They lay there quietly for an hour, or thereabouts. He propped his head up on his backpack, to use as a pillow, and under the blanket he kept a hand on Sara's waist, holding her. He thought it best to let her doze, and not disturb her, and instead he listened to the wind as it gusted up the mountain with increasing ferocity. Every so often the wall of the tent flapped violently, and he watched it, concerned.
Outside, he could hear the voices of his colleagues, huddled around the fire, and they talked quietly, the radio intermittently sounding with various calls from the race officials, until eventually he heard a shout through the canvas.
"Yo, Grissom!"
It was Warrick.
"What is it?" he called.
Next to him he felt Sara stir, having briefly fallen asleep, and she sighed, irritated. He rubbed his hand briefly on her waist, reassuring her.
"The drugs squad and homicide are on their way with some blankets and supplies. We're going to go meet them on the trail, lead them out."
"All right."
"How are you doing?" Catherine asked. "Is she okay?"
"We'll be all right," he assured. "You go."
"Okay, we'll be quick," Nick promised.
"We'll be here."
He heard them gather their things and leave, clambering their way up the hill in the dark. The torch light shone briefly on the sides of the tent as they left.
Now, there was only the whistle of the wind, and next to him, Sara sighed.
"We'll be here," she repeated, sounding depressed. "As if we'd be anywhere else."
"Stay positive," he said. "You'll be fine. They'll send help at dawn, we'll get you out of here."
"So they said."
"Stay positive," he repeated.
"I'm doing my best."
She shifted, getting a more comfortable position. She winced and grimaced, and he let go briefly while she adjusted before holding her again.
"I'd like to know how you're feeling, if you're up for telling me," he queried.
He still recalled her dislike of the question an hour earlier, and yet he had to ask.
"I feel like I've been pummelled with a sledgehammer," she replied, bluntly.
The response silenced him. He said nothing, unable to find any words that would help, and instead held her. After a moment she did not seem to even need a reply.
"Do you think they'll bring painkillers?" she asked, a tinge of hope in her voice.
"I hope so," he replied.
"You'd think a drugs squad would have drugs."
"Perhaps they will."
It was a feeble joke, but he was at least glad that she was still up for making them, weak as they were. A part of him missed her cheeky humour from earlier that day, when she had freely flirted and overtly enjoyed his company, and he willed for that brief, carefree time to come back, somehow.
As it was, she was injured – that was in part his fault – and they had to wait it out until dawn.
Abruptly, he felt moved to apologise.
"I'm sorry I got you into this mess," he said, softly.
"I signed up for this calamity of a hike of my own free will," she replied.
"I tempted you into the water."
"I don't remember. And given I don't remember, I'm hardly likely to hold it against you."
That hardly eased his conscience, but a part of him checked himself. Now was not the time to ask for forgiveness. She had other problems – ones which were much far more pressing.
"I'm sorry regardless," he said.
"I'm not," she said.
"You just said you felt as though you'd been pummelled with a sledgehammer."
"There's compensations," she said, and the humour and flirtation was momentarily back in her voice. "You're pressed up against me under a blanket. That's further ahead than our relationship was a week ago."
He couldn't help but agree, but still he felt hesitant to admit to it out loud.
"I wish it was under different circumstances," he ventured.
"It can be."
She let the thought hang, and it sat there in the air for several minutes while he contemplated the invitation, not knowing what to do with it. In the end, she sniffed, wriggled again, and did not seem to demand a reply. Like usual, she seemed to gain pleasure – even just a little – from keeping him off balance. He had to admire her confidence, her brazen flirtation.
In the end they lay there for a while, another twenty or thirty minutes, until he eventually heard the tell-tale signs of a horde of people pelting up the riverbank. There were frantic words as they jogged, someone was panting, out of breath, and then a cluster of torch beams jiggled over the side of the canvas tent, illuminating them.
Sara inclined her head slightly.
"They're back."
He was about to reply when he heard Catherine yell.
"Grissom! Can we come in?"
"Come in," Grissom assented.
The zip of the tent flew up, and then Catherine appeared, looking awkward as she shuffled in in a hunched position, carrying a bag of gear and a flashlight. She immediately made way for the crowd – including not just Nick and Warrick, but also Detective Vartann, Detective Curtis, and two other detectives that Grissom did not know yet already had a debt of gratitude for.
He did not doubt that it had been a heck of long way for them back up the mountain, after already undertaking a ten hour hike, and the self-sacrifice that it must have taken was very much present in his mind.
"Thank you for coming," he said.
He sat up, tucking the blanket back in on Sara.
"Damn," Vartann said, summing up the scene with a heartfelt look. "She doesn't look good."
"If you came all this way to tell me I look like shit, then please head back," Sara said, polite, but apparently joking – a little.
"We came all this way because we're concerned," Vartann replied. "And I can see the concern is justified."
"Thanks for the summary," Sara said, terse.
"She's in a little pain," Grissom said, trying to explain. "The concussion can cause some irritability."
"And having to wait until dawn doesn't help," Nick said, sympathetic.
"We'll get through it," Catherine said, with a brave intake of breath.
"Is concussion the only injury?" Sofia asked.
"She got thrown around a lot in the water," Grissom said. "There's a lot of bruising. She can't walk."
"She keeps complaining she's cold, too," Warrick added. "She has mild hypothermia."
"Take the sleeping bag," Vartann said, unearthing one from his huge pack. "Put her in it. And some blankets."
He passed the pile to Grissom.
"Thanks," he said.
"Brace her and keep her still," Sofia added. "And someone should stay with her at all times."
"We can take turns," Nick agreed. "It's still about nine hours until dawn."
Sara gave a small sigh, not welcoming the news on the timeframe.
"I'll stay a while," Grissom told the crowd.
Vartann nodded. "We'll put up another tent. This wind's brutal. We need to make sure we don't all get hypothermia. It's going to be a cold night."
"I'll call the race officials," Sofia said. "Provide an update."
The detectives all left the tent.
Catherine shuffled forward.
"Come on," Catherine said, stretching out a kind hand to Sara. "We'll help you get into the sleeping bag."
Sara sat up, and apparently regretting her testy attitude, looked at the group with sudden kindness.
"Thank you for coming all the way back up here to help," she said, looking at them with a heartfelt expression. "I really do appreciate it."
"You're welcome," Warrick said.
"Thank us when we're out of here, okay?" Nick said, chirpy and dismissive. "You're not out of the woods yet."
"Yeah," Sara said. "Literally."
And shuffling over awkwardly into the sleeping bag, she lay down, and closed her eyes. Her body seemed to sink with restrained frustration.
Catherine zipped up the sleeping bag, Nick threw a blanket on top, and Grissom tucked it in.
He then sat beside her, within reach, and prepared to wait it out.
Somehow, it wasn't funny anymore.
Not that it ever had been. But still. Dawn couldn't come soon enough.
XXX