"Do you think you could take the catheter out?" Grissom asked the nurse as she bent down to check his urine output. "I promise not to make a run for it, if that's what you're worried about."

Straightening up, the nurse gave a small chuckle. "Oh, I'm not worried about that." Pausing, she flicked her eyes up from the chart she was filling in. "Is it causing you discomfort? The catheter, I mean."

"A little."

"I'll check with the doc when he does his rounds, but I don't see why not. Everything seems to be working fine that end and the quicker you can start moving about a little, the better."

"Thank you," he said softly, holding her gaze gratefully when she looked back up.

The nurse gave a nod before moving to check the nasogastric tube inserted in his nose, used for suctioning residual post-operatic bleeds in his stomach. Grissom closed his eyes and let her do her work. She was nice and gentle, much nicer than the offhand male nurse that had looked after him the previous day. He understood the risk he posed to staff and other patients, that hospital personnel weren't supposed to fraternise with him, a potentially dangerous inmate, but still there were no reasons to be rude or uncaring.

After collapsing in his cell following Armstrong's attack, he'd been stretchered out and taken to the prison's medical facility for monitoring. Badly bruised ribs and abdomen on the left side as well as mild concussion had been promptly diagnosed and didn't warrant any other treatment than rest, pain medication and monitoring for a day or two until he was sent back to his cell. But when his condition, instead of improving, had slowly deteriorated, his blood pressure dropping to dangerously low levels, the doctors began to worry. Fearing some internal damage and bleeding, they'd had him transferred out to Galveston prison hospital for a CT scan.

Drugged up and drowsy, Grissom didn't recall much of those first few days, except for the fact that he was weak and in pain, but he now knew that his bruised ribs had hidden a substantial splenic bleed. His spleen, already damaged in the car crash he had caused, had suffered a significant tear that had needed surgery to repair. Two days later, he was still sore and tender but getting stronger and mainly pain-free. And as he lay there, with the other sick prisoners – much sicker than him it would appear – and the nurse fussing around him, he thought about his life and how twice now it could have ended early.

"Do you know how long they're going to keep me here?" he asked the nurse, quietly reopening his eyes.

"I'm afraid not. Post-operative care for this kind of surgery can take up to two weeks, but we're short of space so they might decide to move you back before that."

"Let's hope so."

The quicker he could get back to Beaumont, even if it was back in the medical facility, the better as far as he was concerned. He was worried about Manuel and feared the younger man had taken the law into his own hands, seeking revenge for the attack. He hoped with all his heart Manuel hadn't – the consequent reprimand if caught would certainly jeopardise his change in custody level and subsequent transfer – but Manuel was nothing if not hot-headed and incredibly loyal to his friends, indeed paying a hefty price behind bars for that loyalty.

And then there was Sara. For just over a week now, he hadn't been able to get news out to her. He knew she would be worried, but hopefully she'd just think that they were on lockdown again. Worst case scenario, he figured, the TDC would have written to her, notifying her that, unwell, he had been moved out to a hospital so he could receive the care he needed, in which case she would be doubly worried and desperate for an update he wasn't able to give her.

"You know," the nurse went on, drawing him out of his thoughts, "normally prisoners are in no hurry to get back to wherever it is they came from."

Grissom shrugged. "Here I can't do the thing I most want to do right now."

"Oh, and what's that?" she asked lightly, interestedly, but the sudden change in her expression told him she'd forgotten herself.

He gave a wistful smile. "I'd like to…be able to write to my wife," he replied candidly. "Tell her I'm okay. Not to worry." He chuckled lightly. "Not that I could see what I was writing anyway." He paused as a thought occurred. "I suppose a phone call is out of the question?"

"I'm afraid so."

The smile lingering on his face, Grissom nodded his head and then closed his eyes again. The nurse finished caring for him, then moved on to the next patient, only to return some time later with the doctor. His healing wounds were checked. The NG tube and catheter were removed, his pain medication reduced to a lower dose, and he was told that indeed he would be transferred back to the medical facility in his prison within the week. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or not at the news.

"I don't suppose next of kin get notify, do they?" Grissom asked the doctor. "When there is a medical emergency?"

"No, they don't. No. Not unless the patient is in a critical condition."

"And I don't qualify?"

The doctor laughed. "You might have done if you'd got to us any later, but no. The tear was in a good place and we were able to repair it. There shouldn't be any lasting damage, provided you receive the appropriate after care and you take it easy for a while."

Grissom nodded his gratitude. "Thank you. I—I appreciate what you've done."

"Only doing my job."

"Still, thank you."

The doctor gave a nod of acknowledgement. "I'll see you again tomorrow."

"I'm not going anywhere."

After eating a light lunch, Grissom dozed off. A correctional officer moving furniture around him woke him some time later. A chair replaced the tray table next to his bed and the curtain had been pulled right around, fully opening up his cubicle. The officer moved around him, wordlessly checking one thing and then another, much to Grissom's growing puzzlement. It was only when the officer removed the handcuff chaining him to the bedrail that he spoke.

"What's happening?"

"You got a visitor," the officer replied gruffly without making eye contact.

Grissom registered a look of surprise. "A visitor?"

"Two actually."

His heart quickened in anticipation as a smile formed on his face. "My wife?"

"A resourceful woman, that's for sure. With friends in high places."

Grissom's smile was wide and happy. "She's here?"

The officer gave a curt nod. "You were in law-enforcement?"

Grissom nodded. "A long time ago."

"Which is why they made an exception to the rules." The officer's tone suggested he didn't approve.

"You don't have anything to worry about – security-wise."

"That's what they all say."

The officer went on to explain about the do's and don'ts, which weren't very dissimilar to other prisons' visiting rules, but Grissom barely listened. All he could think about was Sara and the fact that she'd somehow found out where he was and come all this way just to see him. The thought was like a shot of adrenaline, instantly perking him up. He scooted up the bed as far as he could into a half-sitting, half-lying position, pulled the bedsheet up to his armpits to cover the wires on his chest and looked at the IV line in his left arm, the only outwardly visible sign of his injuries aside from the healing cut on his lip and his stitched-up right temple.

After what felt like ages, the door to the main ward opened and Sara entered, escorted by a different officer. His eyes immediately filled with tears of joy, of relief, on seeing her, a sudden rush of emotion he tried his best to swallow and keep control of. Sara's quick eyes scanned the large room and the many beds uncertainly until they found him. Her wary face lit up and, raising the hand not hooked up to the IV line in a small wave, he gave her a shaky smile.

The officer said something in her ear as they approached and, keeping her eyes fixed on her husband, she nodded her head. Blowing out a deep, tremulous breath, Grissom blinked his eyes a few times, then held out his hand to her. Glancing at the officer, Sara took his hand then moved to kiss him lightly on the mouth before she embraced him. Her touch was light and gentle, careful lest she put pressure on him, and he lifted his hand to her back, patting, stroking as he returned the hug as best he could.

He never wanted to let go. She smelled so good, felt so good in his arms. His tears fell and he closed his eyes, the wave of love and happiness that coursed through him all encompassing, and it was all he could do not to break down into sobs. All too soon, she pulled back from him and glanced at the officer again before taking a seat on the chair by his bedside and leaning forward reached for his hand. The fact that they were being closely watched – that their interaction was being recorded – didn't seem to faze her.

"Handholding is allowed," she said in a whisper, smiling, "I checked."

Grissom glanced toward the officer but he had moved further back and was standing there, already looking bored, keeping guard. "Oh, Sara. I've missed you so much," he said, choking on the last word as his emotion got the better of him. Turning away, he willed himself to stay strong and wiped his wet eyes on his hospital gown.

"I've missed you too," Sara said in a hoarse whisper, and he turned back to look at her.

He blew out a breath and they stared at each other for a moment without speaking, just smiling through their tears and letting the emotion on their face, in their eyes express what they couldn't voice.

"How are you?" he asked at last.

She laughed. "I'm fine—happy, relieved now I've seen you. I've been so worried. You wouldn't believe the lengths Jim had to go."

"I can imagine."

She hesitated, then looked over her shoulder and quickly stroked her hand the length of his bearded cheek. "It was worth it."

"Definitely." His smile wavered. "What about work?" he went on when she kept silent.

"Ah. I already maxed out on overtime for this month." Her lips twitched with a teasing smile. "I needed a diversion."

Recognising the reference, Grissom laughed. "I'm glad I could oblige."

"You thought that I wouldn't find out?" she then asked lightly.

His smile fading, Grissom shrugged his shoulder. "I thought you might. Hope you wouldn't. I didn't want you to worry."

"I worry anyway." Her smile trembled, and she lifted her shoulder in a small shrug.

"I'm sorry I couldn't let you know."

"I know." She gave her head a shake, as though getting rid of some dark thoughts. "They said they operated on you to fix your spleen?" And when he acquiesced with a nod, "What happened?"

Grissom sighed. Unsure how much she knew he decided to play down the events, kept his tone light and breezy and his account deliberately vague so as not to add to her worry. "I did some guy a favour and it backfired on me. Rules are different on the inside. It's par for the course."

Her face was full of concern now. "Par for the course, huh?"

Grissom's shoulder lifted again. "I don't think he meant to do me as much damage as he did."

Sara sighed. "Who was it?" she asked, her stare probing.

"Some guy I got on the wrong side of."

"And that's all I'm going to get, is it? Some guy you did a favour for and got on the wrong side of?"

Again Grissom lifted his shoulder. "It's better this way, Sara, honestly. The least you know, the better it is."

Sara sighed. "Manuel said that—"

Grissom registered a look of surprise. "You spoke to Manuel?"

"Yes, well, no. He wrote to me. That's how I found out you got hurt."

"Oh," Grissom said, taken aback by the news, "I assumed you were here because the prison had notified you, that maybe Dr Walker had gotten a message to you?"

"Dr Walker? No." Sara shook her head. "Nope, nothing. All I got is Manuel's letter, Gil. I brought it with me for you to read. It's in my purse but apparently it's considered contraband."

Grissom gave a wry smile. "I couldn't read it anyway. I don't have my glasses here."

Sara winced. "About that. Manuel wrote that they got broken in the fight."

"What fight?" Grissom exclaimed in a scoff. "It wasn't a fight."

Sara frowned. "What was it then?"

Once again debating how honest to be with her, Grissom took in and let out a long breath. "A one-sided punch-up? I didn't…defend myself, Sara." He shrugged. "He was just…settling a score." He looked up and met her gaze dead on. "As I said, I don't think he meant to put me in here. If he gets caught—"

"When he gets caught, Gil," she said with conviction. "Manuel says that everyone knows who he is. He also said you got some evidence."

Grissom looked surprised. "Did he?"

Sara nodded. "Well?" she queried when he didn't elaborate, "did you get evidence?"

Grissom shrugged. "I scraped my nails to his foot." He sighed. "I think that whatever evidence I got got compromised when they moved me. I mean Riley was aware, but…well, I'm not holding my breath."

"Riley?"

"One of the COs in my unit. He's a good guy. But I'm not sure they'll even bother to test it." He glanced up toward the nearest CCTV camera ball. "What happens behind the wall tends to stay behind the wall."

Sara smiled at the reference. "I'll speak to your attorney. Get him on the case, see what he can find out."

Grissom nodded, but he wasn't sure it was worth it. It was easy for the TDC to claim the sample had been compromised somehow, keep a lid on what had happened especially as no one had been seriously injured.

Sara took in a long breath she let out slowly. It was obvious something was on her mind she was yet to broach with him.

"What is it, Sara?" he asked softly, concerned.

Averting her gaze, she pinched her lips. "I don't want you to go back there, Gil. I mean when you're well enough to."

"It's not up to me, Sara."

"Maybe they can move you somewhere else," she said hopefully.

"I don't think so."

"I'm scared, Gil. I don't want anything else to happen to you. You could have been killed."

Grissom gave her hand a squeeze. "I wasn't."

"That's twice now you get injured and I'm not aware." Tears formed in her eyes. "Twice now you could have died and I didn't know."

"Sara, sweetheart—"

"Can't you ask for a transfer?" she insisted. "Please do it for me." Despite the tears shining in her eyes, she held his gaze steadily. "I don't care where, but I don't want you going back to that place with that man."

"Sara—"

"Even if they arrest him," she went on, speaking over his words, "he'll have contacts. He'll want to get revenge—"

"Sara," he called more forcefully, stopping her in her tracks, "it's not like I have much choice in the matter. It's too early for me to ask for a transfer, you know that. When they review my custody level, I'll have to move, whether I want to or not. It's only a few more weeks." Unwilling to fall out with her and understanding her concerns, he gave her a soft smile and her hand a pat. "Let's talk about something else, alright? Let's not spoil the rest of the time we have together." Giving her hand another squeeze, he smiled widely. "What else did Manuel say?"

She gave a grudging shrug. "He kept very vague. I'm surprised the letter got to me at all actually."

"So am I."

"He said that he was in the hole until he was transferred."

"Oh dear God."

"Oh, he didn't do anything wrong," she quickly explained, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "He said they put him there for his safety. Sounds like they might have brought his transfer date forward."

A wistful smile forming, Grissom's gaze became distant as his mind took him back to the happy moment Manuel announced his custody level had been lowered and he was being moved. "He wanted to wait until he'd taken all his tests."

"Tests?"

He refocused on Sara. "He's taking his GED in English and Maths. I hope what happened to me won't change that."

"I don't think it will." She smiled softly. "He said to tell you he was already making the right choices."

Grissom's smile widened. "Good for him."

Sara gave a hesitant nod. "Sounds like the two of you have gotten quite close."

Grissom's smile saddened a little. He thought back to what Dr Walker had said to him during their last conversation about turning a negative experience into a positive one. He thought about the good work he was doing inside to help other inmates, about how he'd taken Manuel under his wing. Maybe meeting Manuel and hopefully steering him onto the right path was part of his redemption.

"He wants to keep in touch, you know, after the transfer, and he asked that…I write to him with news. I'd like to," she went on when Grissom kept silent, dipping her head to catch his eye. "Is that okay?"

Refocusing, Grissom nodded his head. "He's a good kid."

"He said that he was sorry for not being there when it happened," she continued in a quiet, introspective voice.

"It would have happened anyway," he said, refocusing suddenly. "It was just a matter of time. There's nothing anyone could have done. Least of all you."

Letting out a long, resigned sigh, she nodded her head.

"I'm fine now," he went on cheerily, "so let's concentrate on that, alright?"

"Alright," Sara said, a grudging smile twitching at her lips. "I tell you what. Next time I write to you I'll copy up Manuel's letter so you can read it for yourself."

Grissom smiled wryly. "They'll reject the mail."

"Then I'll have to be clever. Use a code of sorts. I'm good with codes." When Grissom's smile widened, hers did too. "They won't notice."

"You forget that I don't have any glasses anymore."

"I'll just have to write big." She shrugged. "I brought your spare pair just in case."

"They won't allow it."

"Maybe not, but I left the glasses with them anyway. And because I was anticipating a rejection I also left them your prescription – the last one you had done when you were in Vegas."

Her solicitude touched him. "Thank you. That'll speed things up for sure. That said I was kind of looking forward to wearing the Buddy Holly style glasses we can buy from commissary."

Sara laughed, then glanced at her watch. "My thirty minutes are almost up," she said, looking back up despondently.

Glancing at the officer looking at his feet as he stood sentry nearby, Grissom reached up his hand, touching his fingertips to Sara's face tenderly. "The officer said I had two visitors. Jim came too?"

A soft smile forming on her lips, she gave her head a gentle shake. "No. Jim didn't come. He would have liked to, but two was the maximum they'd allow." Her smile faded and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a telltale sign that she was nervous. He frowned. "Your mother's here, Gil," she went on hesitantly. "She came with me. She's waiting outside. They wouldn't let us come in together."

Grissom's expression became pained, his eyes haunted suddenly as he looked around the room almost fearfully, certainly shamefully. At least they'd taken off the handcuff.

"I couldn't keep her in the dark, Gil," Sara defended in a vehement whisper. "I couldn't. Not about you being in the hospital. Not after everything that's happened."

Turning toward her, he reached for her hand. "It's okay. You're right. You did the right thing. It's time, I guess."

Sara gave him an encouraging smile. "She's going to be fine, Gil."

He scoffed. "I'm not sure I will."

She patted his hand lovingly. "You will. Just give her a hug and make peace."

His lips pinching, Grissom gave a nod of the head. A second CO came into the room, notifying his colleague that the visit was over, and Sara made to stand. "Thank you," he said, his voice gruff, his eyes filling at the prospect of once again being apart, "For coming…and bringing Mom too. For looking after her."

"Don't mention it," she mouthed, emotion she'd kept on top of so far suddenly spilling. "We've decided to make a little trip of it, you know? Just a couple of days. I'll tell you all about it." The officer moved forward, and turning toward him Sara nodded. "Write please. As soon as you get back."

"I will."

"Even if it's in big letters."

A smile spread across his face, dissipating his sadness. "I love you."

"I love you too." Gently, he pulled at her hand, tugging her forward, and closing his eyes once again wrapped his free arm around her. When she pulled back, the CO was standing right behind her, ready to escort her out.

"Say thanks to Jim from me," he said, when reluctantly she turned to go. "Tell him I'll buy him a beer when I get out."

His words seemed to give her pause, and she turned back to look at him. She looked surprised, but happy, and he could well imagine it was because it was the first time he'd spoken about life after prison. Wiping at her eyes, she gave a nod, then with one last trembling smile turned her back on him and left the room.

Grissom only had enough time to use the bedsheet to wipe at his face and eyes before the door opened again. He watched warily his mother come in, uncertainly preceding the CO into the room. The tentative smile on her face wavered as soon as she locked eyes with him. Grissom raised his right hand in a shy hello when she stood rooted by the door until the officer motioned for her to go forward and to the chair at his bedside.

Betty's trembling smile widened as she stepped closer. "Son," she signed.

Grissom's eyes filled again. "I'm sorry," he signed, holding her gaze meaningfully as he tried to impart all the things he was sorry for, and then motioned one-handed for her to come closer so he could give her a hug. He couldn't help noticing how changed she looked since the last time he'd seen her, how tired and old suddenly, much older than he remembered, and he knew that he was the cause for the change. Sara had been right to bring Betty to the visit, and he was grateful she had.

Seeing his mother, being able to speak with her, albeit through slow and rusty signing, meant a lot. After exchanging a few tentative, almost awkward platitudes, they got into their stride and were able to clear the air and talk properly. There were no drama or recriminations. Betty didn't ask any questions - no doubt Sara would fill her in afterwards. She was just happy to answer his and spend all too short a moment with her son, never judging or condemning, just forgiving as she had said in her letter.

"Tell Sara to organise a visit at the prison," he signed when the officer moved forward, indicating it was time for Betty to go, "when I'm back there and on my feet. Tell her I'll put your name down on my list of approved visitors and you can both come."

The look of joy, of shock, that lit up his mother's face made his feelings of guilt resurface. He'd treated her - and Sara - very badly, very unfairly, but from then on he vowed to do right by them.

For a long time, he wished he had died in the crash.

Not anymore.

Now he was looking forward to the future and a quiet life with the people he loved.