Author's note: I can't tell you how much I appreciate all the wonderful reviews. I came to a point where I had to decide to either give up on this story altogether because I just didn't have the time, or keep working away at it whenever I could. Your reviews kept me wanting to finish this. Now that we're heading into summer I have more time on my hands than I have in a long while, so if there's still interest in this, I'll continue soon. I hope the wait hasn't killed the interest in this story.

Also, I've done plenty of research, but I'm not a doctor (though I did speak to one recently about this story), and as such I apologize if anything from here on in is medically inaccurate.

Any and all feedback is helpful and a joy.

One other thing – I'm relatively new to this place, and it never occurred to me to include a disclaimer before. Clearly, though, these characters and CSI do not belong to me.

Moments of Truth

Chapter Four

There was an electrical hazard in the outlet on the north wall, locks on the filing cabinet behind the desk, a simple security system panel near the door, and not a single security guard in sight.

And none of it mattered.

Because this wasn't a crime scene.

It was a hospital waiting room.

Grissom sat alone and still, observing.

Partly because it was just who he was and what he did.

Partly because he was sitting there waiting for the sky to fall, and somehow the silence was loud, and he needed to fill his mind with something besides dread.

He cursed himself for being so knowledge-thirsty. Maybe if he didn't know so much, he'd be able to let himself believe that it was likely that the coming and going medical personnel would be able to save her.

He wished for the hundredth time that she had just let him come in to get the test results with her.

And then there she was, walking towards him, her eyes not quite focused, her jaw set in a line.

He stood, took a few steps, met her in the middle of the space between them.

His eyes never left her face.

Her eyes never landed on his.

He fumbled for the appropriate question.

"Is -- Did --"

"You mind getting the car?" Sara asked suddenly, pointedly. He heard the subtext loud and clear – not here, not in this cold place.

He nodded and took her gently by the arm, turning her toward the elevator.

They rode down in silence, and he sat her down by the main entrance and headed for the parking garage.

It took him about ten minutes to get there and back, and all the while one thought dominated all others – if the news was good, she would have met his eyes.

…

They said nothing on the drive between the hospital and her place.

In the quiet it seemed all he could hear was her uneven breathing; and by the time they arrived and he parked and turned to look at her, he wasn't feeling nearly as calm as he wanted her to think he was.

She was leaning back against the head rest, focusing on something – or nothing – out the window, the fingers of her right hand tracing the lock and unlock buttons absentmindedly.

"I waited too long." She spoke suddenly, her tone thoughtful, resigned. "I always wait too long."

"What did they tell you?"

She smiled a wry, rather bitter smile and turned to face him.

"The meek shall inherit the earth… something to that effect."

Grissom took a minute to absorb that, searching for the connection and failing to find it, wanting to help her but wanting to know her test results more.

"See, thing is," she continued, "The rest of us are just too damn stubborn to get help when we need it. The meek get a bad bruise, go to a doctor. The stubborn get a fatal disease…" Her voice caught here. "…figure they can sleep it away."

She was ready to break, and he could see that, but he couldn't focus on comforting her – his entire being was focused on getting answers.

"Sara… please… specifically… what did Dr. Reiser say?"

She drew in a deep breath, recited the facts.

"Hepatocellular carcinoma. Primary liver cancer. Directly connected to the Hepatitis C. In its advanced stages."

If she'd been looking at him rather than staring into the space in front of her, she'd have seen his expression darken, seen him stop breathing for just a few seconds.

Expecting the news hadn't lessened the blow.

But maybe there was still hope.

"Are they discussing chemotherapy?"

"Chemotherapy, radiation… Might buy me some time." Tears finally escaped her eyes. "Might not… So far my liver is still functioning at what he calls an 'acceptable level', which apparently means I don't have to be hospitalized. Yet. But, uh... liver failure... they tell me I'm heading full speed in that direction."

"Did they… As far as time, is there…" His voice caught, and he stopped talking and couldn't start again without breaking, couldn't even look at her.

"Can't be sure yet. Could be a year. If I'm that lucky. Could be a few months. Could be less."

A moment passed in silence.

"I've never been that lucky, Griss."

Her tone was matter-of-fact but strained, and he thought she might break down then, thought her quiet tears might give way to sobs.

Instead she swallowed hard and took more than a few deep breaths, and then gestured to the keys still hanging from the ignition.

"I want to go to work."

He looked over at her incredulously, even as he realized he wasn't really surprised.

"I'm not kidding," she added, just for good measure.

"Sara... exertion can expedite liver failure --"

"Then I'll have to be careful not to exert myself, won't I?"

He waited a beat before continuing.

"Sooner or later, the reality of this is going to hit you," he warned gently.

"Duly noted."

She turned back to the window, and it was clear to him that she was done arguing.

Reluctantly, he reached for the keys.

"No, Conrad, that's not the case here --"

"Not the case here? Tell me, Catherine, what does 'co-habiting' mean to you?"

"Look, let's say for a minute that Gil and Sara do have a... close... relationship. That doesn't mean that he can't effectively supervise --"

"Oh, come on! Put yourself in their shoes! If you and I were --"

"Conrad I beg you not to finish that sentence!"

Grissom and Sara exchanged a surprised and uncomfortable glance, stopping cold in the corridor as the words traveled around the not-quite-closed door of Ecklie's office. Grissom pushed the door more fully open and took in the scene. Ecklie and Catherine were both standing, facing off over whatever it was that had happened, and Greg sat quietly in a chair, looking chastised.

"Would anyone care to enlighten me?" Grissom asked when they'd all turned and seen him, and Sara, by the door.

"Misunderstanding," Greg muttered, and Ecklie waved them in insistently. "He just overheard us," Greg continued, "talking… joking, actually… about you two, and… the words 'practically co-habiting' might have sort of… come up."

Grissom nodded, taking that in, then looked over at Sara. She looked how he felt; almost amused. Any other day, this might be funny.

Ecklie sighed overdramatically and sat down at his desk, and Grissom knew whatever was almost funny about the moment was about to die a quick death.

"I don't see how I have any other choice but to suspend you both until I can rearrange the teams," Ecklie told them, giving them a look that they all supposed passed for 'apologetic'. It was an attempt at the sentiment, anyway. Probably an empty one.

Catherine gave Sara and then Grissom a sympathetic glance, her face silently apologizing for her small part in this scene much more effectively than Ecklie's ever could. She was about to suggest to Greg that they make a quick exit, but stopped and stared when Sara stepped forward purposefully and fixed a steely gaze on Ecklie.

They'd all seen that look before. If Sara wasn't suspended now, she was likely about to be.

"The only reason Grissom has been sleeping at my place, on my couch, is because I'm sick. Dying, actually," she spat, more angrily than Ecklie deserved at the moment. Grissom and Greg both winced, but Sara continued unaffected, smiling a cold, empty smile. "And miracle of miracles, someone actually gives a damn. Grissom. Gives a damn. But see, you don't have to worry. No need to spend all those confusing hours rearranging your precious lab, Boss, because I won't be a problem for you for too much longer. See, just a little while ago I found out I'll most likely be dead this time next year. Maybe even within a few months. So all is well in your little world, Ecklie," she tossed at him resentfully, determined not to show the slightest hint of any emotion weaker than anger. "May the lab rest in peace."

Even Sara wasn't entirely sure what she was implying with that comment, but it felt right, and she turned on her heel and started for the door. The sudden turn brought on a wave of dizziness, but all three of her colleagues were right behind her, and by the time she made her way out into the hallway Grissom had taken her by the arm and she felt steadier.

When she met each other their eyes in turn, the looks she was getting from Grissom and Greg and Catherine made her a little bit sick. She hadn't been that pitied in years, and she didn't want this now.

Sure, the fact was that she was dying. Unless she was very, very lucky, which she knew she wasn't.

She knew that. The rational part of her got it.

But like Grissom said, it hadn't hit her yet. And she couldn't handle this right now.

Greg abandoned all pretense of professionalism and wrapped her up in a tight hug right there in the middle of the hallway, and Catherine opened her mouth to say what would undoubtedly be something too caring and comforting for Sara's taste at the moment.

"I'm fine," Sara said as calmly as she could, cutting Catherine off before she could even start, and shrugging gently out of Greg's embrace. "I'm as fine as I'm gonna get. And there's, uh… It looks like this is all about to become common knowledge, and there's something I need to do."

She turned to Grissom when she said this, and looked at him almost remorsefully. He had to be sick of playing chauffeur for her by now.

"Should you be behind the wheel of a car right now?" Greg piped up, almost reading her thoughts. "I could give you a ride."

Sara nodded almost immediately, before anyone else could jump in.

"Thanks, Greg." She managed a tired little smile, thinking that maybe a ride with Greg would raise her spirits just a little bit. "I'm ready when you are."

"Your music or mine?" Greg asked, half serious, as they walked away together, and Grissom watched them go, not quite sure if he was annoyed to have been replaced even briefly, even as the guy driving her around because it was too dangerous for her to drive herself.

He felt Catherine's hand on his shoulder and turned to look over at her, and the sheer sadness in her eyes was nearly the thing that broke him.

He looked away, back at where Sara had disappeared around the corner, and pushed the desire to scream back down again.

"Sooner or later this is going to hit you."

He registered Catherine's gentle words, barely louder than a whisper, but didn't turn back to face her. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that he'd been saying the same thing to Sara all day.

"When it does," Catherine continued, "I hope you remember you have someone to turn to."

She left it at that, and walked off toward ballistics, apparently able to shake it off and get her mind back on her case.

Must be nice.

Grissom wandered down the hallway, the way Sara and Greg had gone, not sure where exactly he was headed.

Ecklie peered out of his office door, watching two of his senior criminalists walk off in different directions, not really surprised that no one had bothered to inquire as to a final decision about the threatened suspension.

…

"Jim?" Sara knocked on his open office door, and he looked up sharply. "Uh…" she forced a smile. "Working hard or hardly working?"

Brass held up the sports section of the newspaper as a reply, and she managed a more genuine grin.

"Lunch break," he mumbled.

"Secret's safe with me. How did things go with that Hellyer kid earlier?"

"Well let me tell you, I'm a little bit more interested in what happened with that Sanders kid earlier."

"Greg?"

"Yeah, that one. We got a full confession out of Hellyer --"

"Congrats!"

"Yeah, thanks; not the point," he said simply, dismissing the praise. "So, we leave the interrogation room, and Sanders isn't flying quite as high as he should be, so I figure maybe he feels bad that you were the one who spearheaded this thing and you weren't here for the moment of glory. So I tell Sanders, I say to him, 'you know, let's call Sara, let's get some chicken wings'. And scout's honor, I thought he might cry. So you know…" Brass leaned forward, gestured to the chair across from him. "I'm not gonna grill you, but --"

"That's the only reason you're the last to know. Uh, about this." She sat down and looked over at him, a little apologetic, a little appreciative, a lot saddened. "If you'd grilled me when everyone else did you'd have found out a while back."

He gave her a curious and vaguely concerned look, waiting for her to tell him what exactly it was he would have found out. When she didn't, he sighed.

"Well, you know…" His tone was one of explanation. "I always try to leave my brilliant interrogator side at work."

"We're at work, Jim."

"You doing okay?" Unnerved by the tears he could barely see in her eyes, he'd cut straight to the point.

She returned the favor.

"I have cancer." She waited a beat, watched a shadow come over his face. "And Hepatitis C, actually," she added. "I guess when it rains it pours."

Brass leaned back against his chair, breathed a heavy sigh, thought for a moment.

"You gonna be able to kick this thing?"

"There's a tiny chance they can keep me going until a cadaveric liver becomes available."

He nodded slowly.

And then for a while he said nothing, but unlike with Grissom it didn't seem to be because he was actively trying to find the right words.

He just waited. And then started up again.

"Anything I can do to make today less hellish?"

"I don't know about today, but sometime soon I'll take you up on those chicken wings."

He nodded, then shot her a slightly apologetic look.

"I don't think I have advice for this one," he admitted. "Broken families and the bottom of a bottle… that's about all I've got covered."

"Thought that counts, Jim."

"Yeah, well…" Several moments passed in silence. "Okay, so listen…" he said suddenly, leaning forward again, a hint of something that wasn't quite sarcasm briefly entering his tone, "Sentimental fool that I am…" The tiniest bit of a smile curved his lips upward. "I've got to tell you this much… Sometimes you make me wonder if maybe I could figure out the dad thing if my kid was willing to give me a shot."

She smiled through the renewed threat of tears.

"Thanks for that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She sighed, looking thoughtful and rather broken. "I'm in that place you're supposed to reach when you're nearing ninety and looking back and thinking about the mark you left on the world. You've got me thinking maybe I touched a few people who weren't corpses or victims."

"Oh, you got a few cops and criminalists, too."

"Good to know."

She offered him a teary smile, and he nodded sadly as she stood up to leave.

She stopped by the door.

"Ellie's a fool, Jim."

The words hit him hard.

And then she was gone.

And his ugly world was that much darker.

…

When Greg dropped Sara off at home, Grissom was there.

She wasn't surprised, but she didn't have to admit it just yet.

"Thought you'd still be at work," she told him, sounding far too normal for his liking as she slipped her shoes off.

He was sitting in the middle of her couch. Or was that his bed? Same difference these days.

He was so still it made her nervous.

"I, uh… changed my mind about work today," she told him. "I just talked to Brass… felt like coming back here. Actually, I felt like having a beer, but that would hardly help my liver now, would it?" She paused, avoiding his eyes as she wandered into the room. "I'm really starting to hate the word liver." She was starting to ramble and she knew it, but she couldn't quite stop herself. "Greg walked me to the door. Think he worries even more than you do."

She sat down next to him, and he finally looked over at her, turning his head so slowly it seemed unnatural.

"I can't do this, Sara."

Her breath caught in her throat, and a new kind of fear gripped her, and it was her turn to look away.

If there was anything she thought she could count on at this point, it was Grissom's ongoing support.

But she wouldn't force him, or guilt trip him. She wouldn't be that person.

"You don't have to do anything." She phrased the words carefully. "I've told you all along, you don't have to keep watching over me. I'm a big girl."

When she glanced back his expression was confused and surprised and a little incredulous, like he couldn't quite believe she thought he'd leave, especially now.

"I can't keep acting like today isn't that different from yesterday," he clarified, and she hoped he couldn't see her little sigh of relief.

It was all she had to cling to, really; this hope that whatever time she had left would mean more to her, because of him, than any of the time that came before.

"I'm done pretending." He was firm.

"We always more or less knew," she pointed out.

"Suspected. You always suspected what the results would be. Hardly the same thing. Don't you even want to talk about it?"

She stifled a snort, cut short her strangled laugh.

"Coming from you that's --"

"I have questions." He was too serious, too tunnel-visioned, to let her laugh this off.

It pissed her off that he was going to make her confront this, and she stood up and distanced herself from him.

She didn't walk away, though. She wasn't going to be that person, either.

"Is a living donor transplant any kind of option?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't have any family."

"What about your --"

"I don't have any family."

"Is there any chance a non-family --"

"No." She paused. "Not really."

"What if --"

"You think I didn't ask all these questions?" she nearly yelled.

"I think you wouldn't want anyone else to risk their life for yours."

"It's a non-issue."

He sighed, moved on to his next line of questioning.

"Did they give you any indication of when a… a long-term… hospital stay --"

"A permanent stay, you mean. That's what you're saying."

"I was --"

"You were whitewashing."

He stood up and approached her slowly, standing so close and looking so intense that it distracted her.

"Sara, we've got a matter of months --"

"So I've heard."

"You want to just keep going like this? Working, eating, sleeping?"

"You have a better idea, Griss?"

He kissed her.

Just like that.

It was gentle, and then it wasn't, and then it lingered, and then he looked at her.

And when he spoke his voice was thick with banished tears.

"Let me take you to dinner," he all but murmured, and she couldn't quite focus on his words when her mind was still shocked and in awe of the kiss. But she was pretty sure they were words she'd wanted to hear for years. "And maybe to the theatre. Not now, but sometime soon, let's just… we can just see what happens…"

She stared at him for a long moment, almost shaking from the sheer power of the day.

She finally knew things with her health were as bad as she'd feared.

She also finally knew that Grissom really was a fantastic kisser, and in a weird way it almost hit her harder than finding out she was likely dying.

For just a few seconds, it crossed her mind that for his sake, she should back off. For his sake, she shouldn't let him get closer. Not now.

But he was already too close, and they both knew it.

And she didn't want to be selfless tonight.

It was her turn. She kissed him, pouring all the emotion of the day – or maybe of the years – into the way her mouth played searchingly with his.

It was precious, and it was powerful, and maybe she didn't care if this killed her.

She knew before she did it that he would stop her, but with both hands on his back she pulled him closer, and a few seconds later she had his shirt untucked, and she wanted nothing more than to let her hands wander.

"Sara…" His face was nearly pressed against hers, and he breathed deeply. God, this was a challenge. "Honey, I don't think you should --"

"I'm sick of waiting too long," she whispered, and he wasn't sure if he detected a trace of tears in her eyes or not. Maybe he was just too close.

"Exertion…" he all but mumbled, and she shook her head in protest.

"I don't want to be sick tonight." Her eyes pleading, her voice breaking. "I don't want to be careful tonight."

She brushed her lips against his again, tentatively this time, just a hopeful little request.

"I just want to pretend," she finished.

It sounded like heaven to him too, right now.

Just to pretend.

Like the future wasn't real. Like there was only this moment. This little room. These warm bodies wanting more. Wanting everything.

He was done fighting.

He didn't say it out loud. Gently pulling her toward the bedroom spoke loud and clear.

They were both a little amazed, a little fascinated when they started touching each other.

It was slow and tender because it had to be.

After all the years they'd waited, it should have been different, maybe even reckless.

But maybe it was better this way, touching and teasing this carefully.

She had to stop him. More than once. Not because of pain, or weakness, or second thoughts.

Just to savor it. Just so it wouldn't end quite yet.

They both cried out when they finally finished, but they didn't speak after that.

He'd never had the words, and he certainly didn't have them now, and when rational thought returned to her, she was too lost in it to say any of it out loud.

They didn't need reassurances. Not of the verbal variety. There had been enough of that.

She stayed awake longer than he did, loving that he didn't seem to feel at all awkward about gently drifting off to sleep naked with her in her bed.

Maybe when you'd been terrified and devastated and overwhelmed and furious and destroyed inside all day, self-consciousness just didn't even register.

Or maybe they'd really come this far.

Maybe life was just a trade-off like this.

Months of this instead of fifty years of whatever it was they'd been doing before she'd gotten sick.

She mused silently to herself that it wasn't fair, and she cursed herself as tears filled her eyes yet again.

She wanted fifty years of this.

…