Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; most of the others are mine, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved".
Note: Clichés four, five, twelve, and forty-seven, but I've always wanted to write one of these. Rating may change later. Thanks yet again to Cincoflex, who never fails to be wonderfully encouraging, and who thought of the title.
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Well, you wanted more responsibility. You've got it, in spades. Catherine reached wearily for another folder on her crowded desk. At least you know how to do the job.
It wasn't the first time she'd worked a job and a half--she'd done it almost every time Grissom had been out of town--but she'd never handled two supervisory positions at once before.
Not to mention, night shift is practically nonexistent, and swing shift is making itself scarce. She glanced up as a slumped form went past her office at about half its usual speed. It looked as though Sofia, at least, had dragged herself in. Catherine didn't know the woman well enough to like or dislike her, though her former status as Ecklie's pet was enough to inspire mistrust. But Catherine had to admit that Sofia was good at her job.
And she's here. Unlike Greg. Not that she could blame the younger CSI. Warrick had stopped by to see him, and had reported that Greg could barely get from bedroom to bathroom and back again, and was absolutely anguished that he would be barred from the hospital for at least a week even after he was able to stand up straight.
And meanwhile, Nick's out at least two more days, and between him and Sara and Grissom, Warrick can't handle any overtime. The Sheriff had called in a favor, and there were a few temp CSIs coming in from Carson City for dayshift, while some of the day folks would move to nights temporarily. Not ideal, but it can't be helped.
If Sofia were here, though, that meant that Catherine was past the end of her shift. She stared at the mounds of paperwork and considered staying longer.
But I'm so exhausted I can't see straight. And I'm not going to get much sleep tomorrow anyway. She planned to swing by the hospital in the morning to see Sara, and Lindsey wanted to go along. The request had surprised Catherine somewhat--Warrick and Grissom were the lab people her daughter knew best--but at Catherine's startled blink, Lindsey had reminded her tartly that Sara had taken care of her after Eddie's death.
I didn't forget, exactly. I just didn't want to remember. The whole mess had been so horrible--a mix of fury and grief and secret, shamed relief--
Well, we can go out to breakfast together. I can't waste the chance.
She flipped the folder closed, dropped it on her desk, and rose, grabbing her purse from the desk drawer. I hope Sara is better. Warrick says she is, but-- She shuddered at the memory, seeing Sara bruised and bandaged and so frighteningly still in the hospital bed. "Flowers," she said out loud. "Not that she'll like them much, but it's too early for anything else." Like a forensics journal.
And snorting at the image--Sara was going to be a handful as soon as she got her energy back--Catherine closed her office door.
xxxx
He had to admit, he did feel better.
Grissom stepped off the elevator into the ICU, definitely feeling more alert after a shower, six hours of sleep, and some food. He intended to drop by the lab that night, but Catherine had told him that things were under control for the moment, and anyway he had someplace else to be.
Here.
He could see across the hub of the unit; the curtains were drawn in front of Sara's pod, and he slowed, wondering if she was being examined or bathed or something. But as he came abreast of the nurses' station, a familiar blonde head poked through the curtain. He waved.
Lindsey looked back over her shoulder, then stepped through the curtain, pulling it shut behind her. Grissom took one stride forward, only to halt at a hand on his arm. "Hold on a minute, please, sir."
He glanced over at the young man. "Is there a problem?"
Instead of answering, the nurse spoke to the woman seated at the station. "Is this one Sidle or Grissom?"
"I'm Gil Grissom," he interrupted, impatient. The woman nodded, and the nurse tugged at his arm.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Grissom, you're not allowed back there."
"I can wait."
The nurse shook his head, looking regretful. "No, you're on the restricted list."
The words didn't make sense. "What?"
The man sighed, but didn't release Grissom, obviously prepared for a fuss. "Ms. Sidle has requested that you not be allowed in to see her."
Forget ice cubes; he'd swallowed a whole winter. "I...are you sure?"
The woman behind the counter tapped the paper in front of her. "Only two names on the list, sir--Dr. Grissom and a Mr. Charles Sidle."
Grissom shook his head distractedly. This was wrong, somehow. "But..."
A small cool hand slid into the crook of his unencumbered arm. "Come on, Uncle Gil," Lindsey said. "Let's go outside."
Numb, he let her lead him away.
xxxx
There were a lot of things Lindsey hated. Her mother's job, the way she still missed her dad, the people who'd killed him. The way she felt sometimes, all sad and lost and angry. The fact that she couldn't seem to talk with her mom anymore without one of them getting mad.
But there were good things too. They had money, now; she got to go to her grandfather's place and ride horses, even if Granddad wasn't somebody she liked very much; and she saw a little more of her mom now that Catherine worked swing shift.
It was easy to remember all the times she'd visited the Crime Lab, often ending up taking a nap on the breakroom couch and sometimes going out for breakfast with the team. They were adults, but nice ones--Nick and Greg teasing her, Captain Brass pulling a quarter from her ear when he remembered, Warrick always good for a bearhug. She was too old for that now, of course, but they were good memories.
Sara she remembered mostly as a tall, calm presence, more an impression of intensity than anything else. But Warrick had told her how long and how hard Sara had worked to try to get the people who'd killed Lindsey's dad. She hadn't been able to, but she'd tried.
So when Catherine had said she was going to the hospital, Lindsey had decided to come along.
And when she'd seen the look on Uncle Gil's face when they told him he couldn't go in, she'd decided to do something about it.
It was a bit of a weird feeling, leading him along out of ICU towards the waiting area beyond, and it took her a few seconds to figure it out. She felt--adult. Like he was the kid for once. But she put the thought aside to consider later, and shoved him gently towards one of the chairs. He sat down automatically, still looking blank, and she sat down next to him. There were other people in the lounge, but none of them were close by. "Are you all right, Uncle Gil?"
She knew he wasn't, but the question was enough to make him blink and focus on her. A little sad smile appeared. "No."
One thing about Uncle Gil, he had never lied to her, though he wouldn't always answer questions either.
"Mom says she's just really tired," Lindsey told him judiciously. "She probably is thinking kind of fuzzy right now."
"Mm." It was an I'm-thinking noise, and Lindsey said nothing, letting him think. Mom always said that he did too much thinking, but Lindsey figured that something like this required it. After all, everyone--according to Mom--knew that Uncle Gil loved Sara. Not being let in to see her--that had to hurt.
"I guess I screwed it up," he said at last, very quietly.
"Maybe you could send her some flowers," Lindsey suggested. That was what guys did on TV, and her dad had sometimes brought home huge bouquets after he and Mom had had a fight.
Uncle Gil's mouth twitched up at one corner. "Maybe," he agreed, but his voice was so sad that Lindsey couldn't help leaning against him and putting an arm around his back. She wasn't into hugging people much any more, but this was Uncle Gil--the guy who used to take her out to amusement parks, who bought her weird birthday presents, who took care of her mom when Catherine needed it.
He sighed, and his big arm went around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer. He smelled clean, the way her dad hadn't always, and he was solid and safe.
They sat there for a little while, and when Catherine sat down on the other side of him, her face was soft. "Hey, Gil," she said quietly, but she gave Lindsey a look that made her feel warm all the way through, and Lindsey realized it had been a while since she'd gotten that look.
Pride.
Catherine took Uncle Gil's free hand in hers, and they sat for a while longer, just the three of them, being family for him. And that was all right.
xxxx
The first time he'd seen her, she'd been an unwelcome intrusion, a stranger interrupting his feverish quest to make enough money to cover his stupid mistake. It hadn't taken more than a few sentences exchanged for him to figure out who she was, and on one level it had surprised him--he'd never really thought about what a friend of Grissom's would look like, but he hadn't expected her to be quite that young.
A bustling little investigator in a labcoat or sweater, he mused now, holding one slender hand in his. Somebody fortyish, maybe with those glasses on a chain. Not tall, relentless Sara Sidle.
Warrick shifted, resting his elbows on his knees without releasing her hand, and watched her. She tended to wake up every so often for a few minutes at a time, long enough to say something or ask for a drink or just smile wearily before sliding back into sleep. The doctors seemed cautiously pleased with her progress, and he leaned hard on that.
It's a shame that it took something like this to bring us back together. If there was still a together for them. Warrick couldn't quite pinpoint the moment when the night shift had begun disintegrating, but Ecklie's dividing them up had been more of a final blow than a beginning. Except now here they all were again, pulling together around a common center.
Well, almost all of them.
It's only been four days, Warrick reminded himself, stroking Sara's fingers with his and noting absently the boniness of her knuckles. It seems like so much longer.
Four days, starting with Grissom's dead-calm phone call that had betrayed so much fear beneath. Driving like a maniac to reach the hospital, only to realize that he'd actually beaten the MedEvac chopper there, and then hours of waiting. Finding himself the center of gravity for that, first for pale Catherine and a Brass who looked like he was waiting for someone to punch him again, then for others--Doc and David, both of them quiet; Jacquie and Archie, who sat together and whispered for a while; a couple of Nick's buddies from the force, looking uncomfortable.
And finally Grissom, whose face was like winter and whose ripped jacket bore smears of blood. Catherine had jumped up to peel it off him, but she couldn't do anything about his pants, which were soaked and muddy from the knees down.
They waited, like the family they'd once been, for news of any kind, or just to be there. Eventually most of them had had to leave again, though not before hearing that Nick, at least, was resting quietly and would be okay.
Nobody knew about Sara, though.
Grissom had made Catherine go home eventually, after everyone else had gone, and after Warrick had promised to call her the moment they had any news. And the two of them had waited. In silence, and a kind of despair.
Sara moaned softly, and Warrick straightened, focusing on her face. But her eyes didn't open, and after a moment he settled back, hoping that her dreams, at least, were good.
He knew he shouldn't be here--he should be at home, trying to catch up on sleep before he too came down with the flu, or worse. But he felt the need to hold vigil.
After all, who else was coming?
That wasn't quite fair, he chastised himself. Catherine came by when she could, and Nick had taken a cab in twice. David had been by at least once and Brass three times, and Warrick knew very well that if Greg were healthy enough, he would have to be removed with a crowbar.
But no one was coming from California. Catherine had made the next-of-kin calls, and she'd told Warrick earlier, quietly appalled, that while Nick had five family members listed, Sara's listing was the Las Vegas Crime Lab.
And for whatever reason, she'd barred Grissom from visiting.
So I guess it's up to us. Ecklie's unexpected mercy gave them a little more leeway, but since he technically wasn't nightshift any more, Warrick was trying not to abuse it.
Sara's fingers flexed in his, and Warrick looked up again, hopeful. Her eyes opened slowly, and he grinned. "Hey, beautiful."
She smiled the slightest bit. "...'Rick."
He wasn't sure if she was using Brass' nickname for him, or if her voice simply wasn't cooperating. "How you feeling?"
Her lip lifted in a faint snarl, and he chuckled. "Gotcha, dumb question." He reached for the cup on the table nearby. "Ready for another drink?"
It was an obvious effort for her to lean her head forward even the small amount required for a sip through the straw, and it made him ache to watch. But she didn't fall right back to sleep when he put the cup back, and a small surge of hope ran through him.
"You missed David earlier," he told her. "Should have seen him, standing there looking like he wanted to kiss you or something, fiancée or not. " He took heart from her tiny smirk. "And Vartan and O'Reilly stopped by, but the staff wouldn't let 'em in."
Her lips moved, and he made out the word even though there was no sound behind it. Nick?
"He's fine," Warrick reassured her. "Bitching about his shoulder, and he's worried like crazy about you. He's been here too, but you were asleep. I made him go home and get some rest." He picked up her hand again, and suddenly remembered.
"Got a message for you, from Ecklie." He didn't explain how it had come to him, only watched one slender brow go up. "He said to tell you that the lab needs you."
For some reason, that produced a tear. Horrified, he watched it trail down her cheek. "Oh, hey, Sara, I didn't mean..."
She shook her head slightly, and closed her eyes, fingers tightening on his and then gradually loosening as she slid under again.
He sat and watched the tear evaporate, taking her in. Her hair was tangled and unwashed, her skin was so pale that her freckles looked like spots of brown ink; her cheekbones were sharp and her lips were chapped. Warrick could see, just below the loose neck of the hospital gown, that her collarbones stood out far too starkly under her skin.
But she's alive. And she's getting better. He clung to the thought, refusing to wonder what was going to happen next.
xxxx
At least he still had his office.
An absurd thought. But there it was, he'd be grateful for such small mercies. He was still, after all, supervisor of the night shift, even if it was reduced.
At the moment, it's almost nonexistent. He was still short both Greg and Sara, and out of pity he was keeping Sofia in the lab for the most part; she wasn't really healthy enough to be at work, but he couldn't afford to send her home, even though working would slow her recovery even further. Three dayshift CSIs were handling fieldwork for the moment, and while they were nowhere near the caliber of his own people--past or present--they were competent. And right now, he just couldn't bring himself to care.
Grissom sighed, pulling off his glasses and dropping them on his desk. He was two hours early for shift, hidden away in his office with the door closed and the blinds shut, though he wasn't getting much done.
But then, where else do I have to go?
He still couldn't take it in, that Sara had forbidden his visiting. But he kept remembering that one moment when she'd pulled her hand from his, and his stomach kept twisting at the memory. I thought we were still friends, at least a little. Does she really hate me that much?
It wasn't as though he didn't deserve it. He claimed to be her friend, but her words to Nick in the crushed SUV had pointed out to him how little he'd done to deserve the title. Though to be fair, she hadn't exactly welcomed his more recent efforts.
Maybe she isn't thinking clearly, like Lindsey said. It was possible; she was heavily medicated, after all.
He'd thought he could manage as he had been, that working with Sara would be enough. After all, he hadn't been able to make himself take her up on her offer, and then she'd moved on. He thought.
He winced, remembering. The trooper had pushed her patrol car as fast as was safe on the slick mountain roads, and Grissom had kept his cellphone pressed tightly to his ear, struggling to make out the weak voices over the roar of the engine and the hiss of a bad connection. Desperate fear for his CSIs--Nick was still his, on some level--his people, his friends. Agony that all his shouts into the receiver had gone unheard. Burning urgency that they get there as soon as possible, preferably with Rescue in tow.
His heart had broken at her dull recitation of the last four years. But it had shattered as she cursed him.
When the doctor had emerged to tell them that she was stable, he realized that his mind had changed without him noticing. She loved him--she hadn't moved on--he still had a chance. A small one, but he wasn't going to let it pass.
Except, now it looked as though he was out of chances.
See Chapter 4