Disclaimers: I own nothing but my crude grasp of even cruder language...

A/N: Sorry about the wait... I'll be spending the next few weeks sitting through medical infusions every few days so I'll have plenty of time to write more, I promise!

A/N: There is a bit of "choice language" in this chapter as well as some words and actions which may be found particulary offensive to the homosexual community. It is not my intention to offend or bash, as I would be bashing myself as well. I am simply trying to illustrate some of the prejudices and attitudes which can be encountered on a daily basis. I have thought a lot about it, and I felt that to truly create the impact and the feeling of hostility, I could not compromise by using less severe language.


When we reach the hospital I follow the doctors as they rush Sara into the emergency room, but suddenly a set of solid hands grab my shoulder. I struggle to break free, but my other arm is captured by another set of hands. "I'm sorry miss, but you can't come back here with us." I can't even think anymore and instead decide to call upon every ounce of physical strength I have to attempt to shake myself free, which is usually not inconsiderable, as I do work out nearly every day, but after the recent events, I'm drained.

"You can't keep me out! She needs me with her!" I'm furious, and I can taste the venom in my voice.

"I'm sorry, but this is not debatable. Please see the nurse at the triage desk for information on our policies" he replies emotionlessly which infuriates me even more.

Flattening anyone who is in my way, I storm to the front of the queue at the triage counter not seeing, nor caring, about anyone who may have been there first. Deciding to go for broke, I pull out my badge and hold it an inch away from the nurse's face. "I'm detective Sofia Curtis with the LAPD. I need to see Sara Sidle, a patient who was brought in several minutes ago, immediately. She is one of our CSI's."

I become impatient as she types something into her keyboard. Is she writing a damned dissertation? "I'm sorry, Detective, but Ms. Sidle is only allowed to have immediate family with her right now. You've obviously not her mother, nor her daughter, and please don't try to tell me you are her sister. Unless you have any proof of the contrary, you can stay here in the waiting area and somebody will come out to let you know of her condition soon." My jaw practically hits the floor. A few minutes ago I didn't think I could be more angry or frustrated, but I find out that neither emotion has reached its limit within me.

"Look, I'm not just her partner at the department, which is what I told the paramedics because I didn't feel it was the time or place to- I don't need to explain myslef to you! She's my girlfriend, and in case nobody mentioned it, she was at MY house when she was found, and she's been living with me for months since she finally left her abusive bastard of an ex! You need proof? There it is. I AM HER FAMILY, SO LET ME IN TO SEE HER!" I'm sure you could hear me all the way in Philadelphia, but I no longer had the ability nor the incentive to keep my cool.

The triage nurse looks up at me with a vaguely amused look and I want to punch the smug air of superiority out of her, but I somehow manage to restrain myself. She opens her mouth to speak again, but hesitates momentarily as she sees my expression. After a fraction of a second, she decides to continue, this time in one of the most patronising tones I've ever heard. "I'm very sorry, Detective, but as I said, immediate family only. You'll have to have a seat and wait." And then she has the nerve to smile at me and gesture towards the rows of chairs. Oh, yes, it was one of THOSE fake smiles that people like to give you when they know they are being an asshole and that there isn't a damned thing you can do about it. Just wait, Ms. Asshole, until I get back to the station and I'm going to dig up anything I can possibly find to get your ass busted for ANYTHING… I've got contacts you know!

I send her another glare full of daggers, wishing that looks really could kill. As I walk away I scream another string of explicatives, probably my third or fourth that night, but who's counting? The people around me back off another few feet. I guess I've scared the living daylights out of them, but I honestly couldn't give a rat's ass right now. I kick the wall as hard as I can, and I'm disappointed that I don't leave more than a small scuff in the paint, and then make my way over the seats.

As I sink into the uncomfortable chair in the waiting room of the emergency department at Desert Palms Hospital I think about the last hour. An hour ago, I had a problem, and I had a plan for fixing it, a plan to save my girlfriend. Forty minutes ago, the illusion I called my life fell apart. How could I have let this go so far? Why didn't I do something when I saw what was happening? It seemed so easy at the time to feel like what was happening was out of my control, but the more I think about it, the more I realise I should have done something, anything.

Sighing, I pull out my phone and begin to dial the now familiar number. I am getting worried she won't pick up, but after three rings I get an answer.

"Willows"

I can tell I had woken her up by the slight slur in her words, but this was important. Suddenly, I'm at a loss for what to say. My thoughts are going in circles in my mind, but none of them are coming to my mouth.

"Hello?"

Fuck. She's waiting for me to say something. "Catherine?"

"Sofia? What's wrong? You sound awful? Did you talk to Sara yet?" My uncontrollable tears which had leveled off to a trickle suddenly came back in torrents. "Sofia, talk to me. What did she say? Please tell me she didn't run off…" I hear a groan emanate from her. She probably thinks I'm calling to ask her to help me locate Sara.

"I never even had a chance to talk to her! She- she-" I can't continue anymore. I can't breathe. Just try to choke out a few more words, Sofia. "You need to come to Desert Palms, now." That's all I can manage.

"Wha…? What happened? Are you ok? I guess you are, since you are on the phone with me… Sara? Is she ok?"

"I don't know! They haven't told me anything! Just get here!" I cringe at my own outburst. "I'm sorry Catherine. That was uncalled for. Would you mind calling the others? I'll call Jim myself, but I just can't think anymore. Just- just not Grissom, don't call him".

"Why not G-"

"I can't explain right now. Just get here. I need you guys… Sara needs you too."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you. I'll call the guys and be there as soon as I can. Give me about half an hour. Will you be ok? Would you like me to call you back as soon as I'm off the phone with the guys?" Sometimes I wonder how she has the energy to be so thoughtful.

"No, I won't be ok, but you don't have to call me back. Everyone will get here sooner if you just come instead of worrying about calling me back." As an afterthought, I add, "Thanks Catherine."

"You're welcome. Hang on, we'll be there soon. If you change your mind, you have my number." I hear silence after she's hung up, and then I make the same hard phone call to Jim Brass.

When I'm done, I clip my phone back onto its holder on my belt, sigh again, and sit back. I'm not only physically drained, but I'm emotionally drained as well. I can't hold back the new wave of tears, so I resolve to just let them fall.

About fifteen minutes later I see someone sit down in the seat beside me in my peripheral vision and then feel his strong, supportive, arm wrap around me, pulling me closer in a comforting gesture. I know who it is without looking. It's Captain Jim Brass. Figures he would be the first to get here, he's got the car with the flashing lights and sirens, after all. I tilt my tear streaked face up to look to him. We don't have to speak for me to know he's concerned; not just for Sara, but for me as well. The look in his eyes says it all. He's been like a father figure to both of us. He doesn't ask any me questions, or say anything to me to try to "make things better". Together we just sit there crying silently together, until everyone else arrives.

Nick and Warrick soon walk in together with a look of urgency, with Greg close behind on their heels. Their usual playful banter is nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, what's up with Sara?" Greg asks.

Jim looks up and shakes his head to indicate that I'm not yet ready to discuss this.

The clicking of someone running in high heeled shoes causes us all to turn around and look towards the door to see the worried face of Catherine. It's amazing that even when she's been woken up in the middle of her sleep she manages to look so put together. How does she do that?

"Hey" is all she says before wrapping her arms around me in another of those hugs that has been perfected by nearly two decades of being a mother. "It's OK Sofia. Just cry for now."

"But your shirt…"

"Forget the shirt, that's what dry cleaners are for". When my tears have slowed down to a slow trickle, she breaks the silence which had become the norm for the group since our arrival here. "How is she?"

Surprising myself, I respond with my voice barely over a whisper, very different from my outbursts thus far. Perhaps it's because of exhaustion, or perhaps it could be the comforting support of knowing that our friends are here now. "They won't tell me Catherine. They said I'm not- not-" I can't finish and begin to cry uncontrollably again. I sink down to the floor and feel Jim lift me back up and sit me down into the uncomfortable chair and then seats himself beside me again. "I'm not family" I finish, my voice barely audible.

Jim grunts while crossing his arms over his chest, and then moves one hand up to stroke his chin in thought. "I'll go see what I can find out" he offers and walks towards Ms. Asshole at triage. Good luck with that…

After he stands up, Catherine fills Jim's empty seat to my right and I again rest my head on her shoulder and gently rubs comforting circle on my back while I cry. Greg sits down on the other side of me and grabs my hand, squeezing it in a friendly gesture of support. I squeeze back knowing he must be as torn up as I am. Greg and Sara are practically brother and sister. I look behind Catherine's back to see Warrick sitting on her other side with is left hand on her right knee. Nick is having trouble taking the whole situation in. He's pacing back and forth wearing a hole in the ugly linoleum flooring. Sitting and waiting is something he is not comfortable doing. We really are like a family. "I'm going to get some coffee. Anyone else want any?" Nick offers, then walks away without waiting for an answer.

Behind us, the entry doors slam open, startling the entire room into silence. The next few seconds feel as though they last a lifetime. Pounding footsteps reverberate through the room and stop standing mere inches away from my feet and my heart stops beating. A rough hand grabs my arm and pulls me to a standing position while the other not so gently latches onto my hair, jolting my head back and forcing my bloodshot eyes to stare at his face. He's probably trying to get me to look into his eyes. Instead, I stare into his disgusting cavern of a mouth. "What the HELL have you done to MY fiancée, DYKE?"


Please R&R...