milliways_bar | (no subject)

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OOM: Directly after this happens.

Sara is back at the bar. At the moment, she wants nothing more than to find oblivion at the bottom of a bottle.

Instead, she curls up on a couch near the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket. Despite the heat, she feels cold.

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"You can stay if you like. And...thanks. I appreciate it." She smiles a bit.

"I'll be all right. I just...need to mourn her. Otherwise I won't be able to move on from her."

"Then I'll stay.

"I don't know much about how to mourn. Oh, I've done enough in my life, but it never seems to be enough. Or right for anyone else."

Sara sighs. "Well, it would differ from person to person."

"I didn't know Pamela, so I can't share memories of her a la an Irish wake. But I can mourn the future she lost, the potential she had."

"Would you want to listen to suggestion from someone who's been through something different but similar? I warn you that it might be a bit...odd, and if you aren't up for it, I will keep quiet."

"I'm open for anything that is legal, or results in the humiliation of the people I despise," she replies, smiling a little bit.

"But seriously, I'd be glad to hear whatever it is."

"I never got to meet my children. And my grandson told me that not long after he was born, they were killed.

"I didn't know how to mourn them. I didn't know them. I didn't know what had been lost. But I talked it over with my closest friend here, and two things came to me. One was that I should be there for my grandson. Be the father he didn't have. The other was that a toast in their memory and honor with my friend would probably help. It did."

"But that might be just me."

"Oh my god." Sara is horrified. "I am so sorry, Barry."

"A toast?" She smiles again. "I should have thought of that."

"Care to join in?" So saying, she orders another mug of hot chocolate.

"If you'll let me." He says nothing but he's glas it's on hot chocolate. Though he would have been happy to make sure she didn't drink alone, either.

Too damned early in the day for drinking. And Sara learned her lesson about self-medication when she nearly was arrested for a DUI.

"Wouldn't have asked, otherwise." She pushes over a mug.

He takes the mug and offers a quiet, understated smile. And remembers the old saying about grief shared being grief lessened.

Sara stares at the floor for a moment, then raises her mug.

"In memory of Pamela Adler, a woman taken well before her time. In memory of others like her, who are unknown to those who find them."

Her voice quiets. "And in memory of those victims yet unreported. Who live with a horror none should ever know."

She takes a long drink.

Barry listens and then drinks. A tear comes to his eye, as he remembers his own failures, his own cases that he couldn't solve, his own humanity.

And as he think about all the cops and lawmen and lab techs who ever felt the same way.

"that was nice," he says in a whisper.

She looks at him, laughs slightly, and digs out a handkerchief. "Here. And...thank you. For, well, everything."

"Hey, it's what friends are for." He takes the hankie and smiles, noticing that she isn't crying anymore.

"Don't laugh. Some men cry. At least, I hope we do. Otherwise I've been making a fool of myself for years."

"Of course men cry. I just..needed to laugh, I guess." She shrugs.

"It feels better than crying, at least."

"When I was growing up, men didn't cry. Certainly not in Fallville, Iowa. Took my wife a little while to convince me that being an emotional vacuum was unhealthy. But I still know men who won't cry. Most of them cops, of course.

"There is a poem that says something like, if I laugh it is so I do not cry."

"I think Abraham Lincoln said something very similar."

"And it's true that most men think they're not supposed to cry. But I've seen the Vegas cops cry. And when one of our CSIs was killed, the entire department, even down to the temps, was in mourning."

She places a hand on one of his shoulders. "And it's fine with me if you cry. S'why I gave you the hankie." She smiles.

He tentatively touches her hand, more to acknoweldge that she's letting him help, and vice versa. But he takes it back soon after, not sure what's appropriate.

"You must be from a later time than me, then, if cops cry. In Vegas.

He pauses to take in the idea that a forensics cop would be killed in the line of duty. But there's been enough mourning for one day.

"Yeah...the current year for me is 2005." She treads the subject delicately. "All CSIs are trained and carry guns. It's gotten to be very dangerous. Holly...was disarmed by the perp and shot with her own weapon. We did catch him though."

Shaking her head clear of those thoughts, she inwardly agrees that there's been enough sadness for one day.

"Yeah, I was from a earlier time. Maybe a little less violent, but not by much." He goes quiet, and lets the sadness pass a little.

"It's a scary thought to think that someday..my time will be considered 'the good ol' days. But enough of that."

She shakes her head, a determined look on her face. "I'm tired of this sadness. I'm...letting it go. Letting her go." Letting them go.

"Good.

"And I think this is a good place to do that. Milliways, I mean."

"Yeah." She smiles again. "People don't seem to judge so much here. At least no one I've met has. It's refreshing."

"I was like that, actually. Guess it was hard to let go after years of dealing with the bad guys. But when I met Faith, I judged her on what I thought she was, and not who she is. Took me till last week to apologize."

[ooc: gotta wrap - work ate my brains. more to come?]

OOC: Fine with me. I'll probably be on later this evening.

"Old habits die hard, Barry. Don't be so harsh on yourself."

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