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: I'm indulging myself, which means that there's more angst to come. If you're worried...well...have I ever written an unhappy ending? Rating may change later. Much gratitude to Cincoflex, who has kept this thing going!
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In and out. That was all there was. One minute she was awake, and the next she was realizing that another unmeasurable span of time had passed by while she slept. Sometimes she woke sharp, and sometimes waking was hardly more than a dream, but there was always pain underneath.
This time, when she woke, she was alone for once. It was both disappointment and relief. She didn't have to muster a word or a smile for anyone...but there was no one keeping an eye on her.
Somewhere under the fatigue and the pain, she was humbled by her visitors. Nick and Warrick, Catherine and bright-haired Lindsey, Doc and David, they'd all been by. She'd even opened her eyes once to see Brass leaning back in the chair near her bed, snoring faintly, and she would have giggled if she'd had the strength.
No Grissom, though, and it was a stinging, bitter relief. The first thing she'd done on waking and finding him gone was give the attending nurse two names, people she didn't want to see. Doing so had taken most of her voice and all of her energy, and she really didn't think her father was going to show up even if someone figured out how to contact him. But she'd done it, she'd made herself safe, at least for the moment.
Somewhere under the heavy exhaustion, she was saving up anger for when she had the strength to experience it. How dare he... drifted by on occasion. How dare he show up here and act like he cares.
She closed her mind off from the wonderful sense of safety she'd felt on opening her eyes and seeing Grissom there. It had become anger almost instantly, anyway. She didn't care if he was her supervisor, or the emergency contact she'd never changed because she had no one to take his place even when they weren't friends any more. He'd forfeited every right to be there.
Sara shifted a little, aching and still exhausted but tired of the position she was in. The IV in her arm and the broken ribs rather limited her choices, and sometimes the constant low bustle of the ICU made it hard for her to fall back asleep, drugs notwithstanding. The curtains of her pod were half-open, which gave her something to watch, but she was bored with the intermittent stream of medical personnel and the occasional wheelchair.
The curtain rattled slightly, and a familiar head and shoulder appeared around the edge. "Sara?" Catherine asked softly.
Sara felt a smile stretching her face, and she let it, despite the tug at the cut near her jaw hinge. Catherine might be a difficult coworker, but she was a terrific visitor, quiet and funny; she watched for signs of fatigue but didn't make it obvious, and was full of good stories and gossip.
"C'mon in," Sara said, or tried to, but the words caught in her dry throat again. Irritated, she reached carefully for the cup on the bedside table, her movements slow but not too uncomfortable as long as she was cautious.
Catherine, smart woman, didn't offer to help, instead sliding into the visitor's chair. "You're feeling better."
Sara took a long sip of the water and put the cup back, nodding. "Getting there. How's Nick?"
Catherine crossed her legs and smiled wickedly. "He's insisting on going back to work tomorrow, and I'm going to let him. I figure he'll last about half the shift, and I'll spend less effort sending him home then than trying to talk him out of it in the first place."
Sara suppressed the chuckle--she wasn't up to laughing yet--but let out a grin. Catherine made a canny supervisor. "How much can he do with one arm, anyway?"
"It's his left arm. I can always give him more paperwork." She cocked her head and regarded Sara. "You're in almost the same boat, but I suppose your arm will heal faster than your ribs."
Sara shrugged, carefully. A sharp shard of rock had somehow embedded itself in the back of her right arm during the mudslide, missing anything major but requiring a number of stitches, internal and external, to close. Already a physical therapist was stopping by every day to help her stretch her arm gently. "I'm not ready to go back to work just yet, anyway."
Catherine patted her leg. "You take it easy for a while. You deserve it."
With a hole in my side, I'll have to, she didn't say. The surgeon kept telling her cheerfully that she'd been lucky, a slow bleed easily repaired, but it didn't feel like it from where she lay.
Catherine stuck to funny little stories about the lab, doing her best to make Sara smile, and Sara was willing to smile. The new dayshift diener who had a desperate crush on Warrick, and Warrick's slightly bewildered attempts to evade the man; David being caught smooching his fiancée on his lunch break; Mia's encounter with a garter snake that had apparently come in hidden in some evidence and had found the lab to be an acceptable new environment.
"She's so calm and controlled, and there she was, standing on her lab stool with her eyes so big I thought they'd pop out," Catherine chuckled, and Sara did grin a little at the image. "Turns out Bobby has pet snakes, so he collected that one for her. But she'll take forever to live it down."
There were two people Catherine wasn't mentioning, Sara noticed--three--but then the number dropped to one as the older woman went on. "Grissom says Greg'll be back in next week. Has Greggo called you yet?"
Props to her for being casual. "At least twice. I did answer the phone once when I wasn't really awake, and I'm still not sure who I was talking to." She reached for the water again. "Is he okay?"
"Getting better," Catherine said. "The flu hit him really hard. I"ll admit, I don't see as much of him as I used to, but I miss the kid. It's too quiet without him."
"He's hardly a kid," Sara objected mildly.
Catherine wrinkled her nose. "You all are, to me," she said, joking, and then her smile softened. "It's too quiet without you too, Sara. You need to get well and get back."
She was getting used to it, the sudden drowning exhaustion as her tiny energy stores ran out. Sara smiled and closed her eyes, barely feeling Catherine's pat on her fingers, and scarcely articulating the thought before she was out again. Maybe I don't want to go back.
xxxx
"I thought I'd find you here."
Grissom looked up and pulled off his glasses as Catherine dropped into the chair in front of his desk. "You do realize that your shift was over three hours ago?" she prodded.
He shrugged, giving nothing away. "So?"
Catherine rolled her eyes. Grissom was glad to see it; he hadn't liked the person she'd become for a little while, brittle and bitter and certain that everyone was against her, even him. The swing supervisor position might not have been the one she wanted, but it seemed to have eased her, and it was a relief to have his friend back--even if she was going to needle him. "Gil, you can't live at the lab."
"Says who?" He was joking, but Catherine merely looked impatient.
"Look, Sara's still pretty fragile right now. But she'll have to come back sooner or later. And acting like a hermit and wearing yourself out won't make that any easier."
It was something he was hungry for, and dreaded, at the same time. Sara back in his orbit, where she couldn't forbid him her presence; back where maybe, perhaps, he could do something to put them on a better footing.
Maybe. Perhaps.
"I appreciate your concern," he said dryly.
Catherine eyed him impatiently. "Gil, you two--"
"Would you be willing to have Sara on the swing shift?" he interrupted.
"What?" Catherine sat up straight. "Do you really think Ecklie would--you'd be one short--"
"Ecklie would have to acquiesce if Sara made the request," Grissom countered. "And I'd trade you for either Warrick or Nick. I wouldn't like to break them up, but if Sara would be more comfortable on swing..."
"Oh no you don't." Catherine's glare might not have an effect on him, but it was still impressive. "You are not shoving this mess onto my plate. You and Sara have the problem, Gil, you and Sara fix it. You're not running away from it this time." She pushed to her feet. "And don't put the idea in her head."
With that she was gone. Grissom snorted softly to himself. It wasn't something he wanted, Sara moving to another shift, but it was something that might well happen, and he figured she'd be more comfortable on swing than day. And Catherine wouldn't have a choice if Ecklie ordered it.
Grissom had no illusions about that. If Sara wanted to change shifts, Ecklie would do it to keep her; if Ecklie knew it would hurt Grissom to lose Sara, he would do it gleefully. Grissom wondered if Sara knew how much power she could wield if she chose.
Well, it's all moot until she gets back anyway.
He pulled another report towards him, not willing to go home despite Catherine's admonition. As ever, the terrifying events of the accident rose up in the back of his mind, though he tried to ignore them; voices and moments replaying at the edge of his consciousness like a TV on low.
He's probably relieved.
I should never have come.
The crash and roar of the falling SUV, and his horror as he realized what had happened.
I'm cold, Nick.
Abruptly he grunted, and tossed the report down, pinching the bridge of his nose. The thought was sudden. I wonder if Nick told her that I heard them?
...Probably not.
The younger man's own sense of compassion would most likely have barred him from mentioning it. There was another memory--Nick barely conscious, bruises lurid in the lights from the chopper, frantic about his friend.
I could ask him, I suppose.
But Grissom knew he never would.
xxxx
He was there every day, and she blessed him for it. Nick might not stay for long, but he came each day, taking a cab in because he couldn't drive yet and padding quietly into her room to give her his beaming smile.
Sara was just able to sit up in a chair, and was ruefully aware of the fact that such a small thing hadn't seemed like a victory since she was an infant, when he appeared bearing a small bag. "Hey! You're outta bed!"
She grinned at him, pleased. "Observant, Nicky."
He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head, dropping the bag into her lap. "Here."
"Not another one! I thought I told you to quit with these things." But Sara opened the bag as she spoke, upending it in her lap. Nick sat on the edge of her bed, and chuckled as a tiny stuffed dog fell out.
"C'mon, I'm on a roll here." He waved at the table beside the bed, which held an array of small canines.
"And I'm out of room." She smiled down at the toy nonetheless.
"So? I'll carry them all out for you when you go home. Or you can leave 'em for the next patient."
Sara snorted carefully and handed him the dog so he could place it on the table. "How's the shoulder?"
Nick moved the joint in question, equally carefully. "The doc says I don't need surgery."
Her smile was warm. "That's great."
"Tell me about it." He gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "How about you? When are you getting out of here?"
"They're moving me down to the general recovery ward tomorrow." Sara rolled her eyes. "I should have been down there today, but they claimed I was running a fever last night."
Nick sobered. "You were?"
"If I was, it was about half a degree." She patted his knee. "They're paranoid, Nick. I'm fine."
"You sure?" He frowned at her. "Infection's nothing to sneeze at, Sar."
"Read my lips: I'm fine." Sara rubbed her abdomen gingerly. "As long as I don't move too fast."
"Well, you take it easy," Nick said sternly. "We--"
Sara cut him off, dreading any hint of sentimentality. "So how's Greg doing?"
Nick's knowing look told her that he saw what she was doing, but he let her get away with it. "He's a lot better--I stopped by to see him before shift yesterday. He's lost some weight, but you know Greggo--nothing keeps him down for long."
She chuckled, glad that she could laugh a little without hurting herself. "That's my boy."
"You know he's going to be here the minute they let him." Nick cocked his head. "Sara..."
His tone of voice warned her, and Sara stiffened. She didn't remember their conversation in the wrecked SUV with any degree of clarity, but she had the feeling she'd said more than she should have. "Yeah?"
"Why won't you let Grissom come visit?"
She glared at him. Not even Catherine had had the chuzpah. "Don't go there, Nick."
"Sara, he's a mess. He's barely speaking to anyone, and Archie says he spends most of his time at the lab."
She looked down at her lap, feeling her fingers tightening on the fabric of her robe. "Not my problem."
"You sure about that?"
When she lifted his head, Nick's gaze was clear and a little stern, but Sara raised her chin and stared right back. "His feeling guilty is not my responsibility--"
"It's not guilt--"
"I don't want to talk about this." Sara closed her eyes, her energy running out like a sponge wrung dry. She heard Nick sigh, and then his big hand covered one of hers, squeezing gently.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Forget it, Sar. Just take it easy for a while."
The anger sank away into her exhaustion, and she let it go, unwilling to struggle with it just then, unwilling to spoil Nick's visit. She summoned a smile, and opened her eyes. "It's okay," she said. "Don't go yet."
"I won't." Nick's grip was steady, and she let herself depend on it. Just for a little while.
xxxx
The reason Mia didn't watch soap operas was because she hated being dropped in the middle of a plotline without knowing what had already happened. She often avoided TV series for the same reason, adamantly refusing to watch a show--no matter how popular it proved--if she hadn't seen it from the start.
The trouble was, she felt like she'd been thrust into the middle of an ongoing story at work, without benefit of so much as a plot synopsis. And nobody but Hodges was willing to talk about what she'd missed, and she wasn't about to ask him. Even if he really knew the whole story, which she doubted he did.
It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that there was something going on between Grissom and Sara. Mia might not be a CSI, but she was a very good observer, and she'd seen the looks one would give the other when they thought themselves unobserved.
Some screw-up there. That was obvious. Mia straightened from her microscope and made a meticulous note on the report next to her, but the back of her mind was pondering the puzzle of the two of them. She had never given their tension much thought, until the news had hit the lab about the accident, and half the personnel had dropped what they were doing and sped to the hospital. Mia hadn't been one of them--she didn't really know either Nick or Sara all that well, and somebody had to do the work. But it had felt a little isolating, being outside of the web of concern and fear.
Well, it made it easier to observe. Grissom had vanished entirely for three days, and Warrick and Catherine had been scarce. Sofia had turned up, looking like death warmed over, to try to pick up some of the slack.
And then Grissom had turned up again, and scarcely gone home. Rumor had it that Sara had thrown him out of her hospital room for some unspecified reason, but having heard the extent of her injuries, Mia doubted she'd been up to throwing anything. However, Grissom looked like a man who'd been kicked in the gut one too many times, when Mia did actually see him emerge from his office. Reports were that Sara was recovering nicely--so why did everyone still look so worried? Even Nick, when he came back to work, had lines in his face that weren't all caused by pain.
She really hated it, but there wasn't much she could do. It wasn't like anybody kept an ongoing log of the lab's relationships...or...did they?
Mia looked up as a form passed by outside her lab's glass wall. "Archie?"
The A/V tech halted, turning an amiable face to her, and when she waved, he pushed the door open. "Something I can do for you?"
Mia turned on her stool to face him. "Who's the biggest gossip in the lab?"
Archie raised his brows. "Hearing or speaking?"
"There's a difference?"
The tech shrugged. "Everybody talks to David. Ronnie in QD's the king of information, though, if you want to find something out. David probably knows more, but he won't usually repeat it."
Mia smiled. "Great."
She'd make Questioned Documents one of the stops for her lunch break.
See Chapter 5