A/N: I'm proud to say that most of you guys trust me...

Chapter 2: Discoveries

The sun was so warm… it was nice, just lying there like that, feeling drowsy in the heat despite the cool liquid that still ran over his legs. So warm… and then the pain hit. Oh, God, it hurt. He groaned, a low, tortured sound, and tried to take a steadying breath, but found to his dismay that the effort only increased his agony.

This new intensity of feeling blindsided him, and he began to cough and gag violently as he emptied his stomach of all the water he had swallowed. It took most of what little strength he had left to turn his head to the side so he wouldn't choke to death on his own vomit, and as he watched, through haze filled eyes, as the blood and water he had coughed up pooled in the mud under his head, he realized he was crying; crying for the pain, and for the fact that he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to anyone. Sara's all right, though, he told himself as his breathing became more laboured. Sara's all right, and that's the only thing that matters. It was his last thought as the pain overwhelmed him and his body became limp in the darkness that followed.

"Delaney, you and Alice take this section here." As the commander of the search team pointed out an area on the large map of the gully, Blake Delaney met his partner's gaze and the two quickly exited the tent. They had a big area to search; it was going to be a long day.

It wasn't until they were outside that Alice Waite spoke as she quickly checked to make sure they had all their first aid supplies. "What are the odds we're looking for a body?" she asked softly.

Blake glanced at her, grimacing. "Pretty good. This gully isn't very wide; plenty of debris at the bottom that would get swept up in a flash flood."

"I hate looking for a body," his young partner said fiercely as he started up his old pickup truck and they bounced down the dirt road.

He nodded in agreement. "Yeah, well, it's our job to find people, dead or alive."

"Sometimes this job sucks."

"All jobs suck sometimes, Allie," he murmured, attempting to sooth her a bit. Every once in a while she got like this on a job; it was something he had become used to after two years partnered with her, and he did his best to make sure she was all right. "This doesn't have anything to do with the fact that it's Gil Grissom and Dean Jamieson we're looking for, does it?"

"I don't know," she muttered, staring out the window. "I mean, it's not like I knew them. Well, not really; I only talked to Grissom a couple of times, and Jamieson I only met once. But still. It's like… it's like no one can ever get a break in this damn town."

"Listen to you," Blake said with a smirk in an attempt to lighten the mood, "You're sounding like a jaded cop."

Alice chuckled a bit at that, but it was a bitter sound. "I'm a jaded search and rescue worker who's tired of finding dead bodies."

There was silence for a long moment, and then she glanced at her partner. "I told you that I'm… thinking about maybe going back to school, right? Quitting?"

"Yeah, you told me," Blake replied softly. He told himself that he would feel bad if she left because he would be stuck with a rookie partner who would need to be taken care of, but he knew that it was because he cared for her. In two years she had become like a little sister to him; they were close. He also knew that though she often got discouraged, and was talking about quitting, she wouldn't be happy if she followed through with her plan. This was where she belonged; beside him, finding people, and rescuing them. Smiling to himself sadly as he parked the truck at the edge of the gulley, he watched as she piled out the door and attached her walkie talkie to her belt.

"You coming, Blake?" she asked, though her eyes held a different question.

Blake nodded, grinning at her as best he could. "Let's find us a live one today, all right?"

"Blake, don't," she began, wearily, "They already found Dean Jamieson, and his neck was snapped. We both know…"

He cut her off. "Oh, come on, Allie; for once let's just forget the facts and the statistics. We're going to find Gil Grissom alive."

"Blake…"

But he had already slung the first aid bag over his shoulders and started down the steep slope. "Hurry up, Allie. Aren't we supposed to be a team? You know, work together?"

It was hours later when he came to again, and he wished immediately that he hadn't as blood bubbled in his throat and he coughed, sending shocks of pain through his body. It was like the tide that he had studied on the beach by his childhood home; wave after incessant wave, never stopping, just fading away and then rushing back, time after time. The darkness came and went with the waves, and he realized that the pain disappeared when the world went black. With this conclusion, he began to hate the light, and the pain and heat and blood that it brought. It stood for everything that would wear him down and kill him in the end.

It was from the light, however, as time marched on, and his body trembled and stilled with the pattern he had become locked into, that he realized he could hear voices. What were they saying? Were they real people, or figments of a fever-ridden imagination?

"Jesus… he's alive!"

The voice was loud, assaulting his mind painfully, and he tentatively allowed himself to pray that it was real; someone here to save him. It must be real, if it caused such pain.

And then he knew for sure that it was as a hand touched his body, gently poking and prodding as the owner of the voice felt for injuries. Grissom nearly wept with relief as the talk continued, and he heard a woman's voice as well.

"If we don't get him to the hospital soon, Blake, it won't matter if he made it this far or not."

Won't matter… Grissom knew the words should hold some meaning for him, but he couldn't think; he didn't want to think. He just wanted the pain to stop. His wish wasn't to be granted soon, though, he realized as the hand lifted his torn shirt, so as to inspect Grissom's bruised chest. The gentle touch was enough to drive what little breath that was left from his lungs and an involuntary moan slipped through his lips. Realizing he was conscious – if only barely – his rescuers began to talk again, trying to hold onto him.

"Dr. Grissom? Gil? Can you hear me?"

"It's going to be ok, Gil. We're going to get you out of here."

But he couldn't breathe again, and in a desperate effort to fill his lungs he gave in to a tortured cough. More blood filled his mouth.

"Hold on, Gil, just hold on! The medics are on the way."

Just before the darkness claimed him a final time, he forced his mouth to work, ignoring the coppery bubbles that threatened to choke him. "Sara… "

"Sara Sidle? She's fine, sir, and you will be too. It's going to be ok."

Sara didn't know how long they had all been sitting in her kitchen, staring at the phone. She didn't really care. The fear in the room was almost palpable, and Sara fully understood it. Terrified better described how she felt; terrified, because she didn't know whether she wanted them to find his body, so they could have a proper funeral, or not, so she could cling to the idea that he might still be out there, ok. In her head, though, she could almost hear it. "We found the body." That was the way she imagined it; "the body." Not "Grissom's body," or "Grissom," but "the body," because it wouldn't really be him. Grissom himself would just be gone. Grissom himself was gone.

"Sara?" It was then that she realized that Greg had moved to sit beside her on the sofa. Tentatively his hand reached out and took hers, squeezing gently.

Her first instinct was to pull away, but then she saw how his eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she disentangled their fingers and draped her arm around his shoulders comfortingly. In that moment she hated herself for the way she had acted – selfish.

They had all lost him, not just her. They had all lost a friend. Nick, Warrick and Greg had lost a mentor, as well; a father figure. Sara… she wasn't so sure what exactly she herself had lost, but she knew that she would never find anything like it again. Though it was little noticed, he had been a big part of their lives, and in many ways his loss had left a void. And as Sara realized this, she pulled Greg closer to her and allowed him to bury his head in her shoulder and cry.

Ten minutes later, as Greg's tears began to slow, the phone finally rang. The sound was loud and harsh, drowning out the soft sound of Greg's sobs, and they all jumped. When they registered where the sound was coming from, the tension in the room thickened. They eyed the phone, and each other; none of them wanted to be the one to hear it first.

It rang a second time, shattering the silence. Nick shifted in his seat nervously. Catherine's hand flew up to cover her mouth, as though she were afraid she would throw up. Warrick and Brass stared blankly at the wall. Greg began to shake even harder. Sara picked up the phone.

"Sidle."

"Oh, hi, is Jim Brass there? I was told I could reach him at this number."

"Yeah," Sara responded, her voice trembling, "He's here. Can I take a message?"

"Well, can I just talk to him?"

Sara's first instinct was to hand over the phone; then she steeled herself, and swallowed hard. "I'll pass on whatever you have to say." She needed to do this.

"Uh, I need to…" the man sighed, and then gave in. "Whatever. Tell him that we found Dr. Grissom…" Sara closed her eyes against the pain "… and he's on his way to Desert Palms Hospital."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, as her face paled and her stomach gave a strange jolt. "Wh… what? Excuse me?"

The man gave a shuddering sigh that could only be relief. "He's on his way to Desert Palm. He's alive; barely, but in the end I guess the only thing that matters is he made it. Tell Jim, will you?"

"That's not funny…" she began as she felt tears of rage prick her eyes, but then there was a buzzing sound as the man hung up.

"What is it, Sara?" Nick asked, his voice shaking the tiniest bit. "Who was it?"

And then she realized it was for real, and her face fell to her hands as she sobbed. "They… they found him. Oh, God. He's alive. Grissom's alive."

Sara couldn't sit still. Even though they had been informed that Grissom was in surgery, and that it could be some time before anyone was able to see him, she continued to pace, looking up expectantly every time someone walked through the doors that led to the operating room. Only she and Catherine were left to wait now; Ecklie had called and informed Catherine that they were needed back at the lab, but in the end only Warrick, Nick and Greg had left because Catherine was listed as Grissom's next of kin, and Sara wasn't in any shape to work. It was the only thing Sara could ever remember thanking Ecklie for. Brass had been called away as well, soon after, and for Sara it was almost a relief. The police captain and the others had been trying to make her sit, and relax, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could have gone without becoming angry with them. For the moment, all she wanted was to be left alone to wait in peace. Catherine, at least, understood this.

Finally, after too many hours of waiting, Grissom's doctor emerged from the operating room, still wearing his scrubs.

"Catherine Willows?" he asked.

"How is he, doctor?" Sara blurted.

"Are you Catherine Willows?" the man asked patiently.

Sara was about to tell him that it didn't matter who she was, and to just answer the God damn question, when she felt Catherine's calming presence move to stand beside her.

"Yes, this is Catherine Willows. Do you need some ID?" the blonde said, a dangerous edge to her voice. Sara didn't have time to be shocked as the doctor shook his head.

"No, that's quite all right," he quickly amended, turning to Sara. "I'm sorry, Ms. Willows."

"Uh, that's, that's all right," Sara replied faintly. "How's Grissom?"

"Well, he's got multiple contusions and abrasions, a broken wrist and a dislocated shoulder, both on the left side. It looks as though he may have tried to grab onto something as he was being swept downstream; not only is his wrist broken and his shoulder dislocated, he's torn the rotator cuff severely. He'll need to see a physiotherapist later on to regain full use of that arm. As expected he's also suffering from a concussion, and several broken ribs, one of which punctured his lung. We've patched up the hole and taped him up, but we aren't going to be able to put a cast on his wrist until the swelling goes down, which will hopefully be soon."

"Can I… can we see him?"

The doctor sighed. "We're moving him to a room in the ICU now, Ms. Willows; give it about thirty minutes." He nodded towards the nurse behind the desk down the hall. "She'll tell you which room he's been put in. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't allow your friend to accompany you. I don't want more than one person in there at a time right now, and only for a few minutes."

"But…"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Willows. I have to think of my patient. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get cleaned up."

As he walked away, Sara turned to Catherine. "I'm sorry, Cath. I… you shouldn't have said I was you. I know you want to go see him. You should go…"

"Stop, Sara," Catherine broke in, smiling a little in amusement at how flustered the younger woman was becoming. "Yes, I want to go see him; he's my best friend," She held up a hand when Sara began to speak, "But, I'm not stupid. I have eyes, and ears. You need to be in there for him right now. Just… tell him I love him and to get better soon, all right? Or maybe not. Do you think that's too sentimental? Because I know he wouldn't want things to get too mushy." Tears suddenly shone in her eyes, and Sara realized it was her turn to be strong.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. He's okay, Cath."

"Yeah," Catherine sniffed, "I know. Give him a kiss from me, and tell him he should be happy because it's the only one he's ever getting."

It was Sara's turn to smile as she hugged her friend. "Well, if it's the only one he's getting, don't you think you should give it to him?"

Catherine was silent for a moment, and then shrugged. "Ok, so give him one from you."

"What?" Sara couldn't help but stare in surprise.

"Like I said, I'm not stupid, and my eyes and ears work just fine." She smirked as she pulled a tissue out of her purse and began gingerly dabbing at her mascara. "Besides, he'd probably like it better than a kiss from me."

As she walked down the hall towards Grissom's room, Sara couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine. It was different, being in the hospital to see a friend instead of regarding a case; it was scarier.

Finally, she saw room number 235, and she pushed open the door hesitantly. At first she thought she was in the wrong room; from the bed against the wall a pair of big brown eyes peered out at her from an unruly mop of black hair.

"Uh, sorry, I…"

"You're here for him, over there, aren't you?" the kid said, his voice gravely as he flicked his eyes over towards the curtain that hid the other side of the room.

"Yeah," Sara said sheepishly, feeling her face flush a bit. "Yeah, I am."

"You his wife?"

"What? Oh, no. Just a… friend." Her flush deepened. "A good friend, I think."

But it appeared that he had lost interest in her already, as he turned back to the book he had been reading.

Relieved, Sara pushed her way past the curtain to the other side of the room. She stopped short, though, when she saw him. The dark bruises on his face and arms stood out in stark contrast to the sterilized whiteness of the walls and the sheets. His broken wrist lay by his side, swollen and sore looking. As she stared at him, taking it all in, she found herself fighting tears, and she slumped into the chair beside his bed and buried her face in her hands, crying.

Time passed without her knowledge, and she continued to sob softly, her eyes closed and her hands clenched into fists on her lap. She almost didn't notice when the soft, steady beep of the heart monitor suddenly changed its pattern, and gentle fingers reached out to wipe away the tears that stained her cheeks. For a moment she remained, frozen; then she realized, and her eyes snapped open.

"Grissom," she choked out. His blue eyes were worried and she pushed away all the conflicting emotions she felt and forced a smile. The last thing he needed right now was to be worrying about her. "I'm glad you're awake." But her smile and the words did nothing to banish the worry from his face, and she glanced down, suddenly unsure of herself.

"You ok?" he asked, and his voice was hoarse sounding and weak.

"Yeah," she said brightly, "I'm fine. Just glad to see you're all right."

She realized, then, that it was useless to pretend, as a few stray tears leaked out and trickled down her cheeks. Once again he reached forward, gently rubbing them away. This time, however, he didn't remove his hand, and Sara leaned into it as she was overwhelmed with emotion once more.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "You're the one who's all beat up. I should be… taking care of you. I've just… been like this all day. Can't seem to stop, you know?"

Grissom studied her seriously through weary eyes, gently rubbing his thumb across her cheekbone. "You… thought I was dead," he murmured, his eyes still half closed from exhaustion, brought on by his ordeal and the anaesthesia that was still in his system.

"Ye…yes," she said, as her chest heaved in an attempt to fill her lungs properly. "They sa… said there was no chance."

"'s okay," he said softly, his hand gently drawing her closer so she could rest her head against his uninjured shoulder. "It's… all right. I'm all… right."

Vaguely, he wondered if he should really be doing this; wasn't he supposed to be avoiding contact of this type? But in the end it didn't matter, because he couldn't stand to see her this way, and the pain meds were making things hazy. He wasn't sure what was what anymore.

So for the first time in a long time he allowed her to know that he really did care, and let her cry on his shoulder. Besides – if it really came down to it, he could blame it on the meds.

"Shhhh… everything's going to be ok." He wanted to say more, to reassure her, but he was already so tired, and the pain meds weren't helping him stay awake. But he couldn't let go, just yet; he needed to know about the others. In his mind's eye he could see Jamieson's terrified face as he, too, was swept away, and Grissom prayed to God he was ok.

"Sara… Dean Jamieson," he said softly, as she dried her eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. It was all he needed to say; she knew instantly what he wanted.

She hesitated for a moment, though, and he squeezed her hand, a gentle plea that was more meaningful than words. "Please, Sara."

She sighed. "He didn't make it, Gris."

"How…"

"His neck was snapped."

"Oh." It was all he could say. He hadn't known the officer very well, but they had spoken on a few occasions, and Jamieson had been one of a few officers who had respected and understood the huge importance of what the CSIs did. When they did work together, he had often questioned Grissom on entomology and the science of being a CSI. Grissom had been more than happy to answer his questions.

"Nick and… Jim… they're ok, right?" he asked, blinking hard as he tried to push away the sleep that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Yeah. Relieved to hear you're alive. So are Warrick and Catherine." Suddenly remembering something, Sara gave a small smile – small, but real. "I was the only one allowed to see you, so Catherine said to tell you she loves you and to get better soon."

She laughed at the look on his face. "She thought it might be too mushy for your taste."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, yawning widely.

Sara glanced at the clock, and saw that it had been almost ten minutes since she had come in. Considering that Grissom was practically asleep already, and the doctor would be in at any minute to kick her out, she realized it was probably time to leave.

"I better get out of here, Grissom," she said softly, "You need to get some sleep."

"Mm," he mumbled. Thanks for being here, he thought, as he drifted off. He didn't have the strength left to say it out loud.

Gently releasing his hand, Sara placed it back at his side, and then stood. "Catherine also said to give you a kiss from me," she whispered. And even though he had already floated back to peaceful oblivion, she could have sworn she saw the corner of his mouth twitch up in a small smile for a second.

Grissom's doctor, who had made his way to the room immediately upon being alerted by the nurse that his patient was awake, continued to study the scene before him as the young woman – who was most definitely not Catherine Willows - leaned over and kissed Grissom lightly on the cheek. He smiled. It always helped recovery rates when a patient got plenty of TLC from their friends and family. It looked as though Mr. Grissom would be getting just that.