Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, Inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

I have been stuck, but things unraveled for this chapter this morning. Next chapter is another story. Don't expect anything 'til Wednesday at the earliest. So very busy.

Thanks for the reviews. I wish I was organized enough to mention everyone, but I am addicted to the words you write. And the feedback is helpful. Leslie was observant to notice that the end of the chapter was rushed. I got lost and left it with what I had. Thanks for taking the time to really feel the chapter, Les.

Sheila

Chapter 13

Afraid of the Light

The thirst she felt was terrible. Her throat had become swollen and painful. The pounding in her head was interminable. She lay in the mattress and stayed still when she would have done almost anything for a glass of water. Several times, she considered calling for the monster. He would bring her water. What else he would bring seemed to pale in comparison to the relief of drinking down the cool liquid. She tried not to cry as there were no tears left to relieve the irritation in her eyes.

Laying still was yet another layer of torture for her. Sara Sidle was a woman in constant movement, and laying still trapped her in all of her fears and emotions. She ached to tear away the mattress and start railing away from her attacker. She would scream for water. She would challenge him to come down and face her. She would make a last stand, and end it once and for all; no more pain or thirst or cold or terror. Her victory would be in giving him a taste of what he was giving her. She knew she wouldn't last very long, but it didn't matter. It was time to end it.

Then he showed up and she was arguing. Grissom stood in the room. He had a case file with him; little George Weston, four years old. She remembered him. Little boy dead. Trauma to the head. Dad claimed he fell down the stairs to the basement, but Georgie's bruises told another story. Georgie had healed fractures, scars, old contusions. To Sara, Georgie's body told a very clear story. But dad had already retained a lawyer, and Grissom wouldn't budge. They would wait. There were still forensics to gather and people to interview. Evidence of prior acts of abuse was crucial to the case. Someone had to have seen Georgie being hit. Sara complained. She threw veiled barbs about his lack of concern for this child, but he didn't flinch. He just waited until she finished her tantrum. He gestured for her to sit, and then he sat, took his glasses off, folded his hands in front of him and said, "The two most powerful warriors are time and patience. Tolstoy. These are the warriors that will avenge George Weston." She blinked at him in confusion, but he had nothing further to say. He put his glasses back on and walked away. She stayed and struggled with his words.

"But Grissom," she shouted into the mattress. "This time it doesn't apply. It's too much. You don't understand."

Grissom turned back to her. "Georgie's dad is serving 25 to life."

"It's not the same. I am in a living hell."

"I'm counting on you, Sara. 'All human wisdom is summed up in two words- wait and hope, Alexandre Dumas'".

"Shut up with your idiotic quotes! You're not here."

"I'm coming, Sara. And I expect you to be there when I arrive. Understand?"

"Cold Bastard!"

"Perhaps. But I know you can do this. Don't disappoint me, Sara."

She collapsed into dry sobs in the cheap polyester fill. When she was finished, she lay still again, resolved not to summon the monster for any reason.

From far away, someone was shaking her gently. She pulled back violently and sat up, breathing hard.

"Sara, it's a dream. You're safe."

Her vision slowly cleared and she was looking into the face of Jim Brass. Dreams, memories, hallucinations, reality, all had become one. He sat next to her bed, in a white shirt, collar unbuttoned. His eyes were lined and heavy, more than she had remembered.

"It's okay, Sara. I promise." He was careful not to touch her.

She looked around and saw that the cinder block room was gone. White walls and a T.V. attached to the wall was her new scenery. She turned more and was blinded by the sun coming in from a large window.

"What's real?" she whispered.

He smiled. "You are real. And, God help me, but I'm real too. In fact, when you yelled, "Cold Bastard!" I had to look around for my ex-wife. That was my designated name the last year of our marriage."

She stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"Take your time. It's an adjustment. Terror is a visceral emotion. It's hard to exorcise it from your psyche."

She wrinkled her brow.

"Yeah, I know. I wrote it down after the psychiatrist talked to us when you first came in. Jack said you would need to come back to us in steps. I barely know what it means, but it just sort of trips off the tongue, and makes me feel like one of you nerds."

"He's really gone?" Her voice stayed a whisper as if unable to trust the fragile nature of this salvation.

Brass leaned in and stared into her eyes. "Yeah, honey, he's gone."

"I'm thirsty."

Brass reached over for the Styrofoam container of water and put a straw in. He handed it to her. Sara drank voraciously. She still clutched it after she was finished.

"Grissom was here." She looked around the room.

"He was. He was a menace to the doctors trying to evaluate your condition. Kept muscling in, trying to talk to you. They finally had to bounce him from the room."

"Where did he go?"

Brass grinned wide. "Well, as soon as you were stabilized, Catherine dragged him up to fourth floor to see an orthopedic surgeon about his hand. Oh, he was crabby. Told all sorts of lies about how it was feeling. But an x-ray told the real story. Surgeon told him that he was going to trust the evidence. Using that against Grissom must have stung. Sort of wish I had been there. Anyway, crabby guy went into surgery and had his bone broken again and a pin inserted. Very unpleasant experience I assure you. Very painful."

She winced.

"Yeah, they had to load him up on Demerol. He's going to be on the big guns for a couple of days until the pain subsides. In fact, he's staying here. His blood pressure was in the stratosphere, and he was almost as dehydrated as you were."

She nodded. Her face was gaunt and her eyes looked dark and hollow, but Brass felt like she starting to focus in on the present.

"Where is he?"

Brass' eyebrows rose. "Got a surprise for you there." He leaned back and grasped the curtain separating her portion of the room. He gave it a tug, and it opened to reveal a furry face lying on the bed beside her. He lay on his back, his cast resting on his stomach. In and out, he was snoring gently.

"I wondered what that sound was." Sara said.

Brass rolled his eyes. "It gets worse. I promise you. I've been sitting here for three hours, trying to restrain myself from smothering him with a pillow." He looked at her again. "It's a little unorthodox, Catherine's idea. She feels like he's going to go nuts if he isn't able to monitor your progress and vice versa. Besides, three hospital rooms are too many for us to all monitor."

"What?"

"Danny's down the hall, you know."

A look of distress crossed her face.

"Oh, hell, Sara. I'm sorry. I thought you knew." He furled his heavy brows. "Ah, he got shot before he killed Sanchez."

She nodded, eyes wide.

"Yeah, but he's going to be okay. Lost a lot of blood, but no organs were hit. He's stable right now. Just sleeping a lot."

"Any other news?" Her delivery was dry, but he sensed just a little of the old Sara.

He laughed. "I think that's about it. Nick, Greg, and Warrick showed. Warrick has a friend. Got us a block of rooms at a hotel for almost nothing. We're taking shifts checking on all of you. The rest of the time, everyone is sleeping like the dead."

She swallowed and for the first time, it didn't hurt. She smiled as much as her bruised face allowed. "Thank you."

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

Across the ward, another reluctant patient was waking. His eyes opened as slits, and the dark shadows under his eye gave him an eerie look. He blinked and slowly took in the room around him. Blonde hair and a smile blocked his view.

"Hey Danny."

"Sam?" he croaked. Then he mumbled something unintelligibly.

She laughed. "You're a mess, Danny Taylor."

"How did you get here?" He narrowed his eyes in an effort to focus better.

"Same way you did."

"You were shot?" He tried to raise his head.

She was there, gently pushing him back into his pillow. "I took a plane, silly."

He screwed up his brows. "I got shot."

"I noticed." She couldn't help the grin that kept stretching her face.

He smacked his dry lips. "Jack says I'm an idiot."

"Truth hurts, doesn't it, little brother."

He made a face. "Surprised he let you come."

She bit her lip and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "He doesn't know."

Danny's tired eyes widened.

She shrugged. "He'll figure it out soon enough. We were tired of the 'Malone Reports' back at the office. The answer to every question was, 'he's fine' followed by an interrogation regarding all of our ongoing cases. Vivian had enough and cussed him out yesterday. Said she wanted real information. We decided that the real story wasn't going to get told unless one of us was on the scene. I drew the short straw."

"Yeah, but there are cases—"

She groaned. "Don't give me the Malone lecture. New York is fine. In your absence, some of the cases got kicked to New Jersey. Martin is running the only active we've got and Viv is doing all the follow-up. I figure I have two days before it becomes overwhelming. Besides I brought work with me."

"He's gonna blow."

"So What? We were worried. All of us. Martin is working around the clock, but he still calls Viv every hour for an update on you. And all we get from Jack is, 'he's fine'. Do you understand that if you were in a coma right now, his update would still be 'he's going to be fine?"

Emotion rose up in Danny's throat, but he held it there tightly.

"You're family, Danny. We can't just survive on 'he's fine."

Samantha knew what she was saying to him, and waited quietly while he cleared his throat and composed himself.

She was about to start teasing him again when the door to his room pushed open. A man with clean cut hair looked in. He grinned wide when he saw Danny, and his eyes popped open upon seeing Samantha.

"Oooh, Taylor, I had no idea that you'd have girls in your room already. There's rules here, you know. Nurses are crabby about this sort of thing. Want me to stand outside and guard the door for you?" He teased.

Danny gestured with his head before the man could withdraw. The handsome man walked in holding a box.

Danny turned to Sam. "This is Nick Stokes, Vegas crime lab. Nick, this is Samantha Spade, NewYork office, FBI."

Nicky strode over, shifted the box onto one knee and shook her hand.

"Sam is my friend." Danny said as clarification.

"Nice to meet you." Nick gave her Texas down home hospitality.

"When did you get here?"

"Yesterday." Nick placed the box at the end of the bed.

"How's Sara?"

"Just checked. She's sleeping. Grissom was awake though but really groggy. Asked him how he was, and he glared at me like I was responsible for every wrong turn his life has ever taken. So I thought I would give him a little space."

Danny turned to Sam. "Grissom is Sara's boss. Broke his hand. They had to do surgery. Right?"

Nick nodded.

"Where's Jack?"

Nicky grinned. "Warrick got us a block of rooms at a motel called the Hideaway. Everyone has a bed, and is sleeping hard. Jack is in there somewhere."

"What are you doing here?" Danny raised an eyebrow.

"My turn to run herd on the injured list. Brought something to pass the time." Nick pulled a Playstation out of the box and a handful of games. "Rented it at the motel office. Thought I would see just what kind of hand-eye coordination the FBI is fostering these days."

Without another word, Nick climbed up to the T.V. and began attaching wires. Danny grinned. "You know I have only one good arm to use."

"Yeah, Taylor, with you, there will always be some excuse. I'll play one handed. Hell, I'll go blindfolded if it'll stop your belly aching."

"The honor of the unit is at stake." Sam teased Danny. Nick turned on the T.V. and climbed down off the chair. He made a few more adjustments and then turned to his audience.

"You ready, Boy."

Danny leaned up while Sam adjusted his pillow. Then he took the proffered controls. Nicky winked at them, and then settled himself into a chair.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

She was cold. Really cold. It was everywhere, inside and out. Her bones ached and every joint was stiff and sore. Every inch of her was shaking from the icy temperature. She rubbed furiously at her arms and legs, but it made no impact. The nightgown provided almost no protection, and the mattress felt almost as cold as the air. She shifted over and over trying to find respite.

"Sara!"

She lifted her sleepy head from the pillow and opened her eyes. A groggy Grissom was watching her from the next bed.

"I'm cold." She complained.

It took him a minute to register the information. "It's not cold in here, Sara." He lifted a matted head of curls. "You're having a physio-io-logical reaction to trauma. Your…body doesn't yet realize that it's safe. It's…reliving….the trauma of…" He rubbed at his eyes with his good hand.

She buried herself under the blankets of her bed. Grissom pulled himself on one elbow. The aching in his left hand began immediately. Pulling it tightly against his middle, he struggled to get upright. He slid off the bed and padded over to hers.

"Sara. Let me in."

Her head peeked up from under the blankets with a puzzled look on her face.

"Studies say that we should sleep together." His words ran together as if liquid. Without waiting for an answer, he began to climb in with her.

"What?" She shifted so he could get in.

"Studies," he repeated as if the subject needed no further clarification.

"Why do studies say that?" She couldn't grab a handle on the conversation or why they were having it. With much painful groaning, he was able to get comfortable on his side. He carefully draped his cast over her body.

"Pull the covers up." He said. She did and he nuzzled his face into her neck.

"Studies don't say this." She murmured.

"Yeah they do." There was a silence as he shifted himself against her back. "Um…night terrors are lessened when a safe person is in physical contact with the person while dreaming. Read it somewhere. Never wrong about this stuff, you know."

"I think they like it one person to a bed around here." Sara couldn't help but notice that she had stopped shaking and that her body was starting to warm.

"They should read that article then." He mumbled into her neck. A gentle snoring followed quickly. The heat of his breath on her neck was enough to calm any remaining questions she had about mysterious studies. Soon, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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TBC