a/n: as always, thanks to TroddenBlack for her helpful beta-ing...and for making sense out of my confused rants about how this chapter didn't fit. She just sanded the edges a little, and it fit perfectly!

a/n 2: sooo sorry i havent updated in forever..ive been having computer problems, but im back!! thanks for sticking in!!

Chapter Ten: Numbed

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"Bring it to the table, bring what I am able..."

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When she opened the door of the refrigerated truck, she saw the last person she expected to see.

He stood in the threshold of the door, his hair flecked with a dark residue. His chiseled, handsome features were also coated in soot; the places where tears had unknowingly washed the black dust were hidden by his beard and went unnoticed. His normally effusive blue eyes were empty.

He was holding a little girl in a sleeping bag and she would've looked like she was just sound asleep if it wasn't for the gash on her temple and her pale skin. He was holding the girl tight to his body, as if to keep her warm and protected, looking like he never wanted to let her go.

It took a moment for his vacant eyes to recognize the woman standing before him, and when he did, he couldn't help but stare in disbelief for a moment. He took a minute to find his voice, but she waited it out.

"Teri?"

The blonde nodded. Grissom eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His brain still felt numb, and he couldn't think of anything but the pain he felt for this little girl and her mother.

"I…I need another favor," He managed to say slowly, his voice on the edge of breaking, "She goes to the top of the list."

He looked down at the little girl as he said it, his eyes burning once more. Teri nodded slowly, then a little more ardently. She stepped back and let him in past her. Grissom walked by racks and shelves of body bags. It was cold, as expected, but he was thankful. It soothed the ache in his legs. However, it did not soothe the ache in his soul…

When he got to his destination, he swallowed although his throat was dreadfully dry, and stared down. He didn't want to set her down on that cold, hard, shiny metal of the morgue slab. Sterilized, disinfected, vacant of any trace of life, like it always was. Life never happened on a morgue slab. He'd seen many a person lying there, and he never thought of someone more dead on a slab than anywhere else. And setting that little girl on that cold metal had a sense of finality to it that he almost couldn't bear…like if he set her down, it would prove once and for all that she really was dead.

Slowly and painstakingly, he forced himself to gently lower the girl to the table. His hands still shook ever so slightly as he slowly unzipped the sleeping bag. Grissom bit the inside of his lip as he looked down at her. She looked so innocent, so childlike in her Dora the Explorer pajamas.

It made Grissom feel so many things at once. He wanted to slide to the floor and cry, he wanted to throw something, he wanted to scream, he wanted to beat the shit out of a god he hadn't prayed to in thirty years because he had made this child die. Yet all he could do was stand there, his eyes watering and his left thumb rubbing relentlessly against his knuckles.

Teri put on a pair of gloves, the harsh snap of latex against her wrists causing Grissom to flinch both times. She reached for the girl's hand, making to take her fingerprints. Grissom just watched her work, unable to move. He knew he should call Sara, find out where she was and let her know he was okay. He knew he should find out if the little girl's mother was still alive…but he couldn't.

Halfway through fingerprinting the little girl's left hand, Teri looked up, noticing that Grissom hadn't moved since he'd laid the girl down. His attractive features looked pinched, his body rigid.

"Gil…you don't need to be here. Go take a shower or something. Get something to eat…" She suggested.

"No."

"Really, Gil. You don't need to--"

"I said no."

Forty-five minutes later, Grissom left the trailer. The preliminary autopsy had been done, her prints taken and sent to be entered in the database. He started down the metal stairs on shaky legs, but by the bottom, he was running. He ran around the side of the trailer, and when he could no longer stop it, he leaned his weight against a tree and threw up.

He stood there for a long moment afterwards, his chest heaving and his insides still churning. He stared out into the woods, the faint smell of fire still detectible in the breeze. He took a deep breath and headed towards the lookout. He needed to be alone to collect himself.

He walked off the path and sat where he and Sara had sat before. He knew deep down that he really should find her. Call her at the very least. But he wasn't ready. It seemed the tables had turned; he didn't want to break down in front of her.

He sat staring over the lake, understanding why Sara had come here to think. It was calm, peaceful, quiet…

He'd seen his fair share of bodies. Men, women, kids -- babies, even. But for some reason, some unknown reason, this was getting to him. Maybe it was the body count, the overload of corpses and bits of people he'd found. Maybe it was the fact that he knew that the little girl's mother would be forever ridden with guilt that she had survived and her daughter hadn't. Maybe forty years of death as a profession had finally caught up with him. Maybe he was just emotionally fragile with his relationship with Sara…

Whatever it was, he didn't know. But he didn't want Sara to see his weakness. He was the one she was leaning on (or at least whom she thought she was leaning on) and if she knew how weak he was at that moment, she'd likely collapse too. Yet he wanted to see her so badly, he wanted to hold her…

It was dusk by the time he had enough courage and gathered enough composure to reach into his pocket for the walkie-talkie. But as he reached down, he realized that he didn't have his jacket on. He'd left it in the forest, the walkie-talkie in his pocket.

The fire may have already been put out, but Gil Grissom's whole world was on fire, and it was still burning.

Sara stared out the window of the waiting room, a shaking hand holding a lukewarm coffee. She could see herself in the reflection, looking distraught. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a mess, and her mouth twisted in a constant grimace. If she focused beyond her own face, she could see the thinning smoke outside, curling up towards the brightening stars.

A nurse had taken compassion on her and brought her a coffee and a muffin twenty minutes ago. Sara had just sat slumped in an uncomfortable plastic chair, mumbling something reminiscent of a 'thank you'. She had been much calmer by then; she'd cried for so long, she had no tears left to cry.

She had slid down to the cold tiles of the waiting room floor as she'd watched the television in horror. The sight of Grissom holding that little girl, his face dirty and his eyes unseeing, just walking…it had broken her heart.

No, not broken – Shattered. Exploded. Strewn over the 1-95 and run over by an entire fleet of eighteen wheelers.

It was likely the saddest thing she'd ever seen in her entire life. She couldn't remember crying for that long. And for Sara Sidle, that was saying something. She'd managed to find the cell phone on the floor and press the 'end' button. Nick had yet to call back.

She was relieved.

"Miss Sidle?" came a voice form the door. She wrenched her gaze from the window to see the face of the doctor in the doorway. He looked tired as well. After all, he'd spent a few hours in surgery with the woman. She had massive internal haemorrhaging in her abdomen, and two broken ribs.

"We've taken her out of surgery and she's headed to intensive care for the night. You can go see her now if you want…"

Sara had unofficially been appointed as the woman's temporary power of attorney because she was a Jane Doe. She couldn't leave the hospital in case anything was to happen, but Sara didn't think that she could make it that far. Her legs felt weak, her head dizzy. She just wanted desperately to fall asleep without worry, and with the comfort of Grissom next to her.

Obviously that wasn't about to happen.

To Be Continued...

a/n: you guys just hate that last line, dontcha? i'll take your bitter reviews in a good way...as in you want to read more. which you do, right?