TITLE: From the Wreckage
AUTHOR: coolbyrne
RATING: The very generic PG
CATEGORY: GSR
SPOILERS: This is a pre-PWF fic based on spoilers I've read. Whether or not my story will bear any resemblance to the actual episode, I figure there will still be some similar points of reference.
DISTRIBUTION: If you like it, by all means.
DISCLAIMER: If the episode turns out to be exactly like this fic, then somewhere along the way, I've been hired by CSI and can lay some claim to these characters. However, I suspect not.
FEEDBACK: Compliments/constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. Flames will be mocked in other forums. Send any combination of the above to: fugitive@ihateclowns.com.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: No beta on this one as of May 8th, primarily because I wanted to get it out before PWF aired. I plan on getting it beta'd and will repost it in the near future, however. Until then, my apologies for whatever grammar/spelling/continuity errors you find. As well, I really don't subscribe to the idea of writing WIPs, and though this story is posted in chapters, I will have it done in two days, dammit! LOL! I just wanted to start posting it now, rather than as a whole.
SUMMARY: An explosion at the lab serves as an epiphany for Sara.
*
And if I don't make it, know that/
I loved you all along/
Just like sunny days that/
We ignore because/
We're all dumb and jaded.
-4AM by Our Lady Peace
*
In a heartbeat, the world ended.
Sight and sound, touch, taste and smell were gone. She didn't know whether she was standing up or crawling, alive or dead.
'Don't let me be dead,' she thought, 'I still owe Nick twenty dollars from the Super Bowl.' If she could have, she would have laughed at the absurdity of the thought, but laughter was the furthest thing from her mind. Pain was probably the closest. Then, she was surprised to discover, regret. And with that thought, an image sprung up unbidden.
Grissom.
God, Grissom. The things left undone, the words left unspoken.
She had just begun to contemplate the idea when everything returned to her. Except it was as if someone had cranked the volume to "high" and the brightness to "blinding". She realized she wasn't dead. And she wasn't standing. She was alive and on her stomach. From silence came the muffled tones not unlike being under water, and from those grew the shouts of the injured and the rescuers. Somewhere directly behind her ear it seemed, a fire alarm blared out its shrill cry.
Alive.
Her eyes had yet to distinguish a shadow across her field of vision, yet the metallic taste of blood in her mouth was unmistakable and the touch on her arm felt like a scrap against her hyper sensitive skin. As she pulled her arm away, she heard one word among the cacophony.
"Sara."
She didn't have to see in order to put a face to the voice.
Grissom.
When he reached for her arm again, she rolled over onto her back, avoiding his touch.
"It… it hurts."
"I know, I know," he soothed. "It's going to be okay."
She made an effort to sit up, and at risk of being rejected again, he put his arm around her waist and helped her. His other hand found its way to her forehead, where it tenderly brushed back a strand of hair. With this, his image came into sharp focus. He was so close, her senses so attuned, that she could see the creases in his lips and the trace of stubble as it made its presence known along his chin and jaw line. But it was his eyes that drew her attention. Bright blue pools- brighter than she had ever seen- filled with concern and anxiety, and something else she had never seen in him before this moment. Fear.
He pressed his forehead softly against hers and stroked her hair in such repetition, it was as if he didn't dare break contact with her for a moment. This time, the tremble in his voice was unmistakable.
"Sara."
She reached up a hand and rubbed his forearm. "It's okay." When this didn't seem to be enough to reassure him, she said, "I'm okay."
This seemed to placate him, and he leaned back to look at her once more. She squinted her eyes as her memory tried to put the pieces together, but the images were out of focus. Her eyes darted about, looking for clues, and finding none that cleared the murky water of her recollection, she looked at Grissom.
"What happened?"
"There was an explosion in the lab."
The words seeped in and began to form into images. Waiting with Nick for DNA results. Nick getting a call from Brass and leaving. Joking around with Greg. The hallway… and then…
"Oh my God, Greg," she whispered.
"The paramedics have taken him to General," Grissom said. "Second degree burns, some broken bones. Nothing life-threatening, but… it could have been better."
"Anyone else hurt?"
"We don't know. A couple of minor injuries I think, but the fire crew isn't done yet." He leaned back a bit more to get a better look at her. "But you're okay." It was more of a question that a comment.
"Yeah," she replied. "I mean, besides the pain, I'm okay." She gave him a small smile to ease the worry that had returned to the creases of his eyes.
"You caught a lot of glass in your arms."
Sure enough, when she looked down, she saw the patchwork of tiny shards along her forearm, blotches of crimson marking their spot. She picked a sliver of glass from the base of her wrist, then another and another as she worked her way up her arm. He took her hand in his.
"We should get a professional to do that," he told her.
Smiling again, she replied, "I am a professional. Of sorts."
He smiled and let out a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a sob of relief. "Are you okay to move?" he asked. When she nodded her answer, he continued, "I think we should get you away from here and get someone to take a look at you."
"I'm okay."
"I know, but we should make sure." He saw the flash of stubbornness in her eyes and he whispered, "Please. For me."
Her mouth turned downward, but she relented. "Okay."
"Okay," he repeated, and guided her left arm around his neck while tightening his grip around her waist to help her up.
"I should have told you I couldn't get up. You would have had to carry me."
He shook his head. "Believe me, no one wants to see that."
"I would," she smirked.
He have her a sidelong look and a smirk of his own. "Now I know you're okay."
The warmth of his laughter and his embrace was doing wonders to make her forget about the pain, until she looked straight ahead and stopped dead in her tracks.
"What's wrong," Grissom asked worriedly.
"Anyone but Hank," she said, and when she saw the confusion in his eyes, she repeated, "take me to anyone but Hank."
Still confused, but yielding to her wish, he steered her in the direction of another nearby paramedic. The young man, a vision of calm in the chaos, looked up from tending to the gash on the forehead of a technician Sara didn't recognize.
"I'll be with you in just a sec," the paramedic said. "I think you'll be okay," he informed his patient, "but you should get some x-rays done on your head, just in case. We want to rule out any hairline fractures or inner bruising." The tech nodded, though it was apparent even that slight motion caused pain. "They're loading up a couple of ambulances outside with minor injuries and taking them to the hospital. Julie will help you out." With that, he gestured a dark-haired woman over, who gently helped the injured man to his feet and steadied him as they made their way out.
Turning to Sara, he said, "Please, sit."
She did as asked, and Grissom knelt beside her.
The medic clicked on his small flashlight and shone it in her eyes. "What's your name?" he asked.
" 'Sara Sidle'," she dutifully replied.
He checked her forehead and frowned at the cut along the hairline. "Where are you?"
She couldn't help but smile. "Apparently with a paramedic who's lost."
He flicked off the flashlight and returned the smile. "Okay, so your brain functions seem fine."
"More than fine," Grissom chimed in with a smile of his own.
The paramedic nodded. "Right. Nothing too serious, I don't think. You need some of these wounds on your arms stitched up, as well as this baby right here," he motioned to the cut on her forehead. "Other than that, and some pain I'm sure you're feeling, you should be fine. When Julie comes back, she can take you out to one of the ambulances."
"Thanks," Sara said.
"Yes, thank you," Grissom echoed.
The young man simply nodded and moved on to another one of the injured. Now left alone, neither knew what to say to the other, and the silence stretched out before them. His eyes took in everything about her and with every cut and wound captured in his mind, she could feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves. Uncharacteristically, she reached up and brushed her hand through his hair.
"I'm okay," she assured him.
He closed his eyes momentarily, willing away the emotion. A deep breath helped him summon the courage to say, "I know. I know," but there was no strength in his whisper.
The moment was interrupted by a shout from across the room.
"Gil Grissom!"
Both he and Sara turned to the voice. Sheriff Mobley. In an instant, it became clear who was the proverbial fan and who was the projectile feces.
"Shit," Grissom muttered.
"You should go," Sara said.
Torn between facing the music and staying with Sara, between duty and concern, Grissom clenched his jaw at the dilemma.
"Hey, I'll be okay. I am okay," she repeated for the hundredth time that night. "Julie will be back in a second and I'll head to the hospital. It'll give me a chance to check in on Greg, see how he's doing. You have more important things to do here."
"Not more important."
Nothing was said between them for a moment, until Grissom finally stood up, resigned to the only option available to him. "I guess I should face the music."
She reached up and squeezed his forearm. "Don't worry. It'll be fine."
"Call me from the hospital. Let me know how Greg is. And I'll give you a ride home." Before she could voice the protest in her eyes, he said firmly, "You shouldn't be driving with a head injury."
"Grissom, I'm going to the hospital in an ambulance. How am I going to drive home?"
Waving away her logic, he repeated, "Just call me, okay?"
"Okay."
And with that, he was on his way to face the music, as he had so eloquently put it. He just wasn't sure he was going to like the sound of it.
*