Wherever You Are

Author: wobbear

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I own neither CSI nor the characters, and make no money from my fics.

Spoilers?: Post-episode to Living Doll.

Author's notes: Even by my standards, this is a short chapter; the next one will be up on Wednesday. PhDelicious is a great beta, but responsibility for any oddness in the use of italics is mine : )

Summary: 'If you're going through hell, keep going.' (Winston Churchill) GSR.

Chapter 4

Now I'm walking again . . .

Catherine had left him a few minutes ago, saying, "Look, Jim'll be here soon. One of us will come and get you when everyone's gathered."

She paused, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Are you . . . will you be. . . all right?"

Grissom planted his hands on his desk, then flexed his fingers in an attempt to stretch away the cramping tension. He stared at the knuckles as they articulated, biting the insides of his cheeks. After a moment, he steeled himself to look up. "Yeah. I have to. Sara's life is in the balance. I have no choice."

Catherine nodded in sympathy. She reached over to touch his closest hand then took her leave.

. . . to the beat of a drum

Grissom sat slumped in his chair in somber silence, trying to focus his thoughts. His head rested in his right hand, elbow propped on the chair arm. With thumb and middle finger he kneaded his temples, trying to dissipate the tension that throbbed in his skull.

He had to believe that Sara was alive. That twitching hand in the miniature scene, terrible as it seemed, was a positive sign. And Davis was definite that she hadn't killed Sara. However, deluded psychopaths were hardly the most reliable sources of information.

But . . . no . . . he couldn't bear . . . No, forget that. This was no time for existential anguish.

Sara. Sara. It still occasionally stunned him how well they fit together, how each filled a need in the other. He knew she felt it too. Sometimes she would just stop what she was doing, tilt her head and shoot him a heart-warming grin. Or, walking past, she would ruffle his hair, or caress the nape of his neck, then continue on her way.

She was strong, so resilient. She had endured so much already, and come out of it stronger—he knew he could count on her to pull through this too.

I need you to hold on for me, Sara.

Leaning back in his chair, Grissom closed his gritty eyes and pictured her at breakfast last evening, trying to get him to eat yogurt and granola, laughing as she shoved a loaded spoon at him.

She wouldn't give up.

Neither could he.

Hold onto hope, honey. Wherever you are, we'll find you. Wait for me.

Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup

Her thoughts were wandering again. Good for you, thoughts! I can barely move, you go wander wherever you like.

A touch delirious there maybe? Well, fine. Who cares. Be nice if she could sleep instead of having stupid wandering thoughts though.

At last Sara drifted into a doze. Coming to, she did a watch check. Some time had passed without her noticing. Yay.

But why wasn't it getting lighter? If her memory served her correctly, it was actually darker than before. Bizarre.

Or had she slept through the day, and it was now 8pm? A 24-hour clock would come in handy about now.

As she lay there, shifting uneasily in the endless search for a more comfortable spot, she felt something brush her cheek, cool her neck. A breath of wind ruffled the still air. Then another.

A sudden loud spattering startled her. Shaking off the shock, Sara peered out. Rain. Large drops of rain. There weren't many at first, then the dark clouds above redoubled their efforts and released a serious shower.

Staring at her limited view, she hoped none would trickle her way. She was uncomfortable enough already. Don't want to be in a puddle as well.

Wait!

Stupid, stupid! She'd been obsessing about not having water for so long and yet now that there was rain she wasn't doing anything.

She had a hand, a sort-of-free hand. Stretching out her arm, Sara cupped her fingers to capture the heaven-sent drink. Pulling it back in oh-so-carefully, she managed to lose only about half of it. Sipping slowly, savoring the precious fluid, she rolled it around her mouth before swallowing the tiny amount the mucous membrane hadn't thirstily soaked up. Wiping the remaining moisture off on her lips and brow, she eagerly snaked her arm out to gather more.

One thing about Vegas. It didn't rain much, but when it did, you generally got a doozy of a downpour. As long as it kept coming down, Sara kept drinking.

Water had never tasted so good. Pity she didn't have a bottle, or better a large bowl to hoard some in. Ah well. You can't always get what you want. Thinking about Mick Jagger's ridiculous lips whiled away a moment or three. Then it was back to same-old, same-old, trying to think of something positive.

Wonder if they've realized I'm missing yet?

Whoops. Bit negative there.

She was trapped on an emotional rollercoaster, and there seemed to be a disproportionate number of down slopes.

Try again . . .

Of course they had.

TBC