lvpd_sidle: (partners -- hadria)
The farewells had been brief; the party thrown by lab personnel not unexpected, nor unappreciated.

Her locker was cleaned out. Her name added to the Wall of Escaped Criminalists.

"I never envisioned this when I asked you here to investigate the Gribbs incident," Grissom said quietly, helping her carry things out to her car.

"Me neither," she admitted with a sigh, folding one of the backseats down. "I...don't remember what I was expecting."

Eschewing his normal reticence, he pulled her into a hug, feeling the wiry strength contained within her. "I will miss you. No one...could ever be you, Sara."

Her arms tightened minutely, but her voice was steady, peaceful. "You forgot to add 'thank God'."

"A careless omission." His voice went dry. "You and Mark will come by for dinner?"

"Of course. Give Jack my love."

She got in the car, starting it, and pulling out of the parking lot. The lab faded in her rear view mirror, and she resisted the urge to look back.


She had gone through the Loft before moving in, carefully disposing of old needles, forgotten stashes of drugs, other paraphernalia. Better security measures were in place, and already it felt....right.

Home, almost.

Documentation in hand (and she knew she'd be owing Collins the rest of her life), she went to the Manhattan lab, becoming acquainted with the personnel there, and her new supervisor, Hendricks. Though she would not officially start work until after her honeymoon, she thought it best to know where she stood.

"You have an impressive solve rate for one your age," Hendricks commented at one point, reading through her file.

She started to say, Hey, I'm 35, and caught herself. 29. I'm 29.

~ ~

She recognized the woman she saw in the mirror. It was her---and not her at the same time. The lines were eased, the marks of fatigue had disappeared. Even the scars from the lab explosion weren't as visible.

"A fresh start?" she wondered out loud, mouth twisted in wry amusement. "Guess I can handle that."


Feb. 3rd, 2007 02:35 pm
lvpd_sidle: (apparitions -- almost_october)
Sara is tired.

Tired of ruining lives as often as saving them.

Tired of remaining strong while everyone else seems to have the luxury of collapsing.

Tired of adhering to the rules when all she'd really wanted to do was punch Benny in the mouth.

She climbs the stairs, and even finds herself tired of them. One foot in front of the other and still not going anywhere. All she wants to do is sleep and forget for a time the existence of free will, and all of its consequences.

Mark is in her room, on her bed, shoes kicked off. He extends an arm to her.

Without a word, she kicks off her shoes and curls against him.

Can't get tired of this.

A muted question is murmured against her neck. She shakes her head, curling in even tighter.

Won't get tired of this.
lvpd_sidle: (I love you free)
Mark wasn't one to appreciate things. He had given Sara no single gift for her birthday--instead, he took her to Paris.

Sara didn't have such an elaborate scheme in mind. The surprise party would certainly take care of that, and undoubtedly go off without him being none the wiser, considering his mind was so thoroughly occupied with the Moving Pictures premiere.

Instead, Sara planned that they would have a quiet day. A day in which she would take every opportunity to tell him that she loved him.

He needed to hear it as much as she needed to say it.

She doubted he would have any objections. The t-shirt really was just a bonus.
lvpd_sidle: (beautiful -- rainy_days)
It stands to reason that since she had one dream (was it really just a dream?), Sara would have another.

She opened her eyes, taking in the familiar shoreline outside of the bed and breakfast. She was resting against a tree she had claimed as her own when she was five or six years old. Breathing in deeply, taking in the humidity, the salty tang of the air, feeling both homesickness and muted devastation.

"Sara! Come inside and help me with the cinnamon rolls!"

"Coming, Mom," she said obediently, automatically, heading into the two-story house. The kitchen was cheery--almost too cheery. The scent of cinnamon, yeast, and icing was too prevalent for her to check for blood, as she had ever since That Night.

She capitalized the words even in her own mind.

"Careful, sweetheart, it's hot."

"I know." She reached for oven mitts and her mother grabbed her left hand.

"Sara!" The shock and joy in Laura Sidle's voice could plainly be heard. She smiled widely, and Sara returned the grin.

They had each others' smile.

"Is he good to you?" Does he hurt you?

"So good, Mom. He loves me.......he would never hurt me. Never." The words are quiet, but heartfelt.

Laura pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Good. I knew you would do well for yourself. I'm so proud of you, Sara."

She ducked her head, busying herself with the tray of cinnamon buns. "Thanks, Mom." If her voice was rough for a moment, both ignored it.

"Let me pour us some coffee and let's have some breakfast. I want to hear more about this man."

"Well for starters, I met him completely outside of work....."

When she woke up this time, Sara's pillow wasn't wet.

And she was smiling.
lvpd_sidle: (beauty is sleeping -- trinity1986)
Her nightmares have been gradually tapering off. Sleep isn't something Sara regards with dread anymore.

She settles in next to Mark one night, comforted by the feeling of his arm around her waist.

Sometimes it still takes her a while to drift off.

Not this time.

[ooc: Locked.]
lvpd_sidle: (crying in the rain -- ezzvaldez)

"Please." The word is a whimper. Sara turns restlessly, bumping into Mark.


"Don't leave me--no, it wasn't me I swear it wasn't me..." Her body trembles, sweat gathering on her forehead.


"Mark, no Mark I love you I need you please......"

Her hand reaches out, seeking someone, anyone, finding only solitude, though he is beside her.

She cries, still caught in the dream, in the nightmare, in the reality she still believes she will see.

OOM: Paris

Sep. 17th, 2006 03:24 pm
lvpd_sidle: (naughty gown)
Sara normally hated shopping. She didn't like dealing with other people, and she certainly didn't like the tedium of searching for whatever it was that she needed. Clothes shopping was the worst. She was naturally thin and store clerks would often point her out as an example of what women were supposed to look like.

(She did enjoy bursting those bubbles whenever she could.)

But since she and Mark were in Paris, she felt that not taking advantage of the stores and boutiques would be wasteful.

She didn't plan on buying any clothing. Maybe souvenirs for friends back in the Bar or in Vegas.

But she had found it. Something that made her break her own rule.

"What've you got there?" Mark asked her, peering at the box in her arms.

"I'll show you." She disappeared for a few minutes, taking the time to brush her hair, put on a slight hint of makeup.

And she stood at the door, one arm resting against it. "Like it?"

Mark was silent.

"If not, I could always take it back--"

Emphatic head-shaking.

"You do like it."

Emphatic nodding.

"Would it be better like...this?" Brushing against him.

Time passed without conscious thought. Then, a soft, slow, lazy voice spoke.

"Guess that's a yes."


Sep. 15th, 2006 03:44 pm
lvpd_sidle: (Mark/Sara -- gippalgoogler)
[ooc: Great muns think alike. And shamelessly steal from each other.]

On the back of a postcard depicting two puppies wrestling
I stand by my statement that Paris would be nicer if it wasn't full of French people. But then again, I don't think that guy will ever try to take a woman's camera again. Ask Mark for details--he filmed it. Well, some of it. He spent most of his time laughing.

On the back of a postcard showing a child running across a doctor's office
Hope that Holby hasn't kept you too busy. Mark dragged me to Paris for my birthday. No complaints. And it's rather beautiful here, all things considered. Avoid the snails. I swear, they put them in everything.
lvpd_sidle: (csi -- baraz)
It might be September, but there is little danger of getting cold in Las Vegas.

The city never sleeps, and neither do the various branches of law enforcement.

The lab is busy when Sara and Mark walk in through the door--Swing shift is leaving and Night shift is about to begin.

Music is playing, an old song by The Who. The atmosphere isn't tense, indicating that there are no pressing cases.

Just another night in Vegas.
lvpd_sidle: (Mark/Sara -- gippalgoogler)
While in Santa Fe, Sara took off her watch. Such might not seem like a big thing to anyone who did not know her well. For the first time in her life, she was not concerned about the time, or what agenda was in store for her.

She relaxed, sitting on the balcony of Mark's hotel room, turning her face up to catch the rays of the sun.

She explored, wandering around the hiking trails, admiring the desolate beauty climate and time had brought to the place.

Mark had cajoled her into appearing in several scenes, mostly by not telling her she was being filmed until after the fact. The crew, at first highly amused to see their director acting like a schoolboy, soon grew used to having Sara around. The discovery of a meat sandwich on her tray in the cafeteria told her that she was seen as one of the crew. The demonstration of her forensic techniques and Adam subsequently being dyed an alarming shade of pink quickly taught the others that she wasn't a member of the crew to be pranked.

All in all, she enjoyed her time in Santa Fe. Not for the movie, the scenery, or the lack of work, though those were certainly bonuses. She enjoyed the sound of Mark breathing beside her, his hand on her shoulder, a kiss brushed to her cheek before he rushed off to continue his work.

A new kind of normal. A kind that she could easily get used to.


Apr. 15th, 2006 11:40 am
lvpd_sidle: (tired -- call_me_daisy)
The sheriff had brought her the news personally.

Found dead in his holding closed.

She breathed in as deeply as she comfortably could, and let it out. Relaxing fully against her pillows in the hospital.

Safe. From him at least. And they still won't tell me his name.

Not her problem anymore.

The bruises stood out in sharp contrast against her skin, and all her movement was stiff, ginger. Barring an infection, she would be released in another two days.

She had finished the book Angel sent. She had terrorized the orderlies with the toy Naraht so thoughtfully provided.

She was bored.
lvpd_sidle: (injured -- rose_noire)
Sara had been in the hospital before, on numerous occasions. But this was the first time she was there under police protection.

It took only five hours for her to get antsy. The doctors came and went, speaking in that infuriatingly patronizing tone, refusing to give her straight answers to her questions.

She had lost a lot of blood and there were numerous hairline fractures all over her body. She wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

Waking up an undetermined time later, she saw that it was daylight. And Grissom was sitting in the visitor's seat, eyes haunted, several packages piled at his feet.

"I didn't see your brothers," he said quietly, "but I spoke with your friends Angel, Guppy, and Naraht. As well as Lord Elrond. They all send their regards, and I do believe Angel and Elrond will visit later, when the protection has been lifted."

"Griss, stop it," she said firmly, catching him off guard. "This guy was smart. But stupid. I'll be all right. You haven't failed."

His eyes widened at her words, and then his shoulders slumped. "It was close, Sara. Too damned close. I'm not prepared to bid goodbye to another member of my family."

Her hand was shaky, but warm, and she covered one of his. "I'll do my best to prevent that from happening."

Several moments passed, and Grissom finally relaxed. "Before I forget," he bent down and retrieved the packages. "Angel sent this book, and Naraht sent this sculpture as well as something to keep you occupied."

She laughed, face scrunching up in pain. "Oh man, I've got to remember not to do that. Tell them thanks for me?"

"Of course."

They chatted for some time, Sara telling him as much of her ordeal as she could remember.

Yet another doctor stopped in at the door. "Ms. Sidle? I'm here to discuss something and you may wish for some privacy," he said, glancing at Grissom.

Sara scowled. "He's family. What's the problem?"

The doctor, Tom Brown, hesitated. "Considering the circumstances in which you were found, and the modus operandi of the perpetrator, we will need to test you for HIV within a month. It is unlikely he sterilized his equipment properly, even if he thought to wash it--"

"I understand the implications, doctor. We are tested quarterly at the crime lab for that reason." She kept her voice controlled. "I'll make those arrangements."

The man nodded and left the room. Without a word, Grissom took her hand again.

She shook her head slowly, remembering the snuff film case.

You cut her throat. Her blood sprayed across your eyes. You killed her. I guess she's killing you back.

Her eyes burned.
lvpd_sidle: (apparitions -- almost_october)
[ooc: Millitimed to Tuesday, February 28th.]

The prank had been a hilarious success. Sara returned to Milliways, laughing heartily and enjoying that laughter immensely.

Returning to her room, she saw the date. A date she hadn't thought of beyond the obvious connotations.

It's been a week since Barry left.

One of the longest weeks of her life.

And I'm able to smile. I'm able to laugh.

She picked up one of their framed pictures, tracing his profile. Surprised to find herself smiling again, without the threat of tears.

This is what you gave me, Barry. Thank you.
lvpd_sidle: (Barry/Sara -- chains_of_irony)
Sara had brought the long-ago promised DVDs of the original Batman series, as well as the first Batman movies. They curled up on the couch, laughing heartily at the wooden acting, cheesy costumes, and plot holes.

525,600 minutes

It was so good to hear Barry laugh without restraint.

525,000 journeys to plan

She watched him openly, drinking in the sight, sound, and touch of him hungrily, like a nomad would at an oasis.

525,600 minutes

He has been her oasis these many months.

How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

She knew he wanted her to move on with her life after he left. And she had already promised her friends that she would live and not bury herself in her work.

How do you figure a last year on Earth?

Seeing him laugh and hold her tightly was enough to assuage the ever present sadness at knowing what would happen. He loved her, and she loved him.

Measure in love.

What else needed to be said?


lvpd_sidle: (Default)
Sara Sidle

March 2008

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