A/N: Well, here we go with another chapter. All the reviews so far have really made my days and weeks! I hope everyone continues to enjoy this story. Read on…

Chapter 9: Disturbing Visions

Grissom slept through most of the rest of the day and the following night. He woke up briefly the next morning, and they attempted to give him breakfast—real food instead of just the IV. Or at least the best facsimile of 'real food' the hospital dieticians could come up with. He had managed to get down a little bit of toast before the pain pills sent him off into a black sleep again.

It was almost five by the time he freed himself from the drug-induced haze and became really aware of his surroundings. What he saw when his eyes opened and focused was Sara sitting in the chair next to his bed.

"Hey," she greeted when she saw recognition fill his eyes.

"Hey," he echoed, his voice hoarse and cracked.

Sara reached for the cup of water on his bedside tray and offered it to him, guiding the straw to his lips. He lifted his head a little and took several swallows before nodding. "Thanks," he said when she put the cup back in its place.

"You're welcome. How are you feeling?"

"It's hard to describe," he began. He shifted on the bed, wincing at the pain even the slightest movement caused. He made an effort to get more comfortable, but at the moment it was an impossibility. "I've been sleeping most of the time. And when I'm awake…" He trailed off and trained his gaze on the empty wall across the room. "Let's just say that the morphine drip has become a good friend of mine." He attempted a half-hearted grin as he held up the button that released the pain-numbing drugs into his IV line. "But then the morphine puts me to sleep again, and it starts all over."

Sara offered him the cup of water again and he sipped some more. When she put it down, she commented on the covered plate that was also sitting on the tray. "I see they've been trying to feed you," she said.

"Yeah, since breakfast this morning."

"Well, this must be dinner. Should we see what you've got here?"

He gave her a weary, disinterested look, but she lifted the lid anyway and presented the plate to him. The smell did nothing to help make the pale, grayish selection of food seem any more appetizing.

Sara wrinkled her face as she said, "I think it's chicken. Do you want to try some?" She sniffed the dish from closer range, but the aroma just seemed worse.

Grissom saw her reaction and took another look at the monochromatic mass on the plate. "No thanks," he replied with certainty.

"I don't blame you," Sara agreed, replacing the lid soundly and sliding the offering to the far end of the tray. "I promise that I'll try to sneak you in something tomorrow. What would you like?"

"Uh…" He thought about it as he reached up and rubbed at his eyes with one hand.

Sara thought he looked terribly tired, but still so much better than right after surgery. He was pale, his eyes were sunken with dark circles underneath. His color was starting to come back now, though, and he no longer looked like death warmed over. She knew he'd be weak for a while and would probably need physical therapy to help him walk normally again, but he was moving slowly on the road to recovery, and she was more grateful than she had even realized.

It had been much scarier when they had first brought him into the hospital. The doctors didn't have time to explain much to the roomful of anxious CSIs and police officers. They spent quite a while working on Grissom, trying to stabilize him, before they rushed him into surgery. Sara knew that he had stopped breathing, but they had thankfully never lost his pulse.

He had needed oxygen and at least one blood transfusion. Almost all of them had given blood—Catherine, Warrick, Nick, Brass, Greg, David, Doc Robbins, even Hodges had donated. Of course, they had no idea if any of their own contributions were currently running through Grissom's veins. It didn't matter—the doctors and surgeons had saved him and he would be all right. It would just take time.

Sara had been the only one who hadn't donated blood. She felt guilty now, but just hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. She was haunted by the splatters of redness that had been everywhere around them during the sniper attack. The idea of seeing more blood—even her own, even just in a tube or bag disturbed her even more than she was willing to admit. She had no idea what would happen at the next crime scene she had to process—but she couldn't think about that right now.

She had gone back to the previous morning's scene earlier—while Grissom had been in surgery. She couldn't help herself. She hadn't told the others anything—she had just left. The scene was still roped off, but empty. She found out that days had already processed the scene and were just waiting for the clean-up crew.

Stepping under the yellow tape, she walked straight through to the place where they had been trapped against the wall. She saw the pools of blood, and the trail of red leading to the spot. She still couldn't fathom that this was all Grissom's blood. In another few minutes, he would have bled to death, the doctor had told her ominously. Sara felt her stomach heave and turned away, vomiting onto the pavement of the deserted parking lot. Since that moment, she had tried to forget the vision of Grissom's blood splattered everywhere, but every time she closed her eyes, all she saw was red.

"Sara?"

Grissom's voice and his hand on her arm brought her back to the present. She realized that she had 'zoned out,' remembering. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Fine—I'm fine," she replied, still sounding distracted.

"I thought I lost you there for a second."

His words echoed what she had said to Brass as she cradled Grissom in her arms in that little alcove, and she shuddered involuntarily.

He eyed her with concern. "Are you sure you're okay? I don't remember much about…what happened," he said, holding her gaze even though he was tempted to look away. "But I know it must have been hard for you and…"

"I'm fine, Grissom," she stated, cutting him off. "Really." She graced him with a genuine smile, and it made him believe that she was telling the truth. "What were we talking about again? Oh yeah, what kind of food do you want me to bring you tomorrow?"

"Whatever. It doesn't matter."

She gave him a pointed look and he exhaled deeply. "No, honestly—surprise me," he tried again.

"Okay, I'll think of something."

"Thanks, Sara," he said, almost shyly. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem." Smiling again, she took his hand and held it, squeezing gently. She watched as he readjusted his position, drowsiness starting to overcome him. "Tired?" she asked, although the answer was obvious.

"Yeah." He nodded, and his head tilted away from her as he closed his eyes.

"Well, I should head over to the lab. We have some unfinished work from last night. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He mumbled something back that she took as an affirmative answer.

The smile still lighting her face, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek as she tousled his hair. "Sleep well, Grissom," she whispered. Then she stood and left the room.

To be continued…