When Rosa left them alone, Sara sank back against the bed with a grunt. "I don't know how much longer I can deal with having my skin ripped off, cut off, and shaved off, Grissom. Hospitals make me feel sicker, I swear."

"Well you certainly can't go home, Sara. I don't think I'm ever going to trust you to even use a pocketknife again."

"Grissom! It was so not my fault that I got cut in the explosion; it's not like I was sitting around stroking the sharp edge of a butcher knife. How is this suddenly my fault?"

"Because you knew you had open stitches, and just to spite me, you didn't get them looked at! Jesus, Sara, our relationship could have been the cause for you to lose your hand!"

"I didn't know we had any relationship," Sara replied. "Could've fooled me."

He squeezed her shoulder. "Of course we have a relationship, Sara. We always have, ever since we met."

Giving him a disbelieving look, Sara shook off his hand and sat up. "Do you really want to do this now, Grissom? Because I'm sick of putting it off, and I'm ready to get it over with."

"Do what? Get what over with?"

"Why don't you tell me, Grissom. Start with what you think this 'relationship' of ours is about."

Realizing her goal, Grissom shook his head. "No, Sara. I can't do this now, you're not well enough." He couldn't tell her the real reason for his refusal: he couldn't move past the confrontation with Nick that had happened this afternoon. He couldn't tell her what he felt for her while she was still involved with another man. If he did, and she didn't feel the same, he would lose her with a finality that he couldn't imagine right now.

"That's not a good enough reason, Grissom. I'm perfectly fine now except for this bandage, and you're acting like I'm at death's door. Enough, ok? I don't care what you have to say about it, just say something."

Grissom shook his head. "No. It doesn't matter what I have to say right now, I won't interfere with your . . . other relationships."

"Fine," Sara said, laying back. Her heart was pounding and her head was beginning to hurt. She wondered if Grissom's supposed calming effect on her had reversed itself. "I give up, Grissom. Maybe one day you'll get around to telling me what the hell is going on, but I won't hold my breath. Meantime, I'm going to sleep. I don't care what you do." She wanted to beat her head into a wall. Better yet, she thought, she wanted to beat Grissom's head into that wall. She managed to resist, though, and instead closed her eyes to Grissom's pleading look.

Grissom sat back in his chair, wondering why he couldn't convince himself to just spit it out. Sara had given him so many chances and he'd thrown each away, one by one. Stupid, stupid, stupid, his mind admonished him.

He could feel his pulse rising. He needed to calm down. He needed to get out of this room for a while. What he needed, Grissom decided, was coffee. Again.

Sara somehow managed to doze off, despite her desire to give Grissom a good whack upside the head. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep when she woke up, but the light wasn't much different, so it couldn't have been too long. Sitting up, she frowned. Her mouth was annoyingly dry, and there was no water left in the pitcher Rosa had left her.

"Gris?" Her voice was fading in and out, a casualty of her dry mouth. She cleared her throat and tried again, a little louder. "Gris?" No response. Sara turned over to see if he was perhaps absorbed in reading something, but he wasn't there. She sighed, hoping he hadn't made an escape from her foul presence while she slept.

She reached over and snagged one of the books Catherine had brought him to read. "Patricia Cornwell? Grissom? He must read them just so he can laugh at the errors. Then again, this one's titled 'Body Farm' . . . that'll always catch his attention." Sara wasn't a big fan of the author, but at least it wasn't a sci-fi novel or something. Now, those she couldn't stand. Nuclear physics used in teleportation, indeed!

Oh, well, it wasn't like there was anything else for her to read. She picked up the book and began flipping through it. "Ugh, I hate the taste of dry-mouth." Remembering the bottle of vitamin water Catherine had slipped her, Sara smiled and reached under the bed to retrieve it. "Ohhh that hits the spot." Her voice was working better, at least.

Surprised to find herself absorbed in the story, Sara came back to reality an hour later. Her mouth was dry again and her head was beginning to hurt. Why couldn't her body just get with the program and start working again?!

She hated to draw the attention to herself, but annoyance got the better of her and she buzzed for a nurse to ask for some Tylenol. A nurse she didn't know arrived at her bedside before she knew it, asking what was wrong. "Can I just have some Tylenol or something? I've got a headache."

The nurse studied her closely. "Are you having any other physical symptoms?"

"Symptoms of what?"

"Anything, really. Headache, you just said. What about high temperature, chills? Dry mouth?"

Sara didn't like where this was going. "My mouth is dry, yeah, but that's just because I'm thirsty, it's not a problem. Can I just get some drugs?" she asked, quirking a smile.

"Sure," said the nurse slowly. "I'll be right back with that." She turned and left the room, looking thoughtful; Sara went back to her reading.

The nurse was back in five minutes with a small cup that Sara knew contained two acetaminophen tablets. "Before I give you these, I just want to check you out. Don't want that hand getting any worse, you know." The woman reached out and laid the back of her hand against Sara's cheek. "Hmm. You feel warm." She pulled out an ear thermometer and stuck it into Sara's ear without saying anything more.

Checking the results, the woman blinked and laid her hand against Sara's face again. Sara noticed with apprehension that the nurse's smile had deserted her. "What's wrong?"

"You're temperature's at 102, and that's definitely not supposed to happen. I'm getting your doctor."

"I've been under these hot blankets all day!" Sara called after her. "I don't have a fever!" The nurse didn't turn around, only continued her hustle toward the nurse's station.

"Dr. LaBianca, third-floor nurse's station, please. LaBianca, third-floor," the intercom system announced. Grissom looked up at it. Sara was on the third floor. It couldn't be her, he reassured himself; she was doing much better.

He forced himself to sit another five minutes and finish his cookie, but could sit still no longer. The fact that Sara had been doing better didn't reassure him. Knowing her as he did, he was sure she could get herself right back into trouble. He tapped a foot impatiently as the elevator made its slow journey to the third floor.

When the doors opened, he strode quickly to Sara's room, afraid once again that his stubborn Sara had brought trouble upon herself. Just as he was about to enter, Rosa cut him off. "Stay out here for a while, Mr. Grissom, please."

"Why? What's wrong with her? Is she ok?"

Rosa said flatly, "Her infection is fighting back. Her temperature's up to nearly one hundred-three degrees. Stay here, please. Dr. LaBianca is with her."

Grissom could only stare. Of course, just like him to leave her alone and go get coffee the one time today that she'd needed him. "Is she . . ." He stopped himself. He was a trained medical professional, or at least he had been. He knew better than to start asking questions now, but this was Sara. This was a completely different set of rules. "Is she going to be okay?"

"We'll let you know when we know. For now, we just need to you to stay calm and out of the doctor's way."

"Please, can I go in if I stay clear of the people working on her?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "That's not a good idea. Sara doesn't look too reassuring right now, and god knows I can't restrain you if you start freaking out."

"Please. I'm in crisis situations every day, just let me see her."

Rosa sighed, fully aware of the pain and suspense the man in front of her was feeling. "I can't, Mr. Grissom, I'm sorry. I'll come out when I can and keep you updated." With that, she walked back into the room, immediately changing from friend to nurse.

Grissom sank down on the floor outside the room. How could they not let him see her now? He couldn't sit out here and do nothing! No, no, he couldn't sit. He started pacing. Pacing grew tiring after ten minutes, and he sat again, head in his hands.

"Grissom?" It was the doctor. "May I ask you a few questions about how Sara's been doing?"

"Yeah, doc, but you've seen her every day. How could you not catch this?" he asked angrily.

LaBianca shook his head. "I'm not sure, Gil. That's what I need to talk to you about. Has Sara been doing as I told her to when I wasn't in the room? Resting and not tugging at her IV?"

Grissom closed his eyes, thinking. "When was she supposed to have the IV in?"

"Midday each day. I suspect she may have pulled it out at least once, and that's why I'm asking you. I'm sure you know the danger of ending antibiotic treatment before the infection has been totally knocked out."

"Oh no." He could picture Sara yesterday afternoon. A nurse had gently put the needle into her vein . . . what had happened next? The nurse had taped it in and left. Then what? He had gone to the coffee machine. Had the IV still been in when he came back? He remembered seeing the white medical tape that had held it in place . . . "Think Gil!" he mumbled, straining to see what he could in the memory. Then it snapped into focus. There had been no bump under the tape. Sara had taken out the needle and replaced the tape.

"Bruce, you need to get her better so I can kill her. She did take the needle out. How could she be so stupid?! How much danger is she in now?"

"We're making her comfortable. It's useless to try to fight the fever right now; her temperature is high for a reason. If it crosses the 104 threshold, though, all bets are off. Right now we have a new IV in and we're hitting her with a big dose of Keflex. It should help control the spike in her white cell count and get her body to back off a little, but as I'm sure you're aware, she's going to have to stay on it, under close supervision, until she's clean."

Grissom nodded. "I'll tie her down to the bed if I have to. That IV is staying in from now on, I can assure you of that." He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, thankful that Sara was under such good care and that she hadn't managed to harm herself further. "Can I see her?"

LaBianca nodded. "She's awake but a little fuzzy, as I'm sure any of would be in her place. She also keeps insisting that she doesn't have a fever."

"Typical Sara," Grissom groaned, and pushed past the doctor into the room. Sara was lying perfectly still on the bed, and his heart began to pound at seeing her like this. Sara never stopped moving, but she was so exhausted now that she couldn't bring herself to move anything.

"Sara," he said, leaning over her. "Hi. How you feeling?"

Sara's mouth moved slightly in what he thought was a smile. "I'm fine, Gris. No fever, I swear, they're overreacting."

Grissom smacked a palm into his forehead. Did he really need to start physically forcing her to take care of herself?

"You do have a fever, Sara, and it's because you took out you IV. I would shake some sense into you right now, but I'm still reeling." He leaned close to her face. "I'm going to make sure you get better, Sara, no matter how hard you try to get rid of me."

Her eyes were closed, he noticed, black eyelashes fanned out against perfectly white skin. Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her lips softly. "You can't get rid of me," he whispered.