Fireworks were exploding inside his skull. That was the only possible explanation for the flares of agony battering his mind. They were tempered only mildly by the red hot poker that was lodged in his arm. He let out a gasping groan; a sound that rattled in his throat and emerged only as a feeble and unrecognizable tone. There was a rustle of cloth nearby; a voice murmured sounds that held no meaning to his pain addled senses, and then came light pressure before a cool feeling wiped away the torment and pushed him back into the dream world.

…

Candy opened her eyes, momentarily confused by her surroundings, before a rush of unpleasant thoughts came tumbling back to her. Rather than go home the night before, she had simply crawled into the guest bed at Sara's. She was surrounded by animals; Sammie, Hank, Lucy, Romeo and Juliet were all tangled around her. Socks was curled on the chair across the room, watching her with lost, accusing eyes. Candy sighed and sat up slowly, burying her fingers in Sammie's soft fur. Her phone beeped and she glanced down at it; it was just her alarm clock, not the hospital. She and Mary were going to talk to Doctor Thistle later, but for now the silence meant there was no additional cause for worry.

…

The intensive care ward was quiet and still. Machines hummed and emitted low beeps, nurses bustled about checking, rechecking, administering aid and offering soothing care to those aware enough to need it, but despite the activity, it was still a tranquil setting. The occasional emergency brought with it a flurry of activity and sound, but generally voices were muted and actions gentle. In room three-eleven the patient was cocooned in a sterile environment; the light was dimmed, the room warmer than usual and the woman slept deeply, rendered unconscious by medicine to help her heal.

Sheila Watkins, a nurse of many years, gently sponged away blood and grime from the accident that had brought her this particular patient. Her delicate touch uncovered beautiful pale skin under the messy evidence of the woman's trauma. As she worked Sheila murmured compliments and news to the woman, her soft musical voice a pretty contrast to the hissing of the ventilator.

Reaching the left hand, Sheila pulled away the tape that had been wrapped over the wedding ring on her guest's third finger; with it came the ring. Sheila sponged the golden band clean and went to return it to its rightful resting place when she noticed something on the inside. Holding it close to her face she was able to make out the tiny letters engraved there: Ex Animo.

"Latin, my dear?" she asked, "I wonder what it means." Her patient carried on sleeping.

…

Stretching her legs out in front of her with a happy sigh, Sara leaned back against the trunk of the rowan tree she was sitting against and closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the sounds of nature. She and Grissom were hiking along a trail in the Lands End Park of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area and had stopped their explorations for a picnic lunch. Gil divided up the sandwiches while Sara unearthed bottled water and granola bars from the backpack.

It had been a year, Sara thought. A year since she had cracked and Gil had stepped into her life fully, helping glue the broken edges back together. A year since Adam Trent, and the actions that had really cemented the two of them into one. Sara's thoughts meandered over the last year; easily the happiest of her life so far. She smiled softly as Gil settled back against the tree, kissed her temple tenderly, and handed her a PB and J.

They had orchestrated four days away together in San Francisco by accepting separate proposals to speak on their specialist subjects at a multidisciplinary science convention, after which Sara had waited until assignments to ask permission, in front of their coworkers and the Assistant Lab Director, whose coffee mug just happened to be empty, for the time off to attend. Gil had acted surprised, and stated it may not be possible, as he had also been asked to lecture. Ecklie had rolled his eyes, and stated that in the interest of the reputation of the lab and the positive reflections their work had on public image, he would find someone to cover for them both. They had nearly laughed themselves silly over his speech when they returned home in the morning.

Sara was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice at first how quiet her companion was keeping. Glancing over at him, she saw a faraway, unseeing expression on his face. His sandwich lay in his lap, untouched but for one bite, and he absently drew in the dirt between them with the tip of his index finger.

"Ex Animo," she read aloud, her gaze on his drawings. He started, and looked up at her. "It's Latin," she continued, her head cocked slightly to the side as she studied him. "It means, 'from the heart.'"

He cleared his throat softly, unsure of how to proceed.

"Yes," he replied, a slow smile on his lips as he looked at her and the lovely picture she presented, her hair windblown, her eyes sparkling with the pleasure of being outside among nature, and a tiny blob of escaped jam at the corner of her mouth. He leaned in to kiss it away, and stayed for much longer than he had intended. When he drew back she stared at him, eyes hazy with love.

"So why are you doodling Latin in the ground Gilbert?" she asked a few minutes later when he'd said nothing. He sighed and put down his sandwich.

"I'm not good with feelings," he admitted slowly, "at least, not talking about them. But I've been trying to figure out how to tell you something."

"Something from the heart?" she asked, slightly bemused. He nodded and sipped some water. "Why don't you just tell me? Do you need to think about it? Or do you know what it is?"

"Oh I know," he said with conviction, "I'm just not good with the words."

"Whatever you say Shakespeare," she replied, reaching for another bite of her lunch.

"I love you," he blurted out suddenly. Sara turned to stare at him, lowering her sandwich slowly back to her knees. "I love you," he said again, much more calmly. "I do, and I wish I had told you before; I should have, but the words wouldn't come out right. I love you, from my heart and soul and every fiber of my being. For eternity and beyond."

…

Candy and Mary were waiting to see Gil's surgeon when a nurse stuck her head into the waiting they had been directed to.

"Mrs. Goodwin? Miss Peters?" she asked, looking over at them. They stood and walked over to her. "Doctor Thistle has been called in on an emergency case, so I'm afraid she's unable to speak with you at this time. I have got some good news for you though; Gil Grissom was awake earlier, very briefly. He can have visitors, though I would recommend one at a time." Mary turned to Candy,

"Why don't you sit with him? I could do with getting some paperwork done." Candy looked guiltily up at her. Mary smiled and put a hand on her shoulder, "It's fine, I'd rather you were here with them than at your desk; besides, Sara's systems have made it really easy for anyone to step in and take over the basics. You keep your concentration here and call me if anything happens. I'll be back later." A swift farewell and she was gone. The nurse took Candy in to sit with Gil.

"He's doing real well," she said softly in a broad accent. "His vitals have been stable since around midnight, and he'll probably be getting that chest tube out this evening. He woke up once, but he didn't say anything, or know where he was. That's normal though, waking up after a head trauma can be a long process."

Candy sat quietly next to Gil, her eyes lingering over the damage. He was cocooned in light blue hospital blankets and white bandages. Two strips of white padding covered the gashes on his head, bright blue and purple bruises were emerging on his face and neck with vibrant intensity and the tubes of a nasal cannula were hooked behind his ears, feeding oxygen into his nostrils. Heavy bandaging encased his left arm all the way up under his hospital gown, peeking out of the neckline.

His mouth was open and he was drooling slightly; smirking slightly to herself, Candy picked up a tissue from the bedside counter and wiped his cheek for him. Gil stirred, taking a deeper breath and letting out a muffled sound. His eyes flickered open and Candy leaned in to catch his gaze.

"Hey Griss," she greeted him; he stared back, his eyes hazy and slightly unfocused. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly, pressing a small button into his hand how the nurse had explained. "I bet you have a serious headache, well if you press this it'll get you nice and high on morphine. She curled his fingers around the plastic, nodding and smiling at him when he squeezed, though he seemed to be in too much pain to recognize her. Moments later his eyes were closing and he was asleep again. With a sigh, Candy slipped back into her chair.

A pattern began to emerge; every half hour or so Gil would wake up, confused and unaware, and Candy would help him with the morphine diffuser, sending him straight back to sleep again. Around three in the afternoon Doctor Fielding walked in.

"Hi Candy," he greeted her as he glanced at Gil and scanned the machinery. "Gil here seems to be doing well," he acknowledged.

"He's a little more coherent than he was this morning, but he's still really out of it."

"That's normal, it'll take him a while to really come round; he got a nasty blow to the head."

"Are you here about Sara?" asked Candy, desperate for information.

"She's stabilizing well," said Jacob with a smile. "I think she'll be ready for surgery tomorrow morning, maybe this evening. She's breathing well, her body temperature is back up and her blood chemistry is settling down. Her blood pressure is still not where it should be, but it has improved. Some really good news is that the stitches are holding, and she hasn't developed any other bleeding."

Candy nodded bleakly, having ingested far too much medical education in the last day and a half to feel great enthusiasm until all three of her friends were firmly out of the woods. Jacob left, and Gil woke again, muttering to himself. Candy caught a few odd words, "clouds… pocket watch… caterpillar… magma… spitfire… parabolic hyperbole… Hippocrates… fire ants… donkey," and sank back into her chair when he helped himself unconsciously to some more pain relief. Pulling out her sketchbook she let her thoughts go and her pencil roam.

…

It was late afternoon when Mary arrived, standing in the doorway for a moment, struck with how grim Gil looked with all the bruises and bandaging.

"Anything new?" she asked, swallowing back her shock and making her way to Candy's side.

"He's waking for longer each time, but still not making any sense," replied the girl. "I've heard nothing about the baby, but Sara is improving steadily." Gil groaned and moved his right hand in irritation. Without opening his eyes he began to mumble.

"I felt a funeral in my brain,

And mourners, to and fro,

Kept treading, treading, till it seemed

That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,

A service like a drum

Kept beating, beating, till I thought

My mind was going numb."

"Ok," said Candy, an eyebrow raised. "Well, that's the most he's said yet, but it didn't make any sense to me." Mary laughed.

"It's a poem, by Emily Dickinson. It's about a migraine; he has a headache!"

"I'm not surprised," said Nurse Joan, walking in on her rounds. She ran through her tests and checks as Gil slipped back into slumber. "He's fine, he'll start waking up properly soon." She examined his broken arm, checking his circulation, then smiled at them and left.

"Why don't you go for a walk?" asked Mary, "I'll stay here for a bit." Candy agreed, and set out for the NICU, walking briskly to stretch her legs. Upstairs, she found the baby care ward with ease, and approached apprehensively. Standing at a door she stared through a glass pane into a room of incubators and nurses in brightly decorated hospital scrubs.

"Can I help you?" asked a voice from behind. Candy turned; it was the doctor from yesterday, the one that worked in the emergency room. Jessica saw the girl's face and smiled softly. "Hello again, you were here yesterday weren't you? For the pregnant woman and her husband in the car accident! It's Candy, isn't it?"

"It is, and thank you again for everything you've done for Sara and Griss," replied Candy.

"What are you doing up here?" asked Jessica.

"My boss is listed as Sara's secondary emergency contact, and because she's incredibly busy, she asked that I be kept informed as well. But we don't know anything about the baby," sighed Candy, frustrated. Jessica frowned slightly, thinking.

"Let me see if there's someone inside who can talk to you," she said thoughtfully, "I don't know what the rules are in this situation, but I'll give it a go. Wait here for me, I won't be long."

Jess vanished through the doors, and Candy leaned back against the wall with a sigh, crossing and uncrossing her fingers for luck. She was just dozing on her feet thanks to a mostly sleepless night, when Jessica reappeared with a nurse.

"I'm Rachel Harrison, a neonatal nurse."

"Candy Peters," sighed the girl, "I'm Sara and Gil's friend and I'm the appointed go-between for my boss, who is Sara's secondary emergency contact."

"I've met Sara," admitted Rachel with a smile. "A few weeks ago at the Dean's party; it was my soon-to-be-ex-husband's fault she ended the evening in the ER." Candy gaped at her momentarily. "I'm sorry she's back here, and Gil too; I had such a nice time chatting with them."

"What can you tell us about the baby?" asked Jessica, seeing Candy was struggling to get her thoughts in order. Rachel sighed.

"Not much I'm afraid. Mrs. Goodwin is only an emergency contact for Doctor Sara Grissom, she does not have any authority over medical decisions, and at this time we do not have parental consent to release information about the minor child. I'm sorry, I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but until we get permission from Gil or Sara there is nothing I can tell you beyond the fact that she's been stabilized."

There was regret and understanding in Rachel's face, but also the professional adherence to patient confidentiality laws. Candy thanked her anyway, and trudged back down to Gil's room, her mood black. Couldn't she just get a single break in the grim situation? Some good news? Anything positive? She slumped back in her chair and read the note scrawled in Mary's haphazard calligraphy.

Candy- sorry to run out on you, Joey's principal called me to fetch him from science club; something to do with blowing out a crater on the athletics field. Call me if anything changes, Mary.

Gil stirred, and Candy turned to face him, bracing herself for another episode of mumbled nonsense. Instead she looked into blue eyes that were clear, aware and pained. She slid to her knees so her face was level with his and spoke softly, mindful of his headache.

"Hey Griss!" His eyes darted around the room, taking in everything in his field of vision. His mouth worked for a moment, before he managed to produce speech.

"Where's Sara?" he finally croaked.

"She's here," Candy assured him soothingly, not wanting to go into the details of what here actually meant.

"It's her birthday," sighed Gil, his face shadowed with disappointment. His eyes slid shut and he slipped into a natural slumber, unaided by the painkillers for the first time since regaining consciousness. Candy sat back to wait again, lips pursed as she considered the frown that was still nestled among his eyebrows as he slept.