A/N: Thanks to everyone who sent feedback on the first part of this...it really is just as nice as CSI on DVD! Much is revealed in this part, and I look forward to hearing what you think!

Notes and disclaimers in part one.

The Longest Journey Part Two

***

The drive to the hospital from the CSI lab wasn't a long one by any stretch of the imagination, which Warrick had always considered a bonus as a tired, over-worked CSI working the graveyard shift. However, he didn't consider it as such right now, which is why he found himself sitting in his car in the hospital car park, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, willing himself out of the car, across the parking lot, into the hospital.

Not that this was unfamiliar territory for him; far from it.

Shaking himself from his lethargy, he got out of the car before he could change his mind, slamming the door with more force than was perhaps necessary. A couple of cars over, an older man stared at him accusingly, eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Warrick nodded at him curtly, words that would cause a scene at the tip of his tongue and bitten back with difficulty. After all, his problem wasn't with that guy, or the car, or even with Catherine for putting him in this position.

It wasn't even with Sara. Not really.

He ambled in the direction of the entrance, just as he'd driven slowly on the way over, as if he'd been expecting a speed trap to materialise out of the desert sands. He'd done everything possible to delay the moment when he'd have to walk through those doors, up to and including begging office to office at the lab to get him out of it. The last person that he'd talked to about it was Nick, who'd shaken his head with a lecherous smile, citing a breakfast date with a cute co-ed. Warrick had rolled his eyes, asking if Sara wasn't more important that a date with whoever his fling-du-jour was, and it had been then that Nick's jaw had set in a firm line, eyes darkening, and Warrick had known that he'd just walked himself into trouble.

"I think she is," Nick had told him, and the implication had been obvious. "But the fact is, I was supposed to pick her up. Sara asked Catherine to do it because she knew I had a date. She didn't want me to break it."

"Oh." Warrick had looked down, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall heavily.

"Yeah, oh." Nick had gone heavy on the sarcasm, and Warrick had felt a surge of guilt welling up in his gut. Nothing new there then. "You're going to have to talk to her sometime man," he'd continued, and his voice had been softer, gentler.

"Nick-" Warrick's tone had been a warning, and Nick had shaken his head.

"Warrick, you didn't go to see her once the whole-"

Warrick had turned away, not quite sure whether he was unable, or merely unwilling, to listen further. "You don't know what you're talking about," he'd muttered as he'd walked, but he hadn't known who he was speaking to.

"May I help you?" The kind voice beside him made him start, and he realised that he'd entered the building without even realising it, and he looked down at a diminutive woman in a nurse's uniform, whose eyes were creased with concern. Something in the way she was looking at him reminded him of his grandmother, and he had to blink to clear the notion.

"Yeah," he said slowly, although he seriously doubted it. "I'm looking for Sara Sidle… she's here-"

"Oh, Sara!" The woman's face transformed into a smile. "Oh, she's a regular here, making good progress too…she's right down the hall dear, one, two…no, the fourth door on your right. You can't miss it."

She was beaming at him expectantly, and he managed a nod. "Thank you," he murmured, Grams's lessons in good manners rearing their head. It took a second for his legs to listen to his brain's command to move, and he swallowed hard a couple of times as he moved down the hall, counting doorways until he came to the fourth. It was open, and he stepped into the doorway, not sure of what he was going to see inside.

Then it was too late. He could have turned away, but he couldn't move.

Her back was to him, but he would know her anywhere. Her hair was hanging in damp ringlets across her shoulders, and he knew without seeing that it was falling down into her face. She was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, the latter drenched with sweat and sticking to her skinny frame. There was some kind of harness, a cage like structure surrounding her, and her hands were locked in a death grip on the bars on either side of her. She was hunched over slightly, an old-woman stance, but she was standing.

Just barely.

A man was standing in front of her, encouraging her, telling her that she could do it. He didn't acknowledge Warrick at all; his whole attention was focussed on Sara. "One more," he was saying. "You can do it."

"Shut…up…" came the response, emerging as a grunt from a clenched jaw, and Warrick almost smiled past the lump in his throat. His gaze travelled to the floor, and he saw her left foot move slowly, millimetre by painful millimetre, until it rested back on the ground again.

"And the other…"

That was when the right foot moved, just as slowly as the left had, and finally ended up beside the right, a full step. Warrick heard Sara's delighted chuckle, heard the man's exuberant praise, and released a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"You want to get me down from this thing?" Sara panted, and the man complied, settling her back down in her chair, letting her turn herself around to head for the door. Her smiling face was flushed with exertion and success, but the smile faltered momentarily when she saw Warrick standing there. She recovered quickly he noticed, and a voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Nick Stokes reminded him that she'd had lots of practice. "Warrick! What are-"

"Catherine got a call from the school…Lindsey's sick or something, she had to pick her up…asked me to get you…"

Sara frowned. "She ok?"

Warrick shrugged. "Probably flu or something…one of those kid things."

"Yeah. I'll give her a call when I get home," Sara murmured, moving towards him.

"You good to go or…?" He looked around awkwardly, not sure of what to say or do, but she looked up at him, bestowing on him a sheepish grin.

"I'm pretty rumpled," she laughed, pulling the T-shirt away from her body. "You mind if I change first?"

He couldn't help but remember how many times either one of them had said something like that, words tossed around in the halls of the CSI lab on the way back from a crime scene. His reply was automatic. "I insist on it."

She chuckled and began to move for the door. He stepped out of her way, and she waved at a bench against the wall. "There's a seat for you. I won't be long."

He nodded, sitting down, his eyes never leaving her as she moved into a different room. He stayed sitting for a couple of minutes after that, legs jigging up and down nervously, before he stood up, restlessly pacing the length of the bench. Then he sat down again, hands running up and down his thighs nervously, the friction warming his cold hands.

"You look like an expectant father," came the voice to his left, and he jumped a mile in the air, springing to his feet. His reaction broadened her smile, and his own lips quirked up sheepishly. "You ready?" she asked while he was still finding his voice, wheeling herself to his side, and he looked down at her, all traces of humour vanishing from his face.

"Let's go." His voice was colder than he'd meant it to be, and he thought he might have heard her sigh as he began to move off, but he wasn't sure, and he didn't ask to check. He lead the way to his car, helped her into it, watching as she deftly folded the chair, handing it to him to put in the back seat. By the time he climbed into the car, her head was tilted back, her eyes closed, but they opened briefly when she heard his door close, and she smiled tiredly over at him. He didn't say anything, just gunned the engine and began to drive.

The silence stretched and filled the car, and he didn't look at her, didn't take his eyes off the road, not until he pulled up in her driveway. Then he took a deep breath, turned his head slowly. Against all odds, a genuine smile lit his face at what he saw; Sara, eyes closed, face peaceful, breathing deeply in sleep. There was even the barest hint of a smile hovering around her lips.

He sat there for a long moment looking at her, feeling more relaxed than he'd felt all day.

More relaxed than he'd been in two weeks.

Longer than that.

He didn't mean to do it, and almost like it was someone else's, he watched his hand reach out, pushing an errant curl back behind her ear. The touch, gentle as it was, made her stir, and she turned her head, leaning into his touch, her cheek rubbing against the back of his hand like a kitten snuggling in for warmth. Long black lashes beat against her cheeks as she blinked, and her shoulders moved up almost to her ears as she breathed in deeply. "Sorry," she mumbled, one hand reaching up to rub her eyes.

"'S'ok," he told her, dropping his hand, turning away from her, letting her come to.

"You want to come in for coffee or something?" she asked when she did, her voice still thick with sleep, and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"I don't know…"

She sighed at his words, and he wouldn't, couldn't, look at her. When she next spoke, her voice was sad, almost resigned. "If it helps, I can pretend to be asleep again." It took a second for the words to sink in, and he felt like he was moving in slow motion when he looked over at her. He thought he could see a thin film of tears covering her eyes, he was damn sure that he could hear a tightness in her voice, and he couldn't quite understand what she meant, although he had a suspicion.

"When I was in the hospital," she explained, as if trying to make sense of it in her own mind, "I woke up one night…I don't know why. And I saw you there, in my room. I thought I was dreaming for a minute, because you never came to see me. But then I realised that I wasn't, and I was going to talk to you, but you had your head in your hands and you weren't looking at me. I didn't think you wanted to talk, so I closed my eyes and I pretended that I was asleep. I don't know how long you stayed, but I heard you stand up…and you came over to the bed, and you stood there…and I think you touched the back of my hand, just for a second. I asked the nurse the next morning if I'd had any visitors in the night, and she told me just the same man who came in almost every night and sat with me for a while." She swallowed hard, and one solitary tear traced a silvery path down her cheek. "I stayed awake that night, playing possum… and you came in, and you sat and you still didn't say anything… you just sat there."

He took a ragged breath. "Yeah," he said simply.

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't understand…why you didn't say something. Why you didn't come with everyone else."

"Because I couldn't Sara." Where her voice had been troubled, his was flat. "I just…couldn't." She shook her head in confusion, plainly not understanding, and he smacked the steering wheel in frustration. "It was my fault Sara…this whole thing, it was my fault."

"Warrick…" Her voice trailed off in amazement, one hand reaching out to rest on his arm. "Warrick, it was an accident. It wasn't your fault…"

"I left you to work the scene on your own," he reminded her, replaying the scene in his head for the millionth time in a matter of months. "If I hadn't done that…"

"You left me working at the scene of a car wreck with uniform cops crawling all over," she pointed out. "I wasn't on my own, and you were going to the hospital to talk to the driver. You didn't do anything wrong."

"If I'd stayed with you…" Warrick's throat closed up as the memories closed in, and he remembered arriving back at the crime scene, parking his car at the side of the road, walking over to where he'd last seen Sara working. She'd moved though, and when he saw her, he called her name to get her attention. She'd waved and begun to walk towards him. Neither one had seen the car careering towards her until it was too late. He squeezed his eyes shut now as the image of her limp body flying into the air, landing hard on the ground made his stomach rebel, and he fought for control.

"Warrick, it was an accident." Her voice cut through the darkness, the pressure on his arm increasing. "The guy wasn't paying attention to the road, he didn't see the warning signs, didn't see the tape along the road, didn't see me. There was nothing you could have done. It was an accident. That's all."

He sighed, meeting her gaze. "I shouldn't have left you," he told her quietly. "If I'd been there, if we'd cleared the crime scene sooner…"

Her own voice was just as quiet. "It wasn't your fault Warrick. And no-one blamed you."

"I couldn't face you Sara," he admitted. "Or them. Bad enough when Holly-" He stopped at the name, unable to continue, and beside him, she gasped softly. He looked away, but she wasn't going to let him away with that, reaching over a hand to his cheek, turning his head to her.

"It's not the same thing Warrick. It's not the same thing."

"Felt like it. But worse." She frowned, and he elaborated. "Holly wasn't on the job a day. What I did was wrong, and I know the part I played, but I didn't know her. But you…" His hand reached up to cover hers, still on his cheek, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "Sara, if something happened to you, and it was on me…"

Her breath caught on a sob and she pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. He returned the hug, arms going around her waist, hands resting on her shuddering back and, for the first time in months, he allowed his own tears to fall.

He didn't know how much later it was when he loosened his hold on her, pulling away slightly, releasing his arms from around her waist, but gripping her hand tightly instead. She grinned at him, a self-conscious giggle escaping her as she wiped the back of her free hand across her cheeks. "I must look a sight," she muttered, her cheeks pink, her eyes red.

"Sight for sore eyes." The words were out before he could stop them, and to his surprise, she burst out laughing.

"You've been hanging around Sanders way too much," she accused, and he found himself laughing too. "C'mon in," she said when they'd calmed. "I think we could both do with a beer."

He looked at her, then at the clock, considering the offer, but only briefly. "Yeah," he agreed, hopping out and around, handing her the chair, hovering nervously around her as she easily manoeuvred herself into it. He let her lead the way into the apartment, looking around him, not having been there in quite some time. There were certain things different he realised; less clutter around the place, furniture spaced further apart, but otherwise, it was much the same.

"I'm not sure what I have," she called over her shoulder, heading for the kitchen, and he caught up with her in time to see her pull two bottles from the fridge and turn, slamming the door shut, opening a cupboard on her way by and grabbing a large bag of chips. He lifted one eyebrow and she grinned at him as she breezed by. "You're not going to give me the lecture about a balanced diet being important in my recovery are you?"

He held up his hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Because I'm a grown woman, and I can make my own decisions about what does and doesn't go into my body." She paused for a second, placing her cargo on the coffee table, then looked up at him. "Just don't tell Catherine?"

A burst of laughter escaped him, and he sank down on the couch, shoulders shaking. "You got it." She was beginning to get out of her chair and he looked over at her, unsure of whether or not he should offer to help, but the determined glint in her eyes stopped him. When she did end up beside him on the couch, it was he who leaned across to the table, handing her a bottle, placing the bag of chips in between them. If she noticed that he was sitting closer to her when he sat back down than he had been when he'd moved, she didn't say anything.

Any more than he said anything when her voice began to grow sleepier as they talked, her words becoming punctuated more and more by yawns, small at first, growing longer and longer. Nor did he say anything when her head began to tilt towards him; he just shifted in her direction slightly, so that his shoulder was closer to her, an unspoken invitation that she took, laying her head on it, probably without even realising what she was doing, he told himself.

He on the other hand was well aware of what he was doing when he rested his cheek against the top of her head, her hair soft against his skin, and closed his eyes, falling into the best sleep that he'd had in months.