Title: Absence Isn't Always Better
Grissom/Sara, angst, pg
Author's Note: Again to Devanie for being a top beta!
His grip on her hand tightened as the emotions coursed through him, rapidly. They were so overwhelming, as he felt his resolve slipping, knowing that this was affecting him more than he was willing to admit outloud. A tear slipped down his cheek and landed on her pale hand. This was wrong.
He let go of her hand suddenly.
What good was he to her anyway? He knew deep inside his heart that even if she woke up he would automatically hide away behind his walls yet again. He knew he would hurt he, and he didn't want to. This was the best way.
Believing that he was thinking rationally, he convinced himself that he shouldn't be there. He should get far away from her so that she didn't get used to his presence. If he left now, she'd miss him less. Right?
'Stay away from her, Gil. She's better off without you.' His mind screamed at him.
"But I love her!" His heart argued.
His mind won.
And so he went. He left the room so fast he didn't see her hand move slightly, seeking out the comfort and warmth of his hand.
He looked at his watch. 10.43pm. It was late, he should get home. Sara would be fine. Better off without him.
He was startled by the phone as it started to ring the second he walked in his front door. Not in the mood to talk to anyone, he let the machine get it.
"Gil? Gil, pick up!"
He stood still in his tracks. Something had happened. Something bad. She didn't cry for no reason.
He rushed to the phone.
A white sheet. A white sheet was all that separated him and his Sara. His Sara. The words sounded so pathetic. Not half an hour ago he was standing there convincing himself that she was better off without him.
"What time did she go?" Something urged him to ask. Something unforeseen.
He couldn't bring himself to say the word 'die'. The doctor looked confused at his sudden question. This was not a typical question they got from grieving relatives as they said goodbye to a relative. But then again this wasn't a relative, and, to an unknowing member of society, was just a work relation. No one who really cared. How far off the mark could one get?
No. No, it can't be.
"It's my fault." He whispered.
"What? Gil, what are you talking about?" Catherine's confused voice came through.
"It's my fault." He kept muttering over and over again, as he started to walk down the hall.
Faster and faster.
Faster and faster.
Faster and faster, until he finally reached the exit. He heard Catherine's pained voice reverberating down the hallway, but he didn't care. Sara was all he cared about, and she was gone.
He had left at 10.43.
She had died at 10.44.
It was his fault, he shouldn't have left. She must have known.
She must have known he wasn't coming back.
It was his fault.