Thank you to everyone who replied (not just the last chapter, but in general - I realised I never really said thanks!). It made coming home from a lovely holiday slighty more bearable. Being the lucky girl that I am, next Saturday (30th) I go on holiday again, this time for a month! I get to visit Los Angeles - hooray! It's the closest I will have ever been to CSI territory! But also San Francisco, then Australia and Bangkok - it's the trip of a lifetime! Anyway,now I'm done showing off about my holidays, I do realise that means I will be unable to post for a month. Whilst I may be flattering myself in thinking that anyone cares about my fic, I did wonder if some people may want me to wrap it up before I go away, to avoid a month of being left hanging on. Therefore my aim is to have the last chapter up before next Friday. After this chapter I envisage probably 3 or 4 more, although as yet I have only completed chapter 8. Luckily the story is drawing itself to a close, so I do not have to make any special effort to have it finished.

Anyway, that's enough of my pointless rambling.I hope you enjoy the story!

Em x x

p.s. - Totallly random, thanks for your point. I totally agree and I have unblocked anonymous reviews - I never realised it was blocked in the first place!

I'm sorry, Mr Grissom, but Ms Sidle didn't make it."

Silent tears ran down Grissom's cheeks, the salty moisture soaking his face and running into his mouth. His body gave way beneath him, and he felt himself hit the floor…

And as he did so, he woke up. His dreaming was interrupted. Although you couldn't really call it dreaming. The situations running through Grissom's head were his very worst nightmares. He found himself lying on the floor in the sterile hospital room. He must have slid from the chair next to Sara's bed, where he had been sitting whilst resting his head on her pillow. He quickly pulled himself back into the chair lest anyone should see him, and listened for the reassuring bleeping of Sara's heart monitor, telling him, for the moment at least, that she was hanging on.

He glanced at her feeble frame. Her body was deathly pale, her veins visible through translucent skin. She would almost have resembled a white skinned china doll were it not for the blue-black bruises which interrupted the sea of paleness. Grissom could hardly bear to look at these injuries. They served as a reminder of the horrific ordeal Sara had been through. Viewing the cuts on her head, arms, and all over her body, he was gripped once more by the sense of uselessness that he had felt in that room with her and Bowran. She had been through the most terrible things, treated in ways no one ever deserved to be, and he had not been there to help.

The doctors had told him that she had been through a lot. That she had been resilient; fought the inevitable. That it was a miracle she was alive right now. Bowran had injected the two of them with morphine. Enough to kill in minutes. What with the brutal injuries Sara had already obtained, they should be thanking their lucky stars that she had made it this far. But that wasn't enough for Grissom. They had passed so many hurdles. They had found her, got her to hospital. He wasn't prepared to have them fall now. Having her lying unconscious in a hospital bed, albeit next to him, was not satisfaction. Satisfaction would come when Sara was back in that lab, walking, talking, joking, doing her job. And satisfaction would come when they were together.

"You hear that, Sara?" Grissom spoke authoritatively. "Don't you stop fighting now. You're the one in charge. All you need is the final push. You can get through this."

He sat there, holding her hand, but not daring to squeeze too tightly for fear of breaking her; such was the fragility of her appearance.

After a few minutes he felt himself dozing off again. He did not want to re-enter the worlds he visited whilst asleep but he knew he had no control. Since Sara had disappeared he had notslept a wink until he had settled in this hospital room, just over ten hours ago. Even thenhis rest had been fitful. Rotational visits from the other members of the team had passed the first couple of hours but soon they had realised they had to go home and get some rest. If they were honest with themselves they did not expect Sara to wake anytime soon. Whist the doctor had said Sara was not in a coma, her state of unconsciousness was deep, and they had been told it could be days before she even began to regain some awareness of her surroundings. It was going to be a long process, and whilst they weren't giving up, they knew their limits, and 36 hour days certainly pushed them. But Grissom had not even considered leaving Sara's side. He had been granted a second, or maybe even third, fourth – he didn't dare recall how many times he may have let her down before – chance, and he was not letting it go.

But sleeping at her bedside was allowed. He felt himself drift off…

And then, all of a sudden, a small noise awoke his shallow sleep. He glanced behind him, expecting a nurse to enter to make a regular obs check. But there was no one there. He turned around and gazed at Sara's face. His fatigue must be causing him to imagine things. But then he saw her eyelids flicker. It was only a tiny movement, but with it came another small noise.

"N-no."

"Sara, honey, I'm here."

As her eyes struggled to open beneath the heavy bruising, Sara began to shift uneasily in her bed, her lack of strength allowing her little more than small flailing movements of her arms and legs.

"No! Please! Leave me alone! I just want to die peacefully! Please!"

Her voice was small, but the anger and fear were as strong as if she had been shouting. She evidently did not know where she was. Grissom felt sick to the stomach to think that when she had been with Bowran she had wanted to die. And even sicker that she had mistaken him for Philip.

"No, Sara, honey. It's me. Gil." He tried to use his first name, thinking his surname sounded too impersonal, but soon realised it felt far too unfamiliar, as Sara never called him that. "Grissom. Sweetie, it's Grissom." He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away: the reflex action of someone who had learnt that human contact meant nothing but pain.

Grissom could not bear to see her this way. She began to kick more, her voice getting louder, what little strength she could muster being put into the fight. But she was fighting against an enemy that was no longer there.

"Leave me alone! Why are you doing this!" Tears were now flowing down her cheeks.

The noise she had been making was evidently enough to attract the attention of a nurse, who hurried in bearing angry stares aimed at Grissom. She opened her mouth to reprimand him for causing her stress but soon realised he had stepped away from the bed and was shocked and worried by Sara's outburst. So instead she pinned Sara's arms down and whispered soothingly into her ear. The flailing began to fade, and soon Sara was once again lying still, the crisp white bed sheets now creased and out of place. All that remained of the emotion was a few tears on her cheeks.

Grissom began to ask himself why he had failed for the umpteenth time, in comparison to this woman – a complete stranger – who could deal with Sara so calmly and successfully, but was interrupted by her arm ushering him out the door. He was reluctant to leave the room, but soon realised he had no option. Once outside, the woman spoke.

"It's good that Ms. Sidle's woken up, especially as it has happened faster than we hoped. It's a sign that her body's dealing with the morphine. Fingers crossed, she's through the worst as far as that goes. But she's evidently not aware of her surroundings as yet. And it's going to take more than a good hospital bed and some drips to get her through little episodes like that. She's been through a lot, poor woman, and her mental injuries are probably worse than the physical ones. I've given her a little sedative to send her back to sleep for now and it should take effect soon. But for now there's nothing more you can do. She's conscious again, but it'll be a few days at least until she leaves here. And unless you plan to live in that chair for a week-" Grissom did not interrupt, but he knew inside that he did, if that's what it took. "I suggest you go home."

He nodded, unable to argue with the strong character of the nurse. But as she walked away, he walked straight back through the door. As he entered he became aware of Sara mumbling. He tried to speak to her, but soon realised she could not hear him. So he sat patiently and listened instead. It was as though Sara was thinking out loud.

"When will this end? Do you think I deserve this?"

No, Sara honey, of course you don't! Grissom resisted the urge to shout out.

"No one's come to find me."

We were trying, as fast as we could.

"They probably don't care."

Don't even think that.

"Even Grissom."

He started at the sound of his name.

"I'll never get to tell him."

Tell me what?

"I wonder if he knows, deep down."

If I know what?

"If only he would sit down, every now and then, pay attention to me."

Oh, my sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I never meant to ignore you.

"If only he would listen."

I will! I'm all ears! Just tell me what you want me to know.

But there the murmuring stopped. Grissom had felt like an intruder listening, as though he was in her mind, and that was a place no one deserved to be except her. But now he needed to know what she had been talking about.

As he watched her chest rise and fall rhythmically, he realised the sedative had had the desired effect. He was not going to hear any more now. But that was probably for the best. She probably would not remember anything she said when she fully woke up. And confessions made whilst half asleep and when one's body was dealing with a cocktail of medicinal drugs were probably not to be trusted.

But one thing was for certain. When she did decide to talk, he would listen.