Date: November 2006
Title: Memories
Author: Tyria
Disclaimer: No, I don’t own them. If I did there would definitely be more
things happening between Sara and Grissom…and naked Billy butt. If only that camera had panned a little
further down in ITB…
Rating: T for Teen
Summary: Sara recalls her childhood
A/N: Ever want to thank your beta and
kill her simultaneously? I was just
minding my own business helping her brainstorm her newest fic,
when suddenly, bunny attack! This came
out of it. Thanks, Jenn.
Acknowledgment: I would also like to make a small
dedication to Mrs. Smith, my fifth grade teacher, who wouldn’t accept my
excuses and pushed me to do better, in math ironically enough.
Memories
Whenever
people think
We didn’t
always live there. A few months after
they got married, my parents started a bed and breakfast in
It always
surprised me how long my father was able to get away with abusing my mother
with other people around. I still don’t
understand how other people didn’t see it.
Of course, thinking back, I never saw my mom wear short sleeve shirts or
shorts; always pants and long sleeves. I
just assumed she was cold, until one day, when I woke up early from my nap and
witnessed a beating. Apparently, it was
one of the less severe ones, because there was no trip to the hospital that
night. It was only later, after living
through many more beatings, that I was able to rate the severity.
I stayed
out of sight until it was completely over and my father had left, probably to
go get more beer. Cautiously, I came out
of my hiding place and went to my mom’s side to make sure she was alright. The shock and embarrassment were clearly
reflected in her eyes as soon as she realized that I was there and had seen
everything. She made me promise to never
tell anyone, and to do everything I could to stay out of my father’s way when
he was angry.
That was
when I was…three, maybe four. A couple months
later, after many trips to the hospital, the police showed up at our doorstep. There had been some complaints from the
neighbors. That, along with the hospital
records, was enough for the police to suspect something wasn’t quite
right. They finally confronted my father
after a few of the guests acknowledged some strange sounds in the middle of the
night.
Things seemed
to settle down for about six months or so.
There were no fights or yelling, which I found really strange. When you spend your entire life in high
volume, the quiet is oddly disconcerting.
And then one day, after we arrived home from a day spent shopping for much
needed clothing, my father announced we were moving and all our stuff had been
packed for us. He shuttled us outside, we
piled into the car and left.
At first
I thought we were going on vacation. It wasn’t
until a week later when I asked my mother when we were going home that I
learned the truth. She sat me down and
explained that we were never going back; this was our new home. My father had moved us far enough away that
no one around us would know what had happened, but close enough that the move
didn’t take long. I have no idea what happened
to the house, the business, or anything.
After we
moved, the yelling and the beatings were more frequent. I guess my father felt he could be more open,
because of the isolation of the houses. It
was summer so they were able to enroll my brother and me in the local school
without problem. He probably timed the
move that way so there wouldn’t be questions, or at least not many. He never did like questions.
My father
was able to get work helping out the neighbors with their farm, and Mother found
a job working in a nursery. She loved
working in the soil so much, she started a garden in our backyard and grew all
different kinds of food; tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes, herbs. The neighbors were really kind and allowed
her to have some seeds to help her along.
Whenever she went outside, I was right behind her. What child wouldn’t love being allowed to get
dirty?
The
garden also became my refuge. When my
father would come home drunk or angry, I would go outside and work, ignoring
the noises coming from inside the house.
They woke me up one evening, so I found a lantern and worked until
things quieted down, then went back to bed.
Things
continued like that for years. I was always
careful to follow my mother’s advice about staying away from my father, until
that fateful day.
My mother
had sent me inside to get her gardening gloves from her bedroom, because she
had forgotten them. Just as I found them,
my father entered the bedroom. He must
have had a bad day at work, because he came in steaming. He saw me with the gloves clutched in my
hands, and asked me what I thought I was doing.
I told him mother had forgotten her gloves so I was getting them for her
and then I was going to help her. He
told me I was spending too much time out there and forbid me from going into
the garden. When I told him he couldn’t
do that, he got in my face and asked me to repeat myself, so I did.
That’s
when he struck me.
It was a
harsh slap across my face that sent me crashing into the wall and sliding down
onto the floor. That was the first and
the last time he hit me in anger.
He was screaming
something I couldn’t understand because of the ringing in my ear and towered
over me about to hit me again, when my mother struck him the first time. She must have heard the noise and came
running to see what was happening. She
was able to stab him three times before he even turned around. As soon as his attention was focused away from
me, I ran and hid in my room.
You know
what happened next. Into the foster
system I went. No one ever seems to want
a teenager, so I went through a lot of foster homes. I didn’t see the need for creating bonds with
anyone. Instead, I concentrated on
learning. I would lock myself in my
room, and read anything I could get my hands on. I also worked ahead in my textbooks, especially
the math ones. I couldn’t get enough of
it. During the lunch period, I snuck
into my math teacher’s classroom and borrowed all the textbooks she had on the
shelves. Of course I had to return them
when I moved.
I did
this at every school I ended up at so I could continue to learn everything possible. One day, a teacher caught me and forced me to
explain what I was doing. She promptly
took me to the principal’s office and sat me down at a table. Then she brought out a booklet and told me to
answer everything I could. I found out
later, when I had to take it again before graduating, they had given me a
proficiency test meant for high school seniors.
They found out how much I knew and began letting me take whatever
classes I wanted, including some college courses at the local branch campus.
I still
moved around, but kept in touch with that teacher. She ended up helping me with my college
application, enabling me to get a full ride to Harvard. From there it was easy to get into the
graduate program at
Sara moves
her head to look in Grissom’s eyes after her last statement. He wraps his right arm around her pulling her
to him and places his left hand against her face, stroking her cheek with his
thumb. “Yes, I do know about
They had
been cuddling after making love, when Sara moved away from Grissom and started
on her narrative. He allowed her to have
her space until she was done. They lay
there facing each other for a few minutes; Sara trying to figure out how
Grissom had taken the tale, and Grissom just letting
the full story sink into his head.
Just as
Sara starts to worry, Grissom pulls her head to him and gives her a soft kiss
on her lips. Then, he rolls onto his
back and rests her head on his chest, his left hand now stroking her hair. She moves her hand to rest on his chest and feels
him take a deep breath. “Have I ever
told you how brave you are?”
Sara
lifts her head to look at him. He looks
directly into her eyes, his admiration shining through. “You think I’m brave?” He gives a small nod. “But…I never came forward. I just let everything happen until my mother
lost control.”
His hand
moves back to her cheek and he rubs it with his thumb again. “She lost control because he went after
you. Your Mom
and I have that in common. If anyone
hurt you, I would want them to be in pain, and I would stop them in any way I
could. That’s exactly what your mother
did; stopped the person causing you pain.
You did exactly what your mother told you to do; tell no one and stay out
of his way. Plus, if memory serves, you
told me you thought what was happening in your house was normal. General Omar Bradley said, ‘Bravery is the
capacity to perform properly even when scared to death.’ I’m sure you had to be scared when your
father asked you to repeat yourself, but you did it anyway and stood up for
yourself. You are brave…and
tenacious. I’m thankful every day we are
together for your tenacity.” Sara gives
him a watery smile and moves her head to rest against him again.
He thinks
carefully about everything she has told him and it brings to mind a question
that he cannot get away from. “I’m not
saying there had to be, but what prompted this?”
She
snuggles her face into his neck. “Mrs.
Smith, the teacher I told you about, she died a couple days ago. Her daughter found some of our correspondence
and thought I might like to know, so she sent me a letter.”
Grissom
feels her blinking rapidly against his skin, trying to hold the tears
back. She isn’t completely successful,
because he feels a lone drop hit his skin and slide off. “Oh, honey,” he says as he pulls her tighter
to himself.
They lay
there quietly for a while; she getting herself under control, he giving her the
comfort of his arms.
After a
few minutes when he thinks she has calmed back down, he kisses the top of her
head and tentatively speaks. “Sara?”
“Hmmm?”
“Is she
still alive?”
She
frowns in confusion. “Is who alive?”
“Your
mother,” he answers as he strokes her hair.
“Yes,
serving out a life sentence in
“When was
the last time you visited her?”
Sara
sighs while thinking about it. “Years…I
know it was before I came to Vegas. I
haven’t gone back since.”
“Would
you like to?”
She
raises her head and looks him in the eye.
“You want to meet my mother?”
“I’d like
to thank her for saving you and keeping you safe; for allowing us to come to
this place in our lives.”
Sara
swallows hard and then leans in to passionately kiss him. When the kiss is done, she whispers against
his lips, “Thank you, Gil.”
He cocks
an eyebrow. “What
for?”
“For
listening, for understanding, for taking a chance on me; for any and all of
those, thank you.” They kiss gently once
more, and settle in for the night. Sara
lays her head on his shoulder, her right hand curled around the side of his
neck, her fingers barely touching his hairline and her right leg surrounding
his. Gil wraps his right arm around her,
holding her to him, and slides his left hand into her hair. Their breathing evens out, matches to the
other, and they fall into a dreamless sleep.