A/N: After watching Committed, I felt like there was so much unfinished business at the end of the episode. I wanted someone to go to Sara and make her begin to deal with the situation, but Grissom played everything off too coolly (isn't this what caused Sara to begin to breakdown in the first place? Obviously, some writers really want Sara to remain a train wreck.). Here's my solution to end of Committed. I hope you all like it! -Jac.
PS I'm getting ready for some big exams over the next few weeks. After those, I hope to finish up some of my stories that I have left dangling, but have not forgotten about.
I wore a scarf around my neck the next day. It was a startling female touch to my otherwise casual wardrobe. I wasn't sure exactly what drew me to the accessories department of the store. I was always so much more comfortable among the jeans and t-shirts, but I felt compelled to buy the shear yellow scarf to wear around my neck like all the fashionable women do.
I didn't have a cut on my neck. I checked the mirror this morning for bruises. My skin looked as if Adam never explained his theories on frequency to me. My skin looked untouched, which disappointed me. I wanted something there, so I could begin to work through the physical pain that would mirror my emotional anguish. Lucky me; I had nothing to work with.
Grissom called me to check in early in the morning right after shift ended. I told him that I was fine. That always was my standard answer. Old reliable. Grissom seemed satisfied with my responses; after all, I was apparently lucky. I guess I was lucky that Adam only scared the hell out of me. I guess I was supposed to feel overjoyed that he hadn't severed my jugular vein, carotid artery, and vagus nerve all in one controlled motion. I didn't feel all that lucky.
Sophia, Archie, and Hodges looked at me funny as I walked into the lab before shift. I decided that they were wondering what the hell I was thinking wearing a scarf with a t-shirt and black slacks. They didn't say a word to me as I passed by them. I tried so hard to put the tough exterior on, but the moment I was alone, I began to nervously fiddle with the scarf.
Grissom looked up from his pile of paperwork to briefly engage me in an empty stare. It had become our standard greeting. It contained all the formalities of a business relationship without any of the messy feelings I had once let clutter our interactions. That's all our time together was . . . it was one big, empty, lonely, hurtful interaction.
"Sar," Greg said as he nervously stood in front of me. I prevented me from moving closer to the coffee pot. I wanted to put something in my hands, so I wasn't tempted to nervously play with my pretty yellow scarf.
"Greg," I replied. I tried so hard to put a smile on my face, but the sadness in Greg's eyes threatened to bring me down. I could hide from the rest of them, but Greg forced me to feel things that I didn't want to. He tried to force me to feel something about last night, but I was going to fight it kicking and screaming.
"Are you okay?" Greg asked as he handed me a cup of coffee. He handed me his favorite coffee cup. It was the one with a long quantum physics formula taking up the entire graphics area on the ceramic cup.
"I'm okay," I lied as I tried to pretend that I was lucky and overjoyed.
"I don't like the scarf," Nick said as he busied himself with a case file.
"Were you cut?" Greg asked.
"No," I replied. I was just an emotional junkyard on the inside this time.
"Were you bruised?" Greg asked. I knew he would persist until I said something to convince him that I was okay.
"What happened?" Nick asked as he lifted his head out massive pile of paperwork that he was trying to navigate, "What did Greg do to you?" Nick had always been a little on the clueless side. I had always been thankful that he had been clueless. He didn't probe me the way that everyone else seemingly wanted to.
"Umm . . . a suspect held me hostage. He wrapped his arm around my neck and held a jagged piece of ceramic to my throat, while explaining the finer points of frequencies to me," I said casually. The words sounded foreign to me. The voice didn't sound like my own voice. "I'm sorry. Tell Grissom that I've got to go."
I thrust the cup of coffee back at Greg. Greg nodded. He was wise enough to let me run away when I teetered on the line of completely distraught. I was thankful for that. I didn't want Greg to see me like that. I knew that he would do all he could to comfort me, but I was his teacher.
I raced outside to the cool, crisp desert nighttime air. I drew two huge breaths in before I felt a little less claustrophobic. My heart began to pound. Doc once told me that sometimes shock persists in victims for days or hours; I had managed to go for nearly twenty-four hours before I began to wrap my mind around the heaviness of the situation. I almost died. I almost was a victim . . . again.
"Sara, are you okay?" a voice said as the footstep rapidly approached me.
"Get away. Don't touch me," I screamed in a terror filled voice that once again didn't sound like my own. I raised my fists to protect myself as I turned around to confront the image of Adam that my mind had conjured up.
"Sara, it's okay. It's okay," Nick said calmly as he began to back away from me.
"Oh, God. I'm sorry," I whispered as I weakly lowered my fists to my sides. I realized just how close I came to getting Nick with a good left uppercut. Nick nodded good-naturedly as he always did.
"It's going to be okay," Nick said as he once again began to approach me. I could feel my body shaking and the tears falling down my face. I had no idea what to do about. I still didn't know what to do when he wrapped his arms around me and began to repeat his mantra . . . it's all going to be okay. I wanted so desperately to believe him.
The moment I closed my eyes, I was overcome by the scents of the mental institution . . . urine, sweat, fungus, and death. They were all distinct scents that nauseated me. All the while, Nick continued to repeat his mantra to me, as if it would make everything actually be okay.
"I'll drive you home," Nick said as he used his key chain remote to unlock his Denali.
"You're working," I replied.
"I was reading a comic book while pretending to work. The same way that you always pretend to be okay," Nick said gently.
I let him take me home. He regaled me with tales of crazy wives, psychotic cable guys, and the second day of his first job as a burger flipper. Every once in a while he would softly repeat his mantra to me. Every once in a while I began to believe it.
FIN