Well, Inventory is over and I managed to finish this nice, quiet chapter. I know I keep saying that there's only one more chapter but you never know. Thank you for all your wonderful reviews and for sticking with me. I hope you enjoy this.

Onward - -

Chapter 11 – This is a good place to be

The next day – 4:00am

"Gil?"

He could hear her but it seemed so far away.

"Gil, are you awake?"

"Mmawake," he answered in a not too convincing tone as he barely acknowledged her moving out of his arms. It was the hiss of pain that brought him awake faster than anything and he bolted up. "What's the matter?" he asked blinking furiously against the weight of sleep still present. "Do I need to call the nurse?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I just moved too fast."

Rubbing at his face, he glanced over at the wall clock, groaned a bit, then back to Sara realizing she was staring at him. "What is it?" he softly asked noting she was clinging to Rupert. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Well, it wasn't bad but it was . . . odd."

Lowering himself back onto the bed, Grissom propped his head on one hand and ran the other lightly across her arm, waiting for her to speak. But when nothing came he cleared his throat.

"You fall asleep on me?" he asked around a yawn.

"I'm awake," she said pushing back into him.

"What's wrong, honey?" he asked, laying his cheek on her shoulder.

"Is it possible that when you want something badly enough you can make it happen?" She waited a few moments for him to response then lifted her head. "Did you fall asleep now?"

He grinned. "Sorry. I was thinking."

"Ah, oh."

"Hey, it's four in the morning. Cut me some slack," he whined.

"You're usually up at four. Remember?" she reminded him.

He hesitated. "Oh, yeah. Well . . . my schedule's all turned around. I'm out of the thinking habit."

"Sorry," she said not trying very hard to keep the smile from her voice.

Harrumphing, he settled back down. "Okay I'm done thinking," he informed her. "As a scientist I would say no I don't think it's possible to change things by merely wanting them to."

"Oh."

He nestled his face against her neck. "But as a husband who thought the best thing that ever happened to him was gone, who thought his world was over, to regain everything he wanted merely because he believed . . ." He stopped and took a breath. "Then, yes, it is possible. All I wanted was you and suddenly, there you were."

"But you told me you gave up hope," she quietly stated.

Grissom fell silent as regret filled him. "When everything pointed to my worst fears and everyone kept telling me it was true then . . . yes, I gave up that last spark of hope because I knew I couldn't physically reach you where you'd gone. And that damn near killed me. But I found, buried deep inside, an ember that still burned and I imagined using that to touch you in my dreams, the last place I'd be able to. It's all I had left and I would've used it until it, too, burned out taking me right along with it." Sara grabbed his hand and kissed his palm, his fingers lingering on her tear streaked face. "I don't mean to make you cry, honey," he whispered to her.

"You didn't. I just don't even want to imagine what it would've been like for me if it had been you in that car, you who I thought was . . . I would've been a basket case."

He chuckled. "I was. If I'd had a coherent thought in my head I would've been properly embarrassed. I'm sure someone will remind me of my . . . lack of control."

"Probably Ecklie," she said with disgust.

"I don't remember if he was here. Doesn't matter if he was," Grissom said resignedly. "One of his toadies will tell him."

"Cheer up, baby," she said, casting a look over her shoulder and gracing him with a sneaky smile. "Maybe he'll put his foot in it and you can pop him one."

A satisfied grin spread across his face. "I can only dream," he said wistfully then frowned. Dream. Sara had awakened him. "Did you want to tell me about your dream?"

She gripped his thumb and held on, seemingly mesmerized by his hand. "I was in a meadow," she slowly began. "The sun was shining but it wasn't too hot. Little daisies dotted the area and moved about in a soft breeze. I was sitting on a blanket and there was a picnic basket behind me. I thought I was waiting for you."

"Who came instead?" he asked thinking he might know the answer.

"Marcie," was all she said, her breath catching on the name. "She was as I remembered her that morning – her nose stuck in a book, hair bunched up in an untidy knot, a pencil behind her ear. I called to her. She looked up and smiled and I felt . . . I don't know . . . peaceful I guess."

"What happened then?" he urged wrapping his fingers about hers.

"She sat with me on the blanket and proceeded to tell me about the most beautiful field of flowers she'd ever seen on the other side of the hill. She told me about the colors, the smells, the absolute brilliance that seemed to shoot into the air with enough exuberance to create its own rainbow. Her smile lit up her face. She was . . . beautiful beyond measure. 'I could live here forever', she said, 'working and laughing with all the others.'"

"Others?"

Sara shrugged. "I didn't think to ask. Instead I asked if I could see those flowers and she offered to take me to the highest hill but no further. So I followed after her until we stood together on that hill and it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. A sea of flowers in all shapes and sizes, colors and fragrances co-existing in a valley that stretched as far as the eye could see. There were people there, the others I presume, and they called out to Marcie and waved and she was so excited. Then she turned, gave me a sweet smile and touched my arm. 'I have to go,' she said. 'This is a good place to be," she finished then hurried down the hill. But once she reached the bottom she turned again." He heard a sniffle and waited.

"What did she say, Sara?" he softly asked.

"She said . . . she said 'tell them everything is all right' then hurried off." Her voice was thick with emotion. "The next thing I knew I was here lying next to you."

Grissom pulled her even closer. "And that is a good place to be," he whispered to her before dropping a kiss to her hair.

And then she began to cry and he just held on. He didn't know what else to say so remained quiet afraid that anything he might say could sound trite or cloying even though that would never be his intent. He understood the power of dreams for they took you places where your mind could work out its problems, where discoveries could be made and, sometimes, even answers could be found.

Now his beloved was huddled against him crying silent tears for a friend that may have sent her a message of happiness and peace the only way she could – through a dream. So no more words were needed. Only the comfort of understanding and the nearness of each other was all that was necessary as the both of them relied on the other to make everything better.

And that's exactly what he intended on doing for the both of them.

CSICSICSICSI

7:30am

Grissom was whistling a happy tune as he crossed into Sara's room, a large garment bag draped over his shoulder. Two hours after she'd awakened him from his first sound sleep since all of this began, he'd started awake from another of his own dreams with a muffled cry and gasping breaths. Quickly searching her out and touching her skin just to make sure she was actually there, he eased himself out of bed and tucked Rupert into his spot to keep her warm. Then he just stood there and watched her sleep, reminding himself of the times his dreams were filled with quiet musings, soft words and pleasant feelings that would make him smile when he'd awaken to her sleeping face next to his. Sighing, he turned from her and scribbled a note then quietly left for home. He had a mission to complete.

Now, a scant hour and change later, he was back noticing the duffle bag he'd brought in the day before sitting on the bed next to his frustrated wife as she struggled to get her sweatpants on and up. He raised a brow and caught the hard look she tossed his way as if daring him to stop her.

"I'm going to Marcie's funeral," she bluntly stated sitting as straight as she could on the side of the bed.

Remaining quiet, he hung the garment bag from the closet door and walked toward her. Giving her a slight shove back onto the bed, he wrested the pants from her hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked trying to keep her voice strong.

"I'm taking off your pants," he answered as he pulled them down her legs then off her feet to lay across the duffle bag, all the while trying not to smirk.

"I'm going to the funeral, Gil," she stated, inwardly grateful to sit down so she could hold onto something until her bout of lightheadedness passed.

"I know," he answered as he returned to the garment bag and pulled down the zipper. "But you should take a shower and wash your hair 'cause I really don't think you want people seeing you with bed head."

Sara frowned. This was not her husband, the one who so adamantly agreed with her that she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to do and should've been fighting her tooth and nail to stay in bed. This was a stranger in Grissom clothes. It was confusing.

He could be a quandary sometimes.

"Aren't you going to try and talk me out of it?" she asked watching him pull out two small toiletry bags and place them on the table.

"Nope," came his simple answer.

She tilted her head, curious now. "How come?"

Grissom gave her a look. "It's your decision to make, Sara, and I will go along with whatever you decide."

"But I . . . yesterday you were . . ." She trailed off. "But I should be resting," she finally came up with.

He nodded. "Yes, you should. But if I asked would you stay home?"

"No," she answered after a moment.

He shrugged. "Then why waste the energy?"

Sara frowned again and looked toward her lap wondering if she'd ever think clearly again.

"Which one, my dear?" Grissom asked, drawing her attention back to him and the soft smile gracing his lips.

She gave a slight gasp when she saw what he was holding - her best black pants and a black skirt in one hand and one of his fancy black shirts in the other that would more than cover her shoulder sling.

He knew.

He knew she was going to go even when she didn't.

"Ah, I didn't know which one would be more comfortable so I brought both in case you weren't discharged in time," he hesitantly explained.

Her eyes caught his, caught the worry over her lack of response and she couldn't help it – she started to cry and his face fell. Quickly, but neatly, laying down the clothes, Grissom moved to sit next to her on the bed, arms pulling her toward him. Her free arm snaked about his neck and she buried her face on his chest, her cries shaking her entire body.

"It's okay, honey. Let it out."

"I want to go, Gil. I really do but I can't go. I thought I could but I can't," she managed to blurt out

"You don't have to go, Sara. No one ever said you had to go."

"I know, I know." She hiccupped a bit. "But I should go. I'm a strong person. I can do this." She held him tighter. "But I can't go. God, I'm such a wimp."

Grissom laughed quietly then shook his head. "No, honey, you're not a wimp."

"Well, what would you call it?" she asked hanging onto his neck grateful for his strong arms about her. "I freak out when you first tell me then I decide I should go then you do something nice for me and I fall apart again. What's the matter with me?"

"Sara, you've been through a major car accident. You've lost a friend. You're emotions are all over the place and, well, you're on some really good drugs."

"That's true."

"But those are just excuses," he mused then nodded. "You're right, Sara. You are a wimp."

She could hear the smile in his voice and laughed a bit. "You're bad."

"I know," he said laying his cheek against her head. "That's why you love me."

Slowly she sat back up and gave him a watery smile. "It's okay, Sara," he whispered, tenderly running a hand along her arm. "Everything's going to be okay."

And she knew it would be okay simply because he'd said so.

They'd come home early from a scene and were driving a lab issued SUV.

The flashers and siren had saved them precious time.

The hour was late and they'd been fortunate to find someone on-call.

And now they sat in the waiting room of one Venetia Zimmerman, DVM, who'd hurried the patient into the exam room and told them she would do all she could.

That's when Sara broke down.

"Everything's going to be okay, honey," Grissom told her running his hand up and down her back.

"You don't know that," she countered as she blew her nose.

"Dr. Zimmerman is very capable," he argued.

Sara looked up at him. "How do you know that? You've never met her."

He hesitated a moment. "Ah, it says so on that certificate over the poster of a dog with worms." He pointed, giving her a half smile/wince combo. Despite how she felt Sara returned a bit of a grin. "Positive thoughts, Mrs. Grissom. They can do wonders."

"This from a scientist?"

He shrugged. "I have been known to dabble in fringe science13, wishful thinking and guesswork but only when the science doesn't work. Like with you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked tossing him a questioning look.

A shy look crossed his face as he turned from her focusing on his fingers fiddling with an imaginary thread on his pants. "There were so many reasons why we shouldn't be together and I followed those reasons to the letter for far too many years until I came to a very unscientific conclusion."

"And that was?"

His hand moved to grasp hers as he looked up, his very blue eyes latching onto her brown ones.

"I was unhappy and I was making you unhappy and all I could think about was what if you left me? What would I do then? And when I came to you that night and told you of my fears, my wants and desires and how scared I was, do you remember what you told me?"

She shook her head so caught up in his soft voice and the tender way his fingers moved over hers.

"You said everything's going to be okay and I believed you. All the barricades, all the walls fell away as if they'd never been and I couldn't believe all the time I'd wasted trying to keep you out and how easy it was to let you in." He pulled up her hand then and kissed the back of it. "And that's why I know Hank will be all right because he belongs to the both of us and how can he lose with the two of us, who have overcome so much, raising a ruckus in his corner."

He smiled then and so did she. Cuddled in each other's arms, they waited for news from the very capable Dr. Zimmerman.

And everything was okay. The gob of slime that was never truly identified was removed from Hank's intestines and, a week later, he was bounding through the house despite their best efforts to keep him quiet.

That night Grissom had been right. And so many other days and nights he'd been right as well so with all of that and so much more in their background she couldn't help but believe that he was right now. He loved her. And he would do anything to make sure everything was okay. He'd move heaven and earth if needed.

"How did you know I was going to change my mind?" she asked looking toward the clothes he'd brought.

"I know you."

She looked up at him then. "No, really."

He smiled. "Your dream. Or, as my mom might say, your visit."

"Visit?" she said with a frown.

He nodded. "After dad died so suddenly, mom became very depressed. I didn't know what was going on and no one would tell me so I didn't know how to help her. Then about a month later I found her reading a book by Edgar Cayce14. I didn't know who he was at the time but she seemed excited about him. Then she started going to séances and readings. All I knew was that she seemed to get better, like the cloud that had been hovering over her since dad died disappeared. She smiled more. It made me feel better, too. It wasn't until many years later I found out she'd seen dad in her dreams. He'd talked to her, told her he loved and missed the both of us."

"Why didn't she tell you?"

He shrugged. "I always thought it was because she wanted to keep him to herself for as long as she could. I lost a father but she lost a soul mate." He looked at her then. "And having suffered from losing both, losing a soul mate is far worse." Sara looked at him again. "I hadn't thought of that in years until this morning when you told me about your dream. I knew then that you would change your mind." Then he smiled at her. "Or it could just be that you're very stubborn."

"Am not."

"Are too." He smiled at her and kissed the end of her nose.

"Do you think I should go?" she asked. "Don't tell me it's my decision. I really want to know what you think."

A sigh erupted for he knew he was stepping into it now. But, above all else, he wanted to be honest with her. It was his job to be there to salve her conscious, to keep her grounded. But it was also his duty to tell her what he needed and, this time, he really thought she needed to stay home.

"Gil?" she repeated when he took too long to answer.

Grinning at her, he ran a finger lightly over the cuts and bruises on her face. "It's only been four days since your accident and three of those days you've been thinking of me. You need to think of yourself now."

"But it makes me feel better to help you."

"And I thank you for that, honey," he answered. "You help me more than you know. But we need to center on you now. Get you back on your feet both literally and figuratively. I don't think going to a place or being with people who will remind you of what happened, is a very good idea, at least not right now. And if you decide not to go that doesn't mean you care any less. It means you need to look after yourself before you can look after others and that includes me. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah," she said. "I just wanted to hear someone else say it." She leaned back against his chest and he held her close. "I was so sure this morning. The dream made me feel . . . better about things." She sighed. "I don't know."

"It's okay. That's what I'm here for you know. I'll be the ear that listens; the hands that hold; the voice of reason when you stray too far from the path. And in helping you, I'll help myself. I'm certain of both." He stopped himself and rested his cheek on the top of her head. "I miss that," he sadly said.

"What?"

"Certainty. It used to be a constant in our lives. Now I'm riddled with doubt and anxiety."

Pulling her hand from his neck she placed it against his cheek. "There are still some certainties," she stated smiling at his puzzled look. "I will always crave your touch, your presence, your smile." She gave him a light kiss then looked deeply into his expressive eyes. "But above all you should always be certain of my love for you. That will never change no matter what the world flings at us."

The overwhelming love Grissom had for this woman embraced him in a rush of warmth and he had to blink back tears that suddenly welled up in his eyes. He never tired of the feeling, thinking it seemed sweeter now than before, weaving itself even deeper into his being.

Without a word, he pulled her close once again and listened to her breaths, reveling in the comfort they brought and the perfect moment they created. They were both where they were supposed to be – in each others arms, hearts beating as one, willing and able to fight off anything and anyone who had the gall to split them apart. He may have doubts about life in general but he would never doubt her ability to soothe his soul.

This was a good place to be.

13 Fringe science, or questionable science, is scientific inquiry in an established field of study that departs significantly from mainstream or orthodox theories and is classified in the 'fringes' of a credible mainstream academic discipline.

14Edgar Cayce was an American who claimed to be a psychic with the ability to channel answers to questions on subjects while in a self-induced trance.

Thank you again for reading and reviewing. We in the homestretch now. I hope to have the next chapter up by Thursday. Enjoy!