They sat in the waiting room.
Warrick sat back in a chair, legs sprawled in front of him, face leaning sideways into the hand propped on the arm rest. Nick rocked back and forth, hands wringing in front of him. Sara was curled up in a chair in the corner, eyes unseeing, dried tears caking her face and wet circles on her shirt where her tears fell. There was blood on her shirt, her hands, her face, but she didn't notice. Catherine sat in a chair and saw all this through eyes that hurt and burned.
Jim poked his head in, his face a grim expression of his internal feelings. Catherine looked at him and shook her head, no news yet. He sighed and joined the hushed group.
Grissom was their leader and friend. The three younger people had looked up to him, trying to please him, not for the job's sake, but because having this man's personal high opinion was something that was felt would honour them in a way nothing else could.
He had become such a solid figure in their lives, no one had stopped to consider what it would be like if he were suddenly not there. And now, they didn't know if he would live. It had been four hours and nothing. He was still in surgery. The only word they had heard was the he was still in and they were experiencing some trouble.
Sara sat motionless, her mind frozen on one picture: him… on the floor.. and the blood… his blood. There had been so much… so much blood and he hadn't been moving. He just lay there, not moving, not saying anything… like he was dead. NO!!! her mind screamed. He wasn't dead… he couldn't be!!
She knew she ought to move, but her body wouldn't listen. If he was dead, then so was she. She couldn't see any point in living if he wasn't. There just wasn't any.
A man came around the corner and into the room. He was dressed in hospital greens and had a somber expression on his face. Catherine was the first to her feet and in front of the doctor, quickly followed by the Nick and Warrick and Jim. Sara stayed in her seat, not seeing, not hearing, not caring.
Catherine stared at the doctor with wide eyes. "Well?"
The doctor sighed and looked away.
A garbled sound was heard from Nick as he took a step back.
"He's alive, but it doesn't look good." The doctor spoke in quiet monotones. "He lost a lot of blood. The main artery was hit and we lost him a couple of times on the table." He looked down as though weighing his next words. "It was as though his body didn't want to live. His heart rate was weak and we had trouble keeping him here. But he's still alive… I just don't know for how long, or if he'll come around… I'm so sorry…" and then he was gone.
The nurse came around and brought them to his room, telling them two visitors at a time and only for five minutes. Too much stress, even visitors, could be bad at this stage. Catherine had to shake Sara and pull her up. Sara resisted. "C'mon Sara…" she said gently.
"I just wanna go home…" she said faintly.
"No… Grissom needs you… now more than ever!" Catherine spoke the words harshly.
"No… he doesn't need me… he never did…"
Catherine turned the younger woman toward her and grabbed her face in her hands to make Sara look at her. "Sara. Grissom needs you. Now."
Sara looked into Catherine's eyes and, seeing something there, something that told her more than she had dared hope, she took a deep breath. "I was too late, Cath… I was too late… I didn't hear him… I was too late…" and she hung her head, her shoulders shaking.
"It's not too late, Sara… go to him now… let him know you're here… he needs that right now… trust me…!"
Sara pushed the clear plastic curtain aside slowly, trying not to make any noise. The beeping of the machines would have drowned it out, but still… He looked like he might have been sleeping… except for the wires and tubes surrounding him. She swallowed. She felt as though she were intruding on his privacy. She stared at him from her place by the curtain, her eyes traveling over his body, which she knew was naked beneath the thick white sheet. His face was not relaxed however, it was twisted in a knot of pain. The machines sounded the steady rhythm of his heart beat informing her that at least his body was still alive. And the other machine - the one measuring his brain activity - the needle kept going back and forth, like the pendulum on a clock, letting her know that at least that part of him was there as well, even if it was… asleep, so to speak.
She scanned the room, spotting a chair which she quietly, carefully placed by his bed. She wouldn't want to be in the way in case…s something happened. She sat on this chair and looked down. Not at him. That was too personal right now. Like staring at someone while they slept, seeing on their face what they were afraid to show when awake. But this was not sleep. This was not peaceful, or restful. This was a battle. His body was fighting to stay alive, even when his soul wanted to leave.
Slowly she brought her eyes to his face. And she stared. She saw his hair, his closed eyes, shut tight against the pain, his lips pursed closed. She saw the wrinkles and crow's feet betraying his age. The sheet was pulled up passed his shoulders so that only his head and neck were visible, the rest was hidden from view. She could see the outline of his hand beside his body beneath the sheet. And she ached to hold it, to feel at least that part of him against her. If only just this one time.
Slowly she lifted the sheet and snuck in a hand until she felt his skin. She pulled out the hand. It rested limply in hers, a dead weight of skin and bones. It didn't wrap around hers, even though a part of her mind had expected it to. Not like in sleep when fingers curl instinctively around something placed in the palm. No, this was not sleep. And his fingers didn't move at all. Only lay against hers, immobile.
She rested her hand on the sheet, his in hers, hers on his. His hand was warm, and she could feel his pulse. The one sign that he was alive that she felt for herself, not being told by impersonal machines. His heart still beat.
Sara sat for a while, just feeling his hand in hers. Nobody disturbed her. Five minutes passed by easily. No one came. She knew the others were around. They had already come in and… did whatever. It was her turn now. And no one disturbed her. So many people to care for. The machines went on beeping their steady rhythm. Nothing to alert them to anything strange or worrisome. So she sat there with him, alone in the room surrounded by semi-translucent plastic, a mock shield against the world out there.
She knew she ought to speak to him, say something. He could probably hear, through the pain in his mind. But what to say? What did she want to say to him? That she was sorry? That she wasn't there on time to save him? That she was sorry she had pushed him as much as he had pushed her away? That she loved him?
"Hey…" she started. Wasn't that how they always started their conversations? With the universal call for attention? She looked around and knotted her lips and sighed. "Grissom…" she started again and then stopped. And sighed again. She looked down at his hand… strong and veined, with dry skin. She rubbed it absentmindedly, her fingers gently stroking his skin, anything to feel him again. "I'm so sorry… this shouldn't have happened…" the words were coming now. She could feel them, churning in her chest like some old brew, waiting for a chance to bubble over. "If we would have talked, maybe… maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if we didn't feel the need to be away from each other, we would have been together and you wouldn't have gotten shot… We would have been talking… evidence… playing it out… together. We wouldn't have been in separate rooms, alone. Maybe if we had listened, we might have heard him coming... maybe. But we didn't… and now you're here… and I don't want you to die…" the last part came out on a choked sob, as she closed her eyes and tried to hold back to tears. It was no use, they squeezed out anyway, falling onto their hands. Cold wet tears staining their dry skin a darker tone. She let them come after that, silently letting them fall in her lap as she sat back in her chair, eyes closed, damp eyelashes stuck to her cheeks as the tears bound them there, her body shaking with the pain of this reality.
"Ma'am…" came the soft voice.
Sara opened her eyes. A nurse was standing inside the plastic. She hadn't even heard it move.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to leave now, he needs to rest. So he can get better."
Sara stared at her through tear stained eyes, feeling their wetness on her cheeks as the last of the tears blurred her vision again. She pleaded with the woman, just one more minute, please.
"Tomorrow…" came the soft reply to her unspoken plea.
Sara turned to Grissom, stared at his face a moment and then bent and down and pressed her lips to his wet hand. She held them there a while, relishing in the feel of his skin, praying he wouldn't be upset with her if he ever found out. And then gently tucked his hand under the covers and stood up. With one last look at his closed features, she turned and left.
She stopped by the nurse and looked her straight in the eye. "Tomorrow. I'm coming back. And I'm staying." She informed her in a voice as strong as she could make it through the tears and pain.
