A/N Disclaimers in chapter 1. Thanks to brandie.d for her help with this chapter. Feedback is always, always appreciated.
He was more than fifty years old, and it took a boy-scout camping trip to make Gil Grissom truly understand the word bedlam. He'd been to crime scenes that were calmer than the drop-off point for the trip. Shaking his head, he pulled his cap down lower over his eyes, glancing out beneath the brim to survey the area. Three busses were parked at odd angles to one another, covering half the school parking lot. Circling the busses like a wagon-train protecting pioneers from dangers were a myriad of parent's cars, SUVs, and even a motorcycle or two. In the expanse of area between the two sets of vehicles milled hundreds of boys, chaperones, and worried moms and dads. The din of squealing kids and shouting adults made Grissom long for the peace of the lab.
Movement at his side had him shooting his arm out to snag a handful of blue Cub Scout uniform. "Hang on there Adam. Let's find out which bus you're on before you go tearing into that mayhem."
"But Dad, Mr. Greamer said we can't be late, or they'll leave without us!"
Grissom crouched down, his eyes meeting the deep brown of his son's. He waited a moment for the boy to calm down, then reached out and ruffled his dark curls. "Relax Adam. The busses can't get out till everyone moves their cars." He gave the boy's hair a gentle tug, before standing to take his hand, "Let's go find Mr. Greamer."
Adam clung to his father's hand as they made their way through the crowds looking for his troop leader. His eyes were wide as he watched all the boys milling about, loading their duffels onto the busses, checking their names on the sign in sheets each chaperone toted about on clipboards, and saying final goodbyes to their parents. "Wish Mom was here."
His dad nodded, "I know. She wanted to be here too. But she had to be in court this morning."
Adam just nodded, tightening his fingers around Grissom's. "Wish Jessie were coming."
Grissom stopped then, and pulled the boy to him in a one-armed hug. "She'd look pretty silly in a boy-scout uniform, wouldn't she? Besides, you know how much she wanted to go to science camp this summer. Next year you'll be old enough to go with her."
"Next year she'll be so old she won't want to go!"
"Probably." Grissom gave the boy one more squeeze before pointing toward his troop leader. "There's Mr. Greamer." He paused once more to look down at the boy, "Adam. You're going to have a great time at camp. And the two weeks will go by before you know it. Everything is going to be all right. I promise."
"DR. MERRITT TO THE ER! DR. MERRITT TO THE ER!"
Sterile white walls seemed to amplify the racket of the emergency room. Blares from the PA system, the clatter of carts being thrust across tile floors, cries of children, and the sobbing of adults warred for attention with the shouts of doctors and the ever present beeping from monitoring equipment. The walls magnified, too, the blinding glare from the florescent lights overhead making the people rushing in and out of examination rooms appear as large blurs.
Sara took a shaky breath as yet another voice screeched out over the PA system, barely resisting the urge to cover her ears with her hands. She pushed herself back against the wall as an ambulance crew rushed past pushing a man with a badly bleeding chest wound. One glance at the patient had Sara guessing gunshot wound, given the blood splatter that had also covered the man's face.
She turned away from the scene, tightening her fists against work's intrusions on her thoughts. Her eyes locked back onto the room where Grissom had been taken, the room from which she had been escorted when the doctor had come and gone well more than an hour before. The room she hadn't strayed more than four feet from in the entire time they'd been at Desert Palms. Even as Catherine had been forced to leave, to check on Lindsey then go on for their shift, Sara had stayed behind.
"Sara!"
She jerked, her eyes locking once more on the door to Grissom's room, imagining, for a moment, that he'd been calling to her. But the hand on her shoulder that spun her into an awkward half-embrace was Greg's.
"Sar…Catherine told us Grissom was here." He ran a shaky hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in disarray; so much like the old Greg that had she spared him more than a glance, Sara would have laughed. "So…he's okay, right? What happened?"
"I don't know." Sara turned away again, to look at the door. "He…fell. He never came in for shift last night. We…stopped by his place on the way out of the lab this morning. Found him lying on his floor. He fell and…he hit his head."
"Yeah well," Greg tried smiling, but it came off more like a grimace. "You know Griss, Sar. He's got a hard head."
"Miss Sidle?"
"Yes?" Sara whirled, coming face to face with the doctor she had met so briefly before. He wore a rumpled lab coat that might have been white, a day or two before over wrinkled khaki pants and dirty sneakers. He had a chart in his hand and was rapidly flipping pages, only lifting his eyes to meet hers when she cleared her throat after several moments' silence.
"Ah. Yes. I'm Dr. Mitchell…"
"Yes. I remember."
"Right. Right." He smiled then, glancing from Sara, to Greg, then back to Sara. "Right. Mr. Grissom. Sorry about the delay, we had to wait for records to come in from your office. Privacy rules and all." He glanced at the top sheet in the chart, a memo with the Police Department's header spilled across the top. "According to this, you're the Department's representative, so I can let you know how he's doing."
Sara nodded, taking a deep breath and clenching her hands again. In another moment, she was going to grab the man by the lapels and tell him to get on with it! "So?"
"Right! Right. Mr. Grissom." He gave a quick smile, and then glanced back at the chart. "Well, we've stitched up the wound in his arm. Nothing to worry about there…"
"There was a lot of blood."
Dr. Mitchell nodded, "Yes. But the glass missed the artery. It was all superficial. He's in no danger from blood loss."
"And his head?"
"He does have a concussion. But we've done a CT scan. There is some swelling, but it's very minimal. It should reduce in the next 24 hours." He reached out to pat Sara's arm, moving his hand when she just stared at it. "I wouldn't worry, he should wake by the time the swelling goes down."
Greg stepped up, his face noticeably more pale, and placed his hand in the spot on Sara's arm vacated by Dr. Mitchell. "He's still unconscious? I thought he woke up…"
"Only for a minute Greg." Sara shushed him then, turning back to the doctor. "He did wake up, once, before the ambulance got to him. Could he just be sleeping?"
"With the swelling, I'd say it's a little more than just sleeping. But as I said it's nothing to worry too much about at this point." He turned as a nurse hailed him from the monitoring station, "If you'll excuse me."
Sara moved away from Greg, "Wait. Doctor! Can I see him?"
"Right. He's being moved into a private room. You can see him then, Ms. Sidle."
Sara took a deep breath and turned to Greg. "Swelling Greg…"
"No, come on Sara! You heard the doctor. Everything is going to be all right. I promise."
tbc