Each time Catherine heard the elevator doors slide open, she worried that it would be Grissom, returning long before he could have had enough rest to keep him going. However, the first person to emerge through the doors that she recognized was not Grissom but Nick. She smiled warmly at him and motioned for him to sit down next to her. She was cradling a lukewarm cup of coffee which had very little taste and certainly not the amount of caffeine which she required. Nick's eyes slid to the door opposite them. "Is Sara in there?" Catherine nodded. "How is she?"

"Not great." Seeing panic flash across Nick's face, she immediately made herself clear. "I mean, she's fine, physically. She's conscious, the surgery went well."

"But her leg…"

"It couldn't be saved."

Nick lowered his head, staring intently at the floor. "Oh, God. Why Sara? What did she do to deserve this?"

Catherine placed a hand on his arm. "Hey, Nicky, she needs you to be strong for her. She can get through this, but only with our support." She was beginning to feel like she was the support not only for Sara but for the whole team, but she made a conscious effort not to let the strain show.

Nick looked up and met her gaze. "You're right. Can I go in?" He motioned to the door.

"You can, but I wouldn't recommend it," Catherine replied. "I think she needs some time to think."

"Sure." Nick stood up, already falling prey to the nervous bug which did not allow anyone to stay still whilst thinking about Sara. "I think I'll go get a coffee."

"I'd suggest a tea, or a chocolate or something," Catherine advised. "Unless you like the taste of toilet water."

I I I I I

As he rushed through the hospital doors a mere four hours after he had left, Grissom nearly collided with Brass, who was going in the other direction.

"Jim?" he queried. "What are you doing here?"

Brass looked embarrassed and coughed nervously. "I, uh, was just visiting Sara."

"How is she?"

"I, um, didn't actually see her."

"Did you speak to Catherine?"

"No, I-" Brass faltered and tried to change the subject. "I hope you've had some sleep."

"A little. Do you want to come up with me? I think I'm going to speak to Sara again. Last time didn't end too well."

"Actually, I think I better get back to work."

Grissom glanced at his watch. "It's not your shift, Jim." He looked up at his friend, puzzled. "What were you doing leaving the hospital, if you haven't seen Sara or Catherine?"

Brass looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Realising he and Grissom were blocking the entrance to the hospital, he pulled his friend to one side. "Look, Gil, I think it's best if I don't see Sara right now."

"Why not?"

"Because it was me who put her in that hospital bed! I don't suppose she wants to speak to me."

Grissom sighed. "Jim, I told you earlier, you are not to blame."

"Then who is?"

"The kids who shot at the car, perhaps?"

"They wouldn't have had the opportunity to had I not been pursuing them."

"It's your job, Jim. You were acting in the line of duty."

"That may be so, but it was not Sara's job or her duty."

"No, it was her choice."

Brass opened his mouth as though he had more to say, but then changed his mind. "Look, I'll speak to you later, alright? Tell Catherine I said hi."

"Jim-" Grissom began, but Brass was already out the door.

I I I I I

When Grissom arrived at Sara's door he was surprised to find Catherine nowhere to be seen. He peered through the window. His view of Sara was obscured by the doctor. He decided to gently push the door open. The minute he did so, he could hear Sara's voice.

"Please, just leave."

The doctor was holding something out to Sara but Grissom could not see what. "You just need time, Sara," the doctor was saying. "I know this is difficult now, but I promise it will get easier."

Sara's voice was growing in volume. "Easier? How exactly? Is my leg going to grow back, doctor?"

Grissom could not stand to hear her like this. Whilst her voice was outwardly aggressive, he could pick up on the desperation within it, as though Sara was pleading with the doctor to say yes; to tell her that a miracle could occur.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the doctor turned to see who had entered. Now Grissom could see the object he had been showing Sara. In the doctor's hands was a prosthetic leg. He turned from it to look at Sara. She was staring directly at him, her eyes still pleading as her voice had been. In an instant, however, they turned confrontational. "What do you want, Grissom?" This time, Grissom did not try to convince her to call him by his first name.

"I can come back," he said.

"No, no," Sara replied. "Let's all gather round and have a look at Sara, the one legged freak show."

Catherine and Nick did not choose the most opportune moment to enter the room. Had it not been so tragic, their timing would have been almost comical.

"I don't believe this," Sara muttered, before raising her voice to a more audible level. "What am I? A tourist attraction?"

Catherine and Nick looked confused and concerned at the same time.

"I think maybe you should leave," the doctor said, addressing all three visitors.

"You can go too, doctor," Sara added.

"But-" he began, holding out the prosthetic leg as though it were some kind of peace offering.

"I don't need that, thank you. I just want some time to myself. Is that too much to ask?"

The doctor placed the leg on a chair in the corner of the room. "I'll leave it here. The nurse will be in to take observations."

Sara nodded curtly and watched her four guests file out of the room. They looked like a funeral procession. Sara thought the similarity was apt, given the circumstances. Once they had all left, she turned to look at the leg. It was propped up against the back of the chair. Just the sight of it sent shivers down her spine. For the umpteenth time since she had been in hospital she felt her throat begin to burn and her eyes fill up as she struggled to hold back her tears. She did not know what to do, what to say, what to feel. The minute she was alone, she longed for company. Being by herself meant she had nothing to do but think; to remember the accident and all the things she had been able to do before it and to consider her future and all the things she would no longer be able to do. But as soon as anyone tried to help, she could not deal with it. She could not stand the pity in their eyes. She did not want sympathy. She wanted them to talk to her like she was Sara, not a cripple. All she wanted to do was get up and walk out of here. But that was the one thing she was least able to do.