A/N – I hope you enjoy. It's just a quick one-shot. Please R&R.

Disclaimer: I'd worry more about not ticking off CBS if I actually had something worth suing over. Instead, I just resort to begging. PLEASE, OH MIGHTY ONES, DON'T SUE ME!!!!!!!!!!


A Matter of Trust


Her favorite hiding spot had always been the library. From the stacks, she could quietly watch people and fantasize about the wonderful lives they lived. Sitting near the windows, a book in front of her and the outside world behind her, she could disappear.

Being back in San Francisco, she sought out the library nearly every day. The librarian became used to seeing the brunette each afternoon, and watching the woman pull books and journals from the criminology and forensic sciences sections.

Sitting in the comfortably familiar wooden high-back chair, Sara flipped through a behavioral analysis journal. As she finished one journal, she placed it on a stack and picked up the next. If she tired of reading articles, she opened a book. The current book-in-progress was an entomology reference.

Rubbing her eyes, Sara set the book down, turned, and stared out the window for the millionth time since she'd arrived in California.

She'd talked to him on the phone… and heard the pain in his voice.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I don't make you sad," she'd said. "No. You make me happy," he'd replied.

When he asked, she told him she was visiting her mother. That was partially true, but she could only handle her a little at a time. Instead, she hid, just like always – in books or sightless staring.

Shaking her head, Sara pulled out a blank sheet of paper. For weeks, Sara had been trying to write him a letter. For someone so clear on why she left, she had no idea what she was currently doing, or why she was actually here in particular.

"Even though we're far apart, I can see you as vividly as if you were here with me. I said I'll miss you and I do." He had written those words. The sonnet was wonderful, but the words he'd given were so much more.

At night, alone in bed, she kept reaching for him in her sleep. A thousand times she questioned why she hadn't asked him to come here.

"Do you trust me?" she'd asked. "Intimately," he'd replied. He'd closed his eyes, tilted his head, and let her take a sharp razor to his exposed neck. She remembered feeling so steady, watching his pulse, and wanting nothing more than to run her lips across the exposed skin. She'd later done just that.

Turning back towards the table, she flipped open another book, when she finally understood. Picking up a pen, she began her letter.


I've talked to you, with no real words. I left, ashamed to ask for anything. I needed to be able to breathe, and as long as I was in the desert, I don't think I could. I thought the ocean might be a comfort – something familiar. It turns out, that without you here, nothing is a comfort. I feel completely ashamed as I write this. If I'd trusted you more, I would have trusted you to help me. So many times you have shown me how much you trust me. I told you I was afraid I'd self-destruct in front of you. What makes me ache is that it took me leaving to realize that you are the only person I do trust to fall apart around. You've seen me angry. You've seen me hurt. I am terrified of what is happening to me and around me, and the only thing I know for sure is I love you. I trust you. Please come.



When Catherine came into work, she picked up her mail, and opened the envelope on top. Sitting at her desk, a smile broke across her face.

"What's so funny, Catherine?" Nick asked, standing in the doorway to her office.

"Grissom's taking a little vacation time," she replied.

She read the note aloud:

"Catherine. Going to Sara. Feed my spider. Grissom"