A/N: Okay so this chapter ended up being so long that I've split it into two. The next one will be posted in the following days. I really didn't mean for it to be so long, I'm not sure how but it all just came flowing out. I hope you like it, and if not, critique and tell me why! - Solomynne
Grissom was starting to get a headache. The shrilly voice of Marjorie Hudson was beginning to become more than he could take, and it was obvious that she wasn't going to let them so much as breathe on anything inside St. Mary's without a valid warrant. What was it that had made her attitude towards them change so abruptly? Sighing inwardly, he held up his hands in a sign of defeat, the words on Marjorie's tongue falling flat.
"Okay," he said tiredly, "But we'll be back with a warrant."
"You do that," huffed Marjorie, "You go get your warrant, and until then, you and your associates there can-" she paused, looking at Joslyn in confusion. The little blonde one was there, but where was the other one? Hadn't there been two before? Grissom had clearly noticed Sara's absence as well, and his eyes shot threateningly to Joslyn, who blinked back at him innocently.
"Where is she?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders in a "hey-don't-look-at-me" gesture, and said, "I don't know." And it was true, she rationalized, she didn't know where Sara was exactly.
She was spared being interrogated any further by a hollow thud that came resonating out of the small office near the entrance of the mess hall. Grissom and Joslyn looked at each other darkly before speed walking towards the office, Marjorie behind them shouting, "If that nosey woman has laid a finger on anything inside my office I will be suing your lab seven ways from Sunday!" Another, louder cracking noise came from the office, followed by a CRASH and Grissom broke into a run, Joslyn hot on his heels. He flew into the office and looked left, then right. Nothing.
The door to the emergency fire exit was swinging open, the bright light from outside blinding him momentarily. His eyes, adjusting, spotted something on the floor next to the file cabinet. A bloodied frying pan lay on the ground. He came closer, and saw an elegant, pale hand coming from behind the desk. He followed it to a graceful wrist, a milky forearm, a delicate shoulder…
"Oh God," he uttered, running to her. The entire left side of her face was bruised and bloody, her shoulder oozing crimson as well. She lay on her back, her right arm slung up over her head, skin pallid. Grissom felt something warm on his hand and looked down, only to realize that he'd put it in the small pool of blood that was collecting beneath her head. He vaguely registered the panicky voice of Joslyn yelling into her cell phone, and the clack-clack of Marjorie's heels across the floor as she ran for help. Those noises soon faded away until all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart. He reached out two fingers to the soft skin on her neck and prayed to God (something he hadn't done scince Holly Gribbs was in surgery) that he would find a pulse there.
Nothing.
The sour taste of shock creeping across his tongue, he put an ear to her chest, praying once more that he'd made a mistake, that in a moment he would feel the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath.
Nothing.
Quickly, he took hold of her face in his hands and tilted her head back, making sure her airway was clear. A bitter laugh almost escaped his lips at the thought that this, Sara lying half dead on the floor, was what it had taken for him to finally gain the courage to put his lips to hers. He breathed into her mouth, and then interlocking his fingers, he placed his hands between her breasts and began to perform CPR.
One, two, three, four, five…
He repeated the procedure three times with no result. Joslyn, now kneeling beside them, could only look on in horror, silent tears falling down her cheeks, as they waited for the ambulance. His mouth on hers, he breathed into her, willing his life force to somehow transfer over into her. Willing those beautiful brown eyes to open, that husky voice to say his name, that gap-toothed smile to spread across her face.
Her lips were white, her eyes had come open but they were rolled back in her head, unseeing. "Damn it Sara!" he hissed, his arms beginning to ache. He was pounding her chest now, with every ounce of strength left in him. "Wake up! Breathe!" He thought he might lose his mind if she didn't come back soon. And that's when he heard the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard: Sara Sidle giving a sharp intake of breath. The relief cascaded over him.
It was as though every cell in his body, every fiber of his being, had been holding its breath, and was now letting out a collective sigh. Her eyes fluttered for a moment, and she began to cough. Grissom put an arm under her, pulling her into a sitting position and putting a hand over the wound on the back of her neck. It was still bleeding profusely, and with a professional eye he calculated that she'd lost nearly a pint of blood. She groaned and opened her eyes, seeing him looking down at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. "Don't try to talk now. Just rest, we'll talk later." He wasn't sure if she understood at first, but then she reached out and snaked an arm around his shoulders, clinging to him. She buried her face in his neck, and he knew that she was trying her best not to cry. "It's okay," he whispered, pulling her closer to him, wrapping his arm around her protectively. The wound on her head seemed to have finally stopped bleeding, and he ran his hand through her hair, through the sticky blood, trying his very best to soothe her. The ever-intuitive Joslyn decided to give them a moment, and she stood, wiping her swollen eyes on the back of her wrist. She stood sentry outside the doorway to the office, making sure that no one except the paramedics would interrupt their privacy.
The two of them sat on the floor in silence, each wrapped tightly in the other's arms. Both of them were thinking of how close they'd come to losing one another, and that made them cling to each other even harder. The only sounds were their even breathing and the ticking of the wooden clock on the desk.
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The familiar wail of a siren in the distance became louder; gravel crunching under tires as the ambulance pulled into the parking lot of St. Mary's soup kitchen. Joslyn called out over her shoulder to Grissom to tell him the paramedics had arrived, and walked outside to meet them. Two men, one tall with sandy blonde hair, the other slightly shorter with a shock of black Irish curls, jumped out of the rig and jogged towards Joslyn, kits in hand. The taller one spoke first, "You the one that called?"
"Yeah," croaked Joslyn, the dried tears on her cheeks still evident. As the two men came closer they all began to walk quickly inside.
The shorter one addressed her now, "Something about an officer down right?"
"Well…" the truth was, her being new to the job, Joslyn hadn't known the proper code for "criminalist down" (if there even was one) so in panic she had used the code for "officer down" instead. "Not exactly. She's a CSI; we were here following a lead on a case. She went on her own to check out the back office, and that's when she was attacked."
"Do you know by who? Or with what?" he asked, trying to assess the situation. Joslyn shook her head "no". By this time they'd reached the door, the two men letting Joslyn lead the way to the office. They walked in to find Grissom helping Sara up off the floor, one arm around her waist to keep her steady. Barely able to stand due to loss of blood, she leaned on him heavily, wincing with pain as she tried to straighten out her shoulder. She looked up and saw Joslyn, whose face was pale with worry and streaked with tears. Sara was about to attempt a smile so as to let Jos know she was okay, but she caught sight of the two men standing behind her and stopped. Had her face not already been so pale, the left side badly bruised, all the color would have drained from it as she locked eyes with the taller paramedic that stood staring at her.
"Hank." She said simply. Grissom felt her body tense against his own as she stood face to face with her ex-boyfriend, the one who had been cheating on her, or cheating with her, rather. Hank was clearly a little nervous as first his partner, and then Joslyn, turned to face him, looking for some explanation to the increasing level of discomfort in the room.
"Sara," he answered, breaking eye contact. He was there to do his job, and that's what he was going to do. "I'd ask you how you are, but given the circumstances…" Sara chuckled softly. The whole situation was pretty funny, when you thought about it. This wasn't exactly how she had hoped to be looking when she finally saw him again, but there you go. Besides, being cuddled up next to another man wasn't a bad way for it to happen, in any case. Grissom, obviously not seeing the humor in it, stared Hank down with his steely blue gaze. "You really shouldn't be standing, Sar," Hank went on. "You've lost a lot of blood, and you could have a concussion. I want you to sit tight for a second while I go get a gurney."
"No, no that's really unnecessary, I'm fine," she began. He had to laugh at that. Only Sara Sidle could stand there with a bashed-up face, a blow to the head, and what looked like a dislocated shoulder, and say that she was fine. Knowing that he'd never win this one (he never did) he shrugged his shoulders in submission and said, "Alright, whatever you say. Let's get you into the rig and we'll give you a look over on the way to the hospital." Grissom, who was not really keen on the idea of Hank giving her any more "look-overs", continued to glare at him as they slowly made their way outside. He realized in their close proximity how good Sara's body felt pressed against his own; how right it felt. He wondered if she felt it too.
He helped her climb into the rig, and sat across from her as she sank onto the gurney in the back, leaning her head against the window. Hank climbed in after him, hunched over in the limited space of the ambulance.
"Grissom!" called Joslyn's voice from the foot of the truck. Grissom tore his eyes from Sara, who looked as though she might pass out again, (despite constant reassurances that she was fine). Joslyn stood in the parking lot, bathed in sunlight, her blonde hair streaming as she cupped a hand over her eyes. "Toss me the keys to the Tahoe, I'll follow behind you."
Grissom leaned forward to reach into his pocket, noticing for the first time that he was covered in Sara's blood. It flaked off of his hands as he dug in his pockets and tossed the keys to his young colleague. "Call the lab before you go and tell them what's happened, get them to send someone over and work the scene in the office."
"Okay, I'll meet you at Desert Palms!" she shouted over the noise of the engine as it turned over. "And Sara, try to stay out of trouble in the meantime!" she called, "I can't always have my eye on you!" She smirked her elf-ish face and left before Sara could think of a comeback.
Grissom watched through tinted windows as a blue-hued Joslyn climbed into the huge SUV and slammed the door. He saw her don a pair of sunglasses and flip open her cell phone before the ambulance turned and she was out of sight.
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The back of the ambulance was loud with the engine running, so it took him a moment to realize that Hank was talking to him.
"What!" he shouted, squinting.
"I said would you mind moving? I need to sit across from Sara to assess her injuries!" the younger man called back.
"Oh," said Grissom, moving out of the way, and feeling quite the fool. He watched as Hank took his place across from her, so close their knees were touching. Hank cupped a hand around Sara's face, tilting it so he could he see the damage. He touched her face gently, pressing here and there, feeling for broken bones. Sara closed her eyes, biting her lip against the pain. Hank moved his hands to the wound on her head; taking her hair and pushing it back so he could see the deep gash in her skull. One hand still holding her hair back, he reached across Sara to a drawer behind her and pulled out some medicated cotton swabs. She could feel his breath hot on her neck, and for a moment the memories that came flooding back to her were more painful than any physical wound she had sustained.
"How you doing?" he asked as he started to clean the cut.
"Fine," said Sara through gritted teeth, scrunching her nose against the pain. Hank pressed the cotton swab deeper into the wound, and Sara cried out, gripping his knee in agony.
"Okay, okay, we're done," said Hank, tossing the used swab into a trashcan. Sara was still bent over, both hands now gripping his knee, her breathing becoming shallow. Hank put a hand on her back, rubbing it gently, but Sara groaned and pulled away from him. She didn't want to go there. Grissom sat upright; leaning forward he put a hand on hers.
Reminding himself to file a complaint against Hank, he squeezed her long fingers in his. "Hey," he said softly. With the rumblings of the motor reverberating through the truck, she wasn't even sure that he'd said anything at first. Her eyes, which had been shut tight against the pain, opened to meet cool blue ones. She was still sprawled over Hank's knee, but she'd forgotten he was even there. The hand that was on hers rubbed a thumb gently across her wrist, cool and reassuring.
"We're here," said Hank, breaking the moment. Grissom held her hand for another second before releasing it, taking hold of her forearm to help her out. She still had to lean heavily against him, and he understood then just how hurt she must be, for it's not like Sara to lean on anyone for anything. Still, he knew better than to ask her if she wanted a wheelchair.
"Hey!" called a familiar voice. Grissom turned to see Joslyn jogging towards them, pushing her sunglasses back on her head. "How's our girl doing?" she asked Hank, putting a hand on Sara's arm.
"She's doing fine," replied Sara, wincing. Even the gentle wind on her face was painful.
"She's got a nasty cut on her head," began Hank, "she'll need stitches on that one for sure. I think it's safe to say that she's got a concussion, but the doctors will want to do a head scan to verify. And as for the shoulder, it's looks like it's been dislocated. It'll have to be popped back into place."
"Can we stop talking about me like I'm not right here?" stormed Sara. "Let's just go in and get this over with."
"Okay, Sara, we'll try to make this as quick as possible," spoke Grissom. "Just promise you're going to be co-operative with doctors. You need to listen to what they say, got it? I don't want any if your problems with authority coming through here."
"I always listen to authoritative figures, I just rarely do what they say," replied Sara, smiling despite the fact that the pain sliced across her face. Joslyn laughed out loud at that, throwing her head back and covering her mouth with one hand. Sara liked her laugh; it was deep, and throaty. One of those rich kinds of belly laughs that when you hear them, you can't help but join in.
They walked through the sliding doors of Desert Palms hospital, that unmistakable hospital smell of urine, disinfectant, and bed linens washing over them. Hank went to find someone to check Sara in, leaving the three investigators to fend for themselves. The waiting room was packed, hot and stuffy despite the air conditioning. A wailing baby's piercing cries shot straight into Sara's injured skull. The three of them stood close together, dreading the long wait ahead of them. Hank, who had been standing at the admitting counter, walked over to them with a nurse in tow. The slender African-American nurse, chart in hand, wore turquoise scrubs and a stethoscope draped around her neck.
"Guys, this is my friend Dana, she's the triage nurse. " Dana shook each one's hand in turn. "She says she can squeeze you in right away, since there's a head injury involved. I've updated her on your condition, so you're in good hands now." He faltered, not sure what to say next. "So…I guess I'll get going. Danny is waiting for me in the truck." He turned to leave, taking a few steps before stopping and saying, "I hope you'll be okay, Sara. I'm really sorry that all this happened." The words, brimming with ambiguity, hovered over them for a moment before the nurse Dana knocked them out of the air.
"Well, Ms. Sidle, let's get you into a room, shall we?" she said, starting off down the hall.
Sara, who had been staring after Hank, snapped to attention and they followed her to a small, bright room at the end of the corridor. Grissom eased Sara onto the bed while the nurse threw open the curtains, letting the sunlight spill into the room. She turned to face them, "A doctor will be with you shortly. I'm going to get the supplies we'll be needing for the sutchering, so you three can just sit tight for a few minutes, okay?" Not waiting for an answer, she left in search of a sutcher kit, leaving the three of them sitting in silence. Sara was on the edge of the bed, Grissom and Joslyn in two armchairs across from her. It was hard for them to look at her; no one knew what to say. After someone is a victim to such a violent crime, what is there, really, to say?
"So," began Joslyn, leaning forward, "You are eventually going to give me the story on Hank, right?" Her comment had the effect she'd hoped, Sara's laugh could be heard in the hallway.
Grissom cleared his throat and stood, "Perhaps we should take this opportunity to discuss the case." Sara and Joslyn locked eyes, one pair of deep brown eyes rolling in exasperation, and another green pair bright with laughter. "So," Grissom went on, "What do we know so far?"
"We know that Marjorie Hudson is hiding something from us," Sara responded. "The question is: what? Or better yet: why?"
"She's gotta be covering for someone," Joslyn joined in. "And my money's on the Senator. Did you see her face when she found out that Trinity Wescott was dead? She was scared. And she completely shut down after she let slip that the last time she saw Trinity was when she was her father."
"So you think it's possible the Senator did it?" Grissom asked her. "To what end? As far as we know he has no motive."
"Pity points?" Sara said, "There's an election coming up. Maybe he thought if something happened to his daughter people might be more inclined to vote for him, because they felt sorry for him."
"But do you really think he'd go so far as to kill her?" Grissom asked.
"We've seen people kill for less," Sara replied. Grissom nodded in agreement.
Joslyn shrugged, "Maybe he didn't mean for it to go that far. He might've had something like a staged kidnapping planned, and she didn't want to go along with it."
"Or it's possible that something went wrong," said Sara.
"Something definitely went wrong," came an unfamiliar voice. Everyone looked to the doorway. The speaker was a tall browned haired man in a white coat, looking back at them from dark eyes. He walked inside and regarded Sara's face. "Look at this bruising, someone really went to town here," the doctor commented, cupping a hand under Sara's chin. "These bruises go all the way to the bone."
"Yeah, a frying pan will do that to you," said Sara sarcastically. Joslyn winced at this new bit of information, not having seen the weapon of choice on the ground. Dana, the nurse, entered the room with an armful of medical supplies, greeting the doctor with a smile. "I see you've met Dr. Daniels. I have everything we need here Jack."
Sara raised her eyebrows, "Jack Daniels?" The doctor sighed.
"My parents' cruel idea of a joke," he said. Sara laughed as he continued to examine her.
"Alright Ms. Sidle if you could just remove your shirt, I'll take a look at your shoulder." Grissom turned to leave, but Sara looked up him and wordlessly shook her head. She wanted him to stay with her. Joslyn stood and helped Sara work her way (with some difficulty) out of her blood stained shirt, revealing a lacy black bra. The sunlight flowing in from the window made her pale skin glow, her smooth, sleek back shining brilliantly.
Her shoulder was much worse than Grissom had suspected, and he stood in wonder at the fact that she could be so composed after suffering such a violent attack. Then the thought came to him that, given what she had told him about her childhood, she was probably used to it. The idea of this as she sat, broken and exposed, on the hospital bed made his heart ache more than she would ever know.