Greg was startled awake with abrupt harshness when Gil dropped his cane as he was getting back into bed after a trip to the bathroom.
"What the... oh," spluttered the younger man, recovering his bearings quickly. "Are you ok?" he asked, seeing his former boss struggling to reach down and pick up the offending item. Gil nodded, closing his fingers around the cold metal and hooking the handle over the bed rail before rolling onto his back, ribs protesting. He forced the pain out of his mind, fresh out of patience with hospitals, agony and his recent lack of independence. Breathing slowly and carefully, avoiding the too deep breaths that would aggregate his ribs further, he concentrated on Greg and recalling their earlier conversation.
"So where were we?" he asked.
"You were going to tell me about Sara and how the two of you ended up here." Greg got to his feet and filled two cups with water from the bathroom sink, handing one to Gil and draining the other himself before refilling it and sipping more slowly.
"Three of us," Gil corrected, after taking a sip to clear his throat of the remnants of sleep. "You are officially a godfather." He tried to say it with pleasure, but found the words twisted and darkened in his mouth.
"The baby's here? But its way too soon isn't it?"
"Yes," Gil's voice was hard, the anger he'd managed to repress for days was back now that he had someone to vent too. He passed his precious Polaroid collection over to Greg. "Rowen Emilia Anne was born on her mother's birthday by emergency caesarean. She's been in the neonatal unit ever since, with infant respiratory distress syndrome, various other premature baby problems and a heart condition that needs surgical intervention tomorrow."
He spoke bitterly, nearly spitting some of the hated words as he stared at the most recent picture of his baby girl. "Sara on the other hand, has a shattered leg and knee, a whiplash associated injury of the neck, a cerebral blood clot that is finally dissipating, and bruised lungs. Not to mention, the emergency surgery, the fact that the doctors had to remove her uterus because the impact caused a rupture that haemorrhaged and caused her lose nearly twice her own blood volume, and damage to the spleen. Oh, and now she has sepsis and pulmonary edema from foreign object penetrating trauma to her shoulder. She back on the ventilator for the third damn time, and sedated yet again in the ICU. Meanwhile, neither of us have even had the chance to so much as touch Rowen, let alone hold her and that bastard walked out of here, untouched."
He stopped, breathing heavily from shouting, his hands clenched so tightly in the blankets that his damaged shoulder was pounding and bolts of fiery lightning were shooting up into his skull. Jenni walked in with pain meds and lunch. She said nothing about the shouting, checked they were alright, and left, pulling the door to behind her, but not before giving Greg a small smile of gratitude.
Gil stared defiantly at his sandwich for a moment, before tearing it open and taking an angry bite with vicious voracity. They were quiet for a while as Gil worked his way through his lunch, and Greg pulled a granola bar and apple from his backpack, munching on his own snack, waiting. When Gil pushed the tray away and leant back into the pillows with a sigh, raking his hand through his already disordered hair, Greg refilled their cups again, used the facilities and settled back into the chair.
"Thank you," said Gil quietly, looking over at Greg. "I really needed someone to listen to me vent. It's so hard being stuck in here, unable to do the simplest things while I have no control over what's happening to Sara or Rowen. It's worse than sitting with Sara after the desert. They both need me, I can't be in two places at once, and I can't get out of bed for too long either because I've barely got more strength than an overcooked noodle."
"You're welcome," replied Greg. "So what happens next?" he asked, wanting to keep Grissom talking.
"Rowen has surgery in the morning, and we keeping waiting for Sara to respond to treatment." As he spoke, Gil looked for the monitor Joan had brought him. It was set aside, on top of the bedside cabinet where Jenni had placed it that morning when they went to visit the NICU. The connection had failed when she moved it, and Gil slid out of bed carefully to retrieve it. He set it on the rolling tray and switched it back on, walking carefully around the room while it booted up, stretching his legs.
"You need any help?" asked Greg, watching him warily.
"No thank you, my muscles are just stiff from the nap. I've only been walking about for a couple of days. It's taking some getting used to."
"What happened to your arm?"
"Multiple fractures to the shoulder, radius and ulna, a fracture of the anatomical neck of the humerus and some muscle tearing. Lots of titanium rods, pins and screws. What's bothering me the most is the rib fractures because they're limiting my movement and making it hard to move around comfortably."
"That's quite a list," sighed Greg, shaking his head. "Do you remember anything about the accident?"
"No, I had a serious concussion. Nausea, dizziness and vomiting for days when I woke up. I don't remember most of that either, but they tell me it's normal. That's part of the reason it has taken me so long to get up and about, it took days before I could sit for more than a few minutes without pain and dizziness overwhelming me."
"How much longer are they going to keep you here?"
"I have to be able to do a list of things for myself, and then as long as I have supervision I'm allowed to leave. Jenni thinks the doctors will let me out in a couple of days; she said I've been improving dramatically in the last seventy-two hours or so. To tell you the truth though, I'm not sure I want to leave yet. I don't like the thought of not being near Sara and Rowen. Plus, I haven't got anyone to stay with me."
"What about you mother?"
"She's on a three month combined mission and study tour in the Comoros with students from the Deaf university. The group has been fundraising for the last two years for the trip, and they only left three weeks ago."
"Have you spoken to her?"
"No, communication is difficult with the group, I honestly hadn't thought about it because my mind hasn't exactly been up to usual standards, and thinking about it now, I don't want to let her know. She's had this trip in the works for nearly four years, and she worries far too much. She doesn't handle stress very well, and I don't handle her handling stress well at all."
"Ok, what can I do to help?" asked Greg. Gil stared at him, feeling as though he had just been confronted by an alien.
"What?" Greg sighed; Grissom was more scrambled that he had ever seen, even after Sara walked out on their life in Vegas.
"Griss, I'm here to help. Whatever you need, I'm good for. Catherine thinks I took off to see my parents, but they cancelled at the last minute because they won some luxury cruise. For the next two weeks, I'm yours. Driver, cleaner, helper; whatever it takes. You guys are family to me."
Grissom gaped at him, struggling to catch up. "But," he finally managed. Greg held up a hand.
"No buts; I said I'm here to help. That's the end of it." Head spinning, Grissom smiled for what felt like the first time in an eternity.
"Ok," he nodded. "Thank you." Greg waved a hand and shook his head.
"Don't mention it."
"I mean it!"
"I know. Now, what do you need before they cut you loose? The sooner you're out of here, the more time you get to spend with your girl's right?"
"Yes. The list is on the counter over there." Greg picked up the paper and scanned it, making a list of mental notes.
"Alright, practicalities then; who's looking after your animals?"
"Candy," he answered, then paused. "No, Mariah is now, Candy went away to school. I was supposed to text her updates."
"I'll find your phone charger," promised Greg. "What about insurance company stuff?"
"I haven't heard anything."
"You'll probably have a bunch of messages in your voicemail," mused Greg. "What about the Prius?"
"Completely totalled; someone showed me a picture of it, but I don't remember who. I don't remember most of the first few days in here. It was impounded by the police as evidence; the driver killed another man so there will be a trial."
"What about the university?"
"I don't know. They sent me a card," replied Gil, pointing to the window sill. "I haven't heard anything else; I haven't been fit for visitors really."
"What about Sara's job?"
"Her boss has been in a few times; her only concern is that we recover our health. She's been keeping an eye on the cottage too, along with the vet Mariah," he looked around distractedly, fidgeting with the blankets. "They have my keys, but Sara's are around here somewhere, you should take them."
A few minutes later and Greg could tell Grissom was tiring. With a promise to be back later, he gathered his things and left just as Gil fell asleep again. In the hallway Jenni stopped him.
"Thank you for coming," she said quietly, "He really needed someone to listen to him."
"I could tell! I'm staying for a couple of weeks," he replied. Relief spread across the nurse's face.
"I'm glad to hear it; he's going to need a lot of help."
"Yeah, and he's not used to other people messing with his life. Well, I'll be back later. See you then."
…
The dogs greeted him ecstatically when he walked in, and only a quick game of rough and tumble in the yard convinced them to leave him alone long enough to get back inside and shut the door, leaving them to run off their energy. The place was neat and tidy; the vet had obviously taken care of the few necessary chores, but there was some cleaning to be done. With the dogs out of the way, Romeo and Juliet twined around him, lavishing attention on their visitor. He looked for the other cat; Socks was curled in the window, watching warily and refusing to get down and greet him. He opened the fridge and winced, shutting it just as quickly. Clearly no one had thought to empty out the perishables.
Still being mauled by cats, he made his way to the spare room and dumped his bag on the bed. It was much the same as the last time he'd been there, aside from the addition of various small pieces of partially unpacked baby gear and a beautiful oak rocking chair, upon which rested an open card. Picking it up, he scanned the National Geographic picture of Machu Pichu and frowned, wondering about the significance. Without really meaning to, he opened the card.
Sara, memories are the fabric of life, woven by experience and desire. I am fortunate beyond measure to be able to share that process with you. Thank you for the best year of my life, and the promise that those to come will be even better. Happy Birthday, with all my love, Gil.
Feeling his heart pull, Greg carried the card into the family room and settled it on the mantle over the fire. Collapsing onto the sofa, he let out a deep, heavy sigh. Despite his worries, he had not envisioned the turmoil he had walked into earlier when he had departed Las Vegas after his shift. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. A text from his mother; they were having a great time and wished he was with them. For a moment, so did he. He dropped the phone on the cushion beside him and looked up, his gaze falling on a framed photo of Sara and Grissom with a cockroach and a gold medal. Snorting with laughter, he pushed himself to his feet and went to clear out the fridge. Noticing the phone charger on the counter, he plugged in Grissom's dead cell and then took a deep breath before pulling open the refrigerator door. After all, rotten food had nothing on decomposing flesh.
…
Grissom was awake and alert when Greg returned.
"I'm going to visit Rowen in a few minutes, do you want to come?" he asked.
"I'd love to," grinned Greg. "Here," he handed Grissom his phone, "I charged this while you were sleeping, and I took these," he pulled out his own phone and showed Gil a series of quick photos he had snapped of the animals. "I thought you might like to see how they're doing."
"Thank you! Oh, Hank looks like he's getting fat!"
"Yeah, I noticed. I took them for a nice long walk, and nearly lost Lucy before I figured out not to let her off the leash." Grissom laughed, the sound almost a foreign concept to his ears.
"She's a monster for that; she's getting better, but she doesn't listen when she gets excited." Grissom handed Greg his phone back and then switched on his own. The welcome screen flashed up and then a series of beeps squealed intrusively.
"That's a lot of messages," whistled Greg.
"Fifty-seven; lots of them are from Candy."
"About twenty-five," said a voice from the doorway. "I was starting to get really worried!"
"I'm sorry," replied Gil, "my phone"
"Wasn't charged. Yeah, that occurred to me about two minutes ago. Where's Sara?"
"In ICU," said Grissom, his tone darkening instantly. He pointed the monitor out to Candy, who hurried over to it and gasped, hand flying to her mouth. Greg quietly explained Sara's deteriorated condition as Candy studied the monitor, tears forming in her eyes.
"Is she getting better?" she asked.
"No," said Gil flatly, "she's getting worse. She's resisting antibiotics and not breathing independently."
"What are they doing to help her?" Candy tugged a tissue from her pocket and swiped at her eyes.
"Everything they can. 'We just have to wait'," he replied bitterly. Tension blanketed the room, spreading to encompass every corner, nook and cranny as they trio watched the monitor as if something would suddenly happen. Sara remained prone, unconscious and intubated. No change, no improvement and nothing to celebrate.
…
"She's so tiny," marvelled Greg, instantly smitten with his godchild. "I love the hat! What colour are her eyes?"
"I don't know," replied Grissom softly, "I've never seen her open them."
"She's beautiful Griss, so perfect!" Looking over at the man he had admired for so many years, Greg saw a true smile and pure love in his face, replacing the detached scientific inquiry he was so used to seeing.
"I know," said Gil simply, his gaze fastened firmly to the tiny life in front of them. "That I do know."
…
Nine am rolled around all too quickly, and Grissom returned to his room after visiting Rowen and meeting one final time with Alice. Greg was sitting in the chair again when Jenni guided Gil back to bed. Candy was there too; she had found another chair somewhere, and was sprawled sideways across it, sketchbook on her lap and pencil pressed to the paper, but frozen and unmoving as she stared into space. The three of them settled in to wait out the surgery; the room was filled with tense silence as Gil watched the second hand on the clock move over and over again, one miniscule moment at a time. Deep in thought, he clutched a photograph from that morning in his fingers.
What wouldn't he give to have Sara with him right at this moment? If there was such a thing, he had no notion what it was. Thinking of Sara he felt his heart twist; she would be devastated to learn of everything that was happening. He wondered which would be worse for her, sitting here with him, agonizing over each and every millisecond, or waking up knowing she had been unable to bear the burden with him. He knew her, inside and out, and he knew she would hate that she had not been there to comfort him as he would her.
His eyes flickered over to the monitor and he felt tears gather in his eyes. During the night Sara's temperature had gone another half a degree to 104.9, where it was currently hovering on the edge of what he had been informed was life threatening. She was losing weight rapidly, and her blood pressure was so low the doctors had prescribed vasopressors to try and bring it back up again. The insulin was keeping her blood sugar just within the acceptable range, but the antibiotics were still barely making a difference.
Feeling a sharp, fleeting pain in his finger he looked down and realized he had crumpled the photograph without realizing it. Smoothing it out, he sucked a drop of blood from the paper cut in his index finger and stared at the image. A quick glance at the clock told him Rowen was anesthetised, and that Alice had performed the median sternotomy and was setting up the pulmonary bypass machine before stopping his daughter's heart. Unbidden, an image of the surgeon sawing through Rowen's sternum made his stomach reel; he rolled sideways just in time to heave his breakfast over the side of the bed. Gagging, he slithered out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
He leaned heavily against the wall, eyes closed and good arm pressed tightly to his face and he focused on slow, even breaths. When that didn't work, he turned on the shower and awkwardly stripped off his clothes. The hot water wasn't exactly soothing, but it did help him clear his mind a little and regain a small amount of emotional control. Sitting on the stool under the stream of water, surrounded by mounting clouds of steam he forced himself to breathe; it was going to be a very long day, he could not afford to go to pieces.
...
...
Thanks for your patience; I know I've been taking way too long with updates, but I can report that I am officially no longer an undergraduate, and as such am not responsible for all the time consuming evil academic writing that comes with the pleasure of education. It's time to celebrate, drink lots of tea and use this laptop for its real purpose. Ethereal Theory is finally going to get the attention it deserves. I have also, for anyone who is interested, started what will probably be a shorter, multi-chapter, slower going story for NCIS.
Thanks as always for reading, please take a moment to leave a review. Here's to what promises to be a great summer! Got Tea?