 | ShatterStorm Productions
|
| ShatterStorm Productions
|
Primary Character(s): Sara Sidle
Secondary Influences: Conversations With My 13 Year Old Self" by Pink
Disclaimers: See Index page for full disclaimer info
++ Sara ++
"Sara? You okay in there?"
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that she'd be the one to come find me. After all, she's the one that has the most invested in me now. It doesn't mean that I necessarily want to see her right now, or anyone else for that matter. But at the same time, I suppose I owe it to her. Chewing at my lower lip, I get up from the couch in my little hideaway and move to the door. Briefly meeting her gaze, I motion for her to come inside. Once she's walked past me, with a light brush to my arm, I close the door again and lean against it. I watch her taking in the layout of this little bungalow that's been set aside for my own benefit, and fight the urge to go curl up against her side and cling tightly.
"You've been awfully quiet the past couple days," she says softly, turning to study me for a long moment. "Is there anything I can help with?"
I shrug and chew at my lower lip again, debating just how much I should tell her, how much I should trust her. And then I remember this is the woman who very nearly got herself killed while playing a scene with me back in Chicago. She came back; hell, she moved here from San Francisco, totally uprooted her life to move to Vegas. Granted, that's because of Catherine, but there are times I like to think just a small bit of that decision was because of me.
"I don't know," I finally reply softly, knowing she'll hear me. "I'm just…"
"Come here, Sunshine," she murmurs and stretches her good arm out toward me. Out of habit, the damaged right arm is still curled up against her chest, even though it's been out of the cast for a couple of weeks already.
Without hesitation this time, I push off from the door and curl up against her left side, careful of the still-weak right arm. Nuzzling against the side of her neck, I feel my breath hitch with the emotions she always brings out in me, even when we're not playing. Her hand soothingly strokes up and down the length of my back, her cheek rubbing against the top of my head. The tenderness is enough to break down the walls I've been trying to erect in my solitude, and I can feel the tears welling in my eyes.
"I'm sorry, Dace," I whisper as she guides me to the couch. Once I know she's comfortable, I curl against her side again, head resting on her shoulder.
"For what? Needing a little time to yourself? There's nothing wrong with that, Sara. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, that's all."
I nod and wipe at my cheeks. "I just feel…off, I guess. It tends to happen this time of year, whether I like it or not."
"What happens this time of year, Sara?"
"And you've been kind of grumpy and distant since your cast came off," I continue, as if she hasn't asked the question. "I know your arm's been sore and that's probably part of it, but I just worried that maybe you were just getting sick of me."
"That's enough, Sara," Dace replies forcefully, using her right hand to clumsily grip my chin, which forces me to meet her concerned gaze. Her wince of pain reminds me this injury still hurts her. "I'm not getting sick of you, okay? And if there was an issue like that, I'd sit down and discuss it with you. Regardless of what other people have done to you, I'm not going to just use you and throw you away like Kleenex. I have far too much respect for you, as a lover and as a person. So please don't think my own issues with what I can and can't do now have anything to do with what I feel for or think of you, okay?" I nod slowly and let out a sigh. "So you wanna talk about what's bothering you?"
Licking my lips against a suddenly dry mouth, I swallow and nod again. "This is just really hard for me to talk about, Dace, but I owe it to you to be honest about it. It's a pretty big part of the person I've become, and if I'm gonna trust you with my life, I should be trusting you with all of it, no matter what. Right?"
"Like I've said before, I do expect complete honesty. I know there's something you've been keeping from me, and I've hoped you'd feel comfortable enough to share it with me. But, Sara, whatever it is, it's not going to change how I feel about you."
Taking a deep breath, I try a tentative smile, heart hammering in my chest at both her words and what I'm about to tell her. You can do this, Sara. You're not that person anymore. "When I was twelve… No, best to start at the beginning, I suppose. I grew up in a pretty abusive home. My parents didn't want me, and to be honest they shouldn't have had me. My mom and dad both beat me; my father beat my mother. Bruises, broken bones, and trips to various emergency rooms were the norm during my childhood. As far as I was concerned, it was the way everyone grew up, but it wasn't what I wanted. School was an escape for me, a chance to get away from home. And when I was home, I'd hide in my room with my books and homework; I used it as my coping mechanism. Of course, it didn't make me a lot of friends in school, not that I could bring anyone home anyway, and I wasn't allowed to go to anyone else's house either."
Unable to remain still, I pull away from Dace and start to pace. I need the physical activity to keep me from pulling inward completely, even though I know Dace will do what she can to help make me feel safe in all of this. But I don't feel safe when I talk about it, think about it, remember any of it. I can feel her eyes following my every move, and know her Sentinel senses are telling her about my physical discomfort at retelling this story. And yet, she doesn't say anything; I know she won't say anything until I'm finished.
"Everything changed one night the year I turned twelve. They were eating dinner. I was being punished for something or other. I think I'd been kept after school by my teacher to discuss the possibility of getting into an after school gifted kids program. Mom didn't like that I was coming home late, because it meant she had to cook dinner. So I'd been beaten for being late without permission, and for lying about the reason I was late. Didn't matter that I was telling the truth, my father said I was worthless and stupid, and that's all there was to it. So I had to cook dinner, then watch them eat it. Afterward, I did the dishes and went to do my homework. My father came in to tell me once again how stupid I was and how I'd never amount to anything. It sparked off another beating, on top of the one I'd gotten earlier from my mother. The next thing I knew, my mother was standing behind my father, just stabbing him in the back repeatedly while laughing and telling me it was my fault she was having to kill my father. She said he spent far too much time beating me and that I was next. With each stab of the knife, her voice grew louder and shriller, until she was practically screeching at the top of her lungs how she was doing this for us, for me, over and over again that it was my fault she had to kill my father.
"Someone must have heard her because the next thing I knew, the cops were breaking down the door. All I can remember after that is the stench of the blood, the feel of it on my face and my clothes, the maniacal look in her eyes when they handcuffed her and took her away, and the female officer who took me to Child Protective Services. I didn't even get to take any of my books, or clothes, or anything. Since we didn't have any other family, I was put into foster care. I got bounced around a lot in foster care; nobody wanted to deal with the crazy girl whose mother killed her father. The officer promised me no one would know, but they all did; they always knew and made sure I knew that they knew. I dug further into my studies and pretty much pushed away everything and everyone else that tried to get close. Eventually, I had good enough grades to get into Harvard, and I got the fuck out of there."
"And yet you moved back to San Francisco to work as a CSI?" Her words are so soft, so curious. I blink in surprise at her tone, only belatedly realizing there are tears streaming down my cheeks. "Why?"
"I wanted to make sure no other little girls had to go through what I did," I whisper.
"Oh, Sara," she murmurs in a pained voice. Before I realize it's happening, she's at my side, wrapping both arms around me and holding me close. I can hear her soft grunt of pain and try to pull away. "Don't, Sunshine, it's okay. You're more important than my stupid fucking wrist."
"Am I?" I ask, unable to stop myself from saying the words in the first place. I already know her answer, and stiffen against it.
Once again that sore arm comes up and she grips my chin, forcing me to look at her. I blink at the sight of tears in her eyes. "Yes, Sara Sidle, you are more important than my wrist, and don't you ever forget it. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, ma'am," I murmur, eyes closing against the sudden tightness in my chest. She pulls me close again, just holding me and whispering soothing nonsense as I cry.
Some time later, I feel her guiding me to the couch again, and settling a blanket over me. I curl up in the corner, arms wrapped around my pulled up legs, and just rest my forehead on my knees. I can hear her puttering around in the little kitchenette, but can't bring myself to expend the strength to look up and see what she's doing. I simply concentrate on trying to calm down, and Dace's words of reassurance keep running through my mind. It still surprises me that she cares so much about me, I still have that fear that I'll wake up and this will all have been a dream.
"No dream, Sunshine," she murmurs, handing me a steaming mug. "Now, drink this and let me talk for a little bit, okay?" When I nod, slowly sipping at the hot chamomile tea, she smiles and strokes my cheek. "That was a very brave thing you did, Sara. You didn't have to tell me about that part of your past, and I'm honored that you trust me enough to share it. I gather that Catherine doesn't know this information, or she'd have at least found a way to warn me of its existence. And I guess I lied, because hearing your story did change my opinion of you." She must see some evidence of my heart sinking at her words, and she reaches up to cup my cheek. "I'm even more in awe of you now than I was before. I knew there was something lurking in your past that made you so skittish around other people, I even suspected some sort of abuse. But I certainly didn't suspect this, and I'm proud of the woman you've become. It makes total sense to me now about your reactions to certain cases you're assigned." She pauses a moment, and I can see she's working something over in her mind.
"Whatever it is, you can ask me, Dace," I finally say.
"Have you considered talking to someone about this? I mean, I'm guessing not a lot of people know about your past. But I'm also guessing you're actually feeling much better for having shared this, right?" When I nod, she smiles compassionately. "Good, I'm glad. And I'll bet that anniversary is coming up pretty soon, isn't it?"
I nod slowly, trying to breathe normally against that fear that always comes up so hard when I think about that night almost twenty years ago. "It's why I had to get away and be by myself."
"I can understand that," she replies. "You didn't want to share something you found shameful about your past, didn't want to be seen as weak or weird, yes?" I nod again, eyes closing against a fresh round of tears. "You don't have to go through this alone anymore, Sara. Even if you never tell Catherine or anyone else about it, I'll know and I won't let you do this by yourself anymore. You're a good person, Sara, and you deserve any happiness that comes your way."
I drain the last of my tea and force myself to get up and set the cup on the counter. I take a few seconds to splash some cold water on my face before heading back to the couch. Dace stops me and holds out her hand to pull me close. Without a word, she presses a gentle kiss to my lips and guides me into the bedroom. I hesitate slightly, not sure sex is what I need at this point.
"Just sleep, Sara," she gently reassures me. "You look like you're about ready to keel over from exhaustion."
"Stay with me?" I ask in a tiny voice, still half-expecting her to drop the other shoe, so to speak, and tell me she never wants to see me again.
"I wasn't planning to leave unless you asked me to," is her response as I slip under the covers. "I just need to let Catherine know I'll be here. Will you be okay for a couple minutes while I go call her from the other room?"
I nod and lean into the kiss she plants on my forehead, watching her walk out into the other room. Part of me wishes I had her hearing, just to know what she's saying to Catherine. But then I remember that this is Dace and she's not one to tell other people's secrets without their permission. And then I remember what she said about talking to someone. I haven't given therapy of any kind a serious thought because of the bogus crap I went through while in foster care. But maybe Dace is right, maybe it's time to do what I can to put this particular demon to rest.
She comes back into the room with a bright smile for me, and strips down to the boxers and tank top, before crawling into bed with me. "Catherine said she's got a pair of really good ears if you need someone to listen," she says softly as she pulls me next to her. "She's worried about you, but she trusts that you'll do what you need to, and that you'll ask for help if you need it."
I settle myself along her body, ear pressed against her chest so the sound of her heartbeat soothes me. "I will. And I think I might give your idea of therapy a shot. Maybe there's someone out there who can help me without judging me." The last words are mouthed around an ear-popping yawn, and I can't help the girlish giggle at Dace's knowing chuckle.
"I'm sure there is, but for right now all that matters is that you get your rest. We can talk about finding you someone to talk to tomorrow, or whenever you're ready for it. And just remember, Sara, I'm so very proud of you for being a survivor."
"Thank you, Dace," I murmur around another yawn, and nuzzle in closer as my eyes close.
+++++
I wake up early the next afternoon, feeling more refreshed than I have in a long, long time. Dace is casually playing with my hair, and greets me with a gentle good morning kiss. We lay in bed for a while longer, just lazily talking and getting reacquainted again now that the cast is off and she's using her hand more. Eventually, we share a nice, but cramped shower before heading into the city for a meeting Dace has. Catherine even gives me a warm hug before we leave, which nearly brings tears to my eyes again. I'm feeling very raw, but very much on the road to being at peace.
While Dace takes care of her meeting, I head up to say hello to Tessa. I casually glance at Anastasia's door, and Tessa smiles. "She doesn't have anyone in her office at the moment, if you'd like to go say hello."
I smile my thanks and enter the office after my knock is acknowledged. Anastasia comes around her desk to wrap me in a warm hug. I return the embrace gratefully and let her lead me to the couch. "It's good to see you, Sara dear. Did you come in with Dace?"
"Yes… yes ma'am, I did," I reply, suddenly nervous again. This is such a very big step I'm about to take. But I know I've got people to support me along the way. "Anastasia, ma'am, I'm in need of your assistance. I find myself needing to speak with someone professionally, a psychologist or someone who is qualified to help me work through a few things. I trust your judgment, and I was wondering if you have anyone you might be able to suggest?"
Her expression is that combination of pride, affection, and concern that I've seen other mothers have for their children. Just her expression makes me feel better, and I do my damnedest to fight off yet more tears. I don't think I've cried this much in a long, long time. Maybe ever.
"I can think of at least three people who would be willing to help you with whatever you need," she replies with a smile. "And these people aren't easily fazed by anything. Would you prefer a man or a woman?"
I blink at the question, startled to even be asked such a thing. "I'm not sure. I hadn't thought about it."
She pats my hand and strokes my cheek. "Then I'll make sure to find people I personally would trust to speak with, and you make your own decision. But I can do that before you leave. For now, we can just chat while Dace has her meeting. Will that be all right, dear?"
"Yes, ma'am," I reply out of habit. "I think I'd like that. Thank you…"
"My pleasure, my dear."
