Wherever You Are

Author: wobbear
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I still don't own the characters. And really, who would pay for this stuff?
Spoilers?: Post-episode to Living Doll.
Author's notes: Apologies for the delay in updating. I found the final chapters hard to write, but they're basically done now, and will be tweaked and posted as soon as real life permits. Thanks so much to PhDelicious for finding the time to beat this chapter into shape.
Summary: 'If you're going through hell, keep going.' (Winston Churchill) GSR.


Chapter 11

Get to know the feeling

The precarious nature of the props was a grave concern. After considerable deliberation Grissom had regretfully determined that it was too risky to try to open the trunk and find the handcuff keys.

Nick had gone back to the helicopter to update the crew so they could call dispatch to get them to send the lifting and cutting equipment out to free Sara. Grissom refused to leave her, so they were lying there—one under and the other alongside the Mustang—holding hands and listening to each other breathe.

Grissom was silently berating himself for not having thought about gear they might need while he was back in Vegas, but at the time he had been laser-focused on finding Sara, and desperately hoping that she was alive. Those hurdles surmounted, all he could do now was help her wait. He squeezed Sara's hand as a thought occurred to him. "What was I thinking? Are you thirsty? You must be thirsty."

"Uh, yeah," Sara almost sniggered. "I've been obsessing about drinking for hours. You came along and I completely forgot. You're a really good distraction; you know that?"

It pained Grissom to think about it, but it might be hours before the heavy equipment could reach them. He would need to distract her for a while longer yet. She was in a hellish position, the crumpled roof of the car just inches above her, and the sight was sickening. How must she have felt for those hours of solitary waiting, hoping? He swallowed convulsively, noticing with dread the increased salivation that generally precedes vomiting.

"I'm going to let go of your hand for a moment, all right?" Grissom didn't want to break the connection, but he needed a diversion. "Just to get you some water."

"You won't go . . . anywhere, will you?" Even as she spoke Sara loosened her grip. In both heart and mind she knew he wouldn't leave her, but she was feeling so needy that she couldn't stop her desperate entreaty. Grissom's hand was hot and sweaty, and she was clinging to it like a lifeline.

"Nope, I'm not leaving. You couldn't drive me away." He was surreptitiously taking in deep breaths and averting his eyes from the menacing vehicle. As he focused on their clasped hands the nausea seemed to abate. "Nope," Grissom repeated, "I just need both hands to get my water bottle out."

She released his hand fully and he rolled over onto his back. While he'd been lying on his front, the contents of his vest pockets had been digging into his stomach and ribs; he was ashamed to admit that it was the discomfort which had first reminded him about the drink.

Experience had proved that the two-handed approach was the best way to rip the Velcro on their vest pockets apart. Holding the bottom edge of his vest with one hand, he tugged the flap open with the other. Thumbing open the valve on the small bottle he handed it to Sara. "It's not full, but I'm sure they have more in the chopper. You know the drill anyway, just small sips to start with."

She sipped carefully, swirling the liquid around in her mouth before letting it slide down her throat. After a few moments, she handed the drink back. Grissom squeezed two squirts of water into his own mouth then set the bottle between them in the shade. Then he proceeded to empty his vest and pants pockets: keys, wallet, latex gloves, tweezers, a squeeze bottle of phenolpthalein—Sara watched with fascination as the small mound grew—two fingerprint brushes plus powder, Maglite, swabbing kits, a messy ball of string, a myriad of tiny paper evidence envelopes and plastic bags, a soft pack of moist wipes and a battered, credit-card sized leather folder.

Sara had a feeling that she was going remain trapped for a while yet, but the end was in sight. And Grissom was there, so solid, calm and reassuring—not having to be her own cheerleader any more made the world of difference. Looking at his collection of miscellany was so much easier than trying to be strong, waiting in hope of rescue. Besides, she'd always marveled at how much stuff Grissom carried on his person, but had never quite gotten round to delving into the depths of his pockets.

"God, Griss, how many bindles does one person need?!"

He shrugged, smirking at her. "You 'borrow' so many from me, I have to stash for two. Anyway—"

Grissom stopped; voices were approaching. He tucked the small leather folder back into the upper right pocket of his vest, brushed her lips with a finger kiss and whispered, "I'll tell you later. Will you be okay if I get up to talk with them?"

"Yeah, I'm good now." She gave him a small smile. "I know it's impossible to get rid of you."

He scrambled to his feet to see that Nick and the co-pilot were nearing the Mustang. The aviator ducked down to introduce himself to Sara.

After a moment of pleasantries, she had learned that the newcomer's name was Bo; he was the helicopter co-pilot and a Search and Rescue specialist. He had a soft Southern twang and exuded calm confidence.

"You've found me; go right ahead and rescue me," she urged, pleased with her composure.

"Yeah, that's my plan." Bo called over his shoulder, "Hey, Nick, pass me that light of yours, will ya?" He explained to Sara, "I'm just going to take a look at your situation, okay? Nick told us about it, but seeing is believing, y'know?"

After carefully playing the beam around Sara to get a thorough view of her circumstances, Bo patted her on the shoulder saying, "I just need to have a moment with your man there. Don't go away, y'hear?"

Sara dutifully groaned at the cheerful guy as he straightened up. She knew full well that rescuers tried not to talk about a trapped victim's predicament within his or her hearing, if they could possibly avoid it. To her surprise she found that she was grateful for that protocol; she didn't want to get depressed all over again if she could help it.

"Hey Nick, I agree." Bo pointed down towards Sara, silently suggesting that she could do with some company.

"Good, and I gotcha," replied Nick as he crouched, then lay down to get into Sara's eye line.

"Grissom, can I have a word with you?" Bo gestured away from the vehicle and started walking.

Nodding, Grissom followed him to a sandy hollow around ten yards from where Sara lay.

"Uh, apparently there's something you need to run by me, so out with it." Grissom stuffed his hands deep into his pants pockets, noting how strange it was to have nothing in them, and braced himself for whatever was to come.

"OK, sit rep. We've called in a crane to lift the vehicle, but those things don't move fast. With this terrain, plus it's getting dark soon, it could be midnight by the time they get here. We had some rain earlier, and the forecast is for torrential downpours in the next few hours. That could slow down the heavy equipment, and there's also another potential problem." He hesitated, wondering how to phrase it. Even if Nick hadn't already told him, Bo had seen in a few seconds that the connection between Grissom and Sara was not purely professional.

Grissom held up a hand and saved him the trouble. "There's a flash flood danger, isn't there?"

Bo nodded, silently thankful for Grissom's quick grasp of the situation.

Grissom continued, "I can see the darker patches on the ground and the channels where the water flowed from that storm this morning. Given the lie of the land, with enough rain this whole area looks like it would turn into a wash—"

"Yep, an instant river. As I told Sara, SAR work is part of my job. What I didn't say to her is that I know of hikers being drowned in this area." He paused, sucked in a deep breath, and went on, "I checked before we came out here, we can expect four to six inches inside a couple of hours . . ." He looked at Grissom, and saw the message had been received with crystal clarity.

Grissom looked at his toes for a moment, then raised troubled eyes to the younger man. They heard laughter coming from under the car and Grissom smiled faintly. Nick was doing a good job over there. "I want . . . we have to get her out before the rain comes. But how?"

To Grissom's surprise, Bo smiled at him.

"Nick has an idea, and I think it may just work."

TBC