Sara was tired, more so than she had ever been in her life. More than she had been after her ordeal in the desert, or during her sleepless college days and nights. She felt more bone weary than she had when pulling off back to back triples with the flu during her time at the crime lab.

Her entire body hummed with a dull numbness, for which she was grateful. She had a sneaking suspicion that if she could feel her torso and limbs she would be overwhelmed by pain. Her head was fuzzy, almost as though clouds had taken up residence inside her brain, obscuring clarity of thought. She knew on some deep level she was in a hospital, she remembered seeing Gil's face inches from her own, and hearing tell her that their baby was alive. She could see the picture, if she concentrated hard, but it was so, so difficult. Every muscle and fiber in her body felt deadened with exhaustion.

She thought about his words; their daughter was alive. After so many months and years of disappointment, losing two children and then living with the crushing promise of never having another, they finally had their baby. She held on to that one thought as she drifted hazily. I have a daughter. We have our little girl. She's finally here…

…

Candy hung up the phone and tacked a message to the board for Mary as Mariah came into the office and dropped into a chair, yawning.

"One German Shepard with eleven golf balls now removed from his stomach," she sighed, flexing her fingers and wincing as they crackled.

"Golf balls?" asked Candy, incredulous. Mariah nodded.

"Yep, he's a stray, been hanging around the country club for a while apparently." She leaned back in her chair and took a bite out of the sandwich in her hand. "Any news to tell me?" she wanted to know.

"Well, Sara woke up the night before last, but then slept all day yesterday. She wakes for a few minutes at a time every few hours, but she's totally out of it. No verbal communication beyond one or two words that don't mean anything."

"What did the docs say?"

"She's doing really well physically, but the concussion is going to take a while to heal, just like Gil. He's getting better every day. He went two and a half hours yesterday without a nap, but he's not walking again yet. His nurse says he still has a lot of nausea and dizziness, but it's steadily decreasing. Sara's a bit behind, because of all the sedation, and blood loss and all the body systems that got messed up. I don't really get it, but they said she's doing well considering the trauma."

"It sounds like it," Mariah mumbled, before swallowing. "When are you going over next?"

"This afternoon," replied Candy, "the doc was hoping Sara would be more awake by then."

"Will you take this for me?" asked Mariah, pulling a stuffed kitten out of her pocket. "For the baby."

"Of course," smiled Candy, tucking it into her bag. "Mariah, I have a favor to ask you."

"Sure, what?"

"I have to leave for college at the weekend, and I doubt Gil will be released by then. I need someone to look after Sara's pets during the week; I'll drive back at the weekends because I'm still working shifts here, but they still need looking after until then."

"I'd love too," agreed the vet, smiling. "Where are they? At your house or Sara's?"

"At Sara's; I've been sleeping over there with Sammie. My parents would freak if I took them home, and Socks is upset enough as it is, without taking her somewhere she doesn't know."

"Poor thing," sighed Mariah. "She attached herself to Sara the moment they met. So Socks, Romeo, Juliet, Lucy, Hank and Shakespeare," she listed, trying to remember.

"And the cockroaches," added Candy, apprehensively. Mariah pulled a face but nodded.

"I'd forgotten about those. Ugg, how creepy."

"They're really not that bad," shrugged the girl. "And they're super easy to care for. Just don't leave the lid off, whatever you do. They move like lightening; I have to count and recount them after every feeding, just to convince myself they didn't escape."

"How many are there?"

"Seven. I'll introduce you and show you where everything is before I go," Candy assured her.

…

Greg glanced at his phone yet again, and then checked his email once more before crawling into bed, exhausted. Despite the long, tiring shift he could not settle his mind. Days ago now, he had called Sara to wish her a happy birthday and received no answer. He had emailed and even resorted to calling Grissom, but still nothing. He supposed they could have gone away for a few days, but she hadn't mentioned anything to him during one of their many conversations. Worrying, he slid over as Gizmo, a Jack Russell Terrier he had accidentally and unintentionally adopted a month ago, bounded up next to him, turning the requisite three times in a circle before settling down to sleep. With a sigh, Greg closed his eyes and attempted to do the same.

…

Gil woke to a view of his sleeping wife. He smiled to himself, overjoyed with the sight. Late yesterday afternoon they had finally been moved into a room together; Sara had slept the last day and a half, since waking from her coma but the doctors were pleased with her progress and steady unassisted breathing. She woke briefly for a few moments every so often, but was confused and not really aware of anything. Jenni, who Gil was happy to see was now supervising both of them, was not concerned, and encouraged Gil to talk to her from a chair beside her bed, where he was now capable of sitting for well over an hour before he became dizzy, and the pain in his ribs too much to bear.

As he shifted his gaze to the clock on the wall, five thirty, Candy walked into the room carrying a bag of pajamas, comfy clothing and books.

"Hey Griss, how are you feeling?" she asked, dumping the contents onto the bottom of his bed to show him what she had gathered.

"Improving," he nodded, reaching for a new edition of an entomological journal.

"That came in the mail yesterday, thought you might like to fill your bug reading quota." He grinned at her, admiring the glossy image of a woodcutter ant.

"Thank you, I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything you've done for us," he said, his expression turning more serious.

"You're welcome," was the happy reply as Candy shifted the item to the cabinet beside his bed, and then sprawled in a chair to talk. "I'm going to art school because of Sara; this might start to make a dent in the debt I owe her."

"Sara would never think you owe her anything; she was delighted to help you," said Gil, shifting the bed to a slightly higher angle and sitting up a little more.

"I know, but I'm still eternally grateful." Changing the subject, she asked for news. "So what's the latest?"

"Sara is doing 'as well as can be expected' according to the respiratory therapist. Jenni and Dr. Blackman think he's an eternal pessimist, and that she's fighting hard and doing better than that. Thistle was here this morning; she thinks that all is well with the work she's done on Sara's leg and my shoulder. She said the incisions are healing nicely, and I get to have my stitches out tomorrow." He grimaced with that last admission.

"What's wrong with having stitches out? That's a good thing," said Candy, confused. Gil shuddered.

"Last time I had stitches out, I threw up and then fainted," he confessed.

"Funny," scoffed Candy.

"Not," he retorted, "Serious! The sensation of having the thread pulled out of the skin is the most disgusting thing I have ever experienced."

"You're kidding! Surely?"

"Not at all."

"You were a Crime Scene Investigator! In Las Vegas! You play with bugs for fun! Sara told me you used to take a pint of blood from every new hire!"

"I know, I know," he sighed, "Sara laughed herself into hyperventilation when I told her."

"I can imagine," said Candy dryly. "So, what about baby girl?"

"She's the same; slight improvement in respiration and oxygen saturation but that's about it." His voice was tinged with sadness as he reflected on what the doctors had told him that morning when Joan had taken him up for his customary morning visit. "Doctor Feather says she doing ok, but I wish there was more improvement, something I could see. She looks so helpless, and there's nothing I can do about it." He closed his eyes, blinking back tears and taking a series of deep breaths. Not knowing what to say, Candy stared awkwardly at her hands in her lap for a while. Searching for a safe topic of conversation, she hit on one as she focused on a scratch on the back of her hand that had been accidentally inflicted while she walked the dogs.

"I spoke to Mariah, and she's more than happy to feed your pets during the week," she told him. He looked back at her, his expression blank as he momentarily tried to follow what she was saying.

"You're leaving," he said at last.

"On Saturday afternoon I'm moving into college dorms. After this weekend I'll be back Friday evenings till Sunday nights. Freshmen are required to live on campus, but I'm not giving up my job, and they won't let me take Sammie in dorms, so weekends it is."

"College is an amazing experience, you'll love it," he smiled fondly, thinking back to his own student days.

"I'm looking forward to it. The timing sucks though."

"Nonsense, we'll be fine. I'll text you updates, and you can tell us how you're doing." Candy grinned and looked over at Sara, who was stirring slightly.

"I think she'll wake up in ten minutes or so," said Gil, his gaze running lovingly over his wife's features.

"I don't have ten minutes," sighed Candy. "My mom is taking me shopping to get school supplies." She stood, tugging her t-shirt straight. "I'll see you tomorrow," she continued. "Is there anything you want me to bring you?" she asked. He shook his head and thanked her before she reluctantly wandered out.

Jenni came to check on him, and he asked her to help him into the chair beside Sara's bed. Once settled, he took Sara's hand in his and murmured softly to her, waiting with patience that had come the moment they were placed in the same room together. As long as he could see her, keep an eye on her, he was relaxed in knowing she was alright.

Her eyes opened and she looked straight at him, he had made sure he was in her line of sight, but for a while she said nothing. She lay completely still, her gaze slowly focusing and he could see in her eyes that she was thinking. Her mind was foggy, and the pieces didn't fit together.

"What…" she croaked at last, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Where…"

"Dartmouth Medical Center," he said gently. "Do you remember waking up earlier?" She shook her head, eyes closing tightly in pain for a moment. Sara took a deep breath, scrambling sluggishly to put her thoughts in order.

"I dreamed I saw baby girl," she whispered, her voice as raw as her throat. Her hand strayed to her stomach and her eyes widened with alarm.

"I showed you a picture of her," he said softly, smoothing her hair and holding up the photo. "She's in the NICU, but she's holding her own. I saw her this morning." She blinked, confused and he continued. "I'm not allowed to stay too long, mostly because I can only sit up for an hour or so."

"Why?"

"Broken ribs and concussion," he explained. Her eyes searched his, horrified.

"I don't…" she trailed of, floundering.

"It's ok honey," he soothed, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asked, sitting back up with a wince. She was quiet for long moments, as flashes of memory played through her mind. They were all peaceful, happy moments at home, out walking the dogs or working with Candy, but she had no idea what order they were supposed to be in.

"I don't know," she said at last, her distress evident as tears gathered in her eyes.

"Hey, don't worry about it, it will probably come back to you," he murmured. "I don't remember most of it still." He shifted to a more comfortable position, her hands firmly in his as he stroked her fingers. "We had breakfast and drove to the animal shelter. Candy told me we were hit by a drunk driver. We have matching concussions; firemen cut us out of the car and you had an emergency cesarean. Baby girl was born on your birthday."

"Tell me about her," she whispered.

"She's in an incubator, she weighed three pounds, one ounce at birth and she's fourteen and a half inches tall. I haven't seen her eyes yet, but she's beautiful Sara." Tears were falling freely down her cheeks now, and he brushed them away tenderly, wishing he could crawl in beside her. Footsteps made him glance toward the door.

Jenni walked back in smiling warmly at the pair of them.

"Hi Sara, I'm Jenni. I've been looking after Grissom."

"Hello."

"So, let's start with pain levels. What hurts the most right now?"

"Everything," was the mumbled reply. Jenni smiled sympathetically.

"Can you give me a specific area?"

"My head is bad."

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Seven."

"Ok, where else?"

"My neck is the same."

"The doctors think you have a whiplash type injury, which is why you have that brace on. I know it's uncomfortable, but it'd be much worse without it. Doctor MacAndrew will be down in a little while to go through a more precise diagnosis now that you're awake. What else is giving you pain?"

"Shoulder, five and here," Sara put her hand on her stomach, her face a twisted grimace of hurt. "Eight."

"How about your leg?" asked Jenni, scribbling away on Sara's notes.

"Nine," was the tight reply. Gil gently caressed her cheek, trying to take her mind off the pain. He was about to ask Jenni not to wait for the doctor before giving her medication when Ian MacAndrew himself walked in. He was a tall man, well over six feet, with gentle hands and a quiet smile. Quickly and efficiently he walked Sara through testing, determining the range of her whiplash, her cognitive abilities post head trauma and other physical limitations. By the time he was done and nodded to Jenni to administer the pain relief, Sara was sweating lightly with exhaustion, exertion and pain. Despite attempting to argue that she wanted to go and see their daughter, before she got halfway through her sentence, Sara was asleep and dreaming hazily.

"She's doing well," Ian said to Gil. "Her mental abilities are sharp, the whiplash isn't too serious and will clear up fine with therapy though she'll have the brace for a few weeks. Internally, she's healing nicely from the cesarean and hysterectomy, but that's also going to take several weeks before she can get up and around. Bed rest mostly for about six weeks."

"When can she see our daughter?" asked Gil.

"She's going to be bed bound for a while," the doctor began.

"I understand that," said Gil quietly, "but Sara has been through an extremely traumatic experience. We can't have any more children, and our daughter is gravely ill. We have already lost two babies Doctor MacAndrew; Sara needs to meet our child."

"I can arrange everything," promised Jenni, looking at the doctor.

"You're right," he said to Gil. "These are extraordinary circumstances; we will make it happen. However, we need to get Sara settled first. I can't have her fighting her emotions and her body; that would be seriously detrimental to her recovery. She needs to regain strength, and in order to do that she needs rest."

After some parting words with Jenni, he left. Gil sighed and sank back into his pillows as the nurse helped him back into bed.

"It'll be ok," Jenni assured him. "I'll get everything set up and take you both up for a visit before the end of my shift."

"Thank you," he mumbled as he closed his eyes.

…

Sara slept well past dinner time and the purple Jell-O he was starting to get a taste for. It was nearly dark outside when she whispered his name, her tone confused and frightened. He soothed her and reassured her, and called Jenni. Their nurse arrived, smiling and explaining that after a quick check over, she would take them up to the NICU. Sara nodded and held onto Gil's hand as he sat in the wheelchair beside her.

Two orderlies, friends of Jenni's who were big burly lads not long out of school arrived to wheel Sara's bed. They were bright and cheerful, eager to participate in the unorthodox escape from intensive care. Gil smiled and nodded to them, but his focus was on his wife, and the slight frown nestled between her brows despite the copious amounts of morphine in her bloodstream. He felt rather than heard the change in her breathing as they entered the warmth of the NICU. He knew, without looking at her heart monitor, that her pulse was rising in anticipation and fear. The orderlies parked the bed next to the incubator, and stepped back to wait. Jenni carefully maneuvered Sara onto her side, propping her in place with pillows. She moved Gil's chair to the head of the bed, so they formed a right angle around the incubator, as close as they could be with the medical equipment in the way.

Gil looked at Sara's face and felt his heart twist; silent tears were running down her cheeks as she pressed shaky fingertips to the plastic box. He put his hand over hers and squeezed; she glanced over at him with an expression full of so much hurt he felt physical pain in his chest.

"She's doing ok," he murmured, showing her the various monitors and the steady results. He was grateful that in her hazy state she did not linger over the information, instead returning her gaze to their child. He wasn't sure that he could explain about the mitral regurgitation at the moment, and was infinitely grateful to have more time to figure out how to tell her. Instead, he took in the moment; the first time the three of them were together as a family.

Sara stared unblinkingly at the tiny baby, feeling overwhelmed with pain, confusion and love. Love so powerful she felt breathless, and furious. Anger rippled through her veins as she thought of the pathetic excuse for a human being was responsible for her child's suffering. Her gaze fell on the information card and abruptly she was crying again. Gil reached across to brush away her tears, his eyes over bright as he kissed her forehead.

"She hasn't got a name yet," Sara whispered, her heart breaking.

"I wanted to wait for you," he replied, pulling out the card and taking a pen from the patient records clipboard. "Just to make sure we were still in agreement." Sara nodded and sniffed; Jenni stepped forward with a tissue as Gil scribbled out the words Baby Girl Grissom.

"Here, this will help a little." Jenni deftly placed an oxygen mask over Sara's nose and mouth as she wheezed in unsteady, shallow breaths.

Gil finished writing and pushed the card back into its slot.

"Beautiful," said Jenni softly. Gil turned to look at Sara; she smiled and reached for his hand again.

"Thank you," she mumbled, her voice muffled behind the mask as she looked at him. He leaned forward to kiss her again, his lips resting against her forehead as he inhaled and reminded himself just how lucky he was. When he pulled back, murmuring,

"I love you," to her, he found her eyes closed and her breathing steadying into a more comfortable rhythm.

"She's exhausted," said Jenni softly. "She'll sleep for hours now, waking up is hard work."

"I remember," he replied, pulling the blanket closer around her as the orderlies came back. When Jenni moved to push him back to bed, he looked into the incubator again before he lost sight of it. She was still there, sleeping soundly with her purple beanie tucked over her head. He smiled as her fingers wriggled in her sleep; a tiny step, but a defiant one. His eyes flicked over the card and his careful script, proudly declaring her name for all to see. Rowen Emilia Anne Grissom.

...

...

Spring break- woo hoo, finally a chance to update. I'm so sorry for taking so long, I finally have only two more months of being an undergrad. Please read and review, it'd make my day to hear your thoughts.