SARA

Once, a long time ago, you had peeled a tangerine.

Crossing the quad on the way to a class- now forgotten- the evening heavy around your shoulders. You had never liked the way the sun set so early in the wintertime, and the tangerine in your hand seemed then like a tiny sun. Its bright orange skin had reflected dully in the light of the streetlamps, and your fingernails had begun to tear it off.

You didn't have time, then, to juggle books and tangerine and tangerine peel, so you let the pieces you ripped off fall behind you, like Gretel leaving fragments of sunshine in her wake to guide her way home. You told yourself that it wouldn't matter, it was biodegradable, the squirrels would eat it. Giddy, you inhaled the tangerine's Christmas-y scent, feeling as if you had gotten away with something as you hurried through the cold and into the building.

That was what it was like to be dying.

Somehow, you had thought it would be different, but now that it's happening, you couldn't imagine it being any other way. The dull ache, deep in your chest, the way your limbs have grown heavy. The way the pain has worn off, leaving an incredible weariness in its place. Colors are brighter, and you can barely feel the floor of the Denali beneath your back. You can see the sky through the windows, and if you shift your gaze over slightly you can see Grissom staring down at you. He hasn't stopped stroking your hair.

You have that giddy feeling. You feel like you've gotten away with something again.

You want to sit up, to see the desert as you pass it by. You wish someone would turn on the radio, and break the silence that holds you all in its arms. Air passes your lips as you try to tell them these things, but all that comes out is a liquid sigh. Grissom wipes the blood off your chin.

You try to glare at him; after all, you're not a child. He quirks his lips in a slight, almost invisible smile as he notices how your eyes are narrowing at him. You smile back, as if this whole situation is some kind of joke between you.

You hadn't planned to die tonight. You had thought you would be up front with Warrick and Greg, or whoever, manning the guns and carting injured people that you'd rescued in the back. Being a casualty wasn't part of that. It had been a good plan, but it had gone out the window as soon as you'd opened your front door.

That… thing had slammed you backwards, right back into your apartment. Even now, you can't remember what happened with total clarity- razor sharp claws had scraped at you, while another pair of what might have passed for arms flailed at your torso. The pain had nearly blinded you, and you felt your ribs cracking under the pressure of its blows. The only advantage you had was that of surprise; the thing hadn't been expecting you to open the door, and seemed slightly disoriented. It wasn't a lot but it had been enough to reach to the side and grab your gun where it had fallen. One shot between the eyes and it was done for.

Battered and bloody, you had crawled out of the apartment. The streets had been full, then, full of the things, full of the screaming people that they were attacking. You had been assailed over and over, and by some stroke of luck managed to make it to the lab. In pain and gasping, but more or less whole. Or so you'd thought, at the time.

Your eyes drift towards the sky again. You don't want to remember how you got here, staring at a slow sunset through from the floor of a Denali. The space formerly occupied by your field kit. Idly, you wonder if you have any viable DNA from the creature caught under your fingernails.

Probably not. It had been rock hard. A giant insect. You wonder if Grissom's fascinated by them, or if he just hasn't realized what they're dealing with yet.

His hand on your head is comforting. You move your hand, trying to grab his, but can't. He sees the movement and holds your hand tightly. "Don't move too much, Sara," he murmurs, and wipes more blood away from your mouth.

He can't understand what you're trying to tell him. If this had been a movie you would have signed it. As it is, all you can do is will the bloody bubbles you form on your lips into the words that you want him to hear.

I'm slipping, Grissom. I'm slipping out of myself. The colors I'm seeing are too bright for this world, Grissom, and it's getting harder and harder to hold on.

You think of butterflies. They always meant so much to him, more than other people guessed. You know because he marked the beginning of their chapter in the book he'd given you one Christmas, laying a thin ribbon in between the pages, old-fashioned.

You could feel your body breaking, something greater than yourself peeling the shell away from your soul. Breaking free from your earthly chrysalis doesn't hurt nearly as much as you thought it would. You think about the tangerine peel, left in your footprints in the snow. Butterflies and tangerines. Maybe your wings, when they dry, will be bright orange.

One last sigh passes your lips. You hope that Grissom understands everything you want him to know as you close your eyes.

The last part of yourself that you feel is his hand gripping yours. It's the last bit to drop behind you as you head out into the darkness.

……………………………………………….

Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate it!

To be continued