Shaking my head, I stood on steady ground and ripped the tubes off my body. I wasn't staying. I found my clothes in a biohazard bag in the bottom of a drawer along with my leather jacket, wallet, watch and car keys. There was no gun.

The time on the watch said it was 8:22 pm. The calendar on the wall was crossed off all the way to Friday. I'd missed an entire day being drugged up in a hospital room. Tonight was the night. At eleven o'clock, Harvey Lee Booker was deporting the Port of Los Angeles.

I zipped up my jacket over my blood-stained clothes and left the room. At the end of the hall, I spotted a police officer. I instantly turned around to head back in the opposite direction, towards the hospital room. I didn't look to see if he was coming after me. Passing the hospital room I'd just vacated, I went two doors down to an open room and casually walked in, turned around and shut it. I didn't even know if the cop was there for me, but I wasn't taking any chances. I'd been stabbed, found unconscious at the sight of a building fire. My gun was gone. The police had questions and I didn't have time to answer any of them.

On the back of the door, I saw a map of the hospital. Weaving my finger around the maze of hallways, I found where I was and then the nearest elevator bank. Taking a breath, I eased open the door and walked out, hands in my jacket pocket, as I walked towards the elevator that was around the hallway on the right.

I hit the button and waited. Glancing around, I spotted the cop turning the corner with a nurse. They were talking as they checked in a room. The elevator doors opened. Standing inside was a group of people waiting. Next to the elevator was a stairwell. Pushing through the door, I headed down the steps and felt a tight pain in my left side. Pressing my hand to it, I grimaced at the pain but hoped it kept the stitches from breaking.

I rounded a corner, and another as I took a sharp left through the door when the stairs ended. I had no idea where I was going. All I knew was I had to get out. I spotted a sign for an exit. The doors opened into a parking lot. To my left was the street. I made it there without incident and headed up the sidewalk. Once at the corner, I turned right, heading northeast. I crossed Cameron Lane. The next street up was Pico. The apartment building where Harvey Lee Booker lived was on the corner of Pico and Maple. The hospital hadn't been too far away, only eight blocks west of where I'd parked my car behind the building.

Sweat was coating my face and back, my body shivering, by the time I made it to the apartment building. I had antibiotics and pain medication at my apartment in Hollywood. After I got to the cargo ship, and found Sara, I'd go home and take care of myself. Right then, I had to fight through the pain in my body and tiredness in my head.

A fire truck was parked in the middle of the street along with police. Standing around the perimeter they had set up were a lot of bystanders. I bypassed the front of the building and circled around to the next block behind the building. I walked through a parking lot, down a dark alley where a couple of homeless people lived, and another dark alley that led to the back of the apartment building. My car was still there.

I dropped into the driver's seat and started it up, backing up down the dark alley, I made a three-point turn and headed out through the parking lot that was north of the building and away from all the police. From there I got on the I-10 and headed south, all the way to the Port of Los Angeles. It took me an hour and by the time I arrived, my hands were shaking. I didn't know whether it was from the adrenaline, my nerves, or the fact that my body was cold. It felt like I had a fever.

The Alba Varden cargo ship was still docked. I didn't care about whether I could kill Booker or not. All I wanted was to get Sara back. This was the only place she could be. Booker was leaving, tonight, on this ship. He would have her with him. Making my way up the gangway, I saw a guard at the top. Wrapping my arms around my body, I tried to stop the shivering as I stepped onto the deck.

The guard tried to stop me. I jerked away, held up my hands, and stumbled slightly into the bulkhead. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I saw him speaking to me. Due to shadows and my own blurred vision, I couldn't read his lips. I signed, /I'm deaf. I need the doctor./

The guard went for his radio as I turned and opened the first door I saw. It led into the galley. There was a medical kit storage box mounted on the wall. I walked over to it and yanked it open. Inside I removed a packet of fever reducer/pain reliever and swallowed the pills as the door opened. Two people walked in: the guard and the doctor.

The doctor of the ship felt my head and frowned in concern. I showed him what I took. He gave a nod and pulled me with him, making me follow, as we left the galley on the other side of the ship. We went down a flight of stairs, through a door and down a long passageway. We entered the sick bay. The doctor gave me water, took my temperature, and asked me what had happened.

I showed him the bandage on the left side of my body. He opened it up and touched my skin. I flinched as he started talking. The only word I caught under his thick mustache was "infection". After five minutes of observation and a shot of antibiotics, I was able to leave. I removed my notepad and pen and wrote a note on it.

I asked, 'Where's the Chaplin?' Then I handed him my notepad and pen. I mimed writing it down.

The doctor took both and wrote his answer. 'Down the corridor. Take the last left. Room 2001.'

I thanked the doctor before using the bathroom first and when I returned to sick bay, I was alone. The doctor was gone. Searching the room, I grabbed a pair of scissors before leaving. The guard wasn't around either.

Down the long corridor, I took the last left. The rage was back in my head as I neared Room 2001. My anger must have been subdued by the infection because it was back with a vengeance. My hand gripped the scissors as I didn't even question whether or not I was going to use it. I'd crossed the point of no return days ago when I had entered that red lighted brothel. The world I lived in had never been lawful. I wouldn't understand that world any more than I would understand the hearing world.

Opening the door to Room 2001, I saw him sitting on his bed. He was reading the Bible, priest uniform on, white collar around his neck. Harvey Lee Booker looked into my eyes. What he saw was the rage of a man with a soul. He jumped as I slammed into him and jammed the scissors into his leg. Then I hit him, and then I hit him again. I hit him one more time before letting him go, yanking the scissors out of his flesh, as I stood over him.

He knew who I was and why I was there. I was done asking.

Booker held his hands up as he got to his feet. He backed away and hit the desk. His hand reached behind him, searching for something. That's when I spotted it. My gun was on the desk. I charged him, sending him back onto the desk, as I jammed the scissors into his left side and twisted it. His face scrunched up in pain, mouth wide as he fell to the floor.

My bloody right hand grabbed the gun, checked the chamber to ensure it was loaded, and then held it pointed at his chest as I searched for Sara. I opened the closet, kicked over the chair and looked under the desk. Where was she? I spotted the bed Booker had been sitting on and noticed the storage compartments underneath. I pulled one out and saw how small the drawer was. It didn't go back all the way to the wall. I stood, eyed the mattress, and then grabbed the edge of it and flipped it over.

There was a wooden board with a notch in it. I lifted the board up and my knees nearly buckled at what I saw. It was Sara. She was there. Alive and breathing. Her body trembling, bound, and naked. Turning around, I saw men at the door. I held the gun up and they all got scared as they raised their hands.

Booker eyed me from the floor. His face stone as his hollow eyes seemed to stare right through me.

/Why?/ I wanted to know.

Booker's explanation was, "In Genesis 1:31, after completing the creation of all things, including humanity, God surveyed everything and declared that it was "very good," signifying the completion and goodness of His creation." He saw the men in the doorway watching him and smiled, excited to share with us his sermon. "My flowers are my creation. They have to be 'very good'. Perfect. I make them that way."

/You chopped them up./

Booker's face grew red, his eyes angry and wide as he said, "I would never destroy my perfect flowers."

/You did. They were found chopped into pieces along the side of the road./

He shook his head and said, "I didn't do that."

Back at the apartment, Booker had mentioned a 'he'. Someone else was involved. Booker had said, /You were at the brothel. He told me why you were there./

Narrowing my eyes at him, I asked, /Who? Who destroyed your flowers?/

Booker tensed as said, "You shot him in the knee."

I shot him—

A shadow moved on the concrete wall. I turned and raised my left arm, catching the impact of the blow. A blinding pain ripped through my arm as I brought the gun around, aimed low, and fired. The man's leg twisted out from under him, causing him to collapse to the pavement. His face contorted into horror as he grabbed his knee where blood sprayed out.

The unknown man who'd been at the brothel above the teahouse in Koreatown. Booker had taken Abigail there to meet with the man who was going to take her from him. The same man who was going to be her murderer.

"David was supposed to take care of them for me while I was gone—"

David. David…

I sat wondering what in the hell was going on before the door opened and a detective walked in. The same woman who'd been in my house. Another man walked in and signed, letting me know that he was an interpreter. His name was David.

The only thing I wanted to know was what this was about. I asked David, /Why did they raid my house? Why have I been arrested? I haven't done anything./

David spoke to the detective, "He wants to know why he was arrested. He also didn't do it."

As I entered the red room in the brothel above the teahouse, I had seen a man sitting on the bed with Abigail before eyeing Harvey. I hadn't expected to see anyone else, so my full attention was on Booker. The other man seemed to disappear until he attacked me, but I never got a good look.

But the unknown man's face cleared as I remembered him in the alleyway, baseball bat in hand. Average looking, nothing definitive had stood out. David was a regular looking guy with blond hair and blue. The man's face focused in my memory right before I shot him in the knee. He had blue eyes, and blond hair.

It was David. The sign language interpreter. /He was killing them/ I said to Booker, /and you kept leaving them with him?/

The distant hollowness returned to his eyes before saying, "Those were damaged. They were no longer good. They weren't perfect. He didn't murder them; they were returned to the earth. Back to God's creation. Genesis—"

It was hard to think straight. I shook my head in disgust. Words came to mind, those from a song with no spoken lyrics but only written ones. On the I Robot album, the song "Genesis Ch. 1 V. 32" was an instrumental, but on the album insert there were words. Those words were:

"...How men be so greedy, when there's so much left? All things are God-given, and they all have been blessed…"

When I was eight, my mother had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. For months I watched her battle it with every last ounce of energy and strength she had all the up until her final hour. It had been hard to watch, hard to deal with since she was the only person on earth that I had who I knew loved me. To be strong for her, I never let my grief show. I never got mad. I never cried. I had stayed strong for her by letting her be the one to do all the crying for the both of us while I took care of the both of us. I learned very early on in my life how to take care of myself, but also how to not feel anything.

The last words she'd told me before she died was a reminder to be strong and resilient. /'All is not lost, the unconquerable will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and the courage never to submit or yield.' Never yield, Gil. You're going to have to be strong. Your father…he'll try to break you down. Don't let him./

I did as she told me to do. I stayed strong by not feeling anything. Through the pain, I pushed it down, but in doing so I also somehow surrendered my will. I succumbed to submission. The obedient son. I became nearly robotic. My father handed me a gun at fourteen so I could take a man's life who'd betrayed him. Pushing aside my emotions, my own morality of who I was, I did as I was told and ended a man's life.

"...You better believe me, I hope you get this message, where you won't, others will…"

Kill, he said. Kill, or be killed. That was the Law of Man. In the book, I, Robot by Isaac Asimov, he wrote the Three Laws of Robotics. The first law was that a robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. The second law was that a robot must obey orders given to it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. The third law was that a robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Asimov had, in his opinion, written robots, and AI, to be better than human beings. They were supposed to be perfect, and morally good and incorruptible. They were supposed to represent the very best of what a man should be to the point of ruling over man. I used to wonder if that was something that I was supposed to have aspired to be. Unfeeling, robotic, and abiding by those three laws in order to be the best human being I could be. Instead, I broke the first law and then the second, and then the third.

I did all that while making myself a robot by allowing myself to feel absolutely nothing. And now, with my heart bleeding as the pain cut me so deep, I felt like a broken man. How was I not supposed to feel this?

In one of the Vedas of Hindu scriptures I read that 'What you see, you become.' I knew who I was, and who I wasn't. I knew who I've become by all that I've seen in this silent world full of so joy yet so much tragedy and pain and suffering. It hadn't been the world around me that'd been disillusioned, but me. How could I think that I could be anything else than this?

My gun was trained on Harvey Lee Booker's chest. My aim was steady as the rage cleared and I was levelheaded. I was certain I knew what I was doing. I knew without a doubt what I had to do and why.

I knew why I existed…and it wasn't to be a robot. In my chest was a beating heart, and when I saw Sara—cold, naked, and afraid—I knew it in my soul.

"...You don't understand me but I'll love you still."

He shot up from the floor in a rage, scissors in hand. I fired, putting three blood red holes in Harvey Lee Booker's soulless chest before he collapsed at my feet. I pushed out a deep breath from my chest as I pocketed the gun.

Grabbing the sheet off the floor, I wrapped Sara's frail body up in it and lifted her into my arms. Her arms immediately wrapped around my neck. I knew right then that she realized who I was. I was her friend, and across this great silent void that was my world, I had heard her plea for help.

Sara's surprise and relief showed in her eyes as she spoke one word before burying her face into my shoulder. She said, "Valjean."

~"Words like violence

Break the silence…"~

Men lined the bulkheads as they parted for us as I carried her down the long passageway. Using my one good arm, I pushed open the door at the end and walked out onto the deck. The guard tried to stop me, but I pulled my gun and aimed it at his head. He raised his hands and backed away.

~"Come crashing in

Into my little world…"~

I hurried down the gangway and across the pier to where I'd parked my car. Sitting Sara down in the passenger seat, I grabbed the seatbelt and strapped her in. Her eyes drifted up to mine and I tried to smile before shutting the door.

~"Painful to me

Pierce right through me…"~

Once in the driver's seat, I started the car and saw the equalizer's lights started moving. I went to turn the radio off when her hand landed on mine, stopping me. She shook her head 'no' as she squeezed my hand. I squeezed it back. Whatever it was she was hearing, she wanted to keep listening to it.

~"Can't you understand?

Oh, my little girl…"~

/Okay/ I told her before I shifted gears and headed towards the nearest hospital.

~"All I ever wanted

All I ever needed

Is here in my arms…"~

Sara leaned back into the seat and kept her hand on my hand the entire drive. Her eyes stared vacant out the window as I sped through the city streets.

~"Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm…"~

It wasn't long before I pulled up to the curb near the Emergency Room entrance. Sara had the sheet wrapped tightly around her body as she shivered. Her face was stone. Eyes dry.

Getting my notepad and pen, I wrote to her, 'They'll help you. They'll call the police. All you have to do is tell them what happened.'

Sara read my note but shook her head as she pushed it away.

'You're very strong. You're brave. You can do this.'

She didn't read it. Her eyes were locked onto the radio. She reached over and turned the volume up, ignoring me and everything else.

She leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes. I couldn't imagine what she'd gone through, yet I could. I'd seen the bathroom with the dirty mattress on the floor. I'd seen the bathroom door where she'd left bloody handprints, claw marks, and indents from kicking it. I knew what Booker put Abigail through and knew Sara had also been violated in the most horrific way possible.

But she was so strong. I knew children were resilient, more so than adults. Maybe the best thing for her was to forget. Maybe she didn't have to say anything if she didn't want to.

~"Vows are spoken

To be broken…"~

I got out of the car and rounded it to the passenger door. I opened it for her and took her hand to help her out. She seemed to be in a daze. Her mind was as far away from now as possible. Far from the pain. I walked her to the doors and then let go of her hand. Kneeling down, I wrote, 'You don't have to say anything to anyone. It will get better. The pain will go away. Even if you have to forget, that's okay.'

~"Feelings are intense

Words are trivial…"~

She read my words as tears welled in her dry eyes. It was like something snapped inside and all the pain she'd been feeling broke through the surface. Her lips trembled as she spoke for the first time since I found her, "But I don't want to forget you. I don't want you to forget me."

/I won't./ I wrote the words I'd signed before finishing my thoughts by writing, 'I have your journal. You wanted me to read it. I'll keep it safe for you. When you're older, if you want to know, you can have it back. And we can grieve together. That's important. You don't have to be alone.' Then I signed, /Okay?/

She nodded. "Then I'll be happy again?"

Her words broke my heart. All I could do was nod as I pushed the tears away. I showed her the other note I'd written her in the car, the one she didn't read.

She shook her head, lip trembled, as she said, "I'm not brave. Only heroes are brave. You're the hero. You saved me."

She was wrong. Sara had read Les Misérables, so I wrote her a quote: ''There is a determined though unseen bravery that defends itself foot by foot in the darkness against the fatal invasions of necessity and dishonesty. Noble and mysterious triumphs that no eye sees, and no fame rewards, and no flourish of triumph salutes. Life, misfortunes, isolation, abandonment, poverty, are battlefields that have their heroes; obscure heroes, sometimes greater than the illustrious heroes.' That's the hero you are, Sara Sidle. Don't forget that.'

Her tears broke and poured down her face as she leaned forward. I caught her in a hug, feeling my own chest heave against the weight.

~"Pleasures remain

So does the pain…"~

Once she stepped back, she wiped the tears away, saying, "I'm strong. I'm brave. I'm strong. I'm brave," as if it was a mantra as she wrapped herself tighter in the sheet.

'I can go in with you.'

She shook her head. "No, don't, you'll get in trouble. I'm brave. I can do it myself."

I had to let her do it alone. On my notepad I wrote a note for her to take in with her. I ripped it out and gave it to her. She clenched it tightly in her fist as she walked through the open doors and into the hospital.

~"Words are meaningless

And forgettable…"~

I stood frozen and numb under the sharp white and red lights of the Emergency Room sign. Through the glass doors, I watched as Sara, wrapped in the white sheet and note clutched in hand, walked across the aluminum tile floor to the nurse's deck.

I've never been more scared before in my entire life. Scared that this little girl had somehow ripped through my chest, pierced my heart, and ignited my soul in a way no one else had. I've always known it. From the day we met, I just knew why I had to save her. I knew why she'd invaded my mind and wouldn't let go.

I knew why I existed.

~"All I ever wanted

All I ever needed

Is here in my arms…"~

Our favorite quote from The Great Gatsby ran through my head, "There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice." In quantum mechanics there was the theory of quantum entanglement. Two particles intertwined and no matter time, or distance, they were connected. One impacted the other. Defying the very laws of the universe.

I'd been denying it, ignoring it, and pushing it down with everything else. I couldn't deny it any longer. I knew what it was that I'd felt, and had always felt, for Sara. It felt as if my distant soul, the one that had been lost and tumbling through space, had travelled back in time so that I could save the girl who I knew was going to grow up to be the woman that I loved.

But for right now, she was just a girl. She didn't need me anymore. I did all I could do for her.

~"Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm…"~

Stepping away, I turned around as I started for my car. I knew now, better than anyone, that destiny and fate was what we made it. I reached out and shook its hand. One day, Sara would reach back. I could only hope that I'd be a man that she could love in return when she did. I promised myself that I was going to work hard on making that a possibility, despite the brokenness I felt with every step I took.


Tuesday, March 19th, 2002

~"All I ever wanted

All I ever needed

Is here in my arms…"

Sara walked through the hospital doors, catching her reflection in the glass. She looked tired, worn down, and sad. It'd been a long couple of days and the silence that had followed that been pressing down on her. The silence was his absence.

It'd been three days since the car crash and Gil hadn't woken up and Lindsey was still missing. The doctors relieved the swelling in his brain, ran all kinds of tests, and the verdict was that his brain was fine. His only other injuries besides the blow to the head and concussion, were a fractured left arm, cracked ribs, and a sprained right ankle.

Doctor Morrison told her that they had to wait and see. That his body was healing. Give it time. Sara wanted to believe the doctor when he said that Gil was fine, but she was worried. It'd been days.

~"Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm…"~

Catherine had been there earlier but had to leave. She had scheduled a press conference. The police didn't want her to go public just yet, but Catherine wasn't the type to just sit around and do nothing. She was near hysterics yesterday. Pacing around, calling everyone she knew as she tried to get as many people involved in looking for her daughter.

~"All I ever wanted

All I ever needed

Is here in my arms…"~

All the while she couldn't do a damn thing but wait. There was going to be a meeting tomorrow at Parker Center, a status update with the task force in charge of the kidnaping. Sara planned on being there despite being told she was hands off. She couldn't be hands off. She had to do something.

~"Words are very unnecessary

They can only do harm…"~

Getting to the hospital room, she resumed her nightly watch as she sat in the chair beside the bed and removed a book from her bag. She started a rereading of Les Misérables. Turning to the page that was bookmarked, she read aloud. "The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only…"

As she spoke the words, her mind drifted to the man in the bed. Sitting in relative silence gave her a lot of time to think. She didn't want to lose him. His words to her days ago played in her head. They were connected, entangled, and he impacted her just as much as she impacted him. Some would call her insane for believing that any of what he'd said was true. Quantum entanglements, soul mates, and how they felt so right near instantaneously.

But there she was, hopelessly in love and devoted to a man she barely knew. Yet, she did know him. It wasn't everything, but the parts of him that she'd discovered were the parts that kept her coming back and wanting more.

Closing her hand around Gil's, she gave it a squeeze. She ran her fingers over the back of his hand. Turning it over, she saw a faint scar on his palm. Her thumb traced over it as tears welled in her eyes.

He had yet to tell her what happened twenty years ago. How he found and saved her life. At the party, he let her lead. He'd been worried about re-victimizing her right before she had to make the decision on whether or not to perform a sex act on him in front of other people. He said they could stop but she'd been determined to do what was necessary for the job, even if it crossed a line.

Victor Hugo also wrote that a man got timid around a woman he loved while a woman got bold. She'd been pretty bold with Gil from the start. She'd always been headstrong and went after the things she wanted. She knew how she could get. Her drive, and passion, had been solely wrapped up in her job that it'd been hard to have time or energy for anything else. No outlets. No home life. No friends.

It was always the job that got her up in the morning and kept her up at night. There was no time between the sun rising and the sun setting for love. That was until Gil. He was just there now, in her mind, her heart, and she didn't want to just love him. She wanted to learn how to be with him. She wanted to know if he could be her best friend, and if she could be his.

~"...Enjoy the silence…"~

His hand twitched.

Sara sat up straight as her heart leaped in her chest. She squeezed his hand harder. Gil's hand squeezed it back. She grabbed the call button and pushed it. He was waking up.

Gil's eyelids fluttered open; their eyes met. For a brief moment he was confused, as if he was surprised to see her, before the fog cleared and he smiled.

"Hey," she said while smiling through her tears. She kissed his hand then told him, /Welcome back./ Letting go of his hand, she said, /There's something I've been meaning to tell you./ She learned that if she signed his name really fast, the 'G' into the 'I' and 'L' that she made the 'I love you' sign. Signing his name, she signed it that way. /G, I love you./

He was surprised at first, stunned as he saw the sign before she repeated it. Tears filled his eyes as he squeezed her hand. She climbed into the bed with him. Holding him tight. His lips kissed hers before he let out a deep breath of content as his arm wrapped around her body to hold her close.

Using his left hand, he told her the same. /I love you./

TBC…

Disclaimer songs mentioned/used: "Nucleus" and "Genesis Ch. 1 V. 32" by The Alan Parsons Project and "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode