A/N: Thanks for all the reviews so far! I appreciate the support. I hope everyone likes this chapter enough to add a few more new reviews. Thanks again to my great beta, Grissom! Enjoy!
Chapter 3: Coming Around
Soft groaning reached her ears and Sara's eyes snapped open. She couldn't believe she had actually fallen asleep in the hot interior of the cave, though she knew it couldn't have been for very long. She heard the groans again, and realized that it was Grissom. Before she could do or say anything, he called her name, "Sara?"
She was shocked by how weak and anguished he sounded.
"Sara?" he tried again, his voice tightening and rising in obvious panic.
"Right here, Gris!" she answered quickly, hoping to keep him calm. "Don't try to move. I'm coming to you!"
She flicked on the flashlight, pointing it toward him, but trying to avoid shining it directly into his eyes. She knelt down near his head so that she was in his line of vision, and touched his left hand. "I'm here," she assured him.
"Are you all right?" he asked hoarsely.
She smiled at him, pleasantly surprised that his first thoughts would be of her. "I'm fine. And I'm gonna get you out of there," she promised. "Just don't move around too much yet, okay?"
"What happened?" he moaned. "My head…"
"I know, Gris, I know," she sympathized. "Just lie still for me."
He couldn't do much else, so he tried not to move as she circled around him, checking things out by the beam of the flashlight. She came back to face him. "Okay, Grissom, listen to me," she began. "Does anything else hurt besides your head?"
He wasn't expecting that question, and he tried to think about it, but the pain in his head was worsening in an excruciating crescendo. The throbbing seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body, and he couldn't concentrate; he felt his grip on consciousness slipping. Horrible, insistent nausea flooded through him, and he just wanted to give into the comforting blackness so all the pain would stop.
Sara saw his eyes start to close, and she reached down and grabbed his arm, tugging firmly. "Stay with me, Grissom!" she demanded. "You hear me? Open your eyes!"
He fought to do so, trying as hard as he could to throw off the impending darkness.
He vaguely felt Sara shaking his shoulder as she kept yelling, "Grissom! I need you here with me! You have to hang on!"
Finally, with an almost impossible effort, he kept his tentative hold on awareness. He opened his eyes again, and all his sensory inputs returned in one sudden, bright burst; it was like what used to happen before his surgery when his hearing would go out.
Sara crouched down and picked up his hand. "Gris? You with me now?" she asked, her voice soft and concerned.
He moved his head a little, trying to nod. "Yeah."
"Can you tell me what else hurts?" she inquired gently.
"My back," he replied, obvious pain in his voice. "There's something heavy…"
"Yeah, you're trapped under a piece of the support beam," she said. "I'm going to get you out, just bear with me a little longer." She squeezed his hand and placed it back on the ground. Then she walked behind him again. "Can you move your legs at all?"
He focused, and attempted to shift them a bit. "I think so."
Sara watched as he lifted his feet. "Good," she commented. "I can lift this off you, but I need both hands," she explained, getting a grip on the edge of the wood. "You're going to have to pull yourself out from underneath. Do you think you can do it?"
Grissom considered for a moment, still assessing the condition of his limbs and muscles. "I guess I'll have to."
"Ready?"
"Ready," he replied, trying to sound like he meant it.
"Okay." She bent her legs, lifted the beam as high as she could, and held it there.
As soon as Grissom felt the weight rise off his back, he dragged himself forward. He pushed with his legs as he reached out and pulled with his left arm. As he started inching ahead, he realized that his right arm was wedged underneath his torso. He tried to yank his arm out, but it was completely numb and wouldn't respond to his mental instructions. So he continued hauling himself free using just his other arm.
The instant Grissom's legs were clear, Sara dropped the large piece of wood onto the mine floor. It thudded loudly, causing a small shower of dirt and pebbles to rain from the ceiling. Both Grissom and Sara covered their heads until the debris stopped falling. The disturbance made Sara realize that the mine might not be completely stable and maybe that was why Brass and the others hadn't come to get them yet.
The added dust being kicked up caused Grissom to start coughing. He pushed himself into a sitting position, and as he got upright, the nausea hit him with a vengeance. "Sara…" he began weakly. But he couldn't finish the sentence. He lunged to the side of the cave just in time for his stomach to force out the remains of his last meal. He hadn't eaten for several hours, so there wasn't much to come back up. Unfortunately, that meant that he was seized with several bouts of dry heaves as his completely empty stomach continued to spasm painfully.
Sara went over to him, wanting to help in some way. She wanted to offer him some comfort, but she was afraid to touch him without knowing the extent and locations of his injuries. "Grissom," she asked in a small voice, "are you okay?" She knew it was an incredibly stupid question, and she knew that he wasn't okay. A head injury plus vomiting equals a concussion, she thought grimly. That didn't surprise her at all, based on the gash she had seen on his head, but it worried her even more.
Once Grissom's stomach had settled down, he coughed one more time, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Then he turned toward Sara and started to get off his knees.
"Whoa," she said, gently touching his shoulder. "I'm not sure you should be standing up right now. Why don't you sit here for a minute?"
He nodded wearily, leaning against the rough wall. But as soon as his back made contact with the rocky surface, he winced and sat forward again.
"What is it?" she asked.
She stretched over to pick up the flashlight, and then tipped him carefully forward. "Let me see," she said. She lifted up his jacket and shirt at the collar, and shined the light onto the skin underneath. Grimacing at the crisscrossing of cuts and bruises, she sucked in an audible breath before she could stop herself. "Your back is all torn up, Grissom," she told him shakily. She carefully leaned him back, and looked into his eyes. "How do you feel otherwise?"
"Dizzy, nauseous, my head is throbbing," he answered quietly. "My chest hurts, and it's hard to breathe."
"I know. It's the air in here. We seem to be cut off from all fresh oxygen, but I think we'll be okay for a while." She frowned as she noticed the way he was holding his right arm—immobile, close to his body. "What's wrong with your arm?" she asked.
He shook his head. "It was underneath me before. It was numb and I couldn't move it. Now it's starting to tingle as the blood flows back in, but it still doesn't seem to want to move much."
"Does it hurt?"
"I can't tell yet. I have a feeling it will."
"Try to move it," she suggested.
He did, gingerly, and his face immediately contorted in agony. Sara could tell he was trying not to cry out, and she watched as his face went a shade paler than it already was. He held his arm tightly against his stomach again.
"You can't move it at all?" she inquired with concern.
He shook his head again, a solemn expression on his face.
"It might be broken," she continued. "I'm going to have to take a look. I promise I'll be gentle."
She started with his uninjured arm, helping him pull it out of his jacket sleeve. Then she moved the material around his back, surprised at how dirty and ripped it had gotten. As carefully as she could, she slid the jacket off his right arm, trying not to jostle it. She dropped the tattered piece of clothing off to the side, and turned her attention to his arm.
She definitely didn't like what she saw; his forearm was swollen to what seemed like twice its normal size, and there was already noticeable bruising. An angry red splotch in the center of his arm was quickly turning purple, and was surrounded by fainter lines of bruises. "This doesn't look good, Gris," she told him. "I'm pretty sure it's broken. She glanced around the dusty cave, biting her lip. "We don't even have anything to put on it to bring the swelling down."
She met his eyes, which were unfocused and filled with hazy pain. "We should at least splint it or put it in some kind of sling, though." Examining their surroundings again, she noticed that their field kits were near the far wall and appeared intact. "Come on, let's move over there," she suggested, helping him up. Leaning on Sara, he half-crawled, half- limped to the other side of the cave. She sat him down in what she hoped was a comfortable position for him, and decided to check him out more carefully.
Sara shined the flashlight on his head wound, prodding with her fingers a little, but trying hard not to touch his scalp too close to the gash. She couldn't help but make a face as she got a well-lit look at the rather gruesome injury; it looked very serious to her. "This is really deep," she said, keeping her voice even, wanting to inform him, but not alarm him. "You're going to need stitches or staples to close this up." If it's not too late, she added to herself, choosing not to say it out loud. She knew if too much time passed before he was treated, the doctors wouldn't be able to close up Grissom's wound properly. But at least the bleeding seems to have stopped, she thought as she continued examining his head.
Then she moved the light to his cheek. The entire left side of his face, including his beard, was caked with an unpleasant mixture of drying blood, dirt, and sweat—the unappealing combination was all over his neck, too. She tried rubbing her fingers over his cheek, but the messy stains remained, and she wished she had something to clean him up with. Sara remembered she had a bottle of water in her kit, but she knew that it was more important to save it for drinking, since they didn't know how long they would be stuck in there.
She noticed how heavily Grissom was sweating, and she wondered what she should do. It was stifling in the mine, but Sara also realized that Grissom was most likely in shock. She wasn't sure whether she was supposed to keep him warm or cool him off. She decided the best course of action was probably to keep him as cool as possible.
Unfortunately there wasn't much she could do in that area. His jacket was already gone, and when Sara had checked his back earlier, she had seen that he wasn't wearing any kind of t-shirt under his black button-down. So he couldn't take his shirt off, but it was short-sleeved and it looked like he had ripped off the top button or two when he had dragged himself free of the beam, so his neck and chest were somewhat exposed as a result; she figured he was as ventilated as he could possibly get, even though it might not seem that way.
"Let's take care of that arm," she said. There wasn't much in their field kits that would make a decent sling, she knew, but she began rummaging through hers nevertheless. Tubing might work, she considered, then realized that it might dig into his skin painfully. Her eyes left the interior of her kit and fell on her discarded jacket. Ah, perfect! she thought in satisfaction.
She laid her jacket flat on the ground, first fastening all the buttons, then rolling up the middle portion. She gently placed the bundled-up material around his right forearm and brought the sleeves up around his neck—one in front and one in back. She tied the sleeves into a knot behind his head, adjusting them so that his arm hung at a comfortable height.
"There you go," she announced, obviously pleased with her efforts. "And I wasn't even a Girl Scout…I could never deal with the pressure of selling all those cookies." She smiled at her attempt at humor, hoping to get a similar reaction from him. But it didn't work. His expression remained dazed and emotionless. Her brow knitted as she shook him a little. "Grissom, you still with me?"
"What?" he replied. "Oh, yeah." His eyes cleared and met hers.
She took in his gaze; his eyes looked so dark in the dim mine interior—more midnight sky than their usual bright cobalt—but she could see the obvious agony behind them that he was trying to hide. Seeing his pain so clearly before her just made her feel more protective of him, and more determined than ever to get them out of there.
Moving the light from him back to her kit, Sara continued digging around. She pulled out the bottle of water she almost always kept inside, and then something small on the very bottom caught her eye. She reached down and grasped it with two fingers. "I forgot about this," she said out loud, holding the foil two-pack of Tylenol in the beam of her flashlight. Taking one last look in her kit, she found a second packet of Tylenol jammed into a corner. It's not gonna do much for him, but it'll help a little, she told herself. It's better than nothing.
Sara put down the Maglite, then placed both her hands on Grissom's face, making him look her in the eye; she wanted to be sure she had his full attention. "I've got some Tylenol here that I want you to take," she told him. "I know you're probably still nauseous, but I need you to try to keep these down, okay, Gris? We don't have too many pills here to replace them if you don't, and you need something for the pain." She moved her thumbs gently along his cheekbones. "Okay?"
"Okay," he agreed quietly.
She tore open one of the packets, and pressed the pair of capsules into his palm. "Here you go." She cracked open the bottle of water and handed it to him.
Grissom swallowed the pills with a tentative sip of water. He gagged as his queasy stomach tried to bring both the small amount of liquid and the Tylenol back up. He breathed through the intense nausea, and was barely able to keep it all down.
"Good," Sara said, nodding. She stared into his eyes, her own reflecting the deep concern and responsibility she felt for him, and brushed her hand through the sweat-drenched curls on the side of his head. "Now, I want you to take another sip of the water."
His uneasy stomach flipped around at that thought. "That's not such a good idea, Sara," he told her, his voice shaky.
"Please try," she implored.
He exhaled deeply, and then lifted the bottle to his lips again. His stomach churned and protested, but he somehow kept the water down.
"One more."
He didn't argue again; he just took another swig from the bottle. He very nearly threw everything up this time, but he focused on breathing slowly, and the sensation finally grew less acute.
"Okay," she said, taking the bottle from his hand. "That's enough for now." She carefully screwed the cap back on, unconsciously licking her dry lips. She was very tempted to take a gulp of the water herself; her mouth and throat were parched, and she felt the beginnings of a strong thirst.
Resisting the urge to swallow large mouthfuls of the water, Sara placed it back in her field kit, latching the top and moving it next to her within easy reach. She would wait to sate her own thirst, since she knew that Grissom needed the water more than she did right now. They only had the one bottle, and she still had no idea how much longer they would be stuck in there. Between the sweating and the vomiting, she didn't want Grissom to get too dehydrated. She realized he needed more than just water, but that was all they had, and it was better than nothing.
Sara leaned against one of the less bumpy walls, and shifted around, finding a somewhat comfortable position. She reached over, picked up their discarded clothing, and wadded it up behind her, creating a softer backrest. She looked over at Grissom and shrugged. "I figured we should get comfortable for now," she suggested. "We don't know how much longer we'll be in here."
She watched as he moved around against the wall, but it seemed that every position he attempted hurt either his back or his arm. She could tell by his expression that he was in a great deal of pain, but she knew he wouldn't say anything or complain. As he kept changing the angle at which he sat against the wall, growing more exhausted and frustrated, Sara couldn't help but be a little amused by his plight. She turned the other way so he wouldn't see her chuckle. It suddenly entered her mind that they were in a very serious situation, but that just made her laugh harder; she realized it was just her way of dealing with the stress.
Once Sara composed herself enough, she faced Grissom again. "Why don't you come over here and lean on me, Grissom?" she asked, not knowing how he would react.
He glanced at her with his eyes narrowed.
She returned his suspicious look with a small grin. "Trust me, I'm a lot softer than the walls, but suit yourself."
He sighed wearily, but he dragged himself over to where Sara was sitting. He situated himself against her, his head ending up against her left shoulder and his body stretching out on a slight diagonal so he could rest his bandaged arm across his abdomen. Sara slipped an arm around him comfortably, taking care to avoid his injuries. "Is that better?" she asked.
"Much," he said. He exhaled deeply, and some of the stress evaporated from his battered body. "Thanks, Sara."
"My pleasure," she responded, trying not to sound overly inappropriate, but she had to admit that the feeling of him lying against her was rather enjoyable. She was glad he was somewhat comfortable now in spite of his injuries, but she didn't want him to become too relaxed. She struggled to remember what the best treatment for someone with a concussion was.
It used to be that the person needed to be kept awake for something like twenty-four hours after the injury; but now Sara thought doctors recommended just waking the person up every couple of hours. If it became difficult to awaken them, then it signified a more serious problem, and the person needed to get medical attention immediately. Sara was unsure, and she wished she knew more about first aid. She still wanted to do what was best for Grissom, and she thought, for now, trying to keep him awake might be the safest alternative.
Her first thought was to get him talking. Hopefully that would help keep them both awake. Sitting there, if felt to Sara like the air had become even more thick and oppressive. It was making her very drowsy, and she was certain it must be having the same effect on Grissom. She realized that whatever they discussed would also have to be stimulating to her or she was in danger of falling asleep herself. And if that happened, she wouldn't be able to watch over Grissom. So she began by bringing up a subject that both of them could never get enough of—work.
"Hey, Grissom?"
"What?" he mumbled.
She could hear the sleepy edge to his voice, and she realized she had to work quickly. "So how did that case you were working with Nick turn out?"
"The one from yesterday?" he asked, sounding a bit more alert.
She nodded, even though he couldn't see her gesture from his current position. "Dead guy in a hotel room, right? Where was it, the Flamingo?"
"Yeah, fourteenth floor. 'Murder Central.' But it wasn't murder."
"No?"
She felt him shake his head. "The guy killed himself. It was suicide."
"Didn't he get shot in the back?" Sara wondered, intrigued by the whole situation.
"Yes, he did," Grissom explained. "But that's not what killed him. It turned out that he was poisoned. We found evidence of cyanide in his glass."
"He poisoned himself?"
"Yes."
"How did you know?" she persisted, trying to keep him actively engaged in the conversation.
He exhaled tiredly, and his voice got much weaker as he answered, "It's a long story, Sara."
"We've got the time, Grissom," she said with a grin, even though he couldn't see her expression.
"Why don't you tell me about your case with Catherine?" he asked, turning the tables on her.
Sara could tell his energy was becoming depleted. He was obviously miserable from the pain and the heat and the discomfort of their whole situation. She realized he was no longer in the mood for talking, so she took over. She related the details of the case she and Catherine had gotten the day before. It had been tough and confusing, and they hadn't found the key piece of evidence until this morning. They had wrapped up the case at the start of their double shift. Sara had had a chance to go home and get some rest then. The shift tonight had been easy for her, and she had been just about to go home when she was paged to accompany Grissom on this call at the mine.
When Sara paused in relating the outcome of her and Catherine's case, she could sense, rather than see, that Grissom had either fallen asleep or was very close. "Gris?" she called, waiting for an answer.
"Hey, Gris?" she repeated when no sound came from him.
She heard him mutter something unintelligible.
"Grissom, wake up!" she ordered loudly, shaking him.
"What?" he got out. Then he became even more alert as she shook him again. "What is it, Sara?"
He sounded a bit annoyed, and she didn't blame him. She knew he was hurt and beyond exhaustion, but she was just trying to look out for him. Uncertain of whether explaining her motivation to him would make any difference, she chose to just urge him to stay awake a little longer. "I was talking," she said, adding what she hoped was just the right touch of indignation to her voice.
"Sorry," he replied softly. "I'm just tired, and everything hurts. I didn't mean to be rude."
She had gone too far, and she felt awful; she hadn't meant to make him feel guilty. None of this was his fault. "I know, Grissom," she assured him gently. "You weren't being rude at all. I was just hoping you would stay awake and keep me company. I'm starting to get a little worried about the fact that no one has come to get us yet. Talking makes me feel…safer."
"Aren't you tired?" he asked. "The heat in here could probably knock out an elephant."
"Not really," she lied. She felt and heard him sigh deeply.
"All right, I'll try to stay awake. Do you still want to talk?"
She thought for a second, and then smiled as an idea hit her. "Why don't we play a game?"
"A game?" he echoed, sounding more than a little reluctant and wary. "What kind of game?"
"A word game," she suggested.
He had been half-afraid that she was going to suggest something insipid like 'Twenty Questions' or 'I Spy.' So he definitely perked up at her idea of a game he could actually use his brain for, even though he knew he wasn't in his sharpest form right now. "What kind of word game?" he pressed, still not totally convinced.
"Well…" Sara realized she hadn't thought the whole thing through. She knew he'd want to play something that involved thinking, but she hadn't come up with an exact idea yet. She thought about his love of crossword puzzles, but they obviously couldn't attempt any kind of game that required writing, or a pen and paper. "How about an anagram game? We can take a long word and see how many shorter words we can make out of the letters." She realized that this type of game was often played on paper, but she figured they could keep track of the letters in their heads.
"I think I'm up for that," he said. "What word should we use?"
She considered for a moment. "Why don't we try 'DNA'?"
He wished he could easily move enough to look at her as he replied, "'DNA' has only three letters, Sara."
She let out an exasperated huff. "Not the abbreviation DNA, Grissom, but the actual words it stands for: 'deoxyribonucleic acid.'"
"Oh," he said, feeling slightly foolish. "Good choice, Sara. Let's try it." Actually, 'deoxyribonucleic acid' was a little more than he had bargained for, given the intense pain he was in and the fact that he was completely drained. But he was willing to attempt the game if Sara wanted him to. And he certainly wasn't going to just sit back and let her win.
"Great, you go first," she said. "Let's start with three-letter words."
Grissom came up with 'cub,' and Sara chose 'ace' for their first time out. Then he formed 'box' and she got 'rub.' The back-and-forth parry of three-letter words continued until they couldn't think of any more; they progressed to four-letter words, then five-letter configurations, six-letters, and so on. Grissom was finally declared the winner after he formed the word 'inexorable.'
Sara was pleased about how the game had held Grissom's interest for so long. She was about to suggest another long word they could use for the next round when she realized that Grissom's posture against her had changed. She could tell by how relaxed his body felt that he had fallen asleep. "Grissom?" she whispered. "Gris?" There was no answer from him, and she could picture his closed eyes, and the smoothness of his face, the creases of pain disappearing as slumber overtook him.
Sara decided to let him sleep—for a little while anyway. He needed it, and she would be right there, wide awake, to make sure he was all right. As long as she woke him within an hour or two, she thought some rest wouldn't hurt him.
She pulled him more tightly against her, even though it was much too hot for such proximity. Wrapping her arm more securely around him, still avoiding his back and broken limb, she rubbed her cheek against his hair, enjoying how the curls tickled her skin. He didn't stir or make a sound, so she knew he must be sleeping pretty deeply.
Even as he slept, Sara was still worried about his injuries; she held him closely, wanting to believe that she was protecting him, but, in reality, she knew he was making her feel safer. Just feeling him breathe in and out and his heart beating made her feel more secure and confident that they would be all right. She knew the others would be coming for them, and she tried to convince herself that it would be any minute.
She closed her eyes briefly, relishing the feel of Grissom lying against her. The sensation of holding him was just as Sara had imagined in her dreams, even though the events that had led up to where they were now were much more like a nightmare.
She hoped she could keep him safe until they were rescued; she felt like it was up to her, but she was full of fear and uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm her. Pushing these emotions far down, she found calm as she listened to Grissom's deep, rhythmic breathing, and matched the controlled cadence with her own. She immediately felt better, shifted him comfortably against her once more, and then clicked off the flashlight to save the batteries. Sitting in the dark, she reminded herself that she needed to stay awake. Once she felt alert and ready, she settled in for a wait. "We're okay, we're still okay," she promised the slumbering Grissom, her voice echoing in the blackness.
To Be Continued…