His wrist was killing him. Grissom opened his eyes too quickly and winced. What the hell? He didn't have fluorescent lights in his apartment. He unfolded into a better sitting position and felt the throbbing in his wrist subside a little. After a moment it came back, one large brick of information, the events of the past day.

He frowned, trying to wake up, and lowered his gaze only to be blinded again, this time by the shiny orange chairs across from him, identical to uniform piece of plastic he was currently occupying.

Looking around, he spotted his team at the end of the hall, huddled together. He started to process the conversation.

"...shock maybe?" Nick asked.

"I don't think it's anything that drastic," Catherine replied.

"Yeah, well, it's still weird," Warrick argued. "Grissom doesn't strike me as the kind of guy that sleeps through a crisis."

"Grissom isn't the kind of guy that sleeps at all," Nick countered.

"Actually, Nick, I do. But I'm usually dangling from the top of a cave, so I can understand the confusion."

The group turned their heads in unison. "Hey, boss," Nick half-grinned. "Welcome back."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About two hours." Catherine didn't miss a beat. How long had they been talking about him?

There was movement on his other side and he looked over to see Greg arriving with a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee. "Hey," he grinned. "Good morning, sunshine." He followed Grissom's eyes to the cup. "Ah, I wouldn't suggest it boss. This stuff is the beverage equivalent of that chair you were drooling on."

"I do not drool, Greg."

"So says the guy that was unconscious."

"So says the guy that decides when you go out in the field and under what circumstances."

"Right. Gotcha." He held out the cup with enthusiasm. "Coffee?"

Grissom decided to turn his attention back to someone useful. "Catherine, any word?"

"She's still asleep. She has a mild concussion. There was a gash on her foot that required seven stitches. A lot of scratches and bruising. Considering everything that could've gone wrong, though, she's lucky."

The look Grissom shot her made it clear that he disagreed. "Did they say how long she would be unconscious?"

"They gave her something for the pain," Nick offered, "but the sleep's all her. She'll wake up when she's ready. The doctor said probably not for another couple of hours at least, though."

Grissom nodded. "Okay. We have work to do. In case you haven't guessed, we're all pulling doubles today. All other cases go the backburner. I want good news from all of you in two hours." The team nodded their understanding and headed towards the elevator. Catherine stopped and looked back. "Comin'?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you downstairs."

Standing alone in the hallway, going into Sara's room suddenly seemed like a bad idea. The kind of uncomfortable effort that was guaranteed to end with him saying the wrong thing. But Nick had assured him that she was unconscious, and would be for some time.

Now was the perfect time, then. He could see for himself that she was okay without having to worry about explanations he knew he owed her but didn't have yet.

So he walked in before he could analyze it further.

She had more color. That was a good sign. And the scratches had all been cleaned and bandaged. She just looked safer than the limp Sara from the ambulance that he couldn't seem to get out of his mind.

He adjusted the blinds to keep the morning light out, straightened the chart at the foot of the bed, and poured a glass of water and placed it within reach. Just in case.

After he ran out of tasks, Grissom just stood at her side, dark eyes and a perpetual frown, watching her breathe and wondering how he could ever be expected to send her out on cases solo again.

I wish I were like you, Grissom. I wish I didn't feel anything.

He blinked at the memory. If only she could see him now. Then again, he wasn't much for expressing his emotions. She would probably see the same Grissom as always, if not a little worn from the past half day.

Grissom sighed heavily and walked to the door. Catherine was waiting downstairs and he suspected she wouldn't be alone.

"Gris?"

Sara.

He turned, his chance to be the one framed by a doorway. Her eyes were open, barely.

"Hey," he said softly.

"He got... evidence... burned it up."

Something in Grissom clenched. "We know."

She looked so drowsy but her eyebrows bunched as she tried to think clearly. "Cath..."

"She's downstairs. Should I get her?"

The suggestion seemed to confuse her. "Cath... Cath... It was after her... She called." Her eyes fluttered and shut. He waited a moment to be sure before walking out.

- - - - - - - - -

When Grissom returned to the lab he was greeted with a mixed group of news. The good: there was plenty of good physical evidence, including the blood pool that proved not to be Sara's. The bad: the cops were too busy defending their own guy to consider a CSI and Eckley was sniffing around, smelling another important case to add to his laurels.

Grissom dealt with each announcement like a pro: No one was to touch the evidence but Nick, Warrick, Catherine and Greg. The blood was to be run through CODIS immediately. As for the cops, a very brief, very blunt phone call to Brass took care of things.

"And Eckley?" Catherine asked.

"I'll take care of it," Grissom replied, not bothering to look up. She shrugged and walked out, leaving him in an even fouler mood than before.

Conveniently enough, Eckley was in the break room, sucking own lukewarm coffee and chatting with an attractive young lab tech.

Grissom entered the room quietly, going unnoticed until he looked directly at the lab tech and said, "I need a few minutes with Eckley."

She nodded and reached for her things but Eckley stopped her with a hand. "You don't have to go anywhere." He turned his head lazily to look at Grissom. "I don't feel like chatting today, Gil."

Grissom looked at the girl again. "Now, please," he demanded softly. She left quickly, not interested in being an eyewitness.

"Well that was rude, Gil," Eckley drawled.

"My people are saying that you want to help with the investigation."

"Something like that, yeah. I'm taking it up with the boss in about an hour."

"It's not happening."

Eckley smirked. "You don't really get a say in it, Gil. Especially considering your undetermined past with the lady in question."

Grissom's face remained neutral. "Seems I do get a say. Your meeting's been cancelled. Your team is going to take up our caseload for today, maybe tomorrow too."

"That is not acceptable."

"Too bad," Grissom snapped. "I am not going to argue semantics with you, I am not going to dignify any comments about career-furthering with a reply, and I sure as hell am not entrusting any part of a case to you when it involves one of my people." Eckley merely rolled his eyes. "I mean it, Eckley. Back off. We have any problems because of you and I can guarantee that you will be scraping up every dead body we find in the sewer for the next decade."

Grissom stalked out of the break room. He wanted to know the condition of every piece of evidence in their possession. He barreled around the corner to his office so quickly he nearly knocked Nick over.

"There you are."

"Make it good," he warned.

Nick beamed his toothy Texan grin. "We got him."

Grissom's muscles tensed. "Where?"

"Brass is getting ready to interrogate him now, in Room 3."