The Ambulance Ride

A/N: How long has it been? Since I hit a keystroke and saved it in a file? Since I even tried? Since I opened a blank page and watched the cursor blink? Too long. Time to try again. Hope you like. This was inspired by my first-ever ambulance ride recently. It's in first person present, which I've never tried before, so tell me if it's confusing. This fic is going to be thoughts inside Sara's head with thoughts inside those...welcome to the inside of my head! (Like I have to explain. You're all smart enough to read fan fiction and write reviews, right? Right? LOL.)

Rated: T. GSR.

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I can't sleep. Not all that unusual. But this has been going on for, what, four weeks? Five? See, lack of sleep affects memory. So how am I supposed to remember how long I have lacked a good night's rest? Scratch that. I would settle for an hour. One blessed hour out of 24, out of 48, out of a week...just one hour of sleep. But I can't sleep.

I'm Sara Sidle. I'm known for being an insomniac. There are day shift people I've met once who immediately ask how long I can go without sleep. There's probably a wager going. Huh. Maybe I could get in on that.

It's practically my middle name. Sara the Insomniac Sidle. That dark-haired girl who stays up for three days. Like I heard Grissom had said about me when he gave Warrick the shift because he had to go race cockroaches. Warrick the Screwup Brown. Instead of Sara the Conscientious. The Workaholic. Warrick is still his favorite CSI. Just because he's attracted to me (like he'd ever admit it) he can't trust me to run one damn shift? If I wanted someone to stay up for three days I'd ask Sara. That's what he said. At least he hasn't given Warrick the shift since. Guess that counts for something. But he hasn't asked me, either.

Speak of the devil and he appears. Uh oh. Here comes Grissom. I can tell he's nervous because his wrists are bent and the palms flat, sticking out. I can tell his knees hurt because his peculiar bowlegged walk is even more pronounced. I can tell so much by one glance at Grissom... Why can't I tell him how I feel?

I have to wait. Wait one more day, one more year, until I can wear him down like water wears down rock. I can tell he doesn't want to lecture me, but he's a good boss and has to. He's going to try to send me home–but I have no real home. Just a box with four walls with an empty bed that is like a torture rack to me. A flat surface with sheets and blankets...What if you hear the victim's screams? In the store, under the blanket...I asked him to sleep with me then. What a face he made. Practically choked on that yogurt! Hee hee.

What's my home like? It's an apartment that echoes with silence. A bed that represents a slow ticking clock. Life is short, they say, but some days–-some nights- it's too damn long. I close my eyes and I know it will be futile hours of trying to get comfortable, trying to find a position that supports my head just so. Find a way to place my limbs that will allow me to become unconscious. How strange is it? That we need, as animals, to become unconscious on a regular basis? That we become so vulnerable...wait, he's talking...

"Sara..."

He's got that tone in his voice. The one that makes me want to smack him. The I-know-better-than-you-why-don't-you-just-listen-and-just-obey tone of voice. I glare at him instead. His face is impassive.

"Shift is over..."

Yeah, like I didn't know that.

I clear my throat. Why is my mouth so dry? Oh, yeah. Because it's Grissom. My voice creaks. "Hot case." I'm trying to keep the leave-me-alone message clear without being disrespectful. Because he's Grissom.

"They're all hot cases if you let them..."

"I know that."

"You..."

"I don't need a lecture, Grissom. Here, take a look," and that is the end of that. We're talking evidence and are friends and colleagues again, and so it's okay that I'm not going home now. I don't have to try to sleep. Yet. To lie there and wait for the hours to pass. Christ I wish I could sleep.

"How long has it been since you slept, Grissom?" I say gently, lovingly, softly, under my breath. I say it to the back of his curly-haired head as he peers down a scope. I don't think he heard me. Or maybe he's ignoring me again, the better to focus on that tiny blue fiber.

"Want some coffee?" I say louder, clearer. He grunts. I guess that means yes. I slip away. It's hard to put one foot in front of the other. Without pitching forward on to my face. It's tough to just keep one thought in my mind...go get coffee, two of them...he likes it black with two sugars...hope he notices I noticed...I'm pathetic. Think about the case, Sara. Focus. The way to Grissom's heart is through his mind. That's pretty good. I like that. Love me, love my mind.

Meeting of the minds. Hello, Grissom's mind. Nice to meetcha. I'm Sara Sidle. I don't sleep.

TBC