Disclaimer: Not mine, but with characters this enticing, can you blame me for wanting to borrow?

The Blind Side

Her kit was the last thing to go into the Denali. It was placed in behind the evidence, to the side, tucked into one corner. It stood mostly upright, leaning slightly to one side, resting on the first aid kit and emergency blanket. She glanced at it briefly, taking a mental inventory of things that had needed to be loaded, before closing the back door. Brushing the dirt from her hands, she moved around the car, to the driver's side front door, glancing up at the sky and watching as dark clouds formed above her.

The rain was coming and definitely not too late. Any earlier and there was no telling what evidence would have been compromised. Even though the crime scene was inside, the roof of the old building was filled with holes, the windows were either missing or broken, and boards were kicked in, creating large openings in the walls. Feeling the wind whip the first drops of rain around her, she shivered and stepped into the driver's seat, closing the door behind her.

"Yeah, Warrick, it's all loaded. I'm just leaving the scene now." She started the truck, immediately turning on the heat. "I'll be..." she glanced at the dash, at the gas gage, a quarter tank, showing her a stop in Beatty would be in order, and then at the dark clouds outside, "at least three and a half hours."

Warrick's reply was to begin to update her on his end of the case. She sat in the truck, listening to him, and continued to watch the weather outside. The rain was coming down hard, whipping in the wind and pounding on the building. The heavy drops of water peeled back the already peeling paint on the run-down building, revealing older layers of paint in colors that should never have been used. All of the buildings in that small town were so old and in so much disrepair, the atmosphere of the place only added to the creep factor of having to investigate a murder in one of its abandoned buildings. She couldn't wait to get away from there, away from Lida, away from the run down buildings, away from the not quite ghost town and away from the foreboding weather. From the shelter of her car, Sara shivered again, still listening to Warrick and trying to fight any budding resentment towards him after he booked it out of town with the body and the first truck load of evidence. Sure, normally she didn't mind staying behind at the scene and sure, he was newly married and wanted to get back to his wife, and somebody needed to sit in on the autopsy, but he'd been the first to leave Pioche on that case only a short couple of weeks before and this time, he hadn't left her with Nick and Greg. He'd left her alone.

"Yeah," she broke in. "I finished just in time. It's beginning to pour here."

She pulled on her seatbelt. "I cannot wait to get out of here." She paused while he chuckled. "Yes, Rick, I'll drive carefully." Though she pretended to sound annoyed, she couldn't help but smile. "Alright, I'll see you in a bit."

Though she was now in the shelter of her vehicle, she pulled her jacket tighter around her to ward off the chill that had settled in her spine. Outside, the rain continued to whip around, thrashing against the truck. She pulled away from the building and drove through the old town, until she was on the road. The windshield wipers pivoted back and forth feverishly, thrusting the rain from her windshield and throwing the drops off to the side. Driving slowly, she leaned forward, glimpsing out at the road between the wipers and the rain. After plenty of time and little progress, she sighed, pulling over to the side of the road. She flipped open her phone, wanting to update Warrick and let him know she might be awhile yet, thinking that it might be a good idea to find a hotel somewhere along the stretch, though she doubted she'd find one until she hit Beatty. Stopping at the next town would, however, allow her to get a cup of coffee while she waited for the downpour to end, but when she glanced down at the phone, she discovered that she didn't have any service. She sighed again, flipping the phone closed and she debated on what to do next. She pressed on, thinking she could stop at the next town if need be and try Warrick again. He wouldn't be expecting her for another couple of hours anyways.

Mercifully, the rain began to let up until it was no longer pouring, but hovering between a light rain and something just a little more intense. She picked up speed, nearing speed limit, seeing that it was turning into a nicer evening. It was stunning really, driving through the slightly forested area, the not quite rain, in the not quite dark dusk of the evening, the mist settling over everything, the darkened pines and junipers to the sides of the road, the hazy light of the stars above trying to peek through the mist. She turned her stereo on low and began to hum softly along.

The Denali moved through that area, maintaining a speed just short of speed limit, the limited visibility stopping her from accelerating any further. She drove on leisurely, taking in what scenery she could, finding the misty wood hauntingly beautiful. Then, in a flash, she saw something, a blur almost, sprinting across the road in front of her. It came out of nowhere, dashing out of the trees and the haze, across the road in the dusk and the rain, a blur without warning. Blinking, she slammed her breaks hard, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and hitting the horn with the other, but she could not slow the car enough to avoid the loud thump that followed. Whatever it was that flew out in front of her, had been hit, hard and fast.

Shaking, she pulled over to the side of the road and turned the car off. She stared forward, out of the windshield, trying to think, to reason, to remain calm and in control, trying to catch her breath. She could see nothing in front of her, only the rain, the shadowed trees framing either side of the road, and her lights glowing in the dusk. You hit something, she told herself. Report it. Document it. Take pictures. Check out the car. She went through the list as the original shock and calm gave way to realization and sorrow. She hit something and she didn't know where it was. Had it bolted off, unharmed? It was almost too much to hope for. She had to see that it was alright, or dead, not suffering. God, what if she only wounded it? She remembered once, seeing a dog get hit by a car and the dog dragging its hind quarters down the street. It had deeply disturbed her. What if she'd done the same to this other poor animal?

Slowly, she undid her seatbelt and stepped out of the Denali. A pain shot through her wrist and the dim realization that she must have slammed it on the steering wheel when she laid on her horn and hit the animal, filtered into the edge of her consciousness. She ignored the pain and the rain falling down on her and moved around to the front of the vehicle, preparing herself for what she might see.

There was no animal…and no blood. On the right side, her bumper and fender were pushed in, her hood pushed up. The right headlight was shattered and the grill smashed. There were short white and brown hairs all over the front and the right side of the truck, the majority in where the damage was done, the rest spraying out over the hood and along the right side of the Denali. She began gasping for breath. A hand came up to pinch the bridge of her nose and she felt the first tears forming in her eyes. It was not good. It was no minor collision. She had to find the animal first, and make sure it wasn't suffering.

She moved around the car again, opening the driver's side door. She pulled out a flashlight and then glanced at her side arm. Hand shaking, she reached for it. Her cell was the last thing she grabbed.

"Please have service," she whispered, tears now stinging her eyes. She closed her eyes, sending out the plea again and sighing in relief when she reopened them and found a faint signal. It was far from strong, but it was there. She moved towards the ditch, but the cell signal cut out, so she retreated back to her truck. Her hands were rather shaky as she held the phone and she had to close and reopen her fist several times before she was able to press down on the number on the speed dial. She held her breath, but not for long, as he answered on the second ring. She took a deep breath, pushing away the tears that wanted to spill from her eyes. "Grissom? I…"

Why hadn't she called Warrick first? He'd be far easier to talk to. He always was. It was his case and he would reassure her and give her time to prepare for speaking with Grissom. But then, there was Grissom's voice, on the other end of the line, saying her name and sounding anxious and so, so beautiful. She could have cried, was on the verge of it.

"I…I hit an animal…a deer I think."

She was crying now. Her hand came up and violently wiped the tears from her eyes. Her cheeks stung with rain and wind and tears. And then, Grissom was speaking again, concerned, fretful perhaps? "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she sniffled. It felt so good to be able to lean on him, even if it was just over the phone. "Yeah, I'm fine. I bumped my wrist, but…"

"Where are you?"

Thinking back to how little progress she made, she told him what she thought, and then checked her coordinates on her GPS.

"What happened?"

She sniffled again. "It sprinted out from the trees, right across the road, left to right. It's dark and raining and I didn't see it until it flew across the road." She paused, on the verge of crying again. "I have to go find it."

"Is it alive?"

"I…I don't know." She was frantic. "I was about to check. I have to go see."

"Okay."There was a pause. "Where is the evidence from your case?"

"I…" She frowned. "It's in the truck."

"Alright honey, secure the truck and go check on the animal. I'll stay with you."

"Griss, the signal…" She stopped, taking tentative steps towards the trees. She needed him, but, even more, she needed to remain in control. "Okay."

"Be careful honey."

She took a deep breath. Signal still there. She still had him. "Yeah," she whispered into the phone wandering down the road along the edge of the trees.

Grissom spoke softly over the phone, his voice cutting in and out. Walking slowly, she shone her flashlight into the trees, searching. When she found the animal, struggling up the bank towards a grouping of pines, she stopped, her heart breaking. Tears streamed down her face. "Griss," she cried, not even knowing if she had a signal, or if he could hear her, "it's a deer. It's still alive. He's suffering."

"Honey, you know what you have to do."

He was there but his words weren't much comfort. She couldn't imagine, and yet, there she was. "I can't."

"Honey, you have to do this. You can't let it suffer."

"I know," she choked out.

"I'm with you, Sara. Do you have your sidearm?"

She patted her thigh and nodded, forgetting he could not see her. "Yeah," she spit out, barely breathing.

"Okay, put down the phone. I'm still here. I'll stay here."

She nodded again, a useless, futile move, but she could not force any more words out. The phone dropped to the ground. Her side arm came out, shaking with her hands. The magazine hit the handle as she, shakily, tried to slide it into the gun. She lifted the gun, trying to control the tremble in her hands, and aimed.

Tears streaming, she stared at the mule deer, trying to control the shaking. The deer tried to drag its hind quarters as that dog had so many years before. Gun on target, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger.

Her hand was shaking even more violently than ever when she lowered her weapon. For moments, all she could do was stare at the dead deer, watching the rain fall upon it. She was soaking wet, but she couldn't feel it. Numb, she took out the magazine, fastened it and her gun to her holster and bent to pick up the phone. Placing the phone next to her ear, she sniffled into it, continuing to stare at the deer.

Grissom's voice was gentle in her ear. "I know that was hard, but you did very well, honey. I'll have somebody from Beatty pick up the deer and document the shot."

Sara let out a strangled sob. She began walking back to her car, clutching the phone in her hand, holding it to her ear. Grissom continued to speak softly, offering tender reassurances, though half of them were lost to the cutting out of the phone. When she reached the Denali, she forced her mind to bury thoughts of the deer. It was dead and she'd killed it. Now, she was completely numb…detached.

Eyes almost glazed, she stared at the truck. "Griss, the truck…"

"How bad is it?"

"The front end on the right side is all smashed up."

"Is it drivable?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Do you want me to get it towed and have somebody pick you up?"

"No!" She shook her head. "No, I can drive it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." She paused. "Griss?"

"Yes?"

"I still have to take pictures."

"Okay, do that, then, I need you to drive to the Police Station in Beatty. I don't want you driving all the way back to Vegas in a smashed up truck with only one headlight. I'll have the police there secure the evidence from yours and Warrick's case."

"Okay."

"I'll book you a room in Beatty. Have an officer drive you there and get some rest. I'll be out to pick you and the evidence up."

"Alright."

"I'll let Warrick know what's happening, okay?"

"Okay."

"And I'll call you back with your hotel reservations."

"Yeah."

He ended the call with what almost seemed like reluctance. Sara took a few deep breaths, and then opened the door to the Denali, lifting her camera from the floor of the passenger seat. She checked it, hoping that getting thrown from the passenger seat hadn't caused any damage. The camera seemed fine, so she took it and began snapping photos of her vehicle.

Multiple photos taken, she slipped the camera strap from her neck and opened up her door. Her phone rang and Grissom had her hotel reservations. He was all comfort and calm reassurances once again, asking if she was sure she wanted to drive. She did, mostly because she did not want to wait, and he understood. "Griss," she whispered just before he hung up.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He clutched the phone to his chest, fear easing its grip from his heart and sorrow replacing it. He'd almost stopped breathing when he first heard her voice, so scared, on the other end of the line. His heart had been in his throat the entire conversation. The thought of Sara in an accident, possibly hurting herself… And then, talking her through having to do something that was so incredibly painful. He'd actually closed his eyes and flinched at the sound of the gunshot. How hard must it have been for Sara to shoot that deer, Sara who loved animals, Sara who hated the thought of killing anything? For Sara, killing an animal was nearly as bad as killing a person. It hurt him to think about the pain and anguish it must have caused her. Thinking of her anguish only seemed to lead to his own.

The first thing he did was phone the Police Station in Beatty, sorting out what needed to be done with regards to the animal and the bullet, fired from a police issued weapon. He would deal with whatever nightmare came about from all of that. He made sure that all of Sara's work gathering evidence would not be for naught, that the chain of custody would not be broken. He prepared them for her, and, worried about her driving her wrecked truck as it got darker with the night, he asked the officers to send a car out to meet her and escort her back.

After his phone call with the Police Department in Beatty, he did a quick search of hotels, booking Sara in a small motel as vacancies were surprisingly hard to come by. He booked the room under his name, not Sara's, and not under the lab. He asked the clerk to give her a key and informed them that he would be arriving later and would like a key of his own ready so as not to disturb her. Then, he phoned Sara with the details, relieved when she told him that she was finished photographing and on her way.

It took a few minutes to inform Warrick of what had happened, having to fend off Warrick's concerned questions, to inform Ecklie, having to fend off Ecklie's annoyance, and let Catherine know that she had shift, having to fend off any and all questions she might have wanted to put forth. Then, he was on the road, anxious to get to Beatty.

He drove straight to the hotel, figuring the Police Department could wait. Sara was his priority. When he checked in, the clerk looked at him, surprised, informing him that Sara had only just checked in less than a half hour before. Ignoring the clerk's questioning glance, he took his key and walked out of the office, down the row of rooms, to the very last room, next to the saloon. He put the key in the lock, turned the door handle slowly and softly entered the room.

His breath left him the instant he entered the room. Standing in the doorway, he felt a pain akin to heartbreak. Sara, lying, facing away from him and trembling on the bed, stilled only a moment, turning her head to glance at him before turning back and trembling again. It worried him, watching her non-reaction, seeing her curled up on top of the bed, cloths wet and clinging to her, quivering.

Grissom closed the door behind him and moved to the bed, sitting on the edge. He watched her shiver and placed a hand on her back, rubbing up and down softly, his open palm to bring warmth through her wet t-shirt. His hand slipped beneath the shirt, gliding over her soft, soft skin. He slipped off his shoes and slowly pushed himself back on the bed. He crawled behind her and lay on his side. One hand lifted to brush the moist hair from her face. He followed his finger with his lips, softly kissing the top edge of her cheek bone, over the white lines left by her tears. His hand slid down her arm, his fingers finding a bump just above her wrist. When his hand went over it, Sara winced and he winced at himself for causing her pain. He glanced down at the bump, at the bruise beginning to form. His mouth, open and hot, dipped to her shoulder, inching away the material there and landing on her skin. He placed a warm, moist, open-mouthed kiss on her shoulder as his fingers ran softly over her the bump again.

Sara shivered against him. Slowly, he sat up and guided her with him. Pulling back the covers on the bed, he helped her under. His hand fell to her waist and he pulled her trembling body against his chest. She was cold and wet and still shivering against his warm body, so slowly, he helped peel off her t-shirt and her jeans, leaving her in only her bra and panties, and then re-tucked her in. Lying behind her again, he pulled her back to his chest, slid his hand lightly down her arm and linked his fingers with hers, his thumb brushing over her thumb. His nose nudged the hair away from the back of her neck and he held her close.

"I'm here," he whispered, hearing nothing in return, only the softness of her breaths and the country music filtering through the walls from the bar next to the room.

And even though we ain't got money
I'm so in love with you honey…

His mouth formed a slight smile and he felt Sara's body push back into him and her hand release his so that her arms could pull his tighter around her. He adjusted, shifting closer, slipping one of his legs between hers. He strengthened his embrace, his palm, warm and comforting, falling to her bare stomach, to the soft skin of her abdomen, holding her quivering body tightly as her trembles slowed.

"I guess we should get the evidence and head back." Her voice came out even, controlled, flat.

He shook his head, his nose catching on the back of her neck. "No," he whispered and brushed his thumb over her skin. "We'll get to it in the morning. Tonight, just rest."

"Gil?" He felt her attempt to turn in his arms, but he held her in place.

"Ssh, Sara. We don't have to do that tonight." He felt her shiver and he tilted his head forward and kissed the nape of her neck. He hugged her tighter. "Come on, let's get some sleep."

Though her trembles had slowed, they still remained, soft, subtle. "I can't." It sounded as though she wanted to say more, so he waited. "I close my eyes and I see it."

Her words pained him. This would haunt her. He knew it would. It would haunt her dreams and add to her already all too present nightmares, the nightmares he'd been personally trying to banish from her sleep for the past two months, and in the process, finding that somehow, he slept better as well. He squeezed her, trying to bring whatever comfort he could. His heart was breaking for her. What could he say? Nothing. There is was, as blatant and clear as ever, his utter impotence at stopping the hurt and the pain and the weight that was Sara. He could only hold her and hope that with time, the nightmares disappeared. His hand stopped the brushing motion over her stomach and lifted, to land upon her hand once again. He linked his fingers to hers, bringing both their hands to rest over her stomach. He brushed his thumb over that skin, soft and delicate, his motion light and soothing. His other arm wrapped around her shoulders. He tightened his arms around her. He pulled her back and pushed himself forward, trying to press himself as tightly against her as he could. His face fell to the base of her neck, into her shoulder. "I've got you, honey," he whispered. "Everything is gonna be alright."

It took some time, but he waited for Sara's trembles to halt and her breathing to even out. She let out a soft sigh and he thought that if he could do this for the rest of his life, maybe whatever scars had cut so deeply into each of them, would gradually heal. He held her, taking the now for the now. When the tell tale signs of Sara sleeping reached him, he pressed a tender kiss to her shoulder and joined her.

Fin

A/N:The song is "Danny's Song," written by Kenny Loggins, and performed originally by Loggins and Messina, though the version I was imagining in my head for this story was Anne Murray's.

Thank you for reading.