On the day Grissom woke up, Sara was not there.

The sensations came to him slowly at first and gently. First he was aware of laying down and that his body felt awful. He wondered if he'd gotten drunk but no memory of drinking came to him. He tried to move but his muscles were like lead weight, as though something were holding him down. He could move his fingers and toes but any larger movement met with resistance. He tried to open his eyes but they too felt heavy. When he tried to speak, he found his throat rough and dry. Swallowing was not an option either.

He could hear something and it was annoying. It kept coming at regular intervals. It was jarring the pain in his head to higher levels. He wanted it to stop. Please stop… He tried to open his eyes again, he pushed them open.

And the white light hit and burned his tender retinas.

He shut them tight again.

And something flashed in his mind: grey and sudden bright light overhead… and his breath stopped. There was fear now, but no reason for it, at least in his mind of now. He took a deep breath. When he opened them a few seconds later, he was prepared for the bright light and squinted to keep it at a decent level. But it was still too bright. In this way he opened and closed them, slowly adjusting to the light.

When finally he could keep them open long enough and look around him, he didn't recognize anything, but yet it was familiar to him somehow. Just not something that immediately came to mind. He looked around himself, at the white walls, the white sheets covering his… naked body… Well, that was a new one. Another crucial piece of evidence.

His head pounded, his chest hurt, especially his left shoulder and especially when he tried to move that hand. The pain that shot through him almost blinded him. Craning his head on his neck, he saw the machines. The machines that were making that godawful beeping sound. He saw the tubes coming from his body, from beneath the sheets. Regardless of the heaviness, he brought his right hand up to his face. There was a tube coming from the hand, and when he felt his face there was one from his nose as well.

An image was forming in his mind. This was all familiar but from a different perspective; from a standing one instead of a prone one. He was in a hospital. He was a patient. And an extremely ill patient at that. The pain in his left shoulder was excruciating, to the point where he almost couldn't bear it. He had suffered migraines long enough to know how to deal with it, but this was something else. Pain in his head he was used to. Pain in his body he was not.

He tried to recall his last memories but. But the pain in his shoulder prevented his mind from functioning as he was accustomed to. He was on automatic right now, only doing what was needed in order to survive.

Then there was a noise, a strange one he vaguely remembered. And someone was standing beside him, looking down. A man dressed in a white coat – much like the one he would wear at the lab – was holding a file tucked beneath his arm and smiling.

"You're awake." He said. His voice rumbled like rolling gravel, which matched his gruff beard and dark, thick, disheveled hair. He was a big man, and from where Grissom lay he appeared even bigger with his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light from the hall way which filtered through the plastic; and his big hands almost covering the file as he looked through it. "You've had us walking around on eggshells wondering if you'd ever come out."

All Grissom could do was grunt in his throat. It was too dry to allow for words.

"Here," the doctor said, bending to the side and bringing up a cup. "have some water, looks like you could use some." And then the bed began to move as Grissom's head started coming up. He reached out with his right hand – noticing it shaking quite a bit – and grabbed the cup and started sipping. The cool wetness felt good as it coated his throat. He sipped it until his throat was wet and then he downed the rest of it, feeling it hit his empty stomach with a hollow thump.

"Thanks," he whispered, his voice still not up to par. "Uh, how long…?"

The doctor looked up from his file. "Six days." And then he frowned. "Do you remember what happened?"

Grissom pursed his lips before shaking his head slightly, still groggy from being out and still feeling the pain.

The doctor sighed. "You were shot, Mr. Grissom. Do you remember that?"

Grissom looked away as he wracked his memory for some hint. A boy, or a young man… eyes wide with fear… "I remember someone… standing in front of me… looking scared… but I don't recognize him."

"Hmm, we'll see if you recognize your friends. A particular young lady has been here everyday since you came in. Sara?"

Grissom's eyes flickered to the big man at the mention of Sara's name before looking away again. She was here? The whole time? He closed his eyes and envisioned her sitting in the chair, eyes cast downward. Or would she look at him? Would she touch him? Would she talk to him? And then the final question, Why would she be here at all?

"Are they here?" he asked, a bit hopeful that maybe he would see Sara and maybe be able to know… why?

"Uh, no. I think there was a case… or something?" the doctor said with a hint of apology in his voice.

Grissom looked away. "Oh…" and winced as the pain resurfaced in his shoulder and his body.

"Look, I'll give you something for the pain and then you can rest. I'm sure they'll be back… at least she will. She's here most of the time anyway. Do you want me to call them, let them know you're awake?"

Grissom turned to look at the doctor. And have them rush over here? "Uh, no… no that's alright. I'll rest some more." The drip the doctor had set up began to take effect and he felt his body giving in to the sedation and becoming limp… sinking into the bed. His eyes began to unfocus and then to close. And then he remembered nothing.