1Spoilers:Small one for LHB, and another little one for that one where Nick and Catherine drag race. Right, can't think of the name right now. Bummer.

Dedication: I have so many people I need to dedicate chapters to for inspiring me and being awesome and all that fun stuff, but I ALWAYS forget. So I finally remembered this time, and suddenly realized the one person I needed to dedicate this to the most. So yeah, this chapter is for KRYSALYS73, who reviewed my first sad little fic a long time ago, and has stuck with me, and been unbelievably supportive the whole way through, no matter what dumb thing I've written this time. So yeah, for lack of a better speech, Krys, Rock On.

A/N: Ok, so I'm sorry about another long wait, but I of course put the actual writing of my thesis off 'till the last minute so then pulled two all-nighters in a row, my evil teacher didn't even collect the freaking paper, and I crashed Friday night about five o'clock, completely pissed off at the world and exhausted. That said, I hope this chapter doesn't suck, as it's sorta the one this whole story was based on. Yeah, so in a way, that would be funny if it was awful, and in a bigger way...no. Thursday night's episode was officially the best one I've seen in forever even without any GSR whatsoever, because Greg passed, and NOOO SOFIA! ::happy dance:: Right. Now that you're all properly terrified, Read On!

OH!: And BTW, special props go out to Torey, my 100th AND 101st reviewer! ::Grins:: 110 REVIEWS! You all ROCK more than words can say.

"Jesus Christ!" Nick had never considered himself a praying man, but at this moment, he figured it couldn't hurt. "Holy shit!" He tried to get out more, but found himself plastered too firmly to the vinyl seat to gasp out more than desperate expletives.

"Cath, look, it isn't our objective to go see Greg by ending up as his roommates!" Warrick managed from the front seat, gripping the handle above the door tightly.

"Shut up, I'm concentrating!" She muttered back, careening around a corner and zipping past a beat cop standing on the sidewalk, whose mouth hung open in shock as he took in the 'LVCL' painted on the side of the Tahoe.

As they squealed around one more turn, they were suddenly confronted by a string of cars, and a glaring red light. The brakes screamed, and Nick's forehead got up close and personal with the back of Warrick's seat. "Damnit all to hell and back with a road cone!" Catherine slammed a fist against the steering wheel in disgust.

"Jesus," Nick moaned in reply, rubbing his red forehead.

Warrick, when he could breathe again, gave the blonde beside him a long look. The anxious pain on her face was glaringly obvious. "Catherine, take it easy. We're getting there as fast as we can." She didn't answer, glaring straight ahead at the poor Ford that happened to be in the way.

"Cath?" He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. After a long moment, her frame slumped, and she leaned heavily against the steering wheel. Warrick rubbed her upper arm soothingly. "Hey girl, what's up?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "For God's sake, Warrick, Greg's in critical condition after getting blown up again, and we couldn't leave because we aren't even a member of his shift anymore, and Sara's, Sara's..." She shook her head again, and bit her lip against the tears stinging in her eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Hey, hey," Warrick murmured. "I know, Cath, I know. This is...hell, I don't know what this is, but it sucks. But Greg needs us right now, and we can't let him down. We've got go with what we've got, that's all we can do." Go with the living. Wasn't that what Sara said to Brass? He hoped he was honoring her wishes.

"Yeah, come on, Cath, you know that's what...what S-Sara would have wanted." The Texan stumbled roughly over her name, his voice breaking at the thoughts running through all their minds.

Catherine blinked hard, nodding. "You're right, Nicky." She stared for a second at the endless red light, before sighing. "I'm not saying I'm not goddamned ecstatic that Greg's even alive. It's just that..."

It was just so many things for all of them. Again, Warrick squeezed her shoulder. "Cath, she knew we loved her." She smiled weakly; somehow he always knew what she was thinking. "We all are jerks to everybody sometimes, but we don't just work together, ya know? We 're friends, hell, maybe even family. Sara knew that."

'Maybe if you were doing you job...' Catherine let out another sigh. "I hope she knew, Warrick, I hope you're right."

"He is," Nick answered quietly from the back, thinking of one of his best friends, now hanging between life and death, and of the girl he thought of as something like a sister, who had already crossed the line. "Warrick is right, Cath. Sara knew. And now we've got to go show Greg." As the light finally turned green, they started up again at an almost normal pace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Grissom's going to be furious." Brass blinked, and then turned to look at Sara.

Trying to figure out this very odd statement, he said the first thing that came to mind. "What?"

Sara shrugged, staring down at her left leg, encased in fresh plaster, her thigh wrapped in layer upon layer of gauze. "I missed the bomb. I let the scene get blown to pieces and I...I let Greg get blown up!" She tapped a absently on the hard encasement covering her shin. "How the fuck could I miss the bomb, Brass? How the hell could I do something so damn stupid?"

"Hey, now." Brass gingerly laid a hand on her arm, somehow afraid he might break her or something, if he used anything but the gentlest touch. "It was an honest mistake, Sara. Who's gonna look for a bomb at a scene like that?"

"Still should have seen it," muttered in reply, almost sounding petulant.

Sighing in return, Brass looked her over again, sitting calmly in a wheelchair and bright blue hospital scrubs, for what seemed the thousandth time, barely able to believe she was actually sitting beside him in the waiting room. Hardly able to comprehend she was even breathing.

In truth, she had no business being anywhere but a hospital bed, but a nasty pileup just outside of Vegas had all the hospitals maxed out. On the ambulance ride over, Sara had sort of pulled herself together, coming out her shock sufficiently enough that she was unhooked from the IV when the doctor saw her. She'd been diagnosed with an obviously broken leg, a minor concussion, and some muscle tearing in her thigh, that would possibly need physical therapy to fully heal. Her hearing would be fine again within two weeks. She'd then been put in a cast and given pain killer upon antibiotic upon painkiller to suitably drug her up for the weeks ahead. All of this had occurred within an hour, too, though Brass thought it had less to do with her condition than it did his not so subtle threats and incensed swearing when Sara was out of earshot.

"I can't believe I let Greg get blown up again," she whispered suddenly, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. "Grissom will probably fire me. He should fire me...I deserve it." Her eyes slipped shut and she grimaced at the memories that rushed through her. "Jesus, Brass, how could I let that happen to Greg? How could I do that to him? I-"

"Sara, stop!" Brass knew his voice was harsher than he'd intended, but he had to stop her line of thinking now. "You listen to me, Sara Sidle. What happened was an accident. A fluke. A goddamn fucking bitch of a thing to happen, but it's nobody's fault, probably not even the kid's."

"I'm still going to go down for this." Brass paused, unsure of what to say. In all likelihood, she might. Ecklie was just a bastard that way.

"It was the job of the first officer on scene to declare the sight safe for entry." Andrews was definitely going to suffer repercussions for missing it, and Brass found himself feeling sorry for the kid, except that he almost got two of his good friends blown to little pieces.

"Doesn't matter and you know it. Not where Ecklie's concerned. Not where I'm concerned." Her DUI wasn't going to look good for this.

"We'll worry about that when we get to it, Sar. And I'll back you the whole way." Not only was Brass getting too old for this, he was beginning to say corny things in his old age. Damn.

"Have we heard anything?" She asked, after a long moment of silence.

"No. They took him into surgery immediately. I've been checking ever since, but nothing yet." Brass wanted to tell her Greg was going to be OK, but in all honesty, he wasn't so sure. And one thing Jim Brass wasn't was a liar. He stayed quiet.

"He's going to be OK," Sara breathed out on a shaky sigh. Brass glanced at her pale face, waiting. "He owes me breakfast."

"Well, we can't let a rookie out of a promise, can we?" Brass returned, a small smile spreading on his face.

"He'd better not break this one," she muttered back, still staring at her cast. Her hand trembled at she ran it down the plaster again.

As he watched Sara, Brass knew that Greg had to pull through, for all their sakes. "Yeah, you really need to get out more."

He flinched back playfully a little at the look he received. Whatever scathing retort she might have given, however, was cut off but a sudden crashing noise, and a rather loud yell of "SARA!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Greg was on fire. He was sure of it. His body was being engulfed in flames, and his tongue was too charred and bloodied for him to even scream.

He didn't know where he was, or where this fire had come from, but it hurt. A lot. It hurt so bad, Greg was ready to give away his whole stock of Blue Hawaiian if only he could be left in peace. And for Greg, that was completely admitting defeat.

When he was 12, his house had burned down to the ground one December in a horrific electrical fire. His dog, Spock, had been trapped in the garage, and they hadn't had time to get him out. A week later, sifting through the rubble, he'd smelled an awful, rotten smell, and seen a piece of burned cloth sticking out of a pile of ash. It was Spock's tail.

Greg had had nightmares for months after that. It hadn't really mattered to him that they didn't get Christmas that year, and that he wore clothes that were three sizes too big from salvation army for six months. After all, he didn't really want anything, and kids already made fun of him for his style tastes.

But Greg dreamed about burning.

He had two nightmares that came back for years, and even after he was able to enjoy a bonfire again, they woke him up in the middle of the night, feverish and looking wildly for water to put out the flames. He still had one of them, sometimes, when he'd worked a double, or seen something particularly bad. It had been almost a year since he'd had it, when the lab blew up. And the nightmare returned, and every day in his sleep, he burned.

At first, sometimes, he'd be watching himself burn. Looking up from the ground while his arm suddenly sparked and lit up, and that horrendous charred flesh smell would drift down to him as he watched the look of horror on his own face.

And he'd get warmer and warmer as he watched, until suddenly he was back in himself again, and he could feel the flames, now shooting down his body, creeping up his neck. He always screamed, but couldn't move, struggling in vain against the fire that was melting his flesh. And he'd look down, in a panic, at were he'd been watching himself a moment ago, to find Spock looking up at him with his big brown eyes, and wagging his rear, where only a charred, smoking, bloodied stub remained in place of his tail.

And then the flames would be up past his eyes, singeing his hair and twisting his body in its heat. And in this dream, Greg would scream, the entire time, until his tongue was burned away, and he could no longer make a noise.

Eventually, his legs would be burned to ash, and his middle would collapse from inside out as he fell to the earth, the flames still dancing around his remains. He would look around frantically with his eyes, the only part that ever survived the fire, searching for Spock, thinking wildly that if he could find the dog, the fire would be gone and his body would come back. And then, he'd finally find where the Spock had been sitting before, to look and find only a bloodied, charred tail, sticking out of a pile of ash...

But this time, Greg wasn't waking up, and he couldn't find Spock, or a tail, and he couldn't wake up. The fire surged through his chest and he tried to let out a moan or a scream or something, only to choke on the smoke filling his lungs. He struggled as another flame lanced through his stomach, and he struggled to get his eyes open before they burned too, because that had never happened before and he didn't know what he'd do if they did.

Then a sharp pain hit them too, and he thought he might be too late, but he realized it was light, not fire, and a bright blue blur was in front of him. It reminded him of water, and of Grissom, but it couldn't be Grissom, because Grissom would never wear anything so blue or blobby. Then a rumbling sound came from the blue blur, like a voice, but Greg hoped it was a stream because he was still burning. Suddenly surge of something wonderful and cool filled him, and his eyes slipped shut again as the blur disappeared.

The fire tamed, at least for the moment, Greg drifted into blackness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sara could only stare, wide-eyed as Nick, Warrick and Catherine rushed towards her, looking like they were about to tackle her and beat her to the ground. She wondered for a ridiculous moment if they knew she'd missed the bomb, but when Nick's arms slipped gingerly around her, and he dropped a kiss in her hair, she was completely clueless again. "Uh...Nick?"

"Jesus Christ, Sara," Nick muttered roughly, who was seriously considering going to church come next Sunday. "Jesus fucking Christ." He pulled back, staring at her face. "Is...are you really here?"

Oook. "Uhm, yeah, last time I checked." She glanced over in a rather horrified movement as Catherine burst into tears and buried her face in Warrick's chest. Right.

Nick laughed then, a loud, full sound, and pulled Sara back toward him. Confused as hell, Sara looked over to Brass, to find he had a vaguely mortified look on his face, and was staring back at her in a rather chagrined manner. "Nicky? What's up?"

"What...what's up?" Nick pulled away again, staring at her like she'd just grown an extra head. Sara wouldn't have doubted it. "Sara, we thought you were...we...we thought you were dead, Sar." Nick's eyes suddenly glossed over, and he looked down, blinking hard. Ah, well that explained Brass's kid-in-the-cookie-jar expression.

"I'm OK, Nicky, I swear. Banged up a little, but I'm here." Nick looked up again, smiling widely, and managing to drop another kiss on her crown before Warrick was there, bodily pulling him away.

"Damn girl," He whispered, pulling her into an embrace of his own. Awkwardly, Sara hugged him back. "You gave us one hell of a scare," He muttered next to her ear, his voice breaking a little, before he reluctantly pulled back, giving her a warm smile, eyes searching her face as though to check and make sure she was really there.

"I'm OK, Warrick, really." He nodded once, before squeezing her hand tightly, and rising.

As surprised as she'd been by the boys, there was probably nothing in the world that could have prepared Sara to be hugged by a still teary Catherine. It was just not the sort of thing that happened, well, ever. "Catherine?" Sara was not a touchy-feely person, and her quota for physical contact was so filled an restocked and expanded it wasn't even funny. And Catherine was crying. Sara had a sudden desire to pinch herself and see if she could feel it.

After a moment, the very last of Catherine's tears stopped, and she pulled back scowling at Sara. "Don't ever do that again! You, you...I...don't do it again!" Very afraid that Catherine would suddenly try to ground her, Sara nodded immediately.

Then Catherine gave a watery laugh, hugging her again, and wiping at her eyes. "Sara, we've just managed to break you in. You can't go threatening the balance!"

Sara smiled as well, somehow touched, however absurd the situation, that everyone was such a wreck because she was supposedly dead. There had been times when she'd doubted just how welcome she was at the Crime Lab, but this definitely let her know where she stood.

Catherine rose after a moment, shooting Sara another smile before proceeding to melt Brass into his plastic chair with her glare. Not that he needed much help. The guilty look on his face showed how bad he already felt.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Nick's concerned query made her smile.

"I don't know. I'm on some pretty good drugs," She answered lightly, making both the guys grin.

"How's Greg?" Warrick asked lowly, as Nick and Catherine tensed anxiously.

Sara shrugged, shooting a helpless look at Brass, who sighed, rubbing his face. "He's in surgery now. We don't know anything except that there was internal bleeding. He, uh, flat-lined as he was getting in the ambulance, but I guess they managed to bring him back," Brass muttered, looking at the ground.

Sara cringed. She knew she'd heard the crash cart, but had chalked up to shock. Jesus, things were worse than she'd thought.

"Damn," Nick swore, as Catherine let out a soft moan, and Warrick looked at the floor.

There was a long moment of silence, before Sara final got up the courage to ask the biggest question she had. "Hey guys?" She waited until they all looked up. "How...how angry is Grissom?" Their suddenly horrified looks and shocked silence was the only response she got.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom made it to the hospital in record time, which meant it took him thirty minutes to get there, instead of thirty five. He pulled in beside Catherine's Tahoe, his mind completely focused on figuring out how to turn off the engine. That puzzle solved, he managed to get out of the vehicle and walk rapidly across the parking lot, his strange limp more pronounced with his speed.

He couldn't seem to concentrate on anything as he entered the main doors of the emergency room. He wanted to find Catherine and the others and rest. He couldn't get his mind together, or find one single emotion to latch on to. God it had been a long day, and it wasn't even noon.

He walked right past the receptionist, inexplicably afraid to talk to anyone he didn't know, as if it would somehow mess things up some more. He needed to know how Greg was.

"...is Grissom?" He heard her voice again, another random snippet that flashed through his mind as had been happening for a while now. Closing his eyes briefly, he brushed it away, fighting for another step into the waiting room.

When Grissom opened his eyes again, standing in the doorway, his gaze immediately sought out Catherine, who was looking at him with an open mouth and wide eyes. He looked to Warrick and Nick and finally Brass next, who all looked almost the same as Catherine. And then he looked at Sara...

Who couldn't possibly be there. Grissom blinked slowly, wondering why he had to hallucinate her here of all places, wondering why he had to have this strange, embarrassing, terrifying break down in front of the others. Jesus, she was beautiful. Funny how he couldn't get past that fact even if she was nothing but a memory.

"Gil?" Catherine took a faltering step forward, glancing at Warrick and Nick as Brass rose from his seat.

He watched in detached fascination as their gazes swung back to his hallucination of Sara, who was watching this in confusion. Catherine decided to speak again. "Gil, I'm so sorry we didn't call. We were just so shocked, we didn't have time..." As Grissom blinked stupidly again, she trailed off.

Again, his gaze fell to Warrick and Nick, who were looking at him like he might explode, then moving on to Brass, who looked very, very guilty, and next to Catherine, who was watching him like she was waiting to catch him if he collapsed, and then to Sara, who wasn't at all a hallucination.

Again, he blinked, as something huge and hot lodged itself in his chest, forcing its way into his throat, and making his hands shake. Sara was sitting in a wheelchair, staring right at him. Sara was alive.

Grissom couldn't handle that.

Clearing his throat, he pulled himself off the doorjamb, where he had no doubt swayed to unconsciously. "Any word on Greg?" His voice was monotone and calm.

They all exchanged glances except for Sa– except one was simply looking at him bewilderedly. The world tilted for the umpteenth time that day, and something rumbled deep within in him, clawing desperately to do something, but what, Grissom could not tell. Would ignore. Could not deal with. "Well?"

"N-no word yet, Gil. He's in surgery with internal bleeding. We...we haven't heard anything," Brass answered, as Catherine was too busy taking small steps towards him, as though he might bolt if she went to fast.

"Thanks." Unable to stand Catherine getting any closer, unable to handle any of this - Jesus, she was still looking at him, she was still there - Grissom did the only thing he could think of. He turned and walked away, back out the doors of the hospital.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh...my...God," Catherine whispered as stared at the now empty doorway.

"What the hell was that?" Sara demanded of them, not understanding why Grissom hadn't even spoken to her. She'd fucked up, she knew, but even he couldn't just ignore her, after she'd almost gotten blown up. Everyone else had thought she was dead, for Chrissake! They were all looking at her now.

Everyone else had thought she was dead.

"Ssshhhit." They could only nod.

Sara should have let him go, she knew that. She knew this wasn't going to end well. But she was angry. So, he finds out she's still alive and walks away? Goddamnit, was that all he cared any more?

Without really thinking, her hands began to grip the spokes of the wheelchair, and she had wheeled herself quite skillfully around them in a matter of seconds. "Sara?" Nick's voice sounded very unsure.

"I broke my leg in college," she muttered back, though she knew that was not his question. Before any more could be said, she disappeared down the hall, and out the doors after him.

He was standing on the sidewalk, looking frozen, staring out at the parking lot. Some of her anger deflated. "Grissom?" He didn't move. "Hey, Griss?"

Finally, after an endless moment, he turned around and stared at her, his eyes blank and his face impassive. She hated this Grissom. The one she thought didn't really live. "Grissom, what's going on?"

He stared at her for another long moment before his eyes dropped to the ground, but not before she caught a flash of something in his eyes. She thought it might be anger. Could he really be that furious with her? Maybe she deserved it, but...oh hell, this was all so stupid.

"Look, Grissom, I'm really sorry," She muttered, wheeling forward a little. Maybe she could get him talking if only to reprimand her.

She watched in shock as he actually took a few steps away, sidestepping to the right when he almost fell of the sidewalk. What the hell? "Grissom?"

He shook his head almost imperceptibly at her, before turning away to amble down the sidewalk, stopping when he reached a bench. He seemed to consider his options for a long moment, before finally, gracelessly, slumping down into the worn wood and staring down at his shoes.

Sara had no clue what was going through his head. They hadn't really spoken in months, and she suddenly realized she had no idea how to read him any more. She had almost died and he was giving her the silent treatment? She blinked as that thought struck her for the first time. She'd almost died.

Preoccupied with the notion, she didn't really pay attention to what she was doing until she was right in front of him again, his gaze still trained on his obviously fascinating shoestrings. "Grissom?" Tentatively, she reached a hand out to lay it on his arm.

"Don't." His voice came out in a harsh command, and he flinched away from her, settling back further into the bench.

Sara was suddenly furious again. This was fucking insane, and she was too goddamn exhausted to play this game with him. She moved further down the bench, swinging herself from the wheelchair to the wood in one fluid, practiced motion. Still, he didn't look at her. "Look, Grissom! I know I fucked up! I know it, all right! I missed something huge and got Greg hurt, and then you all thought I was dead, and yeah, fine, you're angry. But I almost got fucking blown up Grissom, and this ignoring me thing just really isn't working for me today! So fine, you can see I'm alive, Grissom, but you know, it's common courtesy to ask if I'm OK even if you don't really give a damn about the answer!"

At this, his head snapped up, and his blue eyes were suddenly boring into hers with such intensity that she was startled into silence. "You. Think. I. Don't. Give. A damn?" His voice was low, and cold and rough, and it only pissed her off more. If he was going to play hurt feelings, she was going to win.

"That would be the impression I got, yeah." How had they gotten to this? No comfort, no warm smiles of flirtatious gestures. Just coldness and anger.

He stared at her, and she stared back for a long, endless, twisting moment, until suddenly, he moved forward, and his face was scant inches from hers, his breathing hot and heavy on her cheek. "How the hell can you think that? How the hell can you think that I would...I thought you were dead. And perhaps now you find me such a monster that you'd assume I wouldn't care, but you've known me for ten years, for God's sake! How the hell can you think I don't give a damn? You were gone; Brass said it, and we all knew it, and I was so fucking lost I couldn't even breathe!" He moved even closer and the fury was clear in his eyes, but so was the pain. Sara sat too stunned to speak. "I...I ...Jesus Sara!"

And suddenly, the millions of thoughts fighting for position in Sara's brain were scattered out of her head in the merest instant because Grissom lunged forward that final bit, and his lips were on hers, hungry and hot and so desperate it was almost heartbreaking. He attacked her mouth, his hand sliding through her hair, searching and caressing with his lips and utterly terrified that she wouldn't be there when he pulled away.

Finally, for lack of air, he did, hot puffs of air grazing her face as they stared at one another, the emotions so achingly clear in his eyes it frightened her. Of its own volition, her mutinous hand found its way to his cheek, rubbing his beard softly as she waited, not knowing what had happened, not knowing where to turn or what to say.

He leaned in to her caress, his eyes shutting as he whispered her name again, his voice breaking on the last syllable. And when he looked at her again, she was shocked to see tears in this eyes, his gaze roaming over her face as though struggling to memorize every detail of her features. Again, her hand moved on its own, pulling lightly on his jaw, drawing him willingly forward to bury his face in her neck as his tears began to fall in earnest.

Sara Sidle was as confused as she had ever been in her entire, fascinating existence. And for once, as she sat on a bench on a warm afternoon with Gil Grissom trying to disappear in her embrace, she was completely fine with that.

Ok, so...As for Catherine, I felt like I was treading on shaky ground with her, because I haven't been very pleased with her in a long time. But last episode, she scored major points with me, so I felt compelled to try and actually write her...So, please don't be angry if that was horrendously awful and out of character, and I wasn't trying to make her have one of those 'what have I DONE?' moments, but she's always seemed like a very emotional person about those she cares about, and...yeah. And in an effort to increase the Gregg-ness of this fic, I added his little section, because I've gotten a few reviewers that think I've overlooked him, which is probably true, considering he wasn't even in this story originally. ::grins:: So again, I hope you liked this chapter, and my GSR scene wasn't atrocious as I think it was...and....uh....Thanks for Reading!