A/N: Another chapter and several new developments! Enjoy!

I Keep On Loving You

Chapter 8

Gil Grissom could remember many days of frustration but seldom was his frustration so overwhelmingly out of his control. In a whirlwind he had visited the Red Rocks Rehab and Recovery Care Center, not merely a nursing home but a sprawling complex of 'assisted living' to total care. Somehow, physical therapy along with the other associated rehabilitation programs worked into the extended care system and, with high recommendations from Sara's physicians, he had taken the special tour of its rehab facilities—several large rooms with basic rehabilitation equipment—nothing that equaled the state-of-the-art center he had seen attached to the hospital.

Red Rocks Rehab was essentially a nursing home filled with elderly people waiting out their final days except for a newly added wing for rehab—and most of the people he saw were elderly who were learning to maneuver themselves in wheelchairs or walkers after a hip fracture or hip replacement. However, in the rehab room were several younger patients in various stages of treatment slowly learning the basic procedures of moving a broken body.

It was not what he—what Sara—had hoped for but there was not much he could do as he had realized how insurance dictates health care. Sara needed continuous care but not the intensive nursing care at the hospital. So with expectations and promises, Sara had been transported from the hospital to the rehab center. Two of her physicians were in the room, along with Benita, as Sara had been wrapped and strapped onto a gurney for the short trip; the three promised visits to follow her healing progress.

"You are going to see me, Sara," Benita said with a laugh. "And I have a cousin who works at Red Rocks—it's a good place. She promises you will get the best care and be ready for the 'hot shots across town' as she calls the rehab institute here before you know it."

When they got to facility, the promised private room was not available; Sara was admitted to a room shared with an elderly woman, absence from the room, who was recovering from a hip replacement.

Grissom's frustration swelled again with this development yet he held his irritation as Sara was transferred to the bed and a parade of employees came in to work on her admission. It seemed he or Sara answered the same questions for the charge nurse, the supervising nurse, the social worker, the therapists, and several others who asked about foods she liked, about hobbies, about her usual routine. By the time a dozen people had come and gone, Sara was so exhausted all she wanted was rest.

He pulled one of the chairs to her bedside and sat down, recognizing his own tiredness was naught compared to Sara's.

Sara reached for his hand wrapping her fingers around his. "Go home, Gil. Get some rest—sleep in our bed and walk our dogs." Her smiled was etched with fatigue. "I'll be fine—right here when you return."

"I'll stay—at least until you get to sleep."

Her fingers tightened around his. "You are as tired as I am," she said with a sigh. "Would you read to me?"

Quickly, he opened her bag and pulled out a book and started reading—this one about a lady detective in Botswana which had caused both of them to laugh as the story progressed. As he read, he felt Sara's hand relax as her breathing calmed and settled.

A wisp of a breeze drifted across the back of his neck—so much for the 'rule' to knock before entering, he thought—as the door opened and he heard the scuffle and scrape of someone coming into the room. A second later, he realized the person was in a wheelchair and must be the other occupant of the shared room.

A minute later, the dividing curtain moved; Sara and Grissom glanced at each other as a hand pulled the curtain back several inches and a face, wreathed in creases and surrounded by curly white hair, appeared.

"I don't want to interrupt," the woman said in a loud whisper as she pointed over her shoulder. "I'm your roommate over here. Gracie Stone," she placed a hand in the general area of her hip. "Got a new hip and learning to walk with it."

Sara raised her hand in greeting, saying, "I'm Sara." She pointed to Grissom, adding, "Gil Grissom, my husband."

"Welcome to Red Rocks," Gracie said, peering at them with sparkling blue eyes. "My second stay here—came for my knee about six months ago—and it's a good place to be when we need it." She pointed to Sara. "Looks like you're in bad shape—worse than me."

Sara had to laugh at the elderly woman's comment. "I fell into a manhole—broke my arm and leg and cracked up my pelvic bones."

"You were on television—not you, but the reporter talking about you! You're with the police—an investigator!" Softly, she clapped her hands together and said, "We have a celebrity and I'll get to introduce you!

"And we'll be rehab buddies!" Gracie said as she rolled her chair near the bed. "They really do a great job here—getting us up and moving. I guess you'll move to the institute—this is a sort of kindergarten compared to what they do—you will get the basics—how to transfer from the bed, get around with a wheelchair." A frown puckered Gracie's forehead. "With that arm and leg, you have a lot of work ahead of you."

Sara agreed. Looking at Grissom, she said, "Why don't you go—come back later. Gracie and I will get to know one another."

A little coaxing by both women got him out of his chair and, as he placed a kiss on Sara's forehead, he promised to return in a few hours.

Sara, as a captive audience of one, learned Gracie was a fountain of information—and gossip—as she explained the routines of the facility. "Tell them what you want to eat—not what they send—and we can eat in our room." Gracie made a face, adding, "I don't want to eat in the dining room—if it isn't the old men dribbling peas down their shirts it's the young men wolfing down their food with no manners at all!"

The old lady talked on and on, seemingly unaware that Sara's eyes closed for brief periods, until a response was required. Half asleep, Sara missed something—a question, a sentence that she should have heard.

"Sorry—what did you say?"

Gracie laughed, softly. "I'm keeping you awake, dear! You've had a tiring day and it's not even lunch time. We'll talk later."

"No, no—what was it about the water?"

Gracie laughed again. "Don't drink the water—from the container in the rehab room—take your own!"

"Why?"

Another laugh as the elderly woman whispered, "I think that water is tainted! Those young men are always drinking from it—when I was here before—with my knee—two of them fell over—dead! Another bit the dust last week—I think it's the water!"

Suddenly, confused but interested, Sara asked, "Died? Don't people die here all the time?"

Shrugging narrow shoulders, Gracie said, "Sure they do—most people come here to die, but not those of us in rehab. Especially not the young ones." Her eyes widened as her expression changed to one of mischievous enthusiasm. "Maybe we can find out what killed them!"

For the first time in days, Sara's curiosity was stirred. She asked, "What does everyone say? About the deaths?"

Waving a hand, Gracie whispered, "No one talks about it! They are afraid of the regulators—coming in to investigate. Most of us come and go in a few weeks, but since I was here with my knee and now I've returned, I've heard about all of them." She placed her hand beside her mouth as if they were in a crowded room and she had a secret to share. "The aides will talk but not when anyone is around. That's how I know about the others."

"How many others?"

"At least five—all young men—all here for therapy." Gracie snapped her fingers, adding, "Gone in a flash."

Sara managed to turn enough to face the little woman in the wheelchair. She wasn't going to chase an imaginary rabbit while in rehab but the story of five deaths intrigued her. Restating what Gracie had just said, she asked, "So you think five young men have died because of something in the water in the rehab area? No one has investigated or raised any concern when they died?"

Gracie stuck to her story, saying, "It's a nursing home, honey! Every death here ends up as 'natural causes' or 'heart attack'—the funeral home comes for a pick-up, the doctor signs the death certificate. It's not like someone is committing murder with a gun or a knife—most of us are worn out when we get here!" She held up her hand, raising a finger, "First one I knew about—when I was here with my knee replacement—was around fifty—motorcycle wreck put him here. He had a heart attack." Second finger raised, "He was young—twenties—body builder with a broken leg—had a seizure and died." Third finger: "Don't know about him cause I wasn't here –just heard another one bit the dust."

She raised her index finger and thumb, saying, "Numbers four and five died in the past two weeks—both had heart attacks. Neither one over forty."

Sara asked, "And the doctor just signs off? What about families?"

"Oh, the doctor is always there—he tries to save them, but when the big one happens—doesn't matter where you are, does it?" She shook her head, "As for families—I'm not sure if any of them had close family. Maybe they did, but most of us don't get a lot of visitors here."

Puzzled, Sara asked, "But you returned—why? If you think people are dying in rehab, how can it be good?"

Gracie laughed, "I'm not a guy! It's only the young men that die!" Her eyes narrowed, "You'll see—the therapists are wonderful—they really take good care of us. But something weird is going on for those young men to die—just fall over dead."

A knock at the door interrupted; both women said "Come in" at the same time.

Turning to Sara, Gracie said, "Lunch."

It took several minutes for trays of food to be arranged—Gracie stayed near Sara's bed with a rolling table scooted over the arms of the wheelchair. A similar table was placed across Sara's bed.

Sara was surprised; the tray of food was actually beautiful with a bowl of fresh fruit, a plate of fresh broccoli, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a small milkshake. She said, "This looks great."

Gracie, busy with her own tray, said, "The food is good here—another reason to return." She looked over Sara's tray, saying, "Where's your pork chop?"

"I'm a vegetarian—I eat cheese and eggs but not meat."

Laughing, Gracie said, "I've got a granddaughter who's a vegetarian. She eats a lot of peanut butter."

"So do I."

Silence followed as the two women begin to eat. Sara noticed that Gracie was extremely careful as she ate, cutting food into small pieces, chewing with her mouth closed, delicately dabbing her mouth with the napkin. Busy eating, the older woman did not talk much during the meal except to compliment the food.

When Sara picked up the milkshake, hesitating a few seconds, Gracie said, "Drink it, dear. That's our energy drink—lots of calories that we'll need in rehab!"

Sara laughed, "I'm afraid I'll get fat."

With an impish laugh, Gracie said, "Drink up—I've got a feeling that smart man of yours will love you skinny or fluffy! He's a cutie—nice little butt on him."

Sara nearly choked on her first sip of the milkshake; she had not noticed Gracie checking out Grissom's physical features, especially his backside.

Laughing, Sara agreed, saying, "Yes, he does have a nice butt." Thoughtfully, she watched Gracie drink her own milkshake, realizing the older woman might be more observant about other things, too, such as young men dying in rehab. Yet, she told herself that five young men dying in rehab might not be that unusual.

When Gracie announced it was "nap time", Sara watched with interest as the frail appearing small woman managed to rotate herself into bed almost as easily as one normally moved from one chair to another. Looking forward to the day when she could move herself, Sara picked up her book and managed to read two or three pages before her eyes closed.

A/N: And more to come...thank you for reading and your reviews!