Summary: Unbound Improv Challenge. Grissom hurts himself, and is a baby about it.

Notes: Whee, this is fun. Also, I love Greg, I really do. He's just fun to...make fun of.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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"Put your back into it!"

Grissom glared at Greg, who was lying curled up on the floor beneath him, looking panicked.

"You're going to drop it! Oh god, I'm going to die. I don't want to be killed by a desk. Death by desk…"

"Shut up, Greg. You're not going to die." Grissom gave a small grunt of pain and shifted the position of his arms just slightly. It was a slow Monday night, and he and Greg were attempting to reenact a crime scene. A suspect in a double homicide had claimed that he had single handedly lifted a very heavy wooden desk (which was coincidentally not dissimilar to the one in Grissom's own office) off a pair of bodies he "discovered" in his study. He had managed to lift it high enough for Greg to climb underneath, but was having trouble moving it any higher, effectively trapping his DNA tech.

"Man, why am I always the one who gets crushed by the desk?"

"Remind me of the last time you were crushed by a desk on the job, Greg." He bent his knees and concentrated all of his energy on shifting the desk to the side.

"I was being metaphorical."

"Well stop it. I'm trying to…MOVE."

"What?" Greg yelped.

"I said MOVE! I'm going to drop this –"

The terrified DNA tech managed to scramble out of the way seconds before the desk crashed to the floor. Grissom bent over, hands on his knees, his face contorted in pain.

"Jesus Tapdancing Christ, Grissom! What the hell are you doing?"

"What happened?" Sara Sidle appeared in the doorway, her face dark with concern. "Grissom? You okay?"

"He nearly dropped a desk on me!"

"My back…" Grissom inhaled sharply. "I think I threw it out."

"Oh, shit." Sara crossed the room in two quick strides and knelt beside him. "Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?"

"No," he grunted.

"Are you sure? I think you should- "

"No!" He glared at her stubbornly. "I'll be fine. I just…need to sit down."

"You can take me to the hospital. I probably need a psychiatric evaluation."

"Shut up, Greg," they intoned in perfect unison.

"I almost died!"

"I'm taking you to the hospital," Sara said firmly.

"Smushed! Like one of his bugs!"

"Sara…"

"If you don't see a doctor it could only get worse. Where's your coat?"

"Sara…"

"Here it is. Okay, Greg, get over here and make yourself useful." She wrapped one arm around Grissom's left shoulder and glared at Greg, who reluctantly shuffled over to his supervisor and supported his other side.

"Ready?"

"This is completely unnecessary… What if a case comes in?"

"Warrick's here. He can handle things while we're gone."

Grissom expelled a long sigh and resigned himself to a trip to the ER. He knew better than to argue this with Sara. The three investigators stumbled unsteadily through the crime lab and out into the parking lot. Grissom gasped in pain as Sara helped him up into the passenger side of her Tahoe and reached for the seat belt.

"I can buckle my own seat belt," he snapped irritably. Sara rolled her eyes, slammed the door and turned to Greg."

"You. Go tell Warrick what happened. I'll call from the hospital."

Greg opened his mouth to make another "woe-is-me" comment but stopped and reconsidered at the fierce glare she cast upon him.

"Yes'm," he said instead, and broke into a run.

Sara shook her head as she climbed into the driver's seat and started up the SUV. Grissom turned his head and leaned against the window. His back was really starting to hurt, though he would be hard pressed to admit it.

Ten minutes later Sara gingerly helped him through the entrance of the ER and into a chair. She went to the nurse's station and returned with a handful of paperwork.

"It's going to be a bit of a wait," she said apologetically, digging in her purse for a pen.

"How long a wait?"

"Couple'a hours…" Grissom groaned and Sara frowned sympathetically.

"It really hurts, doesn't it?" She reached instinctively for his hand and began massaging his palm between her fingers. His eyelids fluttered slightly, but he gave no outward acknowledgement of her touch. She took this as a good sign and continued to rub his hand until his head nodded forward and his breathing evened out.

An hour passed. Sara finished his paperwork and began watching the other occupants of the emergency room. Sitting across from her was an exhausted woman with a tiny, whimpering boy in her arms. Further down, a sullen looking teenager held a bloody ice pack to his forehead. And at the far end of the room, a young woman sat hunched in her seat, her long dark hair partially shielding a viscous looking black eye and bloody nose. Sara wondered where she received her injuries, if they were courtesy of a boyfriend or husband or father.

"What time is it?" Sara turned and smiled at his groggy, befuddled appearance.

"Almost one."

"Did you call the lab?"

"Yup. Everything's fine. Greg's still whining."

Grissom snorted. "He's not the one who got dragged to the emergency room…"

"Hey, I only had to drag you here 'cause you could barely walk. Why are you being such a guy about this? It's not a big deal."

"I don't know, Sara. I'm not used to people…mothering me."

"I'm not mothering you," she said defensively. "I'm just…being a friend. I like to think you'd do the same for me."

"Of course I would." Sara smiled and he looked away, searching for a distraction from the pain. "Do they have anything to read around here?"

"I've got a paper. We could do the crossword." She waved the paper teasingly, like a long-awaited treat. "Let's see. First clue, 9 letter word, 'lovely.'"

"Sara Sidle," he said quietly, watching as her eyebrows angled up in surprise.

"What did you say?"