Greg's POV:

It's been two days; I've left my place in Sara's hospital room only a handful of times. The nurses bring me extra patient meal trays in hopes that I will eat something. I normally push the food around my plate. One of Sara's nurses, Gina, has taken to bringing me coffee and making sure that I have a blanket to cover up with when I drift into sleep. Gina says it's important to take care of myself; it's the only way that I can take care of Sara. I haven't been taking care of myself; I've been waiting. I put my entire life on hold to wait for Sara.

I never told Grissom that I wouldn't be at work. I think it was understood that someone should stay. Grissom didn't say anything to me; he never said anything when he was in this room. Nobody talked when they were in this room. This room was a mental confessional of sorts; it allowed me to reexamine everything leading up to today. It gave me a chance to think of all the 'should haves' and 'what ifs' that might have saved Sara.

Grissom stopped by after work. He would sit with Sara for a few hours in the morning. We always sat in silence. Once in a moment of weakness, he asked Sara to wake up. I had been asking Sara to wake up from the moment that I found her, but for Grissom to say it . . . I couldn't imagine what was going on in his head.

Warrick stopped by once. He was in the room briefly. He said that he couldn't see her like this; if something were to happen, Warrick didn't want to remember Sara like this. I understood. These past two days were etched in my memory; I was hoping for my happy ending . . . something to diminish the bad memories that had burned themselves into my cortex.

This morning, Nick asked me to leave the room for a while; he needed to talk to Sara. I wasn't sure if I should leave; I wondered what Sara would think if I wasn't there when she woke up. I watched him talk to her from the window in the hallway; I wasn't sure what he was saying, but I was pretty sure I knew the content of his words. He was touching her face; he pushed her hair away from her face. Nick held her hand . . . he kissed her fingers. I turned away when I saw the tears rolling down his cheeks. I couldn't see him like that; he had already lost so much. It was like watching your older brother fall from grace; Nick was everything that I wanted to be.

"Greg, I need to go . . . I need to go somewhere. You should stay with Sara," Nick said softly as he left the room. I stared awkwardly at the floor.

"Maybe you should stay," I replied.

"I don't think that I deserve to stay," Nick replied.

"I don't think it's about deserving anymore . . . maybe it's more about what's in Sara's best interest. I'm her friend, but I can't relate to any of this . . . I've never even had a serious relationship, let alone a child," I rambled, "You should be there when she wakes up. I think she would want that."

"How do you know?" Nick asked.

"I see the way that she looks at you. I saw that way she struggled to tell you what happened, but with Grissom and Catherine it was like nothing . . . I don't know why it took you two so long," I replied. I was still looking at the floor. It was amazing how blind two people could be. Everyone else knew the obvious facts they danced around. I wonder if they noticed that Grissom had stopped working with Sara . . . he barely worked with Nick. Grissom no long called him Nicky; it hurt him to watch. How could they miss that.

"But . . . I wasn't there. You did what I was supposed to," Nick rambled. I was still staring at my shoes. It was amazing how much you could learn about Sara in three weeks. I guess I had worn her down enough. She began to talk. She told me about her family . . . she told me about what she hoped for for her child. Sara just needed someone to talk to.

"There's still time . . . you have a second chance. The doctors are expecting her to wake up soon," I replied, "I need to go home . . . get my mail, get some sleep."

"Greg, you know. Has anyone ever told you . . ." Nick started, "Has anyone told you that you aren't that bad?"

"I didn't know that I was bad to begin with," I replied. I knew what he meant; it was probably one of the best compliments I could get from him. I walked down the halls of the hospital. The nurses asked where I was going; I told them I needed to go home. I told them that someone was with Sara; I just was helping him out for a few days . . . now, he would take over.

Nick's POV:

I watch her gag on the endotracheal tube. The noise scares the hell out of me. I'm not sure what to do besides hit the emergency call button, which sends a myriad doctors and nurses streaming into the room. I hear them yelling for medications; one of them pushes me out of the room. Monitors are beeping; it's a loud cacophonous chaotic scene.

I pace the hallway watching the chaos through the small window. I catch a brief glance of Sara's face. Her eyes are wide open; she looks terrified. I wonder if she is dying. I had been with her for only two hours; I wondered if I should call Greg. I wondered if he would know what to do.

I wondered how things got to this point.

"Sara is awake. Is her friend here?" one of the nurses asked.

"Greg . . . Greg needed to leave for a while. I'm Nick Stokes," I said, "I'm Sara's friend."

I wasn't sure if I was still entitled to the label friend. I was pretty sure that I wasn't, but I would have done anything to get back into the room . . . to be by her.

"Ms. Sidle is awake. We took out the breathing tube," the nurse explained. I was still pacing back and forth the width of the hallway.

"Is she okay? What just happened in there?" I asked. I couldn't stop pacing; although I willed my feet to stop.

"Just a mucus plug. She's okay. Keep Sara calm; she needs her rest," the nurse replied as she walked away. The nurses interacted with Greg so differently. They all called him 'sweetie'; they all doted on him endlessly. They treated me with so little regard.

I walked into her room. She was staring into space. There was absolutely no expression on her face.

"Sara," I said as I walked toward her bed. I wasn't exactly sure how she would react to me. The last time I saw her she was vomiting in the parking lot . . . hanging on Greg.

"Where's Greg?" she whispered; her voice was hoarse. It didn't sound like Sara; it barely sounded human.

"He went home for a little while," I replied. I tried to suppress all the questions I wanted to ask her; there would be time for that later.

"Did he find me? I didn't mean to drink that much; I just wanted to fall asleep. The painkillers weren't working, the antidepressants didn't do a thing, the sleeping pills only put me in a haze," Sara replied.

"He was there; Sara, I found you," I replied. I could still remember every second of that morning. I remembered how ashen her skin was; the way her eyes were partially open. I had so many nightmares; I relived those few minutes a million times in the last few days.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Sara replied.

"I know you didn't. I wish you would have called someone . . . Greg . . . your doctor . . . me," I replied.

"I couldn't; I already bothered Greg enough. That afternoon I fought with him about going to a shrink. He threatened to tie me up and carry me there," Sara replied. She hadn't looked at me yet; I was just thankful that she was talking to me.

"He took good care of you," I replied.

"And this is how I repaid him," Sara replied. She was laying motionless; her movements were infrequent.

"Sara, I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry, Sara," I said. My chest was tight. I was trying so hard not to cry. She looked at me. I could see the tears in her brown eyes. She reached for my hand. She told me that it was okay to feel something; Sara said that no matter how many antidepressants she was prescribed, she still felt sad. I felt like someone tore my heart out three weeks ago.