Your Guardian Angel
Summary: When the team splits up to scour the desert, Greg finds Sara first. Sandle, with canon GSR (yes, I promise, it works).
Author's Note: Spoilers tell me the season eight opener isn't anything like this, but that's what fan fiction is for, isn't it? Also, this is a song fic but rather than include the lyrics, I made a video with the actual song, because if you ask me, music isn't music without the melody. Look for it in my profile (under the 'Fic Related Videos' category) or go here: http://www.youtube. com/watch?v(Equal Sign)MjLp16ejVh8 Remove the space between the . com and change (equal sign) into an actual equal sign. And now for the fic. (I lied, I include the lyrics to the chorus in this. :oP)
EDIT: Found too many typos and grammatical errors for my liking, so I fixed them. No (or at least, fewer) bugs in this story.
"I will never let you fall
I'll stand up with you forever
I'll be there for you through it all
Even if saving you sends me to heaven."
-- "Your Guardian Angel" by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
Greg couldn't get rid of that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looked out the window, scouring the vacant desert beneath them. Judging by the plant life Natalie had included in her miniature, they had been able to narrow it down their search area, but the crafty and annoying Miniature Killer hadn't given them any other clues but that.
"Hey!" the pilot of the chopper called over the roar of the propeller. "Storm's getting too strong up here, we're going to have to take her down soon."
"Keep. Flying," Greg told him as clearly as he could through gritted teeth. He quickly returned to his search, but the pilot spoke to him again.
"I don't think you understand," yelled the pilot. "We got winds up here at sixty miles per hour, that can knock us out of the sky."
"I don't care," Greg yelled back, his eyes never leaving the ground below. "We're not landing until we find her!"
The pilot grumbled, and Greg knew what he must have been muttering. But Greg pushed such pessimistic thoughts out of his head. If it really got too dangerous, in the end it was the pilot who was in charge, not Greg, and no matter what Greg said, the pilot would land the chopper. Greg knew that. But he would die before he stopped looking for her, even if he was only looking now for a dead body.
And then, like a beacon in the darkest night, he saw it and a spasm of hope shot through his heart. "There!" he screamed at the pilot, pointing down. "There it is, I see it!"
"Thank God!" the pilot said and he took the chopper down. Greg was already throwing on one of the windbreakers that read 'Forensics' across the back as he took a flashlight and checked its batteries. The pilot couldn't land the chopper fast enough. Greg grabbed his phone to dial the others, but there was no signal. He called to the pilot.
"Can you radio in that we have a location?" he called.
"I've been trying," the pilot replied. "All I'm getting is static. It happens sometimes in a storm like this. We're probably still on their radar, though. If they see we've stopped, they'll wonder why."
"Or they may just think we did it to come down from the storm…" Greg said, nervously.
"Either way, I'll keep trying," the pilot promised Greg as he landed the chopper.
The chopper was five feet from the ground when Greg leapt out, and as he landed a shot of pain struck the muscles in his legs, but he ignored it as he ran to the edge of a ravine, at the bottom of which lay the wrecked car, which was balanced precariously over what seemed to be a small indentation in the ground. The adrenaline rushed through his body, his heart pounding in his ears, or maybe it was the rain splattering down from the skies above from which he had just descended. He skidded over the edge of the ravine, the mud causing a small avalanche as it carried him down the slope to the bottom where he once more broke into a run. He could see her hand, but couldn't see it moving. His heart nearly stopped.
He fell to his knees and seized the pale, muddy hand, praying to God that there was still life in the body it was connected to. And then, ever so slightly, the hand squeezed his. Not caring at all about the rain or mud, Greg threw himself completely to the ground so he could shine his flashlight into the hole from which her arm was protruding, and maybe see a face…
She was half-drowned, and her arm and shoulder was brown and gray, covered in the mud as her mouth fought to stay above the water that was collecting in the small indentation in which she lay. He placed the flashlight on the ground so he could still see her and put his other hand on top of hers, sandwiching it between his desperate grip.
"Sara?" he breathed. "Can you hear me?"
She coughed. "Grissom…?"
His heart skipped a beat. "Oh my God…" he whispered. One of his hands traced up her arm and shoulder until it reached her face. He tried to push her wet hair out of her eyes as she spluttered. "Sara… It's Greg."
He wasn't sure, but he thought she laughed. "I know," she choked. "I know that Sanders scent."
Greg smiled as the tears coursed down his cheeks, indistinguishable from the raindrops. "Grissom's coming. I promise."
"I… can't…" She broke off in fits of coughing.
"Don't say you can't," Greg said, squeezing her hand extra tightly as he wiped the mud from her face. He reached her eyes and she blinked. It was such a relief to see those beautiful brown eyes staring back at him. "You're Sara Sidle. You can do anything."
"I'm not…" she seemed to wince in pain, "… a superhero."
"You've always been one to me," Greg said sincerely.
She seemed to almost laugh again, though it looked to cause her some pain. "Oh? And what's my… power?"
Her voice was fading away. "Super strength," Greg told her.
She closed her eyes again and her grip tightened on his hand as she was wracked with a spasm of pain. "If that were the case…" she breathed after it had passed, "don't you think I would have… lifted this car up by now?"
Greg shook his head. "Not that kind of strength," he told her.
"I can't… breathe…" she choked, and began to splutter again.
"Sara?" Greg called. "Sara!" He squeezed her hand tighter and tried to dig underneath her in the mud, pulling out some of the water and splashing himself with it as he did so. "Sara, just hold on, help is on the way, I promise."
She was crying. The tears left trails down her muddy cheeks. "It hurts…"
"I know," Greg said, swallowing to open up his throat. "I know it hurts. You've been so strong so far, Sara, just hold on. I won't let you die, OK? Even if I have to stay here with you until I drown myself, I'm not going to let you die on me!"
"Isn't that… a little… selfish?" she sobbed. "I don't want to wait…"
But he clung tightly to her hand and cupped her cheek as he pushed her tears away with his thumb. "Yeah, it's selfish," he said. "But don't you want to see Grissom? Don't you want to say goodbye at least?"
Mentioning Grissom had been a bad idea as she let out another sob. "Grissom… I'm so sorry, Greg."
"You have nothing to apologize for, OK? Just hang in there for me." He began to dig out more mud and water, though when he dug some out, more just seemed to flood right back in.
"I tried that…" she told him. "It doesn't work."
"Aw, you're just being pessimistic," Greg said with a forced laugh.
"Tell me a joke," she begged.
Greg opened his mouth to speak when, for the first time in his life, found his mind completely blank of witticisms. He wracked his brain in horror, trying to think of something to say, something funny, something clever, something to make her smile, but not laugh as it would hurt. Something to keep her here, in this world, with him.
She squeezed his hand at his silence. "Please?"
Her strained plea sparked something in the humor center of his brain. "OK," he said. "A new inmate is nervous because his cellmate looks really buff. But his cellmate reassures him and says, 'Don't worry, I'm in here for a white-collar crime.' The inmate says, 'Oh?' and the cellmate replies, 'Yeah. I killed a priest.'"
It had the desired effect. She smiled at him. "You're an angel…" she whispered, a gray veil beginning to cloud her eyes.
"If I tell you another joke, will you stay with me?" Greg pleaded, pulling on her arm.
She groaned, like a child being awoken too early for school. "I'm so tired, Greg…"
He launched into another one. "An Irish brewery worker goes to his coworker's home to tell his wife that her husband died in a work related accident. She asks him how it happened and he tells her that he fell into a vat of beer. She asks him, 'well did he at least go quickly?' to which the friend replied, 'To be honest, no, he didn't. In fact, he got out three times to pee.'"
She laughed lightly, deliriously. "Grissom, what would I do without you…?"
His heart pattered against his chest as he squeezed her hand again and pushed her hair back from her forehead. Her eyes were closed, but she was still breathing. "Sara? Sara, are you OK? Can you wake up for me, sweetheart?"
"So… cold…" she muttered.
He rubbed her hand between his own two hands in a vain attempt to bring some warmth to her body. And then, he felt the windbreaker on his back. Straightening up for a moment, he took of his jacket and put it over her arm and shoulder and whatever else of her he could reach. She smiled at him when she saw his face again.
"I thought you were leaving me," she whispered.
"I would never leave you," Greg told her.
She blinked at him and her eyes fell closed again. "Would you kiss me?"
She still thinks I'm Grissom… Greg thought dismally. "Sara, I don't think you really want that."
"Please…" she begged again, breathless. "I'm in so much pain. I need something soft. Something to help me hold on. Please?"
Greg's stomach was tying itself in knots. He looked over the edge of the ravine and saw the top of the chopper he had landed in, but that was all. He looked back to Sara. "OK," he said. "I don't know if I can reach you…"
"Try," she said, the word coming out as a grunt of pain. He obliged and got as low to the ground as he could, moving towards the opening. It was awkward, and less than comfortable for Greg as he tried to move under the car. But after a few minutes, he had finally gotten into a position where he was about an inch away from Sara's face. He closed his eyes and softly caressed her lips with his own.
In all honesty, it was a terrible kiss. Her chapped lips were covered in mud and icy cold, and her hair fell across her face. Greg's hand couldn't fit in there with him, so neither of them could push it away. He felt the tears running down her face and land on his own cheeks as if he had shed them himself. Her body was trembling, and he fought to steady her by being slow and soft, reassuring her with his touch as he tried to make an awkward situation for him at least somewhat comforting for her. He broke away when she let out another sob. In any other situation, if a girl started sobbing after he kissed her, Greg would have taken offense. Now, he just felt terrible.
"I'm sorry, Sara…" he whispered honestly. "I'm sorry that I'm not really Gris—"
"Thank you, Greg," she whispered with a sniff. "Thank you so much."
A smile slowly spread across his face and his cheeks flushed.
And then, Greg heard something that wasn't Sara's rattled breathing. Someone was calling to him. His heartbeat quickened. "Sara, hold on a minute…"
He wiggled a little in the mud and tried to get out from the little ways under the car he had gone. Even just getting his head out from under the car was difficult, but manageable. He straightened up and looked at the figure standing on the edge of the ravine, waving his arms at Greg with a flashlight in each hand.
"What is it?" he screamed at the pilot. He saw the pilot's flashlight gesture somewhere over the edge of the ravine and then, Greg saw them. They were running at top speed, with Grissom at the lead who stumbled down the slope of the ravine and over to the car where he knelt down next to Greg, who moved aside so Grissom could see Sara.
He took the hand Greg had held for so long. "Sara?" Grissom whispered.
She let out a painful cry in reply. "Greg?" she wheezed. "Have you… left me?"
Grissom looked at Greg expectantly, but Greg only had eyes for Sara. The others were showing up now. Nick knelt down next to Grissom as Catherine seemed to gesture at someone over the edge of the ravine. Warrick was doing something on the other side of the car.
"No, Sara," Greg said. "I'm still here. I told you I'd stay."
"OK, Sara," said Nick loudly, and Greg saw she squeezed Grissom's hand more tightly at his voice. "We've got a crane in here, we're gonna help get that car off of you. You just gotta stay still, OK?"
"Nick?" Sara gasped.
He smiled. "Hi there, darlin'," he replied.
"Grissom…" she said. "Grissom… oh God…" She began to sob again. "You're here… you're really here."
"She ready to go?" Catherine shouted over the rain.
"Give them the signal!" Nick yelled back.
And then, Greg realized what Catherine was waving at. Looking beyond the car, he saw a small crane. Warrick had attached its hooks to strategic locations on the car so they could move it with as little damage to Sara as possible. The crane moved and the car jerked. Sara let out another cry.
"It's OK," Grissom told her. "Just hold on, Sara. Please, just hold on."
She coughed up another laugh. "You sound like Greg…"
Grissom looked at Greg and cracked a small smile himself. "Sometimes he can be quite intelligent," Grissom told Sara.
The paramedics were rushing over the edge of the ravine and ushering both Grissom and Greg away from Sara.
"I have to step back for the paramedics," Grissom told her. "But we're still here." He reluctantly let go of her hand, a pained expression on his face as he watched her grasp at the air.
"Grissom…? Greg? Did you… leave…?"
Greg hesitated a moment before he snatched up her desperate hand and refused to move.
"I'm not leaving her!" Greg screamed at them. "Work around me."
The paramedics looked frustrated. "Greg!" Grissom said. "Step back!"
Greg was torn. Her desperate eyes were screaming at him, but so were the paramedics. The car lifted higher.
"If she's injured, we need to see where she's bleeding immediately. The water could thin her blood, so it may appear that there's more than there really is. It'll be harder to find the wound. Move!"
But he didn't. He held on tightly to her hand and adopted a new tactic. He threw himself flat on the ground and stretched out his arm so he was a little ways back, but still clutching her hand. "There," he called up to them. "I'm not in the way anymore. Work."
And they did. Eventually, the car was lifted completely off of her and the paramedics went to work. She was bleeding, mostly on her legs, and Greg hoped that the paramedics were right when they said it would look worse than it was. But she was still squeezing his hand, holding on for dear life, and he never let it go. When they stabilized her, they loaded her onto a stretcher and Sara's hand went limp. Greg was worried a moment until she moaned softly. She was just barely conscious. He let go of her hand…
They transferred her over to the ambulance where Greg and Grissom quickly followed. She opened her eyes halfway and looked at Greg with a dopey smile. "Thank you, Greg…" she said, her voice scratchy.
"Hey, it was all you, babe," Greg said, a tear leaking from his eye as his heart swelled. "I told you, you're a superhero."
"You're an angel…" Sara breathed before falling unconscious.
Grissom smiled at Greg. "You did good, Greg," he told him. "You want to ride with us?"
Greg returned the smile, but his was more forced than Grissom's. "No," he said. "You spend some time with her. She'll want to see you."
Grissom nodded and climbed into the ambulance as they closed the door. Greg watched them drive off and Nick joined him at his side, putting his arm around the younger CSI in a brotherly fashion. The Texan was grinning from ear to ear, and laughing with relief.
"We did it," he said. "She'll be OK."
A genuine smile graced Greg's lips and he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "She will be."