A/N: Thank you for reading!

I Keep On Loving You

Chapter 7

Sara opened her eyes to the dim night-time patterns of light dancing across the room; she knew by heart every inch of the ceiling above her bed. She'd asked for the bed to be moved after she realized she was drawing maps in her mind and using the ceiling as an imaginary drawing board. Only a few more days in this room, she thought. The external fixator had been removed earlier which meant she could move easier and she was ready for her rehab to begin.

Two therapists had also visited her earlier, inspecting her casted leg and arm, looking at the new binding around her lower abdomen, taking notes, and then they had elevated her to a sitting position. And she had promptly thrown up on them, the bed, herself—much to her chagrin—while Benita had given the two young therapists a thorough scolding about patient care. Remembering the looks on their faces, Sara smiled and knew she was going to miss the nurse.

She turned her head and looked at the growing stack of books beside the bed. Everyone thought she should be reading—novels and best sellers, romances and mysteries, histories and biographies—but she had not found one book capable of holding her attention long enough to keep her awake.

Most of the time, Grissom would read to her until she drifted to sleep for a few hours. Tonight, she had gone to sleep during a murder mystery—one that had so many suspects that she'd grown tired of trying to keep up with them. When she woke she heard another familiar voice.

Moving her bed had broken up the hospital symmetry of the room; the sofa-bed where Grissom slept was now off to her right and empty; the two chairs were behind her head. She made no sound or movement as she listened to D.B. and her husband talking quietly.

She heard D.B. describe details of finding the thieves who had worked across Vegas stealing manhole covers and replacing them with fake plastic ones.

"They are looking at hard time—judge decided they were a flight risk so they don't even get to go home for a night!"

Sara smiled and closed her eyes. D.B.'s voice was like a familiar, soothing song. She heard Grissom say something—even lower and quieter than usual. Her concentration intensified as she tried to gather what the two men were saying.

Barely more than a whisper, D.B. said, "You have to tell her, Gil!"

"I know, I know—but she's been—she's so helpless," Grissom whispered. "All she would do is worry. She'll have to know but—but I'll tell her later."

Sara's first thought was indignation—she wasn't completely helpless—but quickly realized she really was. She couldn't get out of bed or go to the bathroom on her own much less dress herself. But what had she missed? What had her husband decided not to tell her?

Grissom continued, "Once she gets to rehab—once she's able to—to do a few things, I'll get Greg to come in. I'll tell her then."

D.B. mumbled something she did not understand. She frowned, trying to piece together what Greg had to do with anything. Then suddenly, it hit her—her dog—Greg was caring for her dog, a small brown mutt she had gotten and named Sally Sue after Hank had died—and after the humiliating fiasco with Basderic when she decided she needed a watch-dog in her house. Not that Sally Sue was a real watch dog but one that would bark whenever anyone entered the house.

Sally Sue, at three years old, was healthy and obedient. If an accident had happened—she tried to remember—Greg had been in a few hours ago—and Sally Sue had been fine—he had said she was fine, missing her 'mother'.

Sara stopped thinking of possibilities and listened again to the two men but they had moved on to another topic—talking about changes in the lab.

D.B. said, "I'm searching for a replacement—temporary—until she recovers."

So now they were talking about her job, Sara thought.

"She'll be hard to replace," Grissom said. "I—I—we haven't talked much about the future."

A soft laugh before D.B. said, "Her future is in rehab."

"Yeah, but that's postponed—she's not ready for the intensive therapy yet—we've—we have to make some decisions tomorrow."

This was news to Sara; she shifted in bed, forgetting she was eavesdropping while the men thought she was asleep. And of course, they heard her.

Within seconds, Grissom was at her side; D.B was at the foot of the bed.

"You're awake!" Grissom said. His fingers brushed her hair away from her face.

She confessed, "I've been awake—listening."

"Oh."

A puff of air escaped from D.B.'s mouth. "You heard that I'm looking for a temporary replacement?"

She nodded.

"Any suggestions? There's a girl on day shift that wants to move—she's already been by and asked…"

Sara nodded, "It looks like I'm going to be away for a while—we are—you are already short-handed."

Her supervisor agreed. Pointing his long finger at her, he said, "You take care of yourself, Sara." He smiled, "You've come a long way, baby." He laughed at his joke.

Softly laughing, Sara said, "Thanks for the blood, D.B."

He smiled. "You know about that, do you? Isn't that amazing? You'd do the same for me."

A few minutes later, he left, giving a wave from the door way and a nod of his head directed at Grissom.

"We should have talked in the hallway," Grissom said. "I was hoping you'd sleep all night."

She looked up—into blue eyes as tender and loving as any woman could ever desire. She desperately wanted to believe he loved her as she loved him—but he kept secrets—something he had shared with D.B.—and with Greg but had not told her. Tears filled her eyes.

"Hey, what's this?" He leaned over and kissed her nose. "Are you in pain?" He reached to press the nurse call button.

"No—no—I'm fine, Gil." She wiped tears away. "I—I'm just emotional—no reason," she managed a gruff, sad-sounding laugh. "Except I'm helpless—I can't even sit up on my own."

"I'm here to help, dear. And you're not nearly as helpless as you were." He continued brushing her hair with his fingers, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've kept something from you, Sara. I need to confess."

Sara inhaled a deep breath and said, "Yeah, I think I heard some of that—rehab is postponed. Must have been the vomiting on those therapists." She turned her head to look at the window before adding, "and something else you haven't told me—that you want Greg to be here? What's that about?"

Gently, his fingers took her chin and turned her face back to his. Softly, he chuckled. "You were eavesdropping!" He nodded his head. "I—I haven't been dishonest, but I haven't been completely upfront about—about one—one change—one thing I—I brought back with me."

Sara was totally confused.

Grissom continued, "I knew when I left Texas—I knew I was leaving for good. I wouldn't go back. I threw things in a suitcase and a couple of boxes but there was one thing—I couldn't leave him!"

Sara's eyes widened; she realized she was holding her breath. "Him?"

"Bexar—like the Texas river—a little dog. I've had him for six months and—and—I couldn't leave him. He was this little stray who wandered around the parking lot for days—eating whatever anyone threw to him." He shrugged. "So I took him in—and brought him with me on the plane. Greg says he and Sally Sue have bonded—even sleep together."

Sara started laughing; laughter that quickly became tears as she laughed and cried at the same time.

"He's just a little thing," Grissom held his hands apart, saying, "About this tall, fuzzy, white. I think you'll like him."

"A dog? You got a dog in Texas—a brother for Sally Sue—why didn't you tell me?" Smiling, she placed her hand on his face, tracing his bottom lip with her finger.

He smirked, grinning. "There's been a lot going on. I was afraid the two dogs might not get along. Bexar slept on my bed. I knew Sally Sue slept on yours." He shrugged again. "Sometimes dogs don't get along—but they seem to be doing great."

Sara wiped tears still running from her eyes. Grissom frowned.

"What did you think I hadn't told you?" His eyes narrowed yet Sara could see the teasing sparkle in them. "You were eavesdropping and decided something bad, didn't you?"

She managed to smile, "I'm always over-thinking, sorry."

Grissom smiled, touched her mouth with his, and kissed her. Pulling away, he said, "I'm sorry I'm such a thoughtless ass. I should have told you about Bexar days ago—but I don't want you to—to worry—or to over think. You've got enough going on as it is."

She sighed. "And now rehab is postponed—what do I do now? Stay here? I can't imagine that happening with the way insurance works."

Holding up one finger, Grissom stepped back and pulled a chair to her bedside. Raising the head of her bed, he then poured water in a cup and held it to her mouth. "You need fluids according to Benita."

"I'm going to miss her," Sara said.

"So am I." He settled back in the chair after turning it to face her. "The two therapists said—their evaluation is that you need another week of recovery—and from what I understand—it means you go to another level of care. Less than this unit."

Sara groaned, "Another hospital room? A nursing home? Like where my mother is?"

Quickly, Grissom shook his head, "I'm not sure—another hospital room, maybe. They mentioned a less intense rehab unit—it's not a long-term care nursing home like your mother's—but one with a rehab wing—you'll begin therapy but not as intense as what they do in the one here." His hand reached for hers. "I'll stay with you—I'll check it out tomorrow—it won't be for long, a few days, a week."

Sara looked up at the familiar ceiling—one she was hoping to leave soon but now its familiarity made her want to stay. Nodding her head, she said, "I wish I could go home, Gil. Just for a while—a few hours." New tears fell from her eyes.

"I do too," he said softly. He held her hand and glanced at her leg and let his eyes travel up to her face. She was scared, he realized. "You are getting better—you will continue to recover." Taking her hand between his palms, he said, "I do love you, Sara. I will do whatever it takes to—to help you recover."

She took a deep breath and began to relax again. "I know you will, Gil."

"I'm sorry for all that's gone on—for staying away—for leaving you when I had made promises." He looked away, shaking his head. "Sara, I—I don't know what I thought would happen to us." His eyes returned to hers. "My mother tried to tell me—I needed to be with you, not chasing some—some insect around the world."

Sara was speechless—and puzzled. Before she could remember all the words she had rehearsed for months, he continued:

"You loved me once—I want you to love me again." He caressed her hand; his expression grew serious. "Until you, I had never experienced emotions of the sort I felt for you—it took me years, but it was such a certainty—like a sunrise—it would always be there."

She started to protest but his hand lifted to silence her.

Slowly, he said, "When we married, I loved you more that day than I would have thought possible—and then I—I…"

"Gil…"

He shushed her again with his hand. "Do you love me? Could you love me again?"

With that, she grabbed his hand and pulled it to her cheek. He moved with it. "Oh, Gil, yes—I've always loved you—I've never stopped—never!" Tears ran down her face as he kissed her.

A few minutes later, her face nestled against his warm shoulder, Sara whispered, "I've missed you, Gilbert."

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