She was dying.
Flat on her back, Sara lay in the dust as she took stock of her injuries. Her back hurt – she had landed hard – but even more painful was the feeling of disintegration in her chest. Her lungs had imploded, the space a vacuum, and as she struggled to breathe Grissom talked down to her from afar, voice muffled.
"Sara?" he called, the word echoing, distantly. "Sara?"
There was a scramble in the dust, the sound of shoes scurrying as others rushed to her aid. She tried to crack open an eyelid, to open to her mouth, but neither worked.
"Sara?" Catherine called, straight into her face. "Sara, can you hear me?"
Sara was silent. Her consciousness was fading like urban lights being shut off for bedtime.
"Sara!" Warrick called.
He shouted like he was trying to shock her into life, but it didn't work. She sensed faintly someone touching her face – Grissom's large hands on her cheeks – but her head lolled between them, weightless like a rag doll, a dead body.
Abruptly, Grissom panicked.
"Catherine, hold her still! Warrick, her pulse –"
Hands snatched at her, stationing themselves, and as her brain flickered – light bulb dying – she sensed more movement: Grissom arched her chin, holding her there, and then after plunging his fingers deep into her mouth he replaced them with his lips, breathing into her.
It was rough, and not remotely romantic, but Sara felt a fleeting moment of panic as it failed to help her.
She scratched at the dust, a hand flat to the Earth, desperate.
"Shit, Sara, breathe!" came Nick's reaction, panic in the air. "Breathe, now!"
He grabbed at her ankles, hoisting them up high, to the background of Catherine's voice, hurling instructions.
"Keep them up high! Get the blood flow back –"
Grissom's mouth collided with hers again, bruising and desperate. He breathed into her, the air hot with body heat, and though the air did reach her lungs she felt no relief. It was a peculiar, terrifying sensation. She tried to breathe in, but her lungs would not work.
"Shit, Sara, breathe!" Nick echoed.
"Breathe, Sara!" Sofia instructed.
"Pulse is strong," Warrick said.
"Nice and deep, Sara, focus on us," Catherine instructed.
Again and again the motion was repeated. Grissom's lips smashed against hers, injecting oxygen, and though Sara tried hard to do it on her own, her body simply wouldn't cooperate. Her legs remained raised over Nick's shoulder, high in the air, and she gripped the ground with desperation, struggling to get oxygen.
It could not end like this. It couldn't.
"BREATHE, SARA!" Grissom cried.
"Just keep going!" Catherine reacted, half hysterical. "Keep going –"
Fingers curled into hers, scraping hers out of the dust, holding tight.
Warrick's voice hit her. "You're okay, Sara, just breathe for us. Breathe, can you do that?"
Sara wanted to – she honestly wanted to – but couldn't. Her body had given up on her, sick of six months of starvation and a week of bleeding.
Her head spun, helpless.
"Griss, want me to try?"
He sounded out of breath, heaving from the exertion of saving her life. Nevertheless he dived down several more times before he let Warrick take over.
When Warrick did take over his touch was different – slightly more gentle – and his angle was clearer. He tilted her head even farther back, and though it hurt her neck it gave the air better passage into her lungs.
"Breathe, Sara!" Sofia shouted, firm.
"Inhale, nice and deep!" Nick added. "Come on, Sara, don't give up on us –"
"She's not giving up!" Catherine said, voice hard as if scolding a child. "Sara, wake up!"
"My God –" Grissom said.
Something seemed to be sinking into him, and though barely alive Sara recognised the change: his hand in hers slackened, as if in shock, and he stopped talking, something paralysed.
"Don't give up, man, keep breathing!" Nick said.
"You can do it, Sara, wake up!" Sofia added.
There was a vigorous rub to her leg, as if Sofia hoped to bring her back by friction alone.
The gesture was desperate, utterly frantic.
"Shit," Warrick said. "Shit …"
She could hear him crying, swearing between breaths, in a mantra of terror.
"Keep going," Catherine said, bracingly. "Don't stop for anything –"
"If you get tired, I'll take over, man," Nick said. "Don't give up on her –"
"We're not giving up," Catherine said, though now there was a note of hysteria in her voice, a hint of a frantic desperation similar in its own way to the deadly silence in Grissom beside her.
As Sara lay there, darkness creeping in, she felt him numbly let go of her hand, it falling instead into the dust, where it lay there, motionless.
"Oh my God," Grissom said. "My God … Catherine …"
"Shut up, she can hear you!" Sofia scolded. Her voice changed. "We're here for you, Sara, keep trying … try to breathe …"
Her attitude seemed to shake the others. Grissom's fingers returned to her hand, the hold now crushingly desperate.
"Sara," he pleaded, though no more came. "Sara?"
His voice was uneven, faltering, and as Sara's lips bruised from the repeated CPR, she heard Catherine take over.
"Let me try," she said. "You're getting uneven –"
"No, I got it –"
He crushed her lips again.
"Let her try, man!" Nick said. "You're wearing out, let her go –"
"Keep the breaths even!" Sofia instructed. "As long as her heart's still good we can keep her alive –"
They seemed to rely on that, though Sara wasn't sure of the science of it, but nevertheless Catherine took over with renewed vigour. She heard Grissom make noises of strangulation beside her, whimpering, but it was several more breaths before anything changed.
Abruptly, a blockage in her throat cleared, and as the next donated breath came it shifted, and Sara hurtled around coughing into the dirt.
It was pain as she had never experienced it, terror on a whole new scale. She felt herself teeter literally on the brink of death – her lungs denied air – but then she coughed and gagged into the desert dust, and something abruptly cleared, leaving her mouth.
"Cough it out, Sara!" Warrick shouted. "Cough it out –"
"There you go," Nick added, voice desperate. "Spit it out –"
Hands held her head, helping her get a good angle in order for gravity to do its job, and they held her there, half on her side and half on her stomach as she coughed and gagged half a desert's worth of sand out of her mouth. The taste was grainy, the dust coarse and extremely dry, and it stuck to the insides of her cheeks.
"Breathe, Sara!" Catherine coached. "Breathe!"
Somewhere behind her Grissom had been numbed into silence. Possibly, he would never recover, though she did feel his hands on her with the others', holding her in place, his knee hard against her back to steady her there.
He hastily smoothed back her hair.
"Breathe, Sara!" Warrick encouraged. "Come on –"
"How much dirt did she swallow?" Sofia said wonderingly.
"Spit it out!" Catherine ordered.
Sara hacked most of it out, and when she stalled, gasping a few breaths, she felt one of them prise her jaw open, tilting her head and peering in to get a quick look for more blockages.
There were none; Sara felt that now, but had no ability to talk. The pain was incredible.
"Lay her down, let her rest –"
They followed Warrick's order, and she sensed something being shoved under her head, a folded piece of fabric to act as a pillow.
"There we go," came Warrick's voice, gentle now, "just rest …"
"Keep breathing," Catherine said. "Nice and even. "One … two …"
She counted as she held Sara's diaphragm, monitoring every attempt, and Sara desperately tried to follow her coaching. Even her panic attacks had never felt like this; they had never felt so dangerous. But the fabric pillow under her head was comforting – even if it did smell of masculine sweat – and the hands from her friends were soothing as they aided her.
"That's it, keep breathing," Nick said, having now lowered her legs to the ground, as she lay on her side. "You're doing good …"
"Nice and even," Sofia repeated.
She rubbed her leg as the others all held and rubbed various parts of her, and eventually the feeling of disintegration in her chest eased. Her lung cells stitched themselves back together, and though it still hurt, a piece of the terror abated.
"It's all right," Catherine said, voice gentle again now. "It's okay …"
"Monitor her breathing, Cat, don't let go," Nick said.
"I've got her –"
"Griss, you okay?"
Silence.
"She's okay," Warrick said, soothing. "She's breathing …"
Grissom's voice was small. "Is there damage? Is … Is there …"
She knew straightaway what he was thinking: expired air from a friend, though helpful, was still rich in carbon dioxide, a lethal poison. Brain damage was an option.
Every cell in her torso hurt, but still she fought to calm him, to find a few words.
"I'm … I'm okay …"
"Just rest," Catherine scolded, quickly. "Don't talk."
Nevertheless she heard an audible sigh of relief behind her, and Grissom's hands returned to her with gentleness. She could feel him shaking, though, his fingers lacking the confidence of only moments before.
She heard someone sniff, and then Warrick summed up the feelings of all of them.
"Don't ever scare us like that again," he said.
Catherine's hand was still gentle in her hair.
"Just keep breathing," she said. "Lie still."
Sara did lay still, and incredibly, nearly losing her life did not turn out to be the worst part of the experience. As she lay there recovering she realised that the ground beneath her felt different – devoid of the soft grass she had been laying upon at the time of their picnic, and instead it was made up of coarse Earth and stones which dug roughly into her side.
When her eyes were working she saw that the ground around her contained only dry tufts of grass, and that the sunlight, which her friends had bathed in only moments earlier, had now disappeared behind a thick overcast sky.
She fought to make sense of things. She remembered someone had been shot.
"Someone … hurt?" she gasped.
The words were accompanied by more coughing into the dust; apparently her lungs did not appreciate talking and breathing at the same time. A surge of pain seared.
"We're all fine," Nick soothed, squeezing her ankle. "All but you. You just rest, okay?"
But Sara struggled, her mind doing somersaults.
"Someone … shot …"
"Not one of us," Catherine clarified, still holding her diaphragm and rubbing softly.
"Him?"
"Yes, him," Warrick said. "Now just rest."
Sara allowed herself a moment's rest, talking taking it out of her, but a second later she had to know more, the question not dying.
"I don't … recognise … this landscape …"
She sensed Catherine hesitate, her fingers stilling for the briefest moment, before she seemed to decide to tell the truth. She sighed, a pained one.
"We hit the wormhole," she explained. "You passed out just as we shot him. Then we woke up here."
"You shouldn't have been on your feet," Warrick added. "You were too weak."
"It was just like last time," Nick contributed. "We all threw up, but then we realised you weren't breathing, you didn't stir …"
Sara tried to digest it. So it had happened again. Abruptly, without warning, and now that it had happened, she had no idea how she felt about it. The knowledge did not bring joy, only disbelief and exhaustion.
"Just rest," Catherine summarised.
But Sara still had to know more.
"Where are we?"
"Right now, we don't know," Grissom said, speaking at last. "Just keep breathing."
Sara's head spun; she felt weak and exhausted, she felt she could fall asleep right there in the dirt.
"Everyone okay?"
"Everyone's okay," Sofia confirmed. "We're safe."
Sara nodded, and only then did she rest. Unable to process any more, and her brain mentally depleted, she closed her eyes and rested. Her body shook, and she felt someone lay their coat over her, tucking her in.
"Take it easy," Warrick said. "Just lie still."
Decision was soon removed from her hands. While she rested the others sat with her, until after a while when the silence began to press in, and they unwillingly turned their minds to their next step. Sara could feel they were still slightly anxious – their hands on her still felt a little tense – and she was not surprised when Sofia got to her feet, and promising to be back in a moment, took a look around.
The others did not seem worried for her safety, and evidently they were isolated in the remote desert, and after circling around a bit Sofia returned, then with a few exchanged words set off with Warrick, mentioning something about checking a view from a nearby hillside.
It felt just like last time, when Sara had suggested the same thing, and the view then had led to them to the farm house, and their peculiar nine months of isolation.
This time, however, it led them home.
It was only moments later that Sara heard footsteps dashing back to them through the dust, and then Sofia's voice.
"Catherine … we have a road."
Grissom, his hand still holding Sara's, under the coat, was disinterested.
"We can take a look later, just let Sara rest."
"But this place isn't isolated," Warrick said, sidling up next to Sofia. "Griss … this road has cars."
"With Nevada plates," Sofia added.
Suddenly, Sara felt wide awake.
"Griss," Warrick resumed, "We're home."
XXX
What a dreadful day.
That was Sara's assessment of it later, even after things calmed down, and it was a long time before that happened. She had previously not let herself dream about a reunion, but she was sure that if she had, she would not have imagined it as it eventually turned out. Firstly, she felt none of the joy she had thought it would bring, and secondly, at the start, was in no shape to even absorb what was happening.
First, there was an argument, a verbal scuffle between Grissom and Warrick about the notion of going for help, and in the end, Grissom won. He would not let the two leave again until Sara was on her feet – or at least out of the danger zone – and to that end the others milled about almost restlessly, while Sara attempted to pull herself together. She was not that successful, lying there weak and trembling – the coat doing little to warm her – and Sofia hovered for barely a minute before she apparently couldn't take it any longer, and overruled Grissom's leadership.
"I'm going for help," she said.
Catherine visibly swallowed. It could not have been plainer that she was terrified of the group splitting, even if it was to save Sara's life.
"She needs help, Cath," Warrick said, hand to her shoulder. "We'll be quick, okay?"
"Go armed," Nick said, his gaze lingering on Sofia with worry. "You got enough bullets?"
"I do," Catherine said, handing over her weapon. "Take mine."
Evidently Sofia had emptied her gun at their picnic, as she accepted the fresh one without question. Sara lay there feeling miserable as she watched the two disappear over the next hill, weaving their way through the scrub, and it wasn't until they were halfway up that Nick dared to voice the fear gnawing at them all.
"Let's just hope this isn't another warzone, right?"
"That's a thought I can do without," Catherine snapped, and she shot him a death look.
She remained on edge, and Sara saw her visibly wrestle back control of herself, her hand tense on her thigh. She worked through it by focusing entirely on Sara, and soon resumed her ministrations of comfort, hand re-joining her diaphragm to monitor her breathing. Sara knew at that point that she had scared them, as in other circumstances she knew Catherine would not have kept it there that long, but now she seemed intensely focused, and her eyes had resumed their anxious dance that Sara had witnessed after her return several days ago.
Her attention flitted between Sara and the landscape around them, as though she felt vulnerable without her weapon and the others, and Nick silently put a bracing hand on her elbow, before slipping his hand down to hers.
"We're okay, Cath," he said. "We're good."
Catherine nodded – briefly – but neither of them relaxed until their two friends reappeared on the hill, and jogged down to meet them.
"We safe?" Catherine asked, straightaway.
"We're home," Warrick confirmed. "We flagged down a truckie, called Brass. Cavalry's on its way."
It all happened unbelievably fast, and Sara had no time to adjust. She still could not believe that they were so suddenly back, let alone that PD was on its way, and her ability to deal with it was weakened by her physical state. She was still unable to get up, and the others still seemed scared for her, Grissom clutching her arm anxiously. His knee in her back made her sore, and after a second she put a hand back, nudging him to move it.
"What's wrong?" Catherine asked.
"My back …" She winced.
"Sorry," Grissom said.
He moved it, and after that the long wait began. In reality it was only a few minutes – PD made it there in record time – but each minute felt long. Sara had never seen her friends so nervous, their eyes so jittery, and she knew it wasn't just Catherine who was thinking about their families. Sofia fell into dead silence, no longer bothering to comfort Sara but sitting there anxiously, and Nick was staring out at the landscape, as though his mind was a million miles away.
"How do you feel?" Warrick asked, after a moment had passed.
"Sore," Sara admitted. "Weak."
She shivered where she lay; her body was cold, the coat still not warming her. Catherine tucked it in further around her, talking as she did.
"Just take it easy. Brass will bring help. He won't leave us here."
"Catherine, what the hell are we going to tell them?" Nick asked. "I mean, about where we were, what happened …"
"Nothing," Catherine said, flatly. "We're too traumatised to talk about it."
"Which is more or the less the truth," Sofia said, quietly.
"That won't hold them for long," Grissom said. "We went missing on PD time, they'll want statements, our weapons, all the evidence. They'll probably think we were kidnapped, held as hostages."
"I don't think we can plan for this, I think we'll just have to make it up as we go along," Warrick said, looking worried. "Try to say as little as you can, without saying anything. Let's not indict anyone."
"Personally, I couldn't care less," Catherine said, looking as though they were quibbling over nothing. "I don't give a damn about PD anymore, I'm not dancing to Ecklie's tune. That's just some lame bureaucracy. I want out regardless."
"Let's not even talk about that yet," Grissom said. "Let's just take one minute at a time, say as little as you possibly can, and stick together."
Nick nodded. "We're definitely staying together."
There seemed no doubt about that at least, and even as they sat there waiting they remained all huddled together, little more than a hand's width between any of them. The group all kept glancing over their shoulders, scanning the hillside – all except Sara, who closed her eyes, exhausted. She sank further into the Earth, her body heavy and cold, and by the time the sirens sounded in the distance she felt worse, not better.
She shivered as she heard the sirens arrive, a whole squadron of them speeding in just over the hill, and as the tyres screeched to a halt and shouts sounded Catherine stiffened, en guard.
"No one say anything," she said. "Let's just get Sara help."
Her hand remained locked around Sara's, just poking out from under the coat, and next to her, Warrick stood, rising to meet the newcomers as they charged over the hill.
"Las Vegas Police!" the first shouted, sprinting toward them.
It was a partnership – a man and a woman in the familiar dusty brown uniform of the police – and they looked like they couldn't believe their eyes as they descended the hill, churning up dust with their feet as they headed straight for them.
"Is everyone all right?" the woman asked, holstering her weapon and getting straight down to business.
"Everyone's fine," Warrick replied, heading them off with hands raised. "Is Jim Brass coming?"
"Captain Brass is on his way," the man said. He was a middle aged man, one who had the look of being a father, and he looked down at Sara with concern. "Is she all right?"
He made to move around her, but Warrick stopped him, and Sara felt a fleeting moment of panic.
"Griss –" she said.
She could not have said why she felt such sudden terror, other than that she did not know these people, and that her experience of the last nine months had taught her that no one at all was trustworthy. She hated the way the man's eyes ran over the length of her body, however innocent that may be, and she did not like him even standing so close to them, only a few feet away.
"Cat –" she said.
She searched out for a hand, terrified, and the others immediately reacted.
"Stop right there!" Grissom said, flying up a hand to ward them off. "Don't come any closer, you're not welcome."
"We're here to help," the woman said, looking concerned but not budging. "We need to see if she's okay."
"She has a right not to be touched," Catherine said, ire raised. "You come any closer, you're breaching that right. We'll defend her if we have to."
The man stopped, and raised a hand with diplomatic sympathy. Evidently he did not need introductions.
"Catherine, I know you're scared, I know you've had an ordeal, but we're only here to help. We're on your side, okay?"
Catherine hesitated, as if suddenly unsure of herself, but when the male cop took a slow step further Sofia flew up, standing in her place.
"You put one hand on her, I'll break it," she said viciously.
Somewhere, Sara felt touched – touched by the brutal way in which Sofia defended her, but the cop looked only perplexed. He quickly bowed to her wishes – Sofia had a natural authority which demanded nothing else – and he took a hesitant step back.
"Put down your weapon," she proceeded.
The two looked down at their guns, dangling from their hands, and seemed only then to cotton on to what they were feeling.
"Okay," the woman said. She raised a hand like a surrendering suspect, and slowly lowered the gun to the ground.
Sofia's eyes did not soften, and only Warrick had any diplomacy left in him.
"I know you mean well," he said. "But at the moment you're just scaring her. We just need some time, okay?"
"Okay," the female cop said. Her eyes softened with sympathy.
"Leave your weapons here," Sofia said. "Go back to the road and wait for Jim. He's the only one we want to see."
The man hesitated. "We can't leave you, leave the scene –"
"She's your superior and she gave you an order," Nick argued, flaring as he stood with her. "You do what she tells you, okay?"
Sofia stared the man down, and he nodded – reluctantly.
"I want Brass and I want my mother," she said. "Anyone else right now we'll consider a threat. Don't make me act on it."
It was the female cop who seemed to have the more sympathy for them, and with a hand to her partner's back she urged him away, nodding with understanding.
"We won't be far," she said.
They left without any blood shed, and it wasn't until they were back up the top of the hill – more than fifty feet away – that the others even gave a hint of relaxing, Sofia sighing with relief.
Grissom looked awkward. "That could have gone better."
"Who the hell cares?" Catherine countered. "At the end of the day a man's just a man. I don't want them anywhere near her."
"We don't have to deal with them yet," Nick said. "They're not a part of this. Let's just keep them out, okay?"
Sara felt gratitude for their intervention, and kept a hand over her face, not wanting them to see that she had been scared into shedding a tear. The feeling she knew was completely irrational – and borne out of something which she did not even want to address yet, but thankfully all the others understood without her having to explain. Possibly, or probably, they were in the same head space themselves.
She stayed there on the ground for a few minutes longer – being comforted by Grissom and the others – until Brass at last arrived. Sara knew from the speed at which he came that he must have been traumatised by their disappearance – never in PD history had there been such a hasty rescue with so many sirens – but before they knew it, and before any of them had really calmed down, Brass arrived at the hilltop, and was collared quickly by the two cops who still stood there, standing watch.
There was a brief flurry of activity – hurried words and nods before Brass at last met their eyes from afar, and with a look to Sofia he visibly pulled his gun from his holster and raised it, before handing it over into the female cop's hands. He then walked with deliberate slowness down to where they sat, and though his eyes were watery and filled with pain, he did not lose his confident demeanour.
"It's okay," he said, stretching out his hands as he slowly approached. "It's okay. I'm here to help."
He stopped a few feet away, and had evidently been thoroughly warned by the two cops behind him, as he was careful to make no sudden movements, and no attempt to move into their personal space.
"I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe now, okay?"
"Thanks for coming," Sofia said.
It was a strange, stilted reunion, and Brass' eyes virtually bled for them as he stood there, taking in the scene, but Sofia wasted no time.
"Jim," she said, somewhat awkwardly, "My mother –"
"She's fine," he said, quickly. "She's on her way, okay? It'll be fine."
Sofia nodded, grateful, and Brass' attention turned to Sara, where she still lay under the coat.
"Is she okay?" he asked. "Is anyone hurt?"
"We're fine," Grissom said. "She's just weak. She's been sick the last few days."
"She just needs to rest a moment," Catherine filled in.
"Okay," Brass said, nodding with understanding. "I've got paramedics on the way. It's going to be okay. But is it all right if I take a quick look at her, check her vitals?"
He searched their eyes for permission, and Catherine hesitated.
"Sara?" she queried.
Under the blanket Sara clutched at Grissom's hand, sending him a message without speaking. She liked Brass, he meant a lot, but it was too soon.
Swiftly, Grissom intervened.
"I think she'd rather you didn't," he said diplomatically. "She's not ready. But I can assure you her vitals are stable – she's just cold."
"She swallowed some dirt," Catherine provided. "If you have a blanket, some water, that might help."
"All right," he said, looking glad to be of help. "I'll get those things for you. Hold on -"
He looked over his should as if he had half a mind to summon his subordinates, but then sensitive to their states, thought better of it. With a tender hand to Catherine's shoulder he stood, and left quickly to fetch the items for them.
Sara watched from her position lying down as he scaled back up the hillside, before talking to his subordinates. It looked like a rushed conversation.
"Sara, you're going to have to let someone take a look," Nick said. "I know it feels awkward, extremely uncomfortable being around these people, but you can at least trust Brass. He's good, he's a friend. And we're all right here."
"Just give her five minutes," Sofia said.
She looked strained herself, on edge as if she understood exactly what Sara was feeling, and her eyes lingered on the cops on hillside with alert distrust.
Catherine, too, nodded. "It's just a shock, it's too sudden. Let's just slow it down, okay?"
"Okay," Warrick said, reaching out to soothe her. "We'll take it real slow."
"We've been gone nine months they can wait a little longer," Grissom agreed.
More cops arrived. The air was alive with sirens and they came in waves, as though the group were a tourist attraction, a show not to be missed. They gathered at the hilltop, gazing down at them until someone had the sense to shoo them back, and Sara was grateful that Brass held them at bay. He returned with several blankets and water bottles, and Grissom spread one of the space blankets tenderly over her, and Brass too donated his jacket to Catherine, who was trembling. After that Grissom helped Sara sip some water, and Sara, feeling pressured by their concern over her, tried to appease them.
"I'll be up in a sec'," she said.
"Your body's had a shock, just lie still," Grissom said, hand flat on her to keep her down.
"He's right, just take it easy," Warrick added. "There's no reason to rush anymore."
With their permission, Sara indulged, sure that if she'd tried to get up she would have fallen dizzy anyway. The warm blankets and the opportunity to rinse her mouth had helped, and Grissom's hand was tender on her side, rubbing her waist and hip with masculine protectiveness. It was a reassuring feeling, but all in all, despite Brass' presence, little changed until another guest arrived a few minutes later, and out of nowhere Sara saw Sofia's eyes abruptly fly up, locking hard onto someone on top of the hill.
"What?" Nick asked, suddenly alert.
But Sara thought she knew: a woman had arrived at the top of the hill, and immediately Sara saw the family resemblance. Though Dianne Curtis had dark hair, and was a little older, she had the same appearance of effortless command, and marched straight up to the group of cops with horrified determination, before her eyes locked with her daughter at the bottom of the hill, and she seemed momentarily paralysed.
Sofia was practically shaking, and Grissom quickly took pity on her.
"Just give her a hug," he said. "She's your mother, you've been gone nine months, that's all you have to do."
In the end that was largely what happened, and though Dianne Curtis kept control – working hard not to lose it despite the tears in her eyes – it was still a touching moment. She descended the hill with the same careful slowness that Brass had displayed, and when she got close Sofia rose to meet her, and collapsed into her mother's arms.
"It's okay," Dianne cooed, holding her daughter tight, and crying herself – silently. "I'm here, it's all right … it's all right …"
Sofia did not cry, but she clung to her mother like a child again, and the hug they shared was long and heartbreaking.
"Are you all right?" Dianne asked, anxiously whispering into her daughter's hair, though Sara could just hear. "Are you hurt?"
"No," Sofia whispered back.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Not harmed at all? Nothing down below?"
"No."
Dianne looked like she had a hundred more questions for her, and Sara could have guessed what they all were, but over Sofia's shoulder her gaze connected with the others, and her eyes contracted with worry, her professional sensibilities kicking in.
"The others okay?"
This brought Sofia to her senses, and she pulled back slightly.
"Sara needs help," she said, anxiously. "She stopped breathing, she wouldn't wake, she's weak –"
"Okay," Dianne said. "All right –"
Cutting her short she put a hand to her daughter's shoulder, and though still not letting go of her hand, she led her down to kneel with her beside Catherine.
Catherine, for once, did not look disturbed by the newcomer's presence, and neither did Grissom – who accepted her without question.
"Sara," she said, carefully and respectfully, "my name's Dianne Curtis. I'm Sofia's mother, and a captain with the LVPD. How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," Sara ventured. "I'll be up in a minute."
"Are you hurt at all? Are you in any pain?"
"No."
"She's just faint," Grissom provided. "She needs to rest a minute."
"All right," Dianne said. "If we take that coat off, do you think it'd be okay if I take a quick look at you? Make sure you're all right?"
"That'd be fine," Sara said.
She instinctively trusted the others' judgement, and she knew that if she did not trust Brass and Dianne Curtis, she could not trust anyone. The others remained close as it happened, and in the end she had nothing at all to worry about. Grissom removed the coat, and Dianne probed her pulse, forehead, and key internal organs for a moment before she sat back, looking only slightly relieved.
"You feel dizzy?"
"It's easing," Sara said. "I'll be up in a sec'."
"Stop saying that," Catherine said, irritable. "Don't rush yourself."
"She's right, just rest," Grissom added.
"You have any trouble breathing?" Dianne asked.
"None," Sara said, truthfully. "I'm fine."
"All right."
After that, things happened of their own accord, like she was a passenger on a roller coaster. Dianne Curtis seized control, with their permission, and thankfully had a thorough understanding of their needs. There were several whispered conversations with the other cops, but she continued to administer their needs, rarely letting go of Sofia's hand. She found a box for Sara to raise her legs on, to help with her faintness, and Sara lay there on her back for a while – her hand in Grissom's – until she found her feet. At that point she sat up, helped by her friends, and though shaking, she felt a lot better.
It was only then that Dianne suggested bringing down a paramedic – one of the flock were waiting at the top of the hill – and it was a suggestion which was met with reluctance by the group.
"We're fine," Catherine said, shooting it straight down. "She's okay now."
"All right," Dianne said. "But I'd really just like to double-check that. We need to make sure. I'll make it a female, okay?"
"I know it hurts, Catherine, but you need to get looked at," Brass said, looking unmovable on this subject. "If you feel unsafe, I'm right here. You can trust me, you can trust Dianne, we won't let anything happen. I understand why you're uneasy, you've had an ordeal, but we need to take care of your health. I can't compromise on that aspect."
Catherine looked uncertain, and she swallowed again, still looking shell-shocked and traumatised by what had nearly happened.
Swiftly, Sara intervened.
"Brass," she said. "I know we need to be checked out, that there's protocols that have to be followed here, but I really think we just need another minute or two. It's far too much, we can't deal with strangers right now. We need a five minute calm down."
She knew she was the one that had swallow her pride and say it – none of the others had experience with trauma on the same depth that she had, and she was going to have to take the lead, and help Brass acclimatise to their situation. He was no help to them if he did not understand, and he looked grateful for her intervention. He nodded, and placed a calming hand on Catherine's shoulder.
"Is that what you need?" he asked. "That help?"
Catherine nodded – though unlike Sara she remained unable to verbalise it.
"Okay. Why don't you all stay here with Dianne, take it easy for a minute, and I'll be back."
He disappeared up the hill – undoubtedly to liaise with the waiting cops and ambulance crews – and Sara heaved a sigh of relief before her eyes found Catherine. She knew straightaway what was wrong – Catherine's eyes were hovering all over her like she was still shell-shocked by recent events, and she quickly moved up to sit with her, reaching for her.
"Cat, I'm okay." She rubbed her back as she held her. "Calm down, I'm okay …"
The others looked on with sympathy – Warrick also rubbing her back – but Catherine did not say anything. She had never been one for verbalising pain, and she dealt with it instead in silence, taking a few deep breaths against Sara's shoulder, a hand scrunching up Sara's shirt at her back.
"I think you just scared the crap out of us, Sara," Nick said, by way of explanation. "It was all too sudden, know what I mean?"
"Far too sudden," Sofia added.
Dianne Curtis held her daughter, not letting go.
"It's okay," she said. "It's okay to be upset. Just take some deep breaths, take a minute. Everything will be okay."
She dug in the pocket of her pants for some tissues, and digging a few out, passed them to Sara, who gave them in turn to Catherine.
"I'm okay," she repeated. "It'll be okay now …"
None of the others helped – they all appeared too deep in shock themselves – and once Sara had calmed down Catherine, she hugged the others too, easing feelings which she knew they could barely express. Chief among these were Nick and Sofia, who were both deeply rattled and slightly teary and clung to her like they had briefly faced their worst nightmare, and then Grissom, who seemed completely unable to even admit to it at all, and proceeded to deny his feelings, standing up to brush the dust off his pants.
Sara knew that was ominous, and that at some point or other she was going to have to deal with his deep feelings on the matter, but it appeared that he felt that with Brass and Captain Curtis witnessing, now was not the time.
After that, the inevitable happened. With a sign to Dianne Sara gave her permission for the paramedics to come down, and Brass escorted down two females, who appeared professional. Sara, acting as psychiatric interpreter, and a bridge between the group and the authorities, made sure they stopped a foot away and introduced themselves, giving Catherine and the group time to adjust, and then only when they looked ready to deal with it, let them in to examine the group.
Sara, flatly insisting she was okay, dodged being examined, but the others submitted to it, not having the energy to resist. Sofia, in particular, copped it – with the added pressure of not only the paramedic but her own mother, who now the stress had died down, wanted to take a look at her.
"Take your coat off," she said. "Let me look."
Something hitched in Sofia's throat – the same instinctive reluctance to remove her much-loved LVPD windbreaker that Sara had wrestled with only days before, after their ill-fated trip. She had suspected then what the cause was, and it reared its head again now.
"Just unzip it," Sara said, again acting as liaison when Sofia failed to move. "You don't have to take it off, just let your mom look."
Dianne gave her a quick glance, sensing something there that Sofia couldn't explain, but followed her lead. Sofia consented to it being unzipped, and the sides spread, adopted a look of barely restrained frustration while her mother examined her. She probed her stomach through the tank top, then her back and wrists (checking for ligature marks, Sara knew), but her eyes paused on the collar of the jacket, spotting the long-dried blood stain.
Sofia's eyes fell, avoiding her mother's.
"It's old," Sara provided, helpfully. "It's really old. She just cut herself a while back, but it's fine now. She just likes the jacket."
Dianne said nothing, but then gently closed the jacket.
"We'll get you to hospital," she said.
Sara had known all along that they were headed to hospital – the situation had no other outcome – but it had not been until that point that anyone had suggested it. Brass had seemed to sense that the suggestion could shatter particular members of the group, and wisely, he did not rush them. He assisted the paramedics in wrapping blankets around their shoulders, and passing out tissues, and a few minutes later Catherine softened toward him, and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Brass looked momentarily surprised, unacquainted with this new Catherine who was so freely affectionate, but he looked touched, and had tears in his eyes as he hugged her back.
The paramedics were actually very helpful, and Sara became aware that it couldn't have been their first foray into the world of psychiatric trauma. They were very comforting – slow speaking and constantly talking people through what was going to happen, and they gave them plenty of time to adjust. Nevertheless, when the inevitable suggestion of transfer to hospital occurred, it all came flooding back, and even Grissom immediately seized up, looking traumatised by a suggestion that they head straight into the heart of Las Vegas.
"We need to get you checked," Brass said, as gentle as he could be. "It's just a precaution, it's protocol."
"We're not going to Las Vegas, Jim," Grissom said, firm.
"I'll second that," Catherine said.
Brass looked at sea – not that Sara could blame him. It was impossible to explain that they had experienced a hostile Vegas in an alternate universe.
But again, she intervened.
"Guys, we have to go," she said. "There's no choice. We promised someone here that we'd get them to a doctor if we ever possibly could – we have to know everyone's okay."
She did not say it, but she knew they understood what she meant: that they had promised Sofia, months ago, that would get her head injury checked if a time ever presented itself. Sofia avoided her eyes, not wanting to admit to it in front of her mother, but Sara knew Grissom was a man of his word, and would not leave her to suffer a moment longer than they had to.
His face fell, visibly suffering at the thought of going back into a zone where Sara had been assaulted, but reluctantly he nodded.
"She's right," Nick said, softening. "We have to do it."
"Okay," Catherine agreed, reluctantly.
They suffered through every second of it, and Sara knew that if Sofia had not had a head injury, they probably would have refused to go at all. Sofia still did not confess it to the paramedics, or her mother, and Sara, knowing that it would come out at the hospital, did not rush her. After resting a few more minutes they were all coaxed into standing, but the next shock came when Sofia flatly refused to go in the ambulance.
"I'm not going," she said, nipping it straight in the bud where she stood.
"I'll come with you," Dianne Curtis said, still holding her tight, "it'll be all right."
"We won't let anyone hurt you," Brass added. "You'll get an escort all the way."
But Sofia flatly shook her head.
"I'm not going," she repeated.
This time Sara had to work hard to figure out what the problem was, and it wasn't until Nick echoed her refusal, and then Catherine and even Warrick, that she saw in their eyes what they were feeling.
Abruptly, she pulled Brass aside, needing a private word.
"What is it?" he asked, once they had retreated a few feet away.
"Is there any way we can get to the hospital without separating?" she asked. "Can you drive us?"
"Is that what that's about?" he asked, nodding to the others. "They uncomfortable separating?"
"We've all been close for a long while now," she said. "It's far too soon to even contemplate parting. It hurts too much."
"You want to ride together?"
"If we can, I think that might lessen the pain."
"All right."
In the end they compromised, and not unable to physically fit in one car, agreed to go in two – providing they drove close together the whole way. Sara had help from the paramedics in this; they were able to translate to Brass and his cops what the group were feeling, it being a standard symptom of trauma, and with their help the agreement was easily reached. Sofia, not parting from her mother, went with her in her SUV, and Dianne Curtis also rounded up both Sara and Catherine, seeming sensitive to their reluctance to being around men. Brass, in turn, took the others – and after a psychologically painful walk to the cars – having to walk past a herd of gawking officers nearby, they paused to climb in their vehicles.
Sara hovered near Grissom, physically pained at the thought of splitting.
"I'll be right behind you," he said. "It'll be sirens all the way, it'll only be a few minutes."
Sara nodded, trying her best to be brave, though she felt suddenly like a jittery nervous wreck.
"I know," she agreed.
Nevertheless they held each other tight for several long moments – Grissom kissing her on the lips as he drew her into his arms – and she had trouble letting go.
When it dragged on, the others gently intervened.
"It'll be okay," Warrick said, gently. "You'll be together again in a few minutes."
"Hang in there, Sara," Nick said. "It'll be okay, we promise …"
They gave her another minute before gently urging the two apart – it had been the first time they had split in their nine months away – and when she did Sara was crying.
Catherine and Sofia quickly took her under their arms, and helped her into the SUV.
"Stay strong," Catherine said, climbing into the back seat beside her. She looked much better now, and was already regaining her strength – Catherine was always helped by hugs – and she had had plenty while sitting there in the dirt with the group. "It'll be fine."
She curled her hand into Sara's, and a moment later Sofia climbed into the front passenger seat, Dianne in the driver's, and following the ambulance, the two cars set off.
Sara watched for a moment Brass' SUV behind them, checking that it pulled out with them, Grissom visible in the front, and seeing him nod to her she pulled herself back together, and fought to wrestle control.
"Take some tissues," Dianne Curtis said, and passed her a few back through the gap in the seats, briefly rubbing her knee.
"We'll be fine," Catherine repeated.
And Sara could only hope that they would be.