AN: Just something that I felt I must put down on paper. I don't normally write Sara/Grissom stories, just because. But this really struck me and I liked it so I took it out of my head. As always, reviews are appreacted. So enjoy:) Oh, I don't own and of the things in slanty letters. :)


The most profound statements are ones said in silence.

Was she running? Hmm...yeah, she was running. But she'd never admit it to herself, not openly anyway. She'd tell herself that she was just looking for a new job, new place to live and work. That she just needed a change of pace, a change of scenery, a different work environment. Because telling herself that she was indeed running... it would be admitting that she was a coward. And knowing, and admitting, were two different things.

Another problem with admitting she was in fact running: she'd have to admit who she was running from. Or what, or where, but mostly who.

Entirely who.

After admitting the running bit, she could hide in a different way by saying she was running from the cases. They dead children. The murders. The rape victims. Her job in general. Or just Las Vegas in it's entirety. But that's not what she was running from, and she knew it. Her heart knew it. Her soul knew it.

She was running from a person. She was running from love. Sometimes the answer was simple. Sometimes the answer stared you right in the face and was so blatantly obvious, you'd be a fool not to see it. Or blind. Or hiding from truth. It was probably the last choice in her case. Defiantly the last choice.

But in the end, when the lands crumbled into the sea, it would matter very little. Her running, her hiding, her attempts to erase herself from the earth and slink into darkness forever, would only matter to two people. It would matter to her, because it was her own heart, her own feelings, and it would matter very much to her.

And it would matter to Gil Grissom, because he was the one she was running from.

Or maybe, quite possibly, it would not matter to him. Maybe she would just disappear and no one would take notice, least of all him. She'd just vanish and he would still be so absorbed in his work, in his bugs, in the most recent case, that he wouldn't notice for a very long time, her absence. Or maybe he would never notice at all. Maybe he would think it all a dream, a fantasy, a mirage. Something that seemed real, looked real, felt real, but was never really there. Fading out with the sun and leaving no mark to alert to the fact that it wasn't a dream.

Maybe he would forget everything.

Sara would forget too, as is the fate of memories. But she would enjoy them while she could. Because what she had...what they had... was real. Even if there would be no one left to remember.

So she was sitting here, in an airport, looking at her plane ticket, waiting for her fight to be called. A one way plane ticket to New York, the other side of the country. All her stuff was already packed up and shipped off. It might even be there waiting for her.

So she stared at the black printed letters of her plane ticket, moving her eyes over each letter individually, each line, never really seeing any of it. Because her mind was miles away, and one of the memories was now at the front of her mind. And it was her last memory. It was the memory of their last conversation: in his office, after he received her notice that she was quitting, after everything had happened.


"Why," he said. He was holding up the sheet of paper that she had given him the day before, saying she was quitting.

"Why am I quitting," she asked, just to stall, just to be difficult.

"Yes Sara. Why are you quitting?"

Sara looked at his face, ran over every line, searching for something. For some hint that he did know, but was just doing this to make her admit something. But then she realized he really didn't know. He was to stupid, or naive, or too something.

Sara had a look of disbelief, shock and hurt on her face. "Because...I need a change of pace. I want to check the New York crime lab out." Keep it short a simple, and don't give him the real reason. But he stared at her.

"Is that all," he asked. So maybe he did really know.

"No that's not all," Sara snapped. Because she was frustrated and hurt and she was still trying to wrap her head around everything that had happened. "You ignore me. You never look at me. It's like you're trying to pretend I don't exist. You won't talk to me, you won't return my phone calls. So I'm finished. You won't listen, won't look. Fine I'm gone. I'm getting away from you!"

She looked at him, but he was no longer looking at her. He seemed to find his hands more interesting.

"And don't tell me that nothing happened," Sara continued. "Don't try to rationalize it. Because you know it was real. You know something was there, had always been there. Don't give me any bull shit that it was just a mistake or that we were drunk. Because I remember and I didn't have a single drink that night. And...I didn't taste alcohol on your lips," Sara said. She said the last part, with a small, more timid voice then the rest.

"Well," Grissom said finally, and Sara knew he was going to rationalize the whole thing anyway. That was what he did when he was in a situation like this. When he felt like he wasn't in control anymore. "Maybe you aren't remembering fully." Sara couldn't believe she was actually hearing this. "You could just be remembering the...positive...The mind does have it's filters after all."

"Yeah," Sara scoffed. "I've heard that one before. So...what, are you going to filter me out too? Like I was nothing? A bad memory?" All the hurt and anger and sadness and everything else she was feeling was coming out in her voice.

And then she paused. She looked at Grissom, who was still concentrating on his hand, willing him to speak.

There was no ticking clock in the office, but there was on in Sara's head. "Tick, tock... Tick, tock," it was going. And with each passing moment of silence Sara sadness and frustration grew.

The silence was heavy, and it spoke volumes. He was speaking...shouting...without saying a word. He was telling her all the things he never wanted him to say, and he didn't move his lips.

Grissom could've told her she was being stupid or a fool, but he didn't. Any other friend of Sara's would've said that she was a fool. Warrick, Nick, Greg...even Catherine would've said something along those lines.

He could've told her he loved her, that it was real, that everything was real. He could've told her to stay in Vegas, stay here and never leave him. It wasn't to late, she was still at the point where she could've forgiven him. At the point where love is still a bit blinding.

But Grissom said nothing and his silence hurt Sara more then any words could.

Sticks and stones are hard on bones,

Thrown with an angry art

Words can sting, like anything

But silence can break your heart.

And the silence went on. "Tick, tock...Tick, tock"

Sara could feel a tiny tear in the corner of her heart, and hoped, against hope, that it wouldn't get any bigger

That silence was hurting her so much, destroying her from the inside out. And she knew she should've gotten out of there. But she wouldn't leave until Grissom spoke. But in the end it didn't matter. Because now it was too late. Nothing...not a single thing he said, could make up for that silence. Nothing could fix it now.

"Sara...I can understand what you are feeling-"

"No," Sara snapped, cutting him off. The amazement was clear in her eyes. She couldn't believe he would actually claim to have an inkling of what she was feeling right then. And she knew that she could...should, walk out. That she, herself, though her heart was broken, wasn't yet completely destroyed. She could still walk out. But she wanted to hurt him like he hurt her. And that was what mattered at that moment.

He looked at her now, locked his eyes with hers. Once upon a time, this would've made her happy, would've sent shivers down her spine. But that time, though not far away, was practically in a different lifetime.

"No," she repeated. And every word that followed was spoken with a harsh deliberateness. Like she wanted him to know that she knew exactly what she was saying. And meant every last word of it. "You will never...never understand the way I feel. You'd have to love someone first."

And when she was done, she stared at him and she let the silence stretch on. She waited for that little clock in her head to go, "Tick tock, Tick tock." She wanted to make him suffer through the silence that she suffered through. Then he lowered his eyes, and she hoped a tear had formed at the corner of his heart as well.

Then she turned around and left. She didn't stamp out, didn't slam the door, made no extra noise as she was leaving. Because silence really did speak volumes. She wanted him to know, in that odd, crazy way that was his thinking, that he really did blow it this time. That everything was over and done with. That everything was unfixable.

That she was never...ever...coming...back!


So she was sitting here, waiting to hear her flight number, on the hard, airport bench.

"Flight 374 to New York is now boarding," came the pleasant voice over the intercom and Sara stood up. She picked up her small carry-on bag and clutched her ticket.

In just a few moments, she was on the airplane, sitting in her seat. She looked out the window as the flight attendant went though the standard exit procedure. She stared out the window, watching as the plane stared to move. She saw the ground zip by as the plane gathered speed.

And as the ground shrank beneath the body of the plane, as it soured into the air, Sara felt her heart sour with the plane. She felt something that was a mix of many feelings: happiness and excitement, relief and a rushing, thrilling feeling, and a sense of loss, and sadness. Because no matter how you looked at it. Vegas had been her home for many years. And some tiny part of her...located far from the tear in her heart, still wished that Grissom would come on that plane and drag her back to Vegas.

She could make a new home, it wouldn't be that hard. She could learn to love New York, and Vegas would stay a memory.

She let herself think, just for a moment, about what her absence would do to the people she was leaving behind in Vegas. Greg would feel a great loss, and then move on to the next girl, or several girls. Nick and Warrick would probably be contemplating how they could call her, check up on her. Catherine was probably torn between relief that she wouldn't have to deal with Sara any more, and a slight sadness, because they were friends of sorts.

She allowed herself one last though of Grissom's feelings. He might not notice, might not care. Defiantly didn't care. He didn't try to stop her. Didn't try to comfort her. He let the silence carry on and break her heart. He was quite capable of forgetting her, it wouldn't be hard for him.

And then she shoved all these thoughts, and speculations into the back of her mind. She'd stick with actual memories from now on and not let herself dwell in the fantasy of what might have happened. A lot of things might have happened, could have happened, but won't. And she wouldn't let herself be discouraged by this.

She would never go back to Vegas. She'd make her home in New York and Vegas would become only a memory. And that's the way it would remain. Everything would stay a memory. Nothing more.

In time the edges of her memory will blur as it slips into the unreachable parts of her mind. And she wouldn't put up a fight. She'd let the memories slip away, like water through her fingers. She'd let herself forget.

Like she herself would...eventually... be forgotten.

Sara knew, that in the end, everything Grissom had ever said to her would fall into oblivion. Become a black void she couldn't touch. But, for as long as she lived, she would always...always remember that silence.

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.