AN: Thanks to those who've been reviewing! Here's a longer chapter for you, and even some characters other than Sara!
Thank to guess19, as always.
On the fifth day, Sara nearly collapsed in the locker room at work. She slammed her locker door and turned to head for the door, but she must have spun around too fast, because the next thing she knew the whole room was tilting frighteningly and the concrete floor was rising up to meet her. From somewhere nearby a voice cried out, "Whoa!" and then warm, wiry-strong arms were cradling her. She blinked rapidly to focus her eyes and met Archie's concerned gaze.
"Sara? Are you all right?" Greg, who had been all the way across the locker room only a few seconds ago, was now right at her side, hand on her shoulder. With a start, she realized that she was still cradled against Archie's chest, and she struggled to stand upright. She swayed slightly, trying to get her body weight balanced, then straightened.
The two men in the room with her were still gazing at her with matching puppy-dog eyes, big and brown and concerned. "Sara?" Archie ventured.
"I'm all right," she managed to say. "I just got a little lightheaded there for a minute."
Archie nodded. "The flu's going around the lab. Maybe you should get Grissom to give you the night off."
She smiled at his concern. "Thanks, Archie. I'll be all right." She knew she looked the part of the flu sufferer – she had barely recognized herself in the mirror this morning. Her hair was lank and brittle, her skin waxy and white, and the dark circles under her eyes dominated her face. No amount of make up could cover up the sickly cast to her face, though she had still tried and had finally given up and left the rather clownish attempt.
Archie nodded, returned her smile, and left the room. Greg stayed where he was, watching her closely.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, eyes slightly narrowed. "You really do look terrible."
"I'll be all right," she repeated dully.
He nodded once, still looking doubtful. "Well, if you are getting the flu, you should come stay with – " here he lowered his voice to a stage whisper " – Nick and I." He smiled slightly. "I know it's no fun being sick all alone; there's no one to bring you soup and rub your sore muscles and listen to your justifiable bitching." When Nick strolled into the room, he raised his voice. "Besides, I could use another sane person at home to help me nag Nicky into shaving off his horrid little porn-star stache."
Nick glared. "Hey!"
"Boom chicka wow wow, Nick," Greg grinned.
"Thanks, Greggo." Sara managed a chuckle and a weak grin, though it was merely a shadow of her usual, famous, ought-to-be-patented "Sara Sidle Smile." "I'll keep that in mind."
As she stumbled towards the break room and assignments, she passed Catherine and Warrick flirting furiously in the hallway outside the Trace Lab while Hodges watched through the glass, rolling his eyes.
They broke off as she approached. "Shit," she heard Warrick mutter, staring at her.
"Sara," Catherine said, beckoning her over to them, "Are you sick? You look awful." She pressed the inside of her wrist to Sara's forehead in a universal mother-like gesture. "You aren't warm," she said, frowning.
Sara suppressed a deep, trembling shiver. She could have told Catherine that. "I'm all right," she managed around teeth that wanted desperately to chatter. "Just a little virus or something."
Warrick grimaced. "That sucks, girl. Grissom should send you home – you don't look like you're up to working today."
She shook her head. "I'll manage." Leaving Warrick and Catherine watching her as she walked away, she headed towards the bathroom. There she splashed a little water on her face, tried to fluff her hair, and pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to try to bring some color to her dead white face. Hoping fervently that she looked a little better, she again turned towards the break room and assignments.
Her hopes were shattered when she ran into Bobby and he winced. "Gawd, Sara, don't breathe on me," he said. "I don't want to give whatever you have to the baby." She just shook her head and brushed past him, leaving him calling out after her, "I hope Gris sends you home."
Finally, she managed to make it to the break room and eased her weeping body into a chair at the table. When Grissom breezed into the room, he swept the gathered CSIs with a cool gaze, and immediately began assignments. Sara's assignment slip was for a DB in the desert; she'd have to spend hours out there, searching the sand and gravel for clues, in an environment that was nearly as cold at night as it was hot by day.
And it was a solo.
"Wrap it up as quickly as you can," he said as he shoved the scrap of paper into her hand. "The criminals are making up for the rest of the week today. We're swamped." He barely glanced at her face before turning away and shuffling down the hall to his office.
At the end of the fifth day, she called a taxi – she didn't trust herself to drive anymore – and, stumbling over her words, managed to give the driver Nick and Greg's address. On the way, she used her cell phone to call in sick to work for the next day, felt briefly guilty about it, then thought about Grissom's detached, completely impersonal gaze as he handed her her assignment. "Fuck it," she whispered to herself as the cab pulled up in front of Nick and Greg's.