A/N: Bit of a longer chap again. Usual disclaimer. Oh, I own Nicola and Melissa, and their story. And just as a side note, I realize that fourteen days in a coma may seem a little extreme, but depending on the situation, it's perfectly reasonable. According to the research I did, if a situation is traumatic enough, a body may keep itself in a coma for years. In any case...

Chapter 11- Dare You to Move

"Maybe Redemption has stories to tell

Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell

Where can you run to escape from yourself?

Where you gonna go?

Where you gonna go?

Salvation is here

Dare you to move

Dare you to move

Dare you to lift yourself up off the floor

Dare you to move

Dare you to move

Like today never happened

Today never happened before"

Dare You to Move by Switchfoot

Fourteen days later, Greg was still comatose, hovering somewhere between death and life. Everyone visited as often as they could, but, since they were back in Vegas, they had work.

It was a warm afternoon the day Greg awoke, and Grissom sat calmly in the chair next to Greg's bed, reading one of his many entomology books. Any and all objects that could possibly be used as weapons had been removed from his person. They had even insisted on taking his shoelaces, just so that Greg couldn't steal them and hang himself. Grissom had really wanted to point out that anyone would notice if someone woke up from a coma and was stealing their shoelaces, but decided against it. He was mildly surprised that they didn't take his book, in fear Greg would paper cut himself to death.

In any case, he flipped idly through his book, pausing every so often to check on Greg, who remained unchanged. Suddenly, just as Grissom was getting absorbed into a particularly gruesome part about cockroaches' exoskeletons, he heard a soft groan from the bed. Dropping the book in shock, Grissom quickly leaned over the bed. "Greg? Greggo?"

Greg's eyelids fluttered and he opened his mouth. "Griss," he whispered hoarsely.

"Oh, thank God. Here, don't talk, drink some water."

Greg did, gratefully, then croaked, "How…long?"

Grissom frowned, then said cautiously, "You've been in a coma for over two weeks. Do you remember anything before that?"

Greg closed his eyes and then nodded slowly, his forehead creasing as he remembered. "So…I didn't…do it?" he asked finally, hopelessness evident in his voice.

"No. They saved you in time. We almost lost you, though."

"Wish you had," said Greg, not quite joking. Silence fell with Grissom unsure of what to say until Greg said, "You…mad?"

Grissom shook his head emphatically. "No! Never. Just…" He trailed off.

"Disappointed?" supplied Greg with a wry smile that didn't meet his eyes.

Grissom neither confirmed nor denied that; he just asked the one question that had been haunting him. "Why, Greg?"

"Why not?" replied Greg in a miserable attempt at levity. When Grissom didn't laugh, Greg continued, a hard edge in his voice. "What reason do I have to live?"

"You have every reason to live!" exclaimed Grissom.

"Maybe every reason's not good enough," retorted Greg icily.

"That's bull," said Grissom calmly. "Absolute bull and you know it." Greg didn't answer, just stared off into space. "Well…I'll let you sleep then," Grissom said stiffly, his mind reeling with how he could help Greg.

Greg just turned and looked at him with those dead eyes. "Ok," he said quietly.

Grissom knew then that Greg wanted him to leave and be angry with him because if he did, it would mean that he didn't care, and then Greg could justify taking his own life. With this realization, Grissom knew that he had very little time to bring Greg back form the edge until he was too far gone. Pausing briefly, Grissom turned back to Greg and wrapped him in a big bear hug. Greg didn't protest or hug back, but when Grissom let go and stepped away, he saw Greg's eyes were in a whirlpool of emotion. "I'll be back," he told Greg, adding under his breath as he strode from the room, "And so will you."

Grissom stood nervously on the front stoop of the cozy little house nestled in suburban California. He rang the doorbell, then waited, unsure how those inside would react to him being here. The sounds of running footsteps could be heard, then the click of a lock. A little girl, around seven years old, with blonde pigtails and big blue eyes stood in the doorway. She grinned at Grissom in recognition. "Uncle Gil!" she squealed.

"Nicola!" he laughed, reaching down and picking her up.

She planted a big kiss on his cheek, then squirmed out of his arms to run into the house, calling, "Mama! Uncle Gil's here!"

Melissa Hillsburg strode from the kitchen, a grin on her face, but concern in her eyes. Grissom understood this concern. He had first met Melissa and Nicola two years ago, when they still lived in Vegas. Steve Hillsburg, her husband, was accused of the rapes and murders of ten women. It took Nicola's confession of Steve molesting her to seal his fate: life in prison. To back up her confession, though, they needed physical evidence, and the task of retrieving this had fallen to Greg. He had had to gain Nicola's trust to get her to allow a nurse to get the evidence, and in that time, he and she had gotten really close. Melissa was probably worried that a complication had come up and Steve was going to be released or something of the sort. Grissom flashed her a brief smile to reassure her, then embraced her.

"Gil Grissom," she said, smiling. "To whom do I owe this honor?"

"Greg, actually," said Grissom as he pecked her on the cheek.

"Oh, is he with you?" she asked, looking around him.

"I'm afraid not. It's actually on his behalf that I came here."

At Grissom's worried tone, the smile faded slightly on her face. "Well, come in, come in. I hope you'll excuse the mess; I've been meaning to clean for ages."

Grissom smiled again, but it didn't meet his eyes. They sat, Grissom on the couch, with Nicola sprawled across his lap, and Melissa seated in the armchair.

Nicola asked, "Uncle Gil, why isn't Greg with you?"

Grissom sighed. "Greg isn't here, honey, because Greg is very sick."

"Oh," said Nicola thoughtfully. "I was sick once. Will Greg get better? I got better."

"I'm afraid that's the problem," said Grissom softly. "Greg doesn't want to get better."

"Why not?" demanded Nicola, her blue eyes serious.

Melissa exchanged a look with Grissom, and then said gently, "Honey, why don't you go play outside? Uncle Gil and I have grown-up things to talk about."

Nicola pouted, gave both her mother and Grissom stern looks, and then marched outside, presumably to play.

Grissom smiled after her. "She's a good kid, isn't she?"

"Yeah," said Melissa softly, "and she has you and Greg to thank for that." Silence fell as Grissom's good mood evaporated. Melissa looked down at her hands, then asked, "Gil, what's wrong with Greg?"

Grissom sighed, then leaned back and explained the whole story. Melissa was crying before they even got to what they did to Greg, so he decided to gloss over a few parts. When he finally got to how Greg tried to kill himself, Melissa gasped in disbelief. "Is he…is he…?"

"Yes, he's alright, but he has no will to live."

Melissa sat, chewing on her lip. "What do you want us to do?" she asked finally.

"I need to borrow Nicola. I hope that she'll be able to convince Greg that he matters."

Melissa nodded firmly. "Of course, whatever we can do to help." She raised her voice slightly. "Nicola, can you come in here?"

Nicola galloped in, her chagrin over being discharged against her will forgotten. "What is it, Mama?"

"How would you like to come with me to visit Greg?" asked Grissom, eyes twinkling.

"Oo, yay! Mommy, can I, please!" exclaimed Nicola.

Melissa hid a smile. "Alright, I suppose."

Greg lay quietly on his bed, eyes closed. Archie had brought him his iPod in case he wanted to listen to it, but no such urge took him. Listening to music would only help the sleep come on faster, and when he was asleep, the nightmares began. Every night, when he was forced to sleep due to the sedatives and medication, they plagued him. They were worse then, because Greg couldn't wake up. He would dream vividly, remembering every time he was punched or hit, every time they beat him, every time Bruno…

Greg wasn't aware that he was crying until he heard Sara's voice say, "Greg? Are you ok? Do you need a doctor?" Greg shook his head, eyes squeezed shut.

"Oh, Greg," sighed Sara, and she leaned down to give him a hug. Greg flinched as she touched him, so she drew back, not wishing to hurt him more.

She looked down at him, worry in her eyes. He was too thin, having been thin to begin with, and then the trauma and illness taking its toll. His face was gaunt and haunted, shadows under his eyes where they had once never been. Sara realized that she hadn't seen him smile since the kidnapping. He needed to smile; his face looked wrong when it wasn't smiling.

A knock sounded on the door, so Sara went to go answer it. Grissom stood outside, a small child clutched in his arms. "Is Greg awake?" he asked quietly.

Sara nodded. "Let me just say good-bye, alright?"

Grissom nodded in confirmation. Sara went back into the room and said quietly, "Greg? Grissom's here, so I'm gonna head out." Greg opened his eyes and nodded, the look of a hunted animal not leaving his face. Sara left, nodding to Grissom on her way out, and smiling at the little girl, even as her heart was breaking for Greg. She didn't know what Grissom was up to, but she hoped that whatever it was, it helped Greg.