Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended on any characters or storylines that come from CSI:, which is owned, operated, and maintained by CBS and co.

Pairing: Sara/Grissom

Rating: Older Teen

Prologue: The Next Chapter

1986

Modesto, California

She sobbed, tears of exhaustion, release, and agony. Part of her remembered the child, ripped from her before she could hold her and into the arms of a doctor, now into the arms of strangers, a couple who would care for this baby as if she had been born to them. Her daughter would never know pain, or sorrow, not in their arms. Her daughter would not be given over to child protective services and offered up as sacrifice on an altar to the Gods of Perverted Justice. Her daughter would never feel the sting of her father’s hand against her cheek, hear the silence of murder, or experience the agony of betrayal when those who cared for her chose to turn their backs on her. No, that would never happen. Her daughter would and could have the life that she could never give to her. It was the best choice, but she sobbed. She sobbed because in two days she would be released back into state custody, to a new home, a new “Family” – she wondered if anyone had bothered to find her brother, to tell her where she was. She wanted just once, to hold her daughter.

“Please,” she begged the nurse who had yet to acknowledge her. “Please, let me see her.”

But the nurse ignored her, walking away to another mother – one, the girl knew, was worthy of attention. So she cried, sobs of release and fear. In a tiny, triple stacked hospital room, fifteen-year-old Sara Sidle curled up on her side and sobbed, uncontrollably, into the thin pillow.

Arlington, VA

His heart pounded wildly, but he couldn’t hear it above the screaming in his ears. God no, no, no, don’t be taking her, no, please no. God, let me see her, god … Strong arms held him back, the doctors, the officers, everyone. But he had to get to her, he had to …

“Desrea!” He didn’t know if it was his hands or his mouth that called her name. The instinct to scream her name was louder than the training to flash the sign, her sign, his hand over his heart, but he had never once spoken aloud to her. In his panic, he didn’t realize he wasn’t actually speaking her name. “Desrea!”

The doctor emerged, looking grim, shaking his head. There was nothing he could do, Grissom heard him saying. He watched the lips move, and he knew the words had made a connection to his brain, but the process by which it happened made no sense. She was dead upon arrival. They tried to revive her but it was too late. The car accident was too severe. He was sorry.

Sorry. This man was sorry. This doctor who didn’t know his Desi was sorry! Sorry! He was sorry! How could he …

The fight gave out and he sunk to the chair behind him. It wasn’t until he realized that he was signing, “Can I see her” that he knew he had yet to speak. Living in the world of silence, he had almost forgotten how to speak to other people. “Can I see her?” He repeated, slowly, the words sounding rusty to his lips.

“Of course.” The doctor stepped back to allow the man to walk next to him, back through to the trauma room. Soon the coroner would come, soon they would want positive identification and Grissom knew that, as they walked, CSI’s were at the scene of the accident, determining what had happened. They would send Desi’s blood to tox, to determine if she had been drinking. They would learn she was pregnant. His co-workers would look at him with long faces and sad eyes. They wouldn’t know, they couldn’t understand. Soon he would be at a silent funeral. He wondered, just for a moment, if his hands would cry as he signed her eulogy.

Modesto, California

It was surprisingly easy to hold her head high behind the whispers. New school, new group of whispers, but nothing had really changed. It was a small world and everyone knew she was the girl whose mother had murdered her father. Her mother was in the crazy-house, her brother was god knows where, and over the summer, while everyone else had been getting laid for the first time, she had given birth. Everyone knew it. Sara took comfort that she didn’t care what they thought.

The cheerleaders milled around on the far side of the grass, some cast glances back at the girl in tattered clothes, most others ignored her (Megan was nice enough, they shared a chemistry class). She actually preferred being ignored; it was easier to just blend into the woodwork inside the science lab. The cheerleaders, those who snickered at her even to her face, were all too happy to come to her and ask her to do their physics homework. While Sara turned them down, they’d slide in an insult about the baby she had given up.

It was easier now. Her breasts had stopped hurting when her body realized there wasn’t a child to care for. Her first period had been agony, but now that Mrs. Baker had put her on the pill, her body was adapting. She knew Mrs. Baker didn’t really care for her much, but this woman was also one of the good ones. All Sara had to do was keep her head up, do her homework, be in by curfew, and not cause a ruckus and in return she had three full meals and no young men in the house to rape her. It was a win-win all around and for the first time in her fifteen years, Sara felt like maybe, just maybe, it all might turn out okay.

Stretching out slowly on the grass, she turned her attention to the dry sandwich and fruit Mrs. Baker had packed. The fruit wasn’t half bad, so she concentrated on that and her fantasy. The package had come in the mail yesterday – her information packet to Harvard. Harvard. Such a dream, but maybe, just maybe she could pull it off. If she kept her grades up and her head high. Maybe she could do it. Harvard. From murder central to Ivy League, she could do it. She could do it. Her counselor had even told her that if she kept her grades up (the man was very impressed that she’d managed straight A’s even while pregnant) and was willing to take a couple classes before or after school hours, she could graduate early. Early. She could graduate high school and be released from state custody early. She could go to Harvard and study science.

She could find out the answers to her questions. Maybe there. At Harvard.

Arlington, VA

It never felt strange to him, that when kneeling at her grave, he signed. She hadn’t been able to hear him in life, how on Earth could she hear him in death? As it was, the scientist in him felt silly, kneeling on the grass by the freshly placed white roses, signing to her about how life was going down here on Earth. Gil was a scientist, he knew that six feet beneath him, his fiancé’s body was slowly decomposing. The science would take care of what faith could not, but still, he did believe in the soul (so many years of studying Eastern Philosophy had taught him something about spirituality) and he felt her nearby whenever he knelt here, signing to her that he missed her and he loved her and he wanted her to come home.

He told her about the job opportunity in Vegas, the hiring of a level three CSI manager for the graveyard shift at LVPD, to work hand in hand with the night shift supervisor and take over training of all new hires. They wanted his skills in entomology, and no one they currently had in the supervisory structure was ready to handle the double stress of the graveyard shift. He wanted to say that he could see her there, talking to him, telling him to take the job. His rational mind knew it was just his desperate need to move away from her and the memories and start his life up again. Psychologists said it was best to wait a year after a tragedy, to let the mind heal from the trauma, but Gil knew his own mind and heart and he knew he’d never be healed out here, where her memory was in everything he touched. Tears fell from his eyes as he leaned over to kiss her headstone and for the first time since they met, he whispered aloud to her. “Good bye, Des. I love you.”

Las Vegas. He turned and walked away. Yes, the next chapter waited in Vegas.