Wherever You Are

Author: wobbear
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I am a not-for-profit writer; some other lucky people own CSI and the characters.
Spoilers?: Post-episode to Living Doll.
Author's notes: Sorry for the time lag in posting─amongst other things, I finally started reading the Harry Potter books, and of course there are seven to get through! Thank you for sticking with this story, and to everyone who's been so sweet as to leave feedback. As always, heap big thanks to beta PhDelicious.
Summary: 'If you're going through hell, keep going.' (Winston Churchill) GSR.

Chapter 10

Don't dream . . .

"We're about three minutes out, guys." The calm professional tones of the pilot crackled through the head sets as the Bell 407 neared its target.

The desert was neither flat nor smooth, sloping into small gullies through which the occasional rains channeled, sometimes rising into lumpy hummocks and even large hills. Sparse scrubby vegetation was scattered across the reddish sandy soil, here and there clumping together in random groups. Rays of late afternoon sun angled over the uneven terrain, casting a confusing mixture of light and shadow.

Grissom's head was bowed, his eyes darting between the two-inch screen on the GPS unit and the scratched bubble window to his left. His voice tight and low, he asked, "Have you got a spotlight?"

"Sorry, what was that?" The co-pilot had been updating dispatch and neither he nor the pilot had caught the query.

Grissom didn't repeat himself immediately, and Nick glanced over to see why. Seeing the older man's uneven breathing and desperate swallowing as he struggled to control his vocal chords, Nick tugged his own microphone closer to his lips to ask the question for Grissom. "Have you got a spotlight, a searchlight in this thing?" He waved his hands around the interior of the helicopter.

The towheaded co-pilot looked confused—it would still be light for a couple of hours—but answered the question anyway. "Yeah, we've got two searchlights fixed to the outer skin, one forward and the other just below your seat." He pointed to Nick's feet. "We manipulate them using these levers—"

"Uh, no, I mean a portable light for . . .at the, um,scene." Grissom was able to speak again. "In case we need to look . . . under things—" his voice stopped abruptly and he turned his head toward the window, not wanting to break down in the goldfish-bowl of the cabin.

Seeing Grissom's distress, Nick cast aside his own dark memories. He wasn't trapped now; he could help. It was a great feeling.

"S'okay, Griss." Nick groped beneath his seat, feeling for the canvas bag he'd brought along. A muffled "Just a sec" was followed by a grunt or two as he tussled to unzip it, straining against the firm webbing of his five-point harness. Finally he got a purchase on the grab handle at one end and tugged the whole thing up onto the seat beside him. Opening the zipper, he rummaged around inside for a moment before letting out a quiet but triumphant "Yes!" A small satisfied grin on his face, he held up a halogen lantern.

Grissom had recovered sufficiently to look over. He formed his mouth into the semblance of a smile. When he spoke, his voice was nearly steady. "Good, Nick, thanks. My, uh, flashlight's battery is running low."

Nick nodded in acknowledgement, but Grissom was oblivious. He was again peering intently at the GPS unit then turning to look down through the lower portion of the window. Grissom spoke clearly into his mouthpiece this time,"Surely the three minutes must be up by now, aren't they?"

"Uh, yeah, we're just getting around behind this hill so we can approach through the valley." The pilot gestured to his and Grissom's side of the aircraft. "Keep an eye out on this side, Dr Grissom."

Nick knew the importance of balancing the weight in these sensitive machines. "Okay if I move over there too?" He indicated the rear-facing seat behind the pilot.

The co-pilot half-turned and gave him the thumbs-up, adding, "Hey, just stow that bag and all back under the bench before you move, will ya? Don't want loose stuff flying around."

Having done as bidden, Nick shifted over to the seat directly opposite Grissom. He automatically reached for the safety straps, pulling them over his shoulders, and was looking down to fasten the buckle when he heard Grissom's urgent question, "Nick, there, . . . am I seeing things?"

Grissom had shrugged off his own restraint and was crouching by the window, trying to get a better view. Nick joined him, following the direction of Grissom's pointing finger. Not just his finger, his whole body was leaning that way, as if getting an inch or two closer would make all the difference.

Nick peered down and immediately saw why Grissom was unsure. The helicopter was approaching from the south-east, flying almost directly into the descending sun, and it was very hard to see ahead. But . . . partly obscured from them by a low rise, out of place amongst the dusty desert hues . . . yes, that was a boxy shape, bright red on the flanks.

"Yeah, Griss, you got it! Down there, 11 o'clock, guys!!" Nick yelled excitedly at the crew.

By contrast, the pilot sounded cool, matter-of-fact. "Yeah, we got it too. OK, we'll do one circle around it to find the best place to set down, then we'll land this baby.

. . . it's over

The meditation was going pretty well, thought Sara, if you ignored the fact she wasn't supposed to be thinking at all. She was hoping to go to sleep again and escape reality for a while.

Suddenly she started, shocked out of her peaceful zone. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, pulse off the charts and she didn't have a clue why. Was she going into convulsions? She lay there, trying to calm down and to figure out what had jolted her. What?! There it was, again. But that wasn't her heart thumping─or was it? No─her pulse was still rapid, but it was settling.

The thumping seemed to be coming from outside of her hell-hole.

Really?

She was starting to feel hopeful. Wait up, that floatation tank had seemed pretty real for a while there too. Sara tried to quell her mounting excitement. When this rising hope crashed, she would be on a monster downer. But the thumping was . . . getting louder. And it sounded uncannily like a . . . helicopter.

Okay, got to wait—calmly—and see what happens. Don't think. Concentrate on the sound, only the sound.

The noise now sounded more like someone flapping a big piece of thin cardboard very very fast, or blowing a big fat raspberry—a very metallic raspberry, she was forced to admit. The sound was swirling around her . . . as was the sand! This was no hallucination.

She pressed her lips together, scrunched her eyes closed and covered nose and mouth with her hand. The sound changed tone, then quieted. It must have landed.

Vague noises in the distance resolved into feet scrambling over the rough ground.

Voices, indistinct at first, became words. They were calling her.

"Sara, Sara! Can you hear us?!"

"Erh-ehh." All that came out was a low grunt. Damn. Her voice wouldn't work. Sara was furiously coughing, hacking, trying to lubricate her parched throat. She took a deep breath and tried again. "Hey!" It wasn't very loud, but they had to be getting closer. "I'm here!"

There was some scuffling near her head, and she opened her eyes.

Nick, panting and red, was crouching down to look under the wreck. She reached toward him with her free hand, trying to wave. "Yeah, I'm here," she croaked.

"And so are we." Nick patted her hand. "Hey now, I got someone else here who wants to see you." He rolled away to give Grissom room.

"Wait, wait. Be careful!" Urgency had revived her voice. "The props aren't stable."

"Okay, honey, I see. We'll be careful." Grissom stretched out on his stomach alongside the Mustang, and gingerly extended his hand to stroke her cheek. He felt strangely calm now. She was alive. She was alive and talking.

"Griss." She blinked. It was a weird feeling when your eyes wanted to cry but your tear ducts were dry. "Griss, I waited for you . . . and you're here."

TBC

A/N: It was fascinating to read several different readers' interpretations of the final para of chapter 9. For the record, I was trying to be a bit evil and pretending the bright light that Sara saw was part of a near-death experience . . . but remember, as Yogi Berra once said, "It ain't over till it's over."