Three days after Grissom's discharge, Sara's fever was completely gone and her lungs were working sufficiently well that Freya removed the ventilator and switched her to a nasal cannula. The bruising was still there, but was finally healing and the edema had cleared up well, allowing a substantial rise in blood oxygen levels. Jenni's friends who had helped get Sara to the NICU days ago now, returned and moved her to a single room opposite the one Gil had occupied.
With the infection beaten back to only remnants of its former self, and the vasopressors discarded as Sara's blood pressure rose slowly back to near its normal rate, Freya had eased up on the sedatives, happy that Sara was progressing well. Gil sat in a chair by her side, her hand in his, as he chatted with Greg.
They had been waiting hours for Sara to wake up; something Freya had assured them Sara would do in her own time. A couple of times they had thought she was on the brink of opening her eyes, but she had merely sighed and kept on sleeping. Gil was wondering if she would continue to do so forever when he felt pressure on his hand. In a flash he was on his feet, staring down at her.
He squeezed back lightly, and brought her fingers to his lips.
"Hey," he murmured as she blinked at him.
"Gil," she mumbled sleepily, "you found me."
"What do you mean honey?" he asked, confused as he leant over to kiss her forehead.
"The car… it was so hot… the rocks were burning my hands…" Sara struggled to open her eyes again, managing to hold his gaze only for a couple of seconds before she began to slide back into oblivion.
"I knew you would find me," she sighed confidently, her grip on his hand becoming lax. "Did you follow the rocks?"
"Sara, what are you talking about?" he wanted to know, hoping she would stay awake for a few moments longer.
"Did you find her too?" she asked, her words slurring together.
"Find who honey?"
"Natalie."
His chest felt impossibly tight, as though someone had just swung an iron bat into his lungs, knocking any semblance of air out way of reach. Questions swarmed in his mind, fighting to be asked first, but it was pointless; Sara was fast asleep again and far from coherent even if he was able to wake her up again.
"Did she really just ask what I thought she asked?" whispered Greg. Grissom sucked in a deep lungful of air, his mind reeling. Sara's hand was still clutched in his; he dropped it as though he'd been scalded and stabbed the call button, summoning a nurse.
"Grissom, what's up?" asked Jenni moments later as she walked in.
"Sara… she… I… it was…" he stammered. Jenni's eyes widened.
"Ok, take a breath and relax," she soothed, concern etched across her features. Start at the beginning and tell me what happened. Did she wake up?"
"Yes," replied Greg, forcing the word out as he stared at his best friend's sleeping form, horrified.
"What happened? Did she say anything?" Jenni looked from one face to the other in between checking the monitors.
"She…" began Greg, but he trailed off, shaking his head at his inability to continue.
"Grissom?" Jenni turned to look at him and felt unease spread through her body. "Grissom, talk to me," she urged. His gaze swiveled from his inert wife to the nurse he now knew so well; his hands shook as he licked his lips and tried to force his suddenly tied tongue to cooperate.
"She said she knew I'd find her," he said slowly as his stomach rolled and his head spun. He put a hand to his face, pressing his thumb and middle finger to the edges of his eyes. "She asked if we found…" He couldn't make himself say her name and stopped, dropping his hand and sinking heavily back into his chair.
"She thinks this is over four years ago," he finally uttered, before leaning forward and covering his eyes with his hand.
…
It took Jenni about five seconds to realize that whatever had happened over four years ago had been a pivotal moment in Grissom and Sara's lives. Greg's too, she thought, judging from the expression on his face and the defeated slump of his posture. It took another five seconds to realize both men were rapidly falling into despair, and then finally another five to realize she need to do something fast.
Stepping a little closer she snapped her fingers to get their attention.
"Hey, come back to me for a moment guys," she demanded, parking her hands on her hips and waiting until she had their full attention, however bleak it was at that moment. "First of all, let's try and remain calm ok?" she waited for them to nod miserably.
"Alright, second; Sara woke up, that's a huge step! Third, and there's a couple of things to note here, she's got great vital signs, look at the monitors with me… there we go… and they're improving steadily! Now, forth and most importantly so pay attention to me when I say this boys; she's been sedated for days! Her body has been through hell, her mind may just be taking its time to catch up! Grissom, you've seen the results of the CAT scan they did a couple of days ago; there was no damage visible from either the trauma or the fever. Think back to when you were waking up from your concussion and remember this, she's had about twice that, plus all the extra stuff in the last few days. Before you start panicking unnecessarily, it may just take her a while to catch up with the present. You're writing her off before she's even properly conscious."
Grissom gaped at her, his mouth opening and shutting rapidly several times as he tried not to splutter in outrage. Jenni smiled gently, glad to have him back.
"There we go," she nodded. "I know you've both got more than your fair share of brains, so how about you use them rather than letting panic take over, hmm?" She put a comforting hand on Grissom's shoulder.
"I'm not saying there won't be any after effects from all she's been through," she said kindly, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his chair. "But all the testing they've done so far has come up negative. Once she's awake and alert they can assess her some more."
"She's right Griss," sighed Greg, letting out a long sigh and relaxing back in his chair. Resigned, Grissom nodded, fingers steepled together in front of his face.
"If she can't remember the last few years," he said slowly, "She won't remember that we're married." Jenni glanced at Greg, wondering what to say.
"Stop thinking so hard," said Greg abruptly. "Sara's not even awake yet. Take Jenni's advice; she's the expert. I'm going to find some food." He stood and walked out, Jenni trailing after him. In the hallway she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"What happened four years ago?" she asked.
"A psychotic serial killer and a red mustang in the desert," he replied with a sigh. "Google Sara Sidle and you find everything you could ever want to know. Just don't bring it up with either of them; it took all of us a long time to get past it."
…
Greg paced outside the cafeteria, trying with every ounce of effort he could muster not to freak out. Sara would be fine, he repeated to himself, over and over again. A nurse dodged by him and he made himself stop, leaning against the wall. He was not allowed to go to pieces; that was Grissom's job! He was here to maintain the calm, and the positive outlook. Closing his eyes he took deep breaths while convincing himself that he was not going to freak out, and then pushed open the door to get the promised rations. His father had always said he was a perpetually stuck in adolescence; if he could just see me now, thought Greg with a sigh.
…
Alone in the room with only his sleeping wife and his racing mind for company, Grissom went to stand at the window. He stared out through the glass, seeing nothing as his thoughts overpowered everything else. Chief among them was the abject terror that Sara was going to wake and think she had just physically survived the desert but mentally lost herself along the way.
His mind ran over the hundreds of phone calls after she left Vegas; he thought of the claustrophobia and the nightmares and felt physically sick for the first time in days. This was not a possibility he had considered the night he sat holding her hand as the fever slowly killed her. When he had whispered in her ear that they still had a promise to fulfill, he hadn't spared a thought for what surviving might do to her.
The physical toll was clear; best rest would be the order of business for weeks to recover from the hysterectomy and internal trauma and then physical therapy to help rebuild strength in her muscles once the broken bones healed. Alice had been to see her that morning; the knee surgery would have to wait, she had decided. Sara's leg needed to heal first. Without the ability to follow the intensive post-surgery rehabilitation the grafts required to restore range of movement, prevent scar tissue from building, shape joint flexibility and rebuild muscle tone, the outcome of surgery would not be successful. The rehabilitation process would be slowed and drawn out anyway, as the entire leg was involved, not just the damaged knee.
"The bones first," Thistle had said kindly. "Once those are healed, we can work on the rest."
His thoughts swirled as he considered in detail, for the first time, what it must feel like to wake in a mental place as confused, terrified and dark as Sara had after the desert. He had done his best to help her, not understanding at the time just how deep the wounds ran. The separation hadn't helped; working opposite shifts they had few precious hours together where once they had shared nearly all of their time.
When she left, his life had become a vacuum. He understood her motivations, and supported her, but felt his entire existence beginning to crumble around him. For a man who had once thrived on solitude, he found his life had become so ingrained with hers, their coexistence so intertwined, that he had forgotten how to function alone.
Time had healed those wounds, and then soothed away the scars. They had built something together that he had spent decades thinking was a lost cause. He had never been as happy in his life as he had been in the past couple of years, especially the last few months. His entire life he had observed people around him marrying and raising families; sometimes the results were disastrous, as his career had proved time and again, but sometimes they were exceptional.
He had thought, when he came home from Peru and the doctor showed them that image of their baby, that this time it was finally their turn. That after all the years of crime fighting, pain and sacrifice, they had paid a debt to society and were being awarded that chance of domestic tranquility.
His mood darker than it had ever been in his life, he moved to Sara's bedside and stared down at her. She was exceptionally pale, even by her usual standards, and her muscles were visibly weakened. Freya had warned him that the weight loss caused by the fever would make her weak, and building up her strength again would be a priority once she was awake. He reached into the drawer beside the bed and drew out the lip balm he had brought from home; Sara hated having chapped lips, and the combination of the dry hospital air and the tubes that had been secured in her throat had left them raw and cracked. He kissed her gently, and then smoothed the salve tenderly over her skin before slipping back into his chair and cradling her hand in his.
…
The atmosphere in the room as the afternoon wore on gnawed at Greg like an infected wound coated in salt. He finally excused himself, saying he would drive back to the cottage to walk the dogs, and then pick Grissom up later. Gil nodded absently, too lost in his depressive thoughts to pay much attention. He had been to visit Rowen, wondering how to explain to the baby that her mother might not recognize her. He had sat for long minutes, mulling over the question in silence before realizing the folly of his thoughts; Rowen wouldn't understand him. Her thought processes weren't anywhere near adept enough to understand the concept of parents yet. Shaking his head in disgust, he told her that he loved her, and returned to Sara, sitting once again in quiet solitude, waiting.
…
There was a rustle beside him, and he opened bleary eyes, his mind hazy and a little confused from a nap.
"Gil," mumbled a weary voice. He was on his feet in a second, feeling Sara's hand squeeze his fingers weakly.
"I'm here," he murmured, sitting by her hip and leaning down to kiss her forehead. She stared at him, exhausted and in pain, but with eyes that were clear and focused for the first time in days.
"How's Rowen?" she rasped, her throat raw. Tears burned in his eyes and he shifted, resting his head against hers. Something in his chest cracked, and with a deep breath he felt the impossibly heavy blanket of anxiety surrounding him crumble into dust.
"She's fine," he promised, trembling heavily with relief and emotional fatigue. "She's going to be fine."
…
Jenni stared at the computer screen feeling sick. No wonder Grissom had freaked out when he thought Sara's memory was stuck four years in the past. The press had managed to get hold of police photos of the crushed red mustang as it was hauled out of the ground, printing them side by side with the booking image of Natalie Davis in all her creepy psychotic glory.
Details assaulted her brain as she read the tawdry article entitled Rescued from the Brink of Death; Las Vegas CSI abducted by serial killer hikes miles through desert before being found by colleagues.
"Damn," she mumbled to herself, shivering at the newspaper's eerie recitation of the story surrounding the final show down with the miniature killer.
"What're you looking at?" asked Lena, walking into the living room and stopping behind Jenni, resting a hand on her shoulder.
"That's your patient?" she asked, skin crawling as she took in the image of Natalie. Jenni shook her head and scrolled back up to a photo of Sara at a crime scene.
"No, this is. That's the woman who tried to kill her. God what a day Len," she sighed.
"What's wrong?" asked Lena, kneading her shoulders soothingly.
"She woke up late this morning, and her husband- Grissom- freaked out because he thought she'd lost her memory and thought she was waking up after this."
"Has she?"
"No! Her cognitive abilities are excellent considering. She doesn't remember anything from the accident, and she said she only has flashes from before the fever. She was even arguing with the doctor about visiting her daughter, right before she fell asleep again. It was pretty incredible considering."
"She sounds determined," smiled Lena, studying the photo of Sara frowning in consideration at something caught between the tweezers in her grasp.
"Both Grissom and Greg said she's the most stubborn person they've ever met. Tomorrow morning we're going to take her to the NICU."
"I bet you can't wait for that," mused Lena, who had followed the story of Jenni's patients along with the rest of the hospital staff.
"I really can't," she smiled, her heart lifting.
...
...
Wow, I can't believe this story is 40 chapters in and still going strong. Many many thanks to all those still enjoying it and taking the time to let me know.
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