Part 3

…

"That's her." Sara frowned at the body of the older woman on the slab in the San Francisco Medical Examiner's office.

"We have her identified as Laura Sorayalie Sidle, 63, Block 87, San Francisco Penitentiary." The Medical Examiner glanced at Sara before the shroud gently back over the body, and sliding it back into the cooler, clicking the latch shut with a quiet thud that sent shivers up Sara's spine.

"Correct. What was the C.O.D?"

"Your mother suffered from pulmonary heart disease, which led to C.H.F."

"Congestive heart failure."

"Arrangements?" Sara handed the M.E. a business card, with the name of a funeral home on it.

"They'll be here within the hour to transport the body."

"We have grief counselors on staff if-"

"No, thanks." Sara let her gaze wander to the cooler that held her mother. "I said goodbye years ago."

…

An hour later found them in a hotel room a short drive from Sara's brother's house. Greg had figured Sara had had enough trauma for one day, and was relieved when she had agreed to call it a night. Now they sat, Greg propped up against the headboard, Sara laying on her stomach pretending to watch the weather report beside him.

"Your mom has an unusual middle name."

"It's Persian. Means 'princess.' She picked it up when they were in Tajikistan. It's where they got my name. Long story." He nodded, not wanting to pry further. He remembered her mentioning her parents making their way to central Asia for the Afghan hash in the 60s when they had a case dealing with different kinds of opiates a few years back. She glanced at him, offering him a weak smile. "More exotic than 'Jane,' which is what it was."

"Are you alright?" He shut the file, and frowned at the tension that riddled her frame.

"Of course I'm alright. I'm fine. I used to work in a coroner's office, Greg, I can handle dead bodies." He watched her bite her lip, and flick the channel to a Spanish soap opera, then back to the weather quickly.

"Yeah but your mom has never been the dead body before."

"She was always a dead body, Greg. The only difference was that she was still breathing." She rolled over onto her back, and held out a hand silently. Greg picked one of the pillows out of the bedding and tossed it to her, rubbing at his eye as she propped her head up to face him from the end of the bed. "You must think I'm a horrible person."

"You aren't. I know you aren't." He gave her a faint smile. "My grandfather used to tell me 'we all have our crosses to bear.' I think sometimes they just get too heavy for one person, no matter how strong you are." He smiled kindly at her, rubbing his eye and shoving a hand tiredly into the front pocket of his hoodie, yawning childishly.

"Thank you, Greg." The sincerity in her soft alto timbre caught his attention, and he nodded, sobering.

This used to be their life.

Casual intimacy in companionship. A brand of codependency that had sewn them together. Apparently their stitches were made of some sort of cheap Velcro. They used to be happy. Loving. Greg frowned, shaking his head only just, dismissing the expression of compassion and concern she was giving him. He wasn't going to bother trying to resurrect whatever shards of passion or love that may still hang between them. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his lingering feelings, he'd rather just consider them a wretched disease and look like he had moved on. Greg smiled softly, almost succeeding in biting back a laugh.

Loving Sara was a disease.

This whole defense mechanism thing was not working for him.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing." The space between them turned awkward sharply, and Greg shrugged, tired of having to remind himself that she didn't love him anymore. Maybe she never did. Maybe he was the only one who thought they were happy. He glanced at her left hand, pale skin meeting his gaze in lieu of the sparkling diamond he had put there a few months before everything fell apart. It didn't really sparkle anymore, currently taking up residence in a shoebox along with the rest of the memoirs he had of their other life. He climbed off the bed, pausing to press a chaste kiss to her cheek before moving towards the bathroom without a word. He needed a shower, but mostly he needed to put some space between them before he died all over again.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

Greg turned on the water, letting out a heavy breath as the firm spray erupted from the showerhead. The hot water reddened his skin as he stepped under it, but he preferred the prickle of the burn on his epidermis, it dulled the ache in his heart.

Twenty minutes later, he emerged quietly to find Sara had already climbed into bed, no doubt exhausted from the day's events. The scene laid out before him caused his vision to blur instantly, the sharp burning in his chest bringing tears to his eyes. He had spent the last year trying to erase the image of Sara sleeping peacefully from his mind, and, here it was, staring back at him like nothing had ever changed.

If only.

Silently he pulled back the covers on the other bed, and climbed into the cool sheets. He had made the decision yesterday to tread lightly along the lines of human contact; for fear that he would start to need her more than she needed him. His heart couldn't take the obliteration all over again. He lay back, taking comfort in the soft sounds of Sara's muffled breathing across the room. He was in over his head, but it was up to him to keep it to himself. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

"Greg."

There was a scared, insecure timbre in her voice that he instantly recognized as the 'little girl' voice he had heard only once before. Greg rolled over onto his back, turning his head to the side, towards the sound of her voice.

"I'm right here." His voice was hoarse with slumber, and he rubbed at his eyes tiredly, pushing a few wavy curls out of his eyes. Her slight figure was silhouetted against the soft glow of the street below, sitting up in bed, a hand out where she had been feeling the sheets for him. She sniffled childishly, wiping her eyes in a broad sweeping movement he recognized as a variation of his own mannerism. He made no effort to go to her, instead he shifted, making space for her beside him, and holding up the covers invitingly, resting his head against the heel of his palm.

"Gregory-" He heard the beginning of an explanation, or excuse, he'd heard to many to differentiate. He dropped the blankets, running a hand through his hair roughly, and tossed her his greatest 'I know best' expression.

"Come here, then."

He tried to stifle a smile as she threw back her covers and crawled into bed beside him, reminding himself that Sara was no longer his to love. He waited for her to settle in, laying her head on the pillow where his had just been, before he draped the blankets around them both. He reached around her, and pressed a soothing kiss to her temple before withdrawing, not wanting to rob her of the comfort he knew she needed. He began to roll over, away from her, but the brush of her fingertips against his arm turned him back. Greg let the old ghosts take over, and he wrapped an arm securely around her waist, pulling her against him, snuggling into her shoulder like he used to, in their other life.

In their other life, he slept well.

They had had a good run, Greg had thought, especially after she had agreed to marry him, and had started to wear the sparkly diamond at work, that they would be able to love each other indefinitely.

Then Walter Gordon ruined everything.

It wasn't that Greg wasn't thankful that they were able to save Nick, he was. He loved Nick, obviously not, however, like Sara loved him. Maybe he should have seen that coming. Why would she have stayed with him when she could have Nick? In the months that had followed Nick's release from the hospital, into Sara's care, Greg had urged her to make Nick a priority, everyone had been so worried about him. It had been the logical thing to do. Nick trusted Sara, and Sara; well, Sara never did anything half-ass. Taking care of Nick was, of course, no exception. Nick had recovered, thankfully, but it had cost Greg dearly.

They fizzled more than anything. No yelling, no broken vases on the floor with stale water bleeding down the walls. Right about the time Nick came back to work, Sara had taken the diamond off her finger, and his heart shattered along with the promise of their engagement. Right about the time he began to see the mortar harden behind her eyes.

Greg pressed a whisper of a kiss to her shoulder, and slowly rolled away from her, leaving just enough distance between them to keep his sanity intact, finally allowing the rhythmic, familiar sound of Sara's breathing to lull him to sleep. They would battle Sara's demons tomorrow. For now, he was going to forget about the year's worth of bricks that kept them apart.

They had developed a wordless dialogue in their years together, both in the field and out of it. Half sentences mixed with half smiles. He felt Sara relax against him in her sleep, closing the distance he had made. He surrendered, pulling her close again, like he used to, in their other life.

At least the conversation remained, even if the love had evaporated.

…

A/N: So sorry this took three months… real life got in the way. Going to have to stretch this to a five-parter I think. It's getting dark, and sad. Totally different than the happy fluff I usually write. I love the fluff, but this is a challenge. I love a challenge.