Thanks to all for the reviews - always nice to know that people are reading! I apologise once again for the shortness of the prologue, but I really felt it should be posted alone for dramatic impact- it just didn't fit as part of the main story. Anyway, here's chapter one, and it's a bit longer- I hope that is more to everyone's liking! I do also have to add that I know that this part seems slightly more Nick/Sara-centric rather than GSR. However, I promise this story is a Grissom/Sara pairing - just be patient!

"Where the hell is she?"

"I'm sure she'll be here."

"I paged her over an hour ago."

"What's the urgency?" Nick shrugged, carefully removing a cigarette stub from the ground and placing it in an evidence bag. "It's not as if this guy's going anywhere."

"He's certainly not if I have anything to do with it." A voice interrupted the conversation. "Sorry I'm late."

"Late?" Grissom grumbled. "I was beginning to wonder whether you'd be here before the body was fully decomposed." A faint trace of a smile graced his lips, but he appeared to be the only one to appreciate his attempt at humour.

"Well, I'm here now. So what've we got, boys?"

The lack of reception to his 'joke' and the fact that Sara appeared to be completely oblivious to the fact that he and Nick had been waiting for her for more than 30 minutes, did not help improve Grissom's mood. "Male, aged between thirty and forty. Cause of death blow to the head, caused by a blunt object. First estimate, he's been dead about 12 hours." His words succeeded in sounding about as interesting as watching paint dry, and Sara barely stayed focused on what he was saying. She crouched down to have a closer look. The scowl on Grissom's face looked ominous and upon spotting it Nick felt he better try and break the ice before he had another DB on his hands.

"We've only really had a quick look around," he began, gesturing to the dank alleyway they were standing in, which though lit by numerous lamps still managed to appear dark. "I began some evidence gathering but it looks like we could be here a while. This guy could have chosen somewhere a bit cleaner to conk out."

"Who found him?"

"A Mr Elvis Presley." Sara looked up questioningly. "A guy who shared the streets with out vic here. He wasn't interested in having a conversation with us – cops don't figure on his list of best friends. That was the best we could coax out of him. But he's back at the station as we speak and no doubt Brass will get some more info."

"Let's hope so." Sara stood up, and as she did so she winced as pain shot through her left leg. She silently cursed herself and hoped no one had noticed. A glance round to Grissom confirmed there were no worries there. His arms were crossed and his eyes focused firmly on the ground, in the stance of a petulant child. However, the concern in Nick's eyes as she locked gazes with him revealed he was far more observant. He opened his mouth to query but Sara got there first.

"Well, until Mr Presley gives us some more to be getting on with we better start cleaning up here." And with that she turned her back on Nick and headed into the farthest corner of the alleyway, leaving him with no choice but to get on with the job in hand.

"My God, what a shift," sighed Warrick as he, Nick and Sara assembled outside the lab the next morning.

"It was tough for you too, huh?" questioned Nick. "What you get?"

"Don't even go there. Fancy a drink?"

"I better get back," Catherine sighed. "Much as I'd love to, Lindsey's waiting. I'll see you guys later?"

"Sure. Have a nice day."

"As long as I get some sleep," she laughed, and with that was gone.

"Looks like it's just the three of us then," Nick announced, placing an arm around each of his friends. But Sara immediately recoiled from his touch as though she'd been burnt. "Hey?" Nick questioned. "What's up?"

"Nothing – I – I just think I need some sleep, that's all. Another time maybe?" But she did not wait long enough to receive a reply to her question. Quick as a flash she had retreated into her car and driven off, leaving two confused men in her wake.

By the time she had reached her apartment Sara's left leg had begun to hurt so much an amputation was beginning to seem the most appealing option. She rolled her trouser leg up to find that the biggest and deepest cut had now begun to ooze pus and was turning a worrying shade of yellow. She had no doubt it was infected. She was going to have to do something. Twice today she had acted strangely around Nick; if she wasn't careful he would start asking questions. And if her leg got much worse then it was going to become obvious that something was wrong. There were a million other explanations for a series of nasty cuts on her legs, other than the truth, but she would rather not have to use any excuse at all.

She limped through to her bathroom and removed a bottle of TCP and some cotton wool form the medicine cabinet. One last try before she resorted to a doctor. She sat herself down on the sofa, poured some TCP on to the cotton wool and dabbed it on her leg. The stinging brought tears to her eyes but she went on methodically, covering the whole wound. She was so focused on the task in hand that she barely heard the telephone ring. It was only when it clicked on to her answer phone message that she registered the sound.

"Sorry I can't take your call at present but if you leave a message after the tone I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Her in simpler times.

"Sara? It's Nick." A pause, as though he expected her to pick up now she knew who was calling. "I, erm, guess you're not in. Or maybe you're asleep. You did say you were tired. In which case I've probably woken you. Sorry."

The briefest of smiles appeared on Sara's lips. Trust Nick. He was probably her closest friend, yet he was still incapable of leaving her an answer phone message without nervous rambling.

"I just wanted to see if you were ok. You went off in quite a hurry this morning. I'm sure it's nothing but I just wanted to check. But you're not in. So…I hope you're ok. Call me. Or not. Whatever you want. I'll see you later, I suppose."

As he hung up Sara felt more tears prick at the back of her eyes. But these had nothing to do with the TCP. At that moment she had such an urge to call him back and tell him everything. But she couldn't. She had never believed in all that 'a problem shared is a problem halved' stuff. The only way she could get through this was to keep it to herself. Compress it. Shove it inside her, to a part of her where it could never escape. That was the only way she could cope.

So why wasn't time healing? Why did she feel worse by the minute? Why did she feel such a need to tell someone?

She soaked a piece of cotton wool and pressed it hard on to her leg. The pain was excruciating but it gave her something else to focus on.

One day at a time. Just one day at a time.