The day wore on, slowly. It had been a long time since Grissom had endured an afternoon this slow; usually his life these days was spent dashing around crime scenes, and juggling a plethora of staff and commitments in the lab, with everyone and everything demanding his attention. But now, he had time. Too much of it.

It took a lot of resolve to stay calm. For a while he lay there, gazing up at the clouds as Sara fell into a silence beside him, and he found himself analysing their colour and their greyness, wondering at the chances of them getting rain. It was not an encouraging prospect, and there was little he could do about it. But for a while he did wonder and second-guess his choice to not bolt after his team. If he had, he may have just caught them in time. But it was done now. There was no point kicking himself.

He let Sara rest for a while, but eventually she wriggled, subtly adjusting her position, and he looked over to see her wincing again, her brown eyes pierced with pain.

"Talk to me," he urged.

She finished readjusting, and drew herself an inch higher up onto his backpack, getting a more comfortable position for her head and neck. Then she sighed, face strained. He drew himself back toward her, intent on keeping her warm.

"What about?" she queried.

For a moment he saw her brown eyes flit up to the clouds, and he could see that she had all the same concerns he did, and despite her pain, still had perfect skills of observation.

"How you're feeling," he said. Gently, he added, "I know you're in pain."

"There's not much we can do about that right now."

Her voice was clipped, and he almost let it go. But not quite.

"I'd be more comfortable if you communicated," he said, still gently. "At least tell me where you're hurt."

"There's not much point if you can't help," she reasoned.

"Indulge me."

For a moment, he expected her to refuse, to give more excuses. But then she gazed up at the sky again, and unexpectedly sighed, giving in.

"My ankle's twisted," she reported. "My knee's busted. I must have collided with something in the water. My whole body aches. Lots of bruises and scrapes. Nothing life-threatening. There's a mild concussion."

"A concussion?" he repeated, jumping in. "You should have told me that."

"I just did."

Her voice was not angry, but oddly calm. She was still staring up at the weather, as if she had a lot on her mind, and was pondering exactly how miserable the evening was going to be. Grissom found himself peering into her eyes, suddenly assessing her for clinical signs of head injury. Her pupils were the same size, there was no visible sign of blood in her ears or nose. She was focused, and coherent. But she still seemed to be in pain.

After a moment, she turned, gazing at him, and put a soothing hand to his arm, under the space blanket.

"It's not serious," she said.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm certain."

She rubbed his arm a little, and his anxiety did drop, but only a notch. He then found himself looking into her eyes, so dark and calm, and suddenly their proximity registered in his mind, and his nether regions, for the first time. Her body was flush against his, her legs practically buried in-between his, seeking his warmth. Her face was only a few inches from his, and he gazed for a second at her smooth lips, feeling it would have been the most natural thing in the world to kiss her.

But now was not the time. He was a professional, and would stay that way.

Instead, he raised one hand, and probed her forehead for her temperature, touching her cold face and cheek, which had been chilled by the wind.

"Your body temperature's still low," he observed.

"That's your fault," she said.

"My fault?"

He was surprised. He could hardly be doing more to protect her.

"You keep wriggling about," she said, with a sudden lilt of humour. "You're letting the cold air in."

Automatically, he adjusted the space blanket, checking it was sealed against the ground, and around her feet. Her eyes flickered with amusement, for a split second.

"Stay close," he said. "Put your legs between mine."

She obliged, happily, burrowing her slender bare legs even further in. He took her hand and slipped it under his T-shirt, holding it against the comparative of warmth of his stomach. Her fingers were like ice.

"Is this okay?" she asked, kind enough to check.

"It's fine."

"I just don't want to be accused of sexual harassment."

"I'm not feeling harassed," he assured. But a moment later he realised she was being more professional than he was, and perhaps he should have asked the same thing. "Is this okay for you?" he countered.

"It's good."

"Let me know if it's not."

But she had no complaints, and with her flush against him, her breasts soft against his chest, his mind wandered again to a few places he knew it should never have gone. But a moment later she broke his unintended reverie.

"The sun's going to set soon," she observed.

It was indeed getting darker, the light sinking behind the mountain, and the shadows growing longer. Sunset would happen soon, within half an hour. The thought of a very dark night suddenly brought Grissom back to Earth.

"I know," he said, a little worried.

"We don't have any way of making fire. It's probably going to drop below freezing."

"We'll get through it."

She was quiet for a moment, and on his stomach, under his T-shirt, he squeezed her chilled fingers, trying to get both warmth and reassurance into them.

"They have to notice we're gone soon, right?" she asked.

For the first time, there was a little desperation in her voice, a tinge of concern.

"We'll be fine," he said, firm. "Don't worry."

But she sighed – a sigh with a thousand emotions laced through it, woven throughout. There was fear, concern, and no small amount of pain. For perhaps the first time, Grissom appreciated that Sara was an urban girl, not one who was prone to country trips or mountain climbs. He wondered all of a sudden why she had come on the hike, how Nick had conned or guilted her into it.

"It'll be okay," he said. "We'll be out of here before we know it."

"You think so?"

"It's just a few hours. Then we'll get you checked out, find a hotel, and have some dinner."

"Dinner?"

"If you're up for it."

He said it for no particular reason, other than to sound reassuring, but was surprised when a hint of a smile passed again over her lips, and she seemed to muster something from deep within, a residual humour that did not quite outweigh the circumstances.

"Are you hitting on me?" she teased. "A hotel and dinner?"

"I'm just offering dinner," he clarified.

It was an automatic response, and the instant he gave it, he almost regretted it. It was the correct response, entirely professional, but somehow his heart curled with disappointment, as though he had cast aside an opportunity. It was almost like kicking her when she was down.

"Pity," she said.

She gave a flicker of a teasing grin, trying her best to disguise the pain, and yet he still saw it rattling around in the backs of her eyes. The concussion was real; she was hurting.

"Are you hitting on me?" he asked, teasing back, and trying to lighten the mood.

"Do you need me to answer that?"

No, he didn't. Especially not when she was giving him so many odd smiles, when her legs were between his and her hands so comfortably under his shirt. Oddly enough, it felt right, and completely natural. A tiny part of him hoped that their rescue would take its time. Surely, once they were back, he would not get this opportunity again.

It was not a happy thought. And then, out of the blue, for some reason his nether regions did his talking for him.

"When this is over, I'll buy you dinner," he assured. "And you can consider that any way you'd like."

And for once, enjoying the stunned look on her face, he relaxed.

Maybe this wasn't so bad. This was going to be enjoyable, after all.

Thanks again to those who left feedback! This wouldn't be written without your support. :)