"Kiss me…You're all I've ever wanted . . . You're an idiot . . . I love you . . ."
A thousand thoughts seemed to war in her mind, things she wished she had said. Some sense of caution or fear had always stopped her, though. Reasons that had seemed so paramount then were hard to even recall now, as Sara lay bleeding slowly in the darkness.
The night had started out routinely enough. She had woken from a few hour's sleep, showered, dressed, and driven into work the same way she had hundreds of times before. The case she and Warrick had been assigned, sadly, wasn't even unusual – a dead hooker at one of the countless dingy hotels that seemed to spring up in Las Vegas whenever you turned your head. With things running smoothly on course, Sara decided to drive the evidence to the lab ahead of her partner.
It would have been kinder if she hadn't even seen the eighteen-wheeler coming towards her. Instead, it seemed to happen impossibly slow, with her trained senses catching every detail: the skid of the tires, the panicked expression in the driver's eyes as he tried to hold the truck steady, the smell of rubber as she desperately tried to stop in time, knowing it was futile, and the sickening sound of metal scraping as the green trailer slammed against the SUV. Then, there were a few moments of silence as she succumbed to the darkness.
- - - - - - - - -
Sara slowly becomes aware that something is sticky on her forehead and reaches to brush it aside, only to find that her arm won't move. Her breathing quickens as she realizes that she is trapped, tightly bound in a cocoon of metal and concrete. The rest of the world seems peculiarly far away, with only faint flashes of light and the muffled sounds of machines and horns penetrating far enough to reach her. Sara searches for some way to orient herself, but can't even tell that she is laying on her side until she watches the direction the blood falls as it drips off her head.
Regrets fill her mind, not of the things she had done, but of the things she should have done. So many missed opportunities scream at her for being a coward. She feels sadness at all the things her life could have been filled with.
From behind her, she realizes the sounds of clanging metal are becoming louder. Through the assault on her ears, she hears a voice. "Hello? Anyone in there?"
It takes her a moment to realize that the voice is directed at her, and even longer to force her throat to respond. "In here. I'm in here."
A blessed moment of silence follows her words, to be followed by frantic scraping sounds as the fireman tries to make his way towards her voice. Sara hears a colorful stream of curses as he realizes that there is no way to reach her. "Okay, lady, I need you to hold on for me. It's going to take a little while to get to you. Can you do that for me?"
"Oh yeah," Sara responds, "I'm an old pro at waiting." A giggle burbles from her lips at her own joke, to be replaced by a rackingly painful cough. The pain helps bring her back to herself, though, as she realizes that she's edging toward hysteria.
"I'm Jack Glass, by the way. Can you tell me your name, since it looks like we're going to spending some time together?"
She knows the friendly banter is meant to distract and reassure her, but she finds herself oddly comforted, just the same. "Sara Sidle."
"From the crime lab?" he responds. "I've seen you at a couple of scenes, before. Don't tell my wife I noticed, though. She hates it when I notice other attractive women."
"It'll be our secret."
The harsh beep of his radio cuts in, and Sara can hear him softly speaking into it. His tone sounds urgent, despite the low volume, and she knows things must be grim.
"Okay, Sara, it looks like I don't get to keep you to myself. We've got guys lined up to help get you out from under this rig. I'm going to have to go back out there and make sure they do this right, okay. I'm going to have to leave, but I'll be back."
Part of her wants to beg him to stay with her, but she knows he wouldn't leave unless he had to. "I'll be right here." As jokes go, it isn't her best, but he laughs anyway as he scoots back into the night.
The wait seems eternal after that. Loud bangs and terrifying shifts jar her, as she realizes the truck's trailer is laying on top of what is left of her vehicle. An odd indifference creeps over her, as if all of this was happening to someone else, and she vaguely wonders if she is going into shock. Somehow, it just doesn't seem to matter.
She can't judge how long it takes before her dark world is ripped open to the night, the trailer safely pulled to the side. Garish red and blue lights blind her through the hole where her windshield should be and her ears are assailed by the shouts of emergency workers running about their tasks. One voice is familiar though. "I told you I'd be back. I never break a promise to a pretty woman."
"Jack," she sighs in recognition. She feels so badly for him, how hard he worked to free her. "You did good. Don't worry if things don't work out. You did good."
"Hey! Don't talk like that. We've got through the hard part. You've just got to stay with me a little longer, while we cut you out of the car."
"I don't think I can. I'm just so tired. I'm going to close my eyes for a little bit."
She finds herself drifting then, deaf to the pleas of the fireman trying to rouse her. A pleasant lethargy invades her body, and the harsh brightness seems to recede. Her eyelids drift shut as the world of regrets drifts away.
"Sara!"
At the familiar voice, her eyes snap open again.
"Grissom? What are you doing here?" Nothing makes sense as she tries to figure out what he would be doing at a car wreck. They usually don't investigate those, unless someone suspects foul play.
"They called me at the lab, when they found you. They want you to hold on while they get you out. You got that? They're going to get you out."
"Doesn't matter," she murmurs. "It'll be alright. I'm just sorry we never got our chance."
At her words, it feels like ice water has been dumped over his head. Grissom recognizes the resignation in her voice and knows that some part of her has given up. "Nuh-uh! You don't get off that easy." Her eyes lock with his at his harsh tone. "You do not get to lay there and play the helpless maiden, slipping into oblivion. The Sara I know fights. No lost chances – you have to fight for them, and I'm not going to let you stop."
She couldn't be more shocked if he had reached into the SUV and slapped her. Anger flares inside her at his words.
"Just where do you get off, telling me to fight? I've been fighting, you jerk! You're the one afraid to take a risk." Sara feels a flush creep up her neck as the heated words pour out of her mouth. She doesn't care who hears her – she just wants to tell him off for the distance he had put between them. "I'm the one who asked you out, remember?" She keeps muttering under her breath about pig-headed entomologists who can see tiny little bugs, but not what is right in front of their noses, throwing a few comments about their parentage in just for good measure. She hardly notices when the door of her SUV is cut free, and it is only when the fireman are cutting off her seatbelt and passing her onto a stretcher that it occurs to Sara that she's been manipulated. Grissom grabs her hand, the only part if her it seems that the paramedics aren't poking and prodding, and smiles down at her shocked face.
"You played me!" she says incredulously. "You wanted to make me angry, didn't you?"
"You were giving up. I needed my Sara back, the one that fights tooth and nail for what she wants, the one that doesn't back down from anyone or anything." His eyes grow moist as he realizes how close he had come to losing her. "I couldn't let you just go."
"Grissom, you really . . ." she pauses, searching for words.
"Pulled you back from the jaws of death?" he supplies, helpfully.
"No, I was thinking more along the lines of 'piss me off!'"
With a quick squeeze of his hand, she's laughing in the jaws of life.