Title: Never Say Goodbye

Disclaimer: Not mine… can we all just move on?

Spoilers: Direct spoilers to "Grave Danger", but anything up to that is fair game. Blink-and-you-might-miss-it references to "Pledging Mr. Johnson" and "Cool Change"

Summary: A post-ep to "Grave Danger": Nick's views on that night that was a nightmare. Snickers because, hey, what were you expecting?

A/N: Ok, so after I wrote the two companions to this (End of the Nightmare and So Far from Ok) ForensicsFan wrote a review that said "Of course you know we all want to know about this from Nick's perspective too" and that made me think: I could write one from Nick's point of view. So although I feel a little sheepish that that thought never even occurred to me, I'm really glad she pointed that out.

So thank you ForensicsFan, and on with the story :D

(Nick's PoV)

It…gives you a lot of time to think. Not a lot of comfort or hope or air, but a whole hell of a lot of empty space in your head, and you think. Beyond the panic and hysteria, somewhere in your mind, you think: "now what?" You say your goodbyes on a recorder, you're dying, you're going to die, so you want to leave your mark. Mom, Dad, I love you. You're calm because your brain is too tired to panic, and your body is too tired to listen anyway.

And then the ants come in and it starts all over again and you want to live so bad it hurts. It hurts worse than the bites do, and maybe that's what keeps you from pulling that trigger. So you just close your eyes and you think.

It makes you think, you know?

I know all too well.

I was there.

I panicked.

I screamed.

I thought.

I thought a lot about her. Sara, I mean. I thought of the rest of the night crew, and my parents and my family, but mostly I just thought about Sara. About how she showed up out of the blue and was so gorgeous and all I could think about was her first impression of me would be covered in Meyer's roof dust. About how she laughs for me like she does for no one else, and about how if I could bottle that laughter and carry it with me always my heart would always be that much lighter.

I thought about what I could never tell her, especially now. I was going to die, and some things just shouldn't be said on a tape recorder. Like, "I'm pretty sure I love you". Like, "Goodbye". That was something I never wanted to say to Sara. "Goodbye" is vulgar. But still I lamented the fact that I would never have the opportunity to, face to face.

I old her, down there, how much I hated this for tearing me from her. How much I hated that my absence was causing her pain. How much I loved her and how much I've always wanted to tell her; to kiss her or twirl a lock of her hair around my fingers.

The stale air made for a very good listener.

My deepest secrets and regrets were buried with me in that grave. And when they found me…they freed me from the "what-ifs".

It was cold; the air was so cold it hurt and the dirt was like ice. But the air up here was free and unlimited. There would never be enough.

It stung; it stung to breath and it stung to move and out here I could feel every single angry, carmine bite. I couldn't move, it just hurt so much and I think I was crying.

I felt myself being lifted onto a gurney; the stiff white starched sheets were scratchy, but they didn't smell like dirt or earth and they weren't laced with angry ants. They were a welcome replacement.

Catherine and Warrick climbed in the back of the ambulance to ride with me to the hospital. And as bad a state I was in, I could tell Warrick was really hurting. It was almost him down there, and I'll bet he was guilty; sorry that it was me, but somewhere he must've been glad it wasn't him. I don't blame him.

I wanted to tell him that being thankful that it wasn't him didn't mean that he condemned me to this; didn't mean he was happy it was me. But I don't think he'd believe me, even if I summoned up the strength to speak, despite a sore and cracked throat.

Damn, it hurt to breath. But I never wanted to stop.

Catherine…I couldn't tell what she was thinking. Besides the concern and worry evident on her face was something else I couldn't recognize. But she was there, and told me that "everything's alright now", and that's really all that matters. I needed to hear that. I really needed to hear that.

I could feel my heart pounding; I was so cold. I was shivering, my breath gained only in short, shaky breaths, and all I wanted to do was to go home and go to sleep in my warm bed under copious amounts of blankets.

Even thought he screaming sirens cut through traffic, it still took a bit to get to the hospital. More time to think, because I didn't have enough time down there…

I thought about her again.

We were pulling into the hospital parking lot now, and it surprised me how much I wanted, needed, to see Sara. So I turned to Catherine and closed my eyes to try and funnel all of my energy into saying three tiny words:

"Is she coming?"

We were in the parking lot now, the paramedics flocking to the back door of the ambulance. There was just so much noise, so much confusion. I could feel myself being lifted onto a waiting stretcher. Catherine and Warrick were ushered out of the ambulance and jogged alongside me as I was wheeled into the hospital. They had automatic doors; the kind you jumped in front of as a kid no matter how many times your mom begged you not to, completely in aw that they opened on their own accord every time.

I almost didn't hear Catherine answer my question; "You're mom and dad are on their way."

It would take too much effort to vocalize to her that she wasn't thinking of the same person I was.

I shut my eyes tighter, keeping the bright, blinding fluorescent lights of the hospital safely behind my swollen eyelids. I shook my head 'no'.

I could tell she was confused; even with my eyes closed I knew she must be wearing her trademark puzzled expression. If I didn't feel so bad, I would've smiled.

Luckily, my man Warrick knew what I was getting at. "If Grissom doesn't stop her" he said, and this knowledge, this affirmation, made me feel better than any IV drip or medication they had waiting for me would.

Leave it to Warrick to know who I was talking about. He's known about my crush on her since, well…since I've had one. And that's been quite a while. I guess it started after we worked that case together; the one in the frat house. I mean, of course I found her attractive when I first met her, fresh from San Francisco and me all covered in sweat and dust, but it was after that frat case. After she teased me about that trout I had to carry around in my pants…she shot me this huge smile, this huge, genuine, contagious smile, and I felt her tug ever so slightly on my heartstrings.

Later, when Warrick finally got used to having her around in an official capacity (instead of outsider CSI brought in to rip him a new one) I told him. And he laughed.

"Keep dreaming, bro" he'd told me, chuckling. "Coz you'll never get up the courage."

It's been five years. Warrick was right. He's always right about these sorts of things. So when he said "if Grissom doesn't stop her", that's what made it real for me. You learn quickly; never bet against Warrick.

I opened my eyes slowly; the lights didn't seem as bright, but the speed at which we were flying down the hallways was dizzying. I think I was getting the beginnings of motion sickness.

So I focused on the ceiling.

"She won't let him" I mumbled to the ceiling tiles, adding a silent "she can't" at the end.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Catherine looking thoroughly confused, then surprised as if she'd just finished a difficult jigsaw puzzle. Warrick just shook his head 'no'. They were both held back by orderlies as I continued down a hallway behind two heavy swinging doors.

I must have looked panicked at their disappearance; a youngish nurse, one of those who was wheeling me at mach speed down the hallway, caught my eye.

"We're just gonna get you cleaned up" she smiled, "You'll be able to see your friends later."

I closed my eyes again, not caring whether or not she thought I'd heard her. They were wheeling me pretty fast down hallway after hallway, and the speed was making me woozy. On the other hand, it was for my benefit, so I guess I wasn't really in a position to complain.

At least not about that.

I don't, to be honest, remember what happened next. My eyes were closed and all I was concentrated on was fighting off the clichéd (but in this case completely accurate) analogy that the bustling medical staff were like a busy colony of ants. It was not a mental picture I really wanted in my head.

Big room, lots of people. IV or morphine drips, cream and ointment for the bites. Pills (Vicoden?) for the pain. That's all I got out of half-concentrating. It's all I really cared about. Alive and aboveground; that's all I needed, but if the doctor had some pain killers with my name on them, I wasn't going to complain.

More power to him.

I ended up with my own room; comfortable bed, and although it wasn't my house, my bed, and my familiar, warm covers, it was starting to look pretty damn good.

Another nurse came into my room; this one was a bit older than the one who'd spoken to me in the hallway. Her eyes were a bright chocolate; they reminded me of Sara's, but it would take Sara quiet a few more years for her to accumulate the tiny crinkles and laugh lines around the nurse's eyes.

"You've got some visitors" she smiled, busying herself with plumping my pillow before she left. I smiled despite myself for no reason at all.

That was my first indication that maybe I'll come out of this alright.

My parents were just like I remembered them and yet they looked completely different. Or maybe it was just me that changed. My mom was weepy, dabbing at her eyes and sitting precariously on the end of my bed. Dad walked in with a stiff jaw, though his expression softened considerably after seeing me.

"Hey Mom, Dad" I managed to croak out, and that was all it took for my mother to launch herself at me, hugging me for all she was worth. She sobbed, I could feel her shoulders wrack with sobs, and the tears just kept leaking from her eyes. My dad just watched, not wanting to intrude, I guess, on my mom's moment with me. When she managed to release her grip with a tearful smile, though, he laid a broad hand on my shoulder comfortingly.

I was gonna be ok.

"How're you holding up, Poncho?" my dad asked, squeezing my shoulder a bit.

I shrugged, not wanting to deal right now with the seriousness of this….thing. "I've been better" I managed a weak grin. My mother beside me tutted, even in her fragile state coherent enough to gently admonish me for joking about this.

"When we got the call," she said, her voice wavering, "Oh God, Nick, we thought -"

"We're glad you're alright, son" my dad supplied, sensing my mother couldn't finish.

What could I say? That I really was alright because, after all, I'd only been buried alive with a gun as my only twisted means of comfort, and I'm ok and will get over that in a heartbeat?

"Yeah"

My mom eyed me, before mercifully changing the subject. I think she could tell I didn't want to talk about tonight anymore.

"Some of your friends are waiting just outside" she told me, dabbing discreetly at her eye with her tissue.

My father nodded in confirmation, but I wanted to know: "Who?"

"Well, Catherine, was it? And Warrick, naturally. He'll want to see you; I told him I'd pop out in a jiffy. He really isn't looking too well, dear." Her tone was that of a true mother; next she'd be hovering over Grissom, making sure he'd eat all of his veggies.

I stifled a chuckle as I stored away that mental image for later.

"Sara's out there, too, Nick." Mom eyed me momentarily, as if considering something, before continuing on a quiet type of rand that does not come naturally to anyone with a 'Y' chromosome: "She's a bit skinny as well, now that you mention it. Tiny slip of a thing, it's a wonder she doesn't just blow away…"

I let the motherly tone of her voice wash over me, though her words faded into the background. My dad shared a look with me, chuckling softly. "She'll have all of that crime lab of yours eating full balanced meals and going to bed at nine sharp if she has her way."

"At least it'd be better than this hospital food will be." I made a face, sticking my tongue out. That made my dad laugh, a rich, throaty laugh, and I felt a tiny little weight lift off me.

My mother stood up and patted my foot. "I'll let Warrick in to see you, dear."

"Ok, Mom" I nodded, adding before she was completely out the door, "I love you, Mom."

Her eyes started to brim with tears. "Oh, Nick. Me too" she whispered before she walked out.

My mom was right; Warrick really wasn't looking too well. He was tired and just looked completely guilt-ridden. If my dad or the nurses wouldn't have ripped me a new one for doing so, I would've stood up right here and shaken the man silly. It's not your fault. I'm here and you helped find me and it's not your fault.

He really just looked miserable.

More small talk followed; stilted conversation and tense, stiff jokes and smiles. Warrick, man, it's not your fault.

Guilty looks and my dad turning to Warrick, "Where's a good place to stay in Vegas?" followed by something about wanting the best and asking the "locals". Warrick, it's really not your fault.

"It's not your fault."

Crap. Did I just say that out loud?

"What?"

I guess that's a yes.

"The coin toss, Warrick. It's not your fault."

Warrick looked at me for a moment, before nodding his head solemnly. "Thanks Nick."

I just shrugged, but my facial expression warned him; stop thinking that you're guilty. It's ok.

"Hey, Poncho," my dad broke my train of thought; "Warrick and I'll let the girls come in and see you, alright? But your mom and I'll be back soon."

Warrick nodded at me, and the two exited the room. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, there was Catherine.

And Sara.

Catherine stood at the foot of my bed, where Warrick had been only moments before. She wore a wry smile, eyes brimming with concern. Sara stood closer, at the side of my bed, and I couldn't help but watch her fingers, only inches away from mine atop the thin blankets.

"How're you feeling, Nicky?" Catherine asked me, her voice quiet.

I fought to shift to a sitting position, pressing my back against the back of my bed for support. "Better" I answered truthfully, though I didn't tell her it was because Sara was here now.

"You look better" Sara told me, and I locked my eyes with hers, wondering how much she would mind if I tangled my fingers unapologetically with hers.

"Thanks" I said softly.

Catherine told me Greg was outside, and that made me smile. "He can wait a little. You guys just came in." I never took my eyes off Sara.

Sara still looked so worried, though I could tell she was relieved to see me. That thought made me smile, and inch my fingers closer to hers.

I reminded myself to thank Catherine later; I guess she picked up on the looks I was giving Sara and made a graceful retreat.

"Hey Cath?" I asked, before she left. "Thanks for coming with me…you know, when -"

She just smiled. "Don't worry about it, Nicky. You're welcome." Then she was gone.

And it was just me and Sara.

I brushed my fingers against hers, lacing them with mine. She smiled, and that comforted me.

She offered me a watery smile before she just broke. "Oh God, Nick. I'm just so glad you're…"

"I know, Sara" I said, feeling a few tears form, before I heard her say:

"I missed you"

Her voice was laced with emotion.

"I missed you more" I told her, and I've never spoken truer words.

It occurred to me, after I gently pulled her onto the bed next to me and felt her rest against me, that I would make sure:

I would never again have to say 'goodbye' to Sara.

A/N: Hey, I worked a vocab word in here. Carmine: means red. Now that I've finally actually used something from my English class, maybe I won't find it so tedious. Or not. Anyways, drop me a line and tell me what you all think. :D