Grissom collected Sara from her apartment at 10am, just after he had finished his shift. She thought he looked tired, he thought the same of her. He helped her into the car, despite her protests.

"I can do it, Gil."

"That's great for you, but I would like to help."

Sara rolled her eyes. "I give in."

"That's the right answer," Grissom smiled as he shut the door on her side of the car.

During the drive to the hospital Sara almost forgot where she was going. She found herself smiling and laughing in a way she had not done since the accident. The sight of her happiness brought a glow to Grissom also. When they reached the hospital it almost came as a shock to them when they recalled why they were there. Grissom helped Sara into her wheelchair – this time she did not protest. As they made their way to the physiotherapy department silence washed over them, as though the reality of the accident was hitting them all over again. They sat in the waiting room for ten minutes before a nurse emerged from a side room.

"Sara Sidle?"

Grissom automatically stood up as Sara turned to look at the nurse, before he realised that he had no need to accompany Sara. She turned to look at him, reading his thoughts through his actions. "I'd like you to come in with me."

"Really?" Grissom was taken aback.

"Really." She reached out for his hand. He took it and she squeezed it gently. "I'd appreciate it."

I I I I I

As Brass stood before Sara's door his stomach began to do a little dance; it was not a pleasant feeling. He took a couple of deep breaths to settle it before knocking twice. After a few seconds with no reply he knocked again. There was still no reply. He turned to leave, trying not to feel too relieved that the conversation had been avoided. But then an image flashed into his head. Sara lying on the floor, her wheelchair discarded clumsily behind her. He shook his head and told himself not to be stupid. Sara was coping remarkably well with the wheelchair, as she did with everything; he had been told so by Nick, Catherine, Warrick, Grissom, Greg – all the people who had been visiting her regularly in the past week. He turned again to leave. But what if- He knocked once more, hard, on the door. Never had silence sounded so threatening. Or was it silence? Brass thought he could hear the sound of a running tap. "Sara?" he called out. The tap had not stopped running. What if Sara had fallen? "Sara?" He took a deep breath and counted to ten before kicking the door hard, with all the strength he could muster.

As it flew open, the sound of the lock breaking reverberating in the corridor, Brass rushed inside. He glanced around at the living area and the kitchenette. Sara was nowhere to be seen. As the sound of the door being kicked open faded in his ears, Brass was suddenly aware that the sound of the tap had stopped. He cautiously made his way into the bedroom. Sara's bed was made. In the bathroom there was no sign that a tap had been running at all. The sink and the shower were completely dry. Brass noted that a rail had already been put up in the bathroom to aid Sara's mobility. Bottles of various perfumes, moisturisers and other unidentifiable creams were sitting on a shelf.

It suddenly hit Brass that he was seriously violating Sara's personal space. He stumbled backwards out of the bathroom, realising what he had done. He had broken into Sara's home for no good reason and invaded her privacy, all because of a horrible guilt that he could not get rid of. Just because he felt responsible and wanted so desperately to make up for it that he would do…well, this.

He went to leave but then realised that in doing so he would leave Sara's apartment open to the whole world. A feeling of panic gripped his chest. He could not face Sara like this. He pulled out his phone and dialled.

I I I I I

Grissom chest felt slightly compressed as he watched the doctor help Sara, with a prosthetic limb attached to her right leg, up into a standing position between two rails. She gripped a rail in each hand and took her body weight on her arms, greatly strengthened by the last week in a wheelchair.

"Put some weight onto your left leg for me, Sara," the doctor asked. Sara did so, the tension in her arms easing slightly. "Now, I'm going to help you move your right leg forward a step. Alright?" Sara nodded. With help, her right leg moved forward a mere couple of inches. "Now, if you can, place a little weight onto your right leg."

Grissom watched as Sara slowly transferred the weight of her body from her left leg to the prosthetic limb on her right. She winced, not just in slight pain but because of the strange sensation that came from doing so. She held the position for a second but then she began to wobble as she lost her balance. Grissom resisted the urge to jump up and help her as the physiotherapist immediately reached out to sturdy her.

Sara's face paled as she gripped firmly, one hand on the rail, one on the doctor's arm. "I'm sorry, I-" she stammered.

"It's fine, Sara," the doctor reassured her. "One step at a time – quite literally." She smiled and Sara made a conscious effort to return it. "I'm not going to hurry you. If you need to sit down, you can do that."

"No." There was strength and determination in Sara's voice. "I'll keep going."

As she took a few more steps, the progress small but visible, Grissom found himself the one who was smiling.

I I I I I

Nick had driven at top speed across the city in order to reach Brass at Sara's apartment. Despite the police officer's reassurances that Sara was fine, the extreme anxiety in his voice had scared Nick. As he pulled up outside Sara's apartment block and rushed up the stairs, unable to wait for an elevator, a million different scenarios ran through his head. His panic was not alleviated in the slightest by the sight of Sara's door kicked in. He rushed inside. Brass was sitting on an armchair and he looked up upon Nick's entrance, a look of desperation in his eyes.

"Where's Sara?" Nick asked urgently.

"She's not here."

Nick took a sharp breath. "Then where is she, Brass?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Just that. She wasn't here when I kicked the door in."

Nick looked confusedly behind him to the broken lock. "You did that?"

"Yes."

"Why?" All of a sudden Nick had a strange feeling that nothing was quite as it seemed. Brass hadn't called him because he was worried about Sara. He had called him because he, himself, needed help. "Why didn't you call Grissom?"

"What?" Brass looked puzzled.

"Why me? I don't mean it rudely, but I would have thought, well…you're closer to Griss than me."

"He's got enough on his plate right now. He's trying so hard to look after Sara."

Nick looked slightly hurt. "And I'm not?"

"I didn't mean that, I-" Brass struggled for words. All of a sudden he looked directly at Nick, as though he had had a moment of revelation. "She's at the hospital!"

"What?"

"Gil told me he was taking her to a physiotherapy appointment this morning."

"Of course." Nick recalled his conversation with Sara.

"So it would have done no good me calling him."

Brass's speech was beginning to sound more erratic and incomprehensible to Nick's ears. "Why?"

"Because he would have told Sara and that's exactly what I don't want."

"You're going to have to tell her you did this." Nick had given up on trying to fathom why he had done so. "She'll need to change the lock."

"I know. But I thought maybe you could speak to her. I'm not ready."

"Then why did you come here in the first place?" Now Nick sounded frustrated; there was a trace of aggravation in his voice. "Why can't you just speak to her, Jim? She's desperate to see you."

"Why would she want to see me at all? You know what I did to her."

"You did nothing. It was an accident."

"You keep telling yourself that, Nick. Because I can't."

"Listen to yourself – wallowing in self pity." Now Nick was angry but he slightly regretted his words. Brass was his superior and besides, the man was evidently beating himself up over this. Maybe he did not deserve this. But he could not stop himself. "You're the lucky one – you escaped the accident with all your limbs intact. Sara wasn't so lucky."

"Don't I know it," Brass muttered.

"Yet she's kept going. She's determined. She's fighting this; not letting it get the better of her. I can't say the same of you."

Suddenly Brass stood up, his face flushed. "I don't have to listen to this from you. Call a locksmith. I'll pay for this." He pointed at the door. "Tell Sara I'm sorry."

Nick had no time to argue before Brass had marched out of the broken door.