Grissom stood in the main lobby of Northwestern hospital, with his mind still upstairs in Sara's room. Beside him, Catherine sipped at a cup of coffee, her eyes glued to the revolving doors in front of them. They didn't speak, for there was nothing to say right then, as the two of them waited for Warrick, Nick and Brass to meet them. They would arrive any minute now, and Grissom prayed that they would be there soon, so he could go back upstairs to sit with Sara, who had been fading in and out of consciousness for the last few hours. He would have stayed there with her, had it not been for her doctor, who insisted that Grissom leave so that Sara could be checked over. Grissom just hoped that the doctor would be gone when he went back upstairs. Being away from Sara–for even five minutes–was proving to be more than difficult for him. He'd been by her side ever since she came out of surgery, and when he had to leave her, he felt the despair of the previous night all over again.

Grissom had managed to find some comfort in the dependable pattern he'd immersed himself in. He would sit there, right beside Sara, watching her sleep. Every so often, he would study her heart monitor, and he would check to see if any of her IV bags needed to be replaced. And once in awhile, Sara's dull brown eyes would open a little bit and she'd whisper "I love you" to him. Then she would give him a few weak smiles and go on to whisper a few wonderful things about morphine and how much she also loved it. But, before she fell asleep again, she always managed to remind him–barely audibly–that she loved him even more than the morphine and not to worry because she would always feel that way.

"Morphine is good," she said dreamily, at one point. "But you–Griss, God. Yes, you, you're, uh, you're better. Way better. I love you more. And that–well, um, hmmm, yes, that's, uh, that's sayin' something."

"Just rest, Sara. I'm not going anywhere,"Grissom would tell her, over and over again, as he stroked her hair gently. He'd very felt guilty as he sat there, listening to her declare her love for him, knowing that she meant it but also knowing that she probably didn't mean to actually say it. Grissom had wanted desperately to say it back, but Sara wasn't really coherent and she wouldn't remember. And he had decided, long ago, that the first time he said 'I love you' to Sara Sidle would have to be a moment that neither one of them would ever forget. He'd thought deeply about it one night while he watched her work, dreaming of the way things would be if he could just open his damn mouth and tell her how he felt. But now, their relationship was a reality, and even though Grissom was sure that Sara already knew how much he loved her, he still wanted that moment–for Sara and for himself.

The only time Grissom ever left Sara's side was when he was forced to, either by doctors or nurses or by Catherine, who was so obviously worried about him. Whenever he saw her, concern would fill her eyes and she would silently beg him to take a break, to get some fresh air, to clear his mind. But he had only listened to her once, and that was just five minutes ago, when Catherine and Sara's doctor had plotted together to get him out of the small room.

"I'm glad you finally see the light," Catherine had told him, as she led Grissom down the hall. "You need rest too, you know. You're not indestructible."

"I'm fine," Grissom had replied, in a rather sharp tone. "And I'm going back in there as soon as the doctor comes out."

Catherine had given him the longest sigh in the world. "Go home, Gil. Take a shower and a short nap and then go back in."

Grissom hadn't replied to that. Instead, he'd given her shoulder a 'thanks anyway' pat and then he'd made his way to the washrooms on that floor, washing up in one of the sinks. Leftover blood and dirt had come cascading off of his face and he had been surprised, watching the thick combination swirl down the drain. He had forgotten. Almost.

When he'd emerged from the washroom, Catherine was there waiting for him, gesturing towards the pay phone across the hall. "I just called Brass. He's on his way over with Nick and Warrick. They'll be here in ten."

"Did you tell them to come up to the lounge?"

"No, I told them we'd meet them downstairs. Let's go."

And now Grissom found himself in the lobby, after being forced down there by Catherine and her very insistent glare. To Catherine's obvious relief, he'd gone out to get a breath of fresh air and now he was back inside, and very ready to go back upstairs.

"They're here," Catherine finally announced, guiding Grissom closer to the door. Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes and Jim Brass wasted no time coming in, and Grissom even felt a gust of wind as they dashed towards him.

Nick's face was as pale as Greg's had been hours earlier. "How is she, Grissom?" he asked, immediately searching the older CSI's tired eyes. "Have you talked to her doctor?"

"Greg paged us with an update earlier," added Warrick. "But it was brief–"

Brass looked so tired and concerned that it seemed as if he'd aged ten years in one night. Funny, Grissom thought wryly. He looks exactly the way I feel.

"Where is she now?" the detective asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Why don't we all head up to the lounge and I'll fill you in," suggested Catherine. "Greg's up there, sleeping. And it's right around the corner from Sara's room."

Nick's eyes were hopeful. "She's been transferred to her own room?"

"Temporary room–we hope," whispered Grissom. "She's in the ICU, Nicky."

Nick's face seemed to cave in. "Dammit," he breathed. "God, Sar–"

"I'm sure Greg told you that her injuries are severe, and they are, but she's doing okay right now," Catherine assured him. "She woke up, and she's been talking to Grissom off and on. They're keeping her heavily sedated so she hasn't been very coherent."

Nodding, Nick let out a shaky breath."When did she get out of surgery?"

"Awhile ago. They kept her in recovery for about an hour and then they moved her to the ICU."

"Can we see her?"

"We're not family," sighed Catherine. "Grissom's allowed in, but only because he's her emergency contact."

And because I love her, Grissom added silently. "We are her family," he breathed, knowing that his statement was completely true. "I'll see what I can do to get you guys in. Even for a few seconds." He pressed his lips together and he cleared his throat. "Sara needs to know that you're all here. It'll make a difference."

Nick and Warrick nodded, but Brass just stared at Grissom. "Are you okay, Gil?" he asked softly, his gaze resting on Grissom's wrapped wrist. "Is it fractured?"

Grissom shook his head. "Sprained."

"Badly sprained," clarified Catherine. "He's got some deep cuts and some pretty nice bruises too."

Brass nodded. "And let me guess, he hasn't had any rest at all?"

I'll rest when you all leave me alone! Grissom thought, angrily. I'll rest when I know for sure that Sara's not going to leave me! I'll rest when she's safe at home–with me! He tried to calm himself, clenching his fists and taking a few deep, controlled breaths. He wasn't angry with any of them, really. In fact, he was comforted by the presence of the rest of his team. He just couldn't be away from Sara any longer. "Let's go upstairs," he said, being as placid as he could. Then he turned around and headed down the hall towards the elevators.

"Grissom, wait up!" Nick called out. He jogged to catch up while Warrick, Catherine and Brass trailed a bit behind. The three of them were talking under their breath, Catherine explaining what she knew about Sara's surgery and her current condition, and Brass telling her what he knew about the accident site and the little bit of evidence they had collected from it. Warrick jumped in here and there, adding helpful bits of information. Grissom tried not to listen, but it felt like his ears were working without his permission, straining to tune into the whispered conversation.

"She's not out of the woods yet," Catherine was saying, her voice low. "But the doctors are very optimistic. As long as there isn't any more internal bleeding–"

"What about the concussion?" interrupted Warrick.

"Severe, but there wasn't any bleeding in her brain, thank God."

"And no amnesia?" inquired Brass.

Catherine sighed. "No. She was talking to Gil right when she came out of the anaesthetic. She remembers what happened to her."

"All of it?"

"From what Gil has told me, yes. But I don't know for sure. What I do know is that Sara's a fighter. We all know that. And if anyone can come through this with flying colours, it's her." Catherine let out another gentle sigh and her voice became even quieter. "So what did you guys find? Anything?"

Grissom could hear Warrick clear his throat. "Man, I don't know, Cath. Nothing good enough, that's for sure. The sheriff's team are still working on it. We assessed the damage to the Tahoe and we have the tire treads, but other than that–"

Other than that, you have nothing, Grissom finished in his head. Nothing at all. There's nothing there to find! Spinning around quickly, Grissom met Warrick's gaze. "Let's just focus on Sara," he said firmly."I don't think we need to be doing this."Nothing else is important right now.

Brass moved closer to Grissom, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We just want to find out what happened," he said softly. "We want to find the person who's responsible for this."

"Responsible for what?"spat Grissom, as he shrugged away from Brass' hand. "For nearly killing Sara?"

Nick winced. "Griss–"

"Well, you found him," Grissom continued, grumbling the words out. "I'm responsible, okay?"

Nick tried again. "Grissom–"

Grissom pressed on, shaking his head in dismay. "The person who ran us off the road is long gone and likely, he'll never know what happened to us. I'm the one who was driving. I was the one with Sara. I made the decisions that brought her here–good and bad."

"You can't blame yourself," Catherine said calmly, as they arrived at the elevators. "And I know you know that because we've already been through this." She pressed the call button, and in a stony stare, Grissom watched it immediately light up. In that moment, he couldn't look up at his colleagues, his friends, his family. No, he couldn't look at anything but the small circle of light. For some reason, it was comforting.

"Let's just go upstairs," Grissom whispered.

And they did.

I need to be with Sara, was Grissom's only thought as they rode up the elevator in silence. I need to be by her side, not wandering the halls. I need to be with her, not away from her! When they got out, spilling into the quiet main hallway of the ICU floor, Grissom quickly led the way down the hall, towards Sara's room, stopping at the lounge where Greg was sleeping off his exhaustion. Looking in for a moment, Grissom noticed that the younger man was sprawled across several chairs, his face still tight with worry, even though he was sleeping deeply.

"We'll be right here, Gil," Catherine said quietly, waving Nick, Warrick and Brass into the lounge. The three men went in and then took seats, situating themselves around Greg's makeshift bed while Catherine remained at Grissom's side."It's okay if you can't get us in to see Sara," she told Grissom, her eyes clear and soft. "Just give her our love and our prayers, and let her know that we're out here." She smiled then, eyeing the empty Styrofoam cup that sat next to one of Greg's chairs. "And let her know that Greg has been drinking lukewarm, no-name brand hospital coffee for her. That'll mean a lot."

Grissom managed a faint, grateful smile. "I will. Anything else?"

"Yeah," Catherine replied uneasily. "At least consider going home for a few hours?"

With a small shrug, Grissom pointed at Greg. "Why don't you talk to him about that for awhile? It looks like he would benefit more from rest than I would."

Catherine reached for Grissom's arm, squeezing it gently."Look, I'm just trying to help."

"I know," he breathed, his chin twitching. "I'm uh, I'm sorry–"

"No need to apologize," Catherine said, stopping him. "If you're not going to go home then just get in there and see her, okay?"

"Thanks, Cath."

Catherine gave his arm another squeeze, then she released it from her grasp. At the same time, she gave him a smile that was both sly and sympathetic."Don't screw up," she said softly, and then she turned to head into the lounge.

Are you kidding? Grissom said to himself, as he walked away. If I lost Sara now, especially because of my own stupidity, then– He couldn't even finish that thought. It wasn't even a possibility. Sara had come through hell and back, for him and for herself, and there was no way Grissom was going to let anything come between them now. I love her. I've always loved her. And that's never, ever going to change. The only thing that's going to change is that now, I'm going to do something about it!

Slipping quietly into Sara's room, Grissom eyed her small-looking, blanket-covered form.The younger woman lay still in the bed, her chest rising and falling evenly. He crept closer on stiff, tired legs, staring at the thin tubes that ran into her nose, providing extra oxygen so she wouldn't have to put too much stress on her repaired lung. After a moment, his gaze shifted to the cuts and bruises on her forehead, the dark red, blue and purple marks causing him to shudder involuntarily. The deepest cut, the one Grissom had managed to bandage out in the middle of nowhere, had been stitched into a thin line, and it was now an angry, crusty red. He wondered why there wasn't a bandage over it now. He knew that Sara wouldn't be happy when she saw it. He knew that she wasn't going to be happy about any of her injuries. But at least she had him to help her get through it. And he had her.

"Hey,"came a weak whisper, as Grissom collapsed into the chair next to Sara's bed. "You're–you're back–"

Grissom's eyes immediately found Sara's, and then his fingers found her limp hand. "I'm here, honey. I'm sorry I had to leave, but I wasn't gone for long," he breathed, his heart racing. He hadn't realized that she was awake and now his mind was spinning, searching for the right words to say. "How are you feeling?" he asked, immediately regretting the question. He already knew the answer.

"I feel great, Griss," she mumbled. "They, uh, they gave me more, uh, more stuff." A small, sleepy smile curved her pale lips. "More morphine."

"Yeah, I'll bet they did," Grissom said, reaching with his free hand to brush her hair back, away from her face. That particular action was becoming very normal for him. He did it instinctively now. "So you're not in any pain?"

Sara blinked rapidly, as if she were trying to stay awake. That also seemed like a normal action. "No. No pain. It's, um, great."

"Well, they're keeping you pretty heavily sedated right now," Grissom explained, wondering if she could understand what he was saying. "It's so your body can heal faster. And the faster you start to heal, the sooner we can get you transferred to Desert Palm."

Sara's glazed-over eyes opened a little wider. "Do they have morphine?"

Grissom chuckled. "Don't worry, Sara. I'll make sure you're taken care of."

"Thanks, Grissom," she whispered, as she pressed her cheek weakly into his palm. "You, uh, you know what?"

"What?"

"I, um, I wouldn't trade you for anything," Her eyelids closed. "Not even for–for morphine."

"I think I knew that."

"Good."

Leaning forward, Grissom dropped a delicate kiss on her cheek. "You keeping fighting, Sara," he told her. "Everyone's here to support you. Catherine and Greg are still here, out in the lounge, and Warrick, Nicky and Brass arrived a little while ago. It's like a family reunion out there, and they're all anxious to see you."A family reunion? At first, Grissom was surprised by his own words, but then he realized that he wasn't. A family reunion was exactly what it was. If only it could be a happier one.

Sara, who apparently still had a light grasp on consciousness, sighed. "I want to, um, to see them too."

"You will. You just need to get some more rest first. They'll wait as long as they need to. Greg hasn't even left to get a good cup of coffee. He's drinking the no-name stuff in the lounge. Catherine told me to tell you that. Greg's asleep now. He's been really worried about you. We've all been really worried about you."

"Where–" Sara slurred. "What? Greg's lounge? They're here?

She's struggling. She won't be awake much longer now, Grissom realized. "Sleep, honey," he encouraged her. "It's okay to let yourself rest." I'm such a hypocrite! How can I tell her that and refuse to let myself do it?

Sara didn't reply at all. Her eyelids didn't even flutter. She was asleep again and Grissom was actually relieved. He wanted so desperately to talk to her, to reveal more of the feelings he had been keeping stashed away, deep inside. But he knew that it was better if she slept. Perhaps it really would be better if he slept a little too. He decided he would, but only if he could do it in the chair, right next to Sara's bed.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

TBC

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks again for all the reviews and recommendations, both for this story and for "Old Haunts." The feedback has been great and I know I say this every time, but your support means a lot to me and I appreciate it so much! I mean that! So many reviews have been very touching and so supportive and I thank you so much for all of them! My profile page will have my special thanks, because I'm unsure of the new rules about long author's notes/thanks. If someone could fill me in on that subject, I would greatly appreciate it.

Thanks!

Jazz