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Needing You

Chapter 7

Sara knew she faded in and out of full consciousness. She had no sense of time but she was aware of a steady stream of people who came and went around her bed. She remembered familiar faces looking at her in a pattern similar to a kaleidoscope's rotation—belonging to those she worked with, to her mother-in-law, and she clearly recalled seeing Jim Brass. She knew Grissom remained with her, sitting quietly at times, always holding her hand or touching her face. When she stirred, he talked to her so she knew she wasn't alone. And Sara felt safe, knowing that nothing bad could happen as long as her husband was beside her.

Finally, she managed to open and focus one eye—somehow she knew one eye was covered by a soft white bandage—on the loved face of her husband. She noticed the fine lines of wrinkles around his eyes, the unshaven chin, his rumpled shirt, the dark smudges under his eyes, the tufts of hair sticking out from his head—he looked as if he had just gotten out of bed after too little sleep. She laughed—a croaky chuckle—which caused Grissom to turn his head to one side and smile. Fragments of memory joined together; she had seen him look like this before—after nights when little Will would not sleep and after hours of great sex.

Her humorous thoughts bubbled to surface as another giggle.

Gil Grissom did not know if his wife's sudden laugh—two of them—came as an aftereffect of surgery or if she actually found the situation amusing or if she was simply confused. He was delighted to hear any vocal response. He said, "Hello, dear, and what is it you find so funny?"

Sara wanted desperately to hug him but had only one free arm, so she lifted it and stroked his face with her fingers.

She said, "You look like you haven't slept in a while. How long have I been here?"

Covering her hand with his, he said, "Yesterday, about this time, you blacked out—went unconscious. Nick and Sam, the young coroner, were with you, realized you were—you were in bad shape, and got you to the trauma center in a helicopter. You had an aneurysm the size of a small marble causing all kinds of problems and blowing up like a balloon. You had surgery—that's what all of this is around your head," he grinned, "and took your time waking up." He could not stop his smile; she wasn't confused, appeared to have no memory loss. Maybe—maybe the neurosurgeon was right and she would have a quick recovery with no lingering or detrimental effects.

Sara sighed, already exhausted from being awake for three minutes. "I'm sorry for all this trouble." Her voice was scratchy but clear. "Will? Where is Will?"

This time Grissom chuckled. "He's having a good time—my mother, Catherine, Nick, Greg, Doc Robbins' wife, DB's wife—there may be someone I've missed—are treating him like the new prince of England. I don't think he's missed you or me."

"How is Little Bean? Is she okay?" Little Bean was Sara's pet name for their baby girl.

"She's fine—feels like she's been doing cartwheels," Grissom said. "You've got more monitors hooked up for her than hooked up for yourself."

"How long?"

Grissom frowned, "How long?"

"How long will I be here? I feel like I've lost a week."

With a smile, he said, "You'll have to stay a few more days—we'll see what the doctors say."

Sara closed her eyes and for a minute, Grissom thought she had drifted to sleep.

"And the gold—what about the gold?" Sara asked; her head ached but the ache was different. She felt lightheaded, somewhat confused by the missing hours, but she definitely remembered boxes of gold coins in an old house with two dead bodies.

Grissom was clueless and for a few seconds, he thought his early silent celebration of her predicted recovery had been too soon. "Gold? What gold, honey?"

"It was in the house—boxes of gold coins," her face contorted into a frown. She opened her unbandaged eye. "It was floating in a stream." She pulled her hand away from Grissom's and placed it on her belly. "Little Bean said she wasn't ready to come."

Worried, Grissom pressed the nurse call button. He had spent the night sitting beside Sara in the intensive care unit, waiting for her to wake up. The nurses had been knowledgeable and kind as they had cared for Sara, explaining what to expect. The doctors, coming in frequently throughout the night and morning, had been encouraging about her recuperation.

Yet Sara was confused, talking about gold coins and the baby talking to her. "She's awake," he said to the nurse who showed up within a few minutes. "She can't seem to stay awake—and some of what she says is confusing."

The nurse moved around Sara's bed with confidence, saying, "A little confusion is to be expected—what else did she say?"

"She asked about our son—and the baby."

Sara blinked her eye and gave a soft laugh. "I've got a hole in my head." She laughed and began to sing, a quick, upbeat song, "Won't you miss me like a hole in the head because I do, boy, and its cool boy and I bet you never thought I'd get out of bed because of you, boy!"

Grissom was certain Sara had suffered brain damage, a major scrambling of her memory; he had never heard her sing this jingle.

The nurse laughed. "Sugababes—I haven't thought of that song in years!"

Sara said, "It popped into my mind—I use to sing it about a certain man I knew."

The nurse glanced at Grissom and said, "I think she's going to be fine." Carefully, the nurse checked several monitors as she asked Sara questions and got reasonable answers. One question, "Have you been dreaming?" brought another soft laugh from Sara.

"I think so—I'm not sure what I've dreamed and what has happened." She looked at Grissom standing at the end of the bed. "He looks very worried."

The nurse smiled. "He's been here since you arrived—we've had to order him out to get food!" The woman leaned over Sara and said, "If you'll get him out of here, we'll give you a good bed bath, get some of these wires removed, and freshen you up. Maybe even get you on your feet." She checked the bag of fluid above Sara's head. "If you can eat, we'll get this removed—anything you want?"

Sara thought she could eat; she didn't think she could hold her heavy head upright much less stand on her own feet, but the nurse seemed optimistic. She watched as Grissom nervously raked his hand across his face. She also knew recovery depended on her ability to do something other than lay flat on her back in a bed and recall long forgotten song lyrics. Waving her hand brought Grissom to her bedside.

"Give me a kiss, dear. Go home—take a shower and hug Will for me, please."

Very tenderly, he kissed her lips and caused her to smile with his gentle touch.

She whispered, "Kiss me like you mean it—like a lover!" And giggled so deeply she started coughing—which made her head feel as if it were coming apart. "Oh," she exclaimed, "Maybe I didn't mean that!"

He did kiss her again, gently, delicately, and with a great deal of hesitation, he left her for the first time since he had walked into the recovery room.

For another day, Sara remained in the intensive care unit, working to regain strength; she ate soup and yogurt, drank fruit smoothies every hour, and, when she felt her baby move, knew her recovery was progressing. Forty-eight hours after her surgery, she was moved to a private room.

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