Disclaimer: I do not own CSI.
Author's Note: Just another story that I found whilst ridding my computer of old files. Set during
Fragile, you decide with a frown. That's how you see her now. Almost childlike, in a way, and that startled you at first. Her hair damp and clinging to her neck, her eyes closed as she attempts to sleep, she looks nothing like the woman you are familiar with. She's vulnerable, something that you never expected. It is a scene that you cannot fully grasp.
Lady Heather, you sigh as the name flashes in your mind. That was how you once addressed her. But that was before recent events. Before her daughter was murdered, prior to her relentless efforts to find her grandchild. The name, the one that came with her profession, was before she lost herself.
You have been watching her for a while, the time passing as if someone has hit the fast forward button on life. Her heart monitor has been beeping in that same succession since you arrived. Fifty-three times a minute, give or take a few beats throughout her sleep. You've counted, unconsciously, and find yourself wondering why. Perhaps the counting could be attributed to tedium. Curiosity seems like a more believable choice. The problem with your theory about tedium is that you are not bored whilst watching her. In the same room with her, despite the fact that it is a hospital room, you find yourself fascinated by her. She's asleep, and she's still captivating. You have never met anyone else who intrigues you in that same way, and it only heightens your interest.
She moves in her slumber, her fingernails clutching the white bed sheet beneath her form. You relocate to the edge of her bed, your finger on the "call" button, ready in case a nurse or doctor would be needed. As her hand relaxes, so do you. Your heart is still thumping wildly in your chest as you settle in the chair you have been sitting in for countless hours.
Your head drops, eyes fixed upon the tiled floor. Various scuffs and scratches appear in the dim light and you use them as a distraction. Something to take your mind off of everything, which was why you showed up in the first place. You thought that if you saw her, if you watched her chest rise and fall with each breath, you would be fine. You have watched her all evening and you feel even more unsettled than before.
Despite several of the physician's words, the sentences that ran together when telling you that she will not wake up for quite a while, you cannot leave her side. A part of you feels guilty, responsible for this. Had you not abandoned her after her daughter's death, she would not have felt so alone and compelled to end her life. The other part, the rational side that has been begging you to turn around ever since you entered her room, almost persuades you that it is not true. Feelings of solitude present or not, she was determined to do something. And had that security guard not found her, she would have succeeded.
The minutes fly past, the tick-tocks from the clock on the wall sounding magnified by the silence of the room. It's the only noise besides the heart monitor, but you are not complaining. The silence is a welcome change, even if it's spent with a woman who has been drifting in and out of consciousness since your arrival. She doesn't know that you are present, but would probably be annoyed by your presence if she did. No, forget probably. You know for a fact that she would be livid upon seeing you.
A rustling noise catches your attention and you raise your head to see what is causing the sound. You silently watch as Heather stirs, her eyes fluttering open and closed as she adjusts to the dim lighting. She's oblivious to your presence as she stretches, to the best of her ability considering her injuries, and collapses against the bed in a drug induced sleep.
Relaxing into your chair, to the best of your ability, you settle in for what is sure to be a long night. After all, you're the only one she trusts and although she would never admit it, she would rather to be there with her.