A/N: A long chapter for you! Thanks for reading and your reviews!
I Keep On Loving You
Chapter 12
When Nick and Greg arrived with lunch, they missed the drive for the rehab entrance and created quite a commotion that would be talked about for days when they came into the facility by the entrance to the long-term care nursing home. In the front lobby, a dozen women, some in wheel chairs, immediately noticed the gun on Nick's hip and made assumptions.
One, surprisingly spry as she pushed her walker into his path practically tripping him as he passed her chair, reached for Nick's sleeve as she said: "What's going on? Are you the police?"
Another one, crowding behind Greg, said, "You don't have a gun. What's in the bags?"
A third joined in, "Is it old man Thomas? What's his name—Hugh Thomas? Did he finally take a lick at Benny Monroe? They been itching for a fight for months! Which one is it?" This woman, less than five feet tall, managed to get between Greg and Nick and, with only a walking cane to keep her upright, she could maneuver easier than the others.
Greg, carrying lunch in two large white bags, lifted them shoulder high. "Lunch," he said, "we're bringing lunch! No crime—just lunch!"
Laughing, Nick added, "He's right—just here to visit our friend. She's in rehab here. There's no crime!"
"Well, there will be," said a fourth woman, sucking on a nasal oxygen tube, as she wheeled in front of the guys. "Benny and Hugh Thomas have been trying to fight for weeks." She huffed several breaths before she continued. "One day Hugh's going to take him out."
The first woman backed away several feet. "Well, when they do, we want you boys to come out! We don't get many handsome guys out here!" She held up a scrawny arm, adding, "By the way, what are you two doing on Thursday afternoon? We could use you at our weekly dance."
Greg appeared uneasy as several more women surrounded them, all talking, asking questions. Nick, more comfortable surrounded by elderly women than his co-worker, easily laughed off their jumble of questions. "Ladies, ladies," he said, "We are here for lunch today—only lunch!" He shuffled backward saying, "Just point us the way to rehab."
He heard someone ask, "Who's your friend?"
"Sara—Sara Sidle."
The woman with the oxygen spoke up, "That's Gracie's new roommate. We heard about her—she fell in a manhole, didn't she? Talk about her time—who else falls into a manhole?" Turning to one of the women seated in a chair, she said, "I think we should interview Sara for the newsletter! Everyone would love to hear her story—and she's a detective with the police."
Greg finally found his voice. He said, "Crime scene investigator—Sara's a CSI—not a detective. And waiting for lunch!" He raised the large white bags a little higher. "If we could just get there—to the patio—I'm sure Sara would—would appreciate—be interested in your newsletter."
Suddenly, a much younger woman appeared at the door of an office. "Okay, ladies! Hello, gentlemen—can I help?"
Nick, laughing as he extradited himself from the walkers, wheelchairs, and canes belonging to half a dozen white, silver, and blue-haired ladies, asked, "Where might we find Sara Sidle?"
The woman waved her hand, saying "Follow me."
Greg's relief was obvious as he side-stepped around the buzzing women, following the younger woman. He left the polite chit-chat to Nick as the three walked along a long hallway with doors every twelve feet or so and a number of people dozing in wheelchairs positioned in doorways. An occasional glance into an open door showed a bedridden person; Greg thought of the many bad situations he had seen and realized this might be worse.
They passed through several double doors; Gradually, Greg realized a change had occurred. People, while mostly elderly, were moving around, albeit with walkers, but they were saying "hello" and cracking jokes with each other.
"Sara is in the third room on the right," the woman said.
Nick knocked, heard an "enter" and pushed the door open.
The two men had not been to visit Sara since her move, so it was several minutes before greetings and introductions were finished; several more minutes passed as Sara called for assistance in moving to the wheelchair. Greg and Nick, who had last seen Sara when she was barely able to move, watched and encouraged as she used the overhead bar and was guided into the wheelchair by two therapy aides. Another few minutes passed as she worked the remote to point the chair in the right direction.
Nick made several good-natured teasing comments about her long-time driving skills but finally the group followed Gracie as she led them outside. A few employees were eating lunch in a far corner, but otherwise the courtyard was empty and they chose a table shaded by flowering vines. Grissom moved chairs to the table as Nick and Greg unpacked their bags.
With much fanfare and flourish, they laid out the food, describing the contents of each container before it was opened.
Sara knew they had given thought to each food, most of it easily served and eaten. Fruit kabobs with strawberries, banana, and kiwi with a creamy sweet dip were placed before Sara and Gracie as approval seemed required for the other food to appear.
"I could eat just these!" Sara exclaimed as she lifted one to her mouth.
Nick shook his head saying, "You need more calories than that, Sara! And this should help!" He lifted a clear container from a bag.
"My favorite!"
Grissom took the container, laughing as he said, "One of her favorites! How much of this stuff can you eat in a week?"
"I love their mac salad," Sara laughed. She nodded toward Gracie. "See what you think, Gracie. It has everything in it but the kitchen sink."
"And no meat," added Greg.
Sara was busy eating chunks of fruit Grissom was pulling from the kabob when Nick pulled another container out. An impish smile broke across Greg's face as he said, "You think the mac salad is your favorite but wait until you taste these."
Nick lifted the top off, grinning from ear to ear. "At your service, madam—spring rolls with your favorite peanut sauce."
Sara's mouth fell open; Gracie was busy eating macaroni salad but her eyes popped wide. "With avocado?" She asked.
"Of course," Nick said as he placed one of the spring rolls on a small plate. "Greg, pass everyone one of those drinks!"
Sara's nose twitched as Greg lifted cups from one of the bags. She said, "I smell watermelon."
Greg handed her a large white cup, fitting a straw into the slot of its lid. "Just for you—we got three watermelon coconut flavored and two lemon raspberry."
"I'll take a lemon raspberry," Gracie chimed in. "I'm surprised you got through the lobby with all this good food! Wait til I tell the girls—but I'm eating first!"
When Greg snickered, the older woman laughed, saying, "You better believe you wouldn't get a bite of mac salad if any of those women knew what I'm eating! Its roast beef and potatoes and carrots today coming out of the kitchen—not that it's not good, but this is so much better!"
"Well, Miz Gracie," Nick drawled in a seldom heard Texas twang, "you eat all you want—we brought plenty!"
Grissom was helping Sara, dipping a spring roll into peanut sauce as she attempted to balance fruit, macaroni salad, and the large drink.
Waving her fork, Sara said, "Oh, this is so good!"
Gracie had no problems with her plate of food as she tucked in, occasionally voicing polite sounds of satisfaction.
The two women ate; the men talked and ate occasionally. When Gracie declared she could not eat another bite and pushed her plate away, Nick pulled a small package out of one of the bags.
He said, "We have dessert!"
Opening the box, he displayed a tray of beautiful French pastries—madelines, meringues, and macarons—in a rainbow of pale colors and none larger than poker chip.
"Ahhhh," both women gushed.
Sara cried, "Now you'll make me cry!" She knew these had come from a French bakery inside one of the big casinos. The guys hated going to the place because it was always overrun with tourists, but it was definitely the most authentic place for the delicate desserts she loved.
Quickly deflecting her emotions to a safe topic, Nick started talking about his dog, Sara's dog, and then added Bezar, the smallest of the dogs, to his tale of dog walking. He had Sara and Gracie laughing with his story as both women sampled the dessert box.
Sara noticed Grissom and Greg were head-to-head in a quiet conversation; instinct told her Greg was being recruited.
The third time Gracie attempted to hide her yawn, Sara said, "Gracie, do you want Nick or Greg to help you get to the room?" Glancing at Greg, she teased, "Greg will be more than happy to see you to your room."
Nick, pleased to see Sara's good-nature had returned, jumped up, saying, "I'll be happy to escort you, Miz Gracie." He leaned beside the elderly woman's ear and whispered, "You remind me of my grandmother."
With that comment, the two left with Nick pushing the wheelchair; Gracie obviously enjoying the attention of the younger man.
As soon as they were out of hearing, Sara asked, "What have you two been whispering about—like I can't guess!"
With a shrug, Grissom admitted, "Greg's going to look up names I get from Rhonda."
"You are not worried, are you Sara? I mean—I don't know what I mean—since it's only males that seem to be dying too young," Greg said and quickly changed the subject. Nodding toward the departing Gracie, he added, "I like Gracie, but those women in the lobby—sort of gave me the hibbie-jibbies."
Sara said, "Gracie is a good roommate—and I'm not worried. I sleep, rest, and work on moving myself out of bed." She glanced at Grissom who was cleaning the lunch debris from the table. "And occasionally Gil and I get to talk."
"Not much privacy," Grissom said. "But you are here to gain strength." He reached over and gently caressed Sara's shoulder before brushing her hair away from her face. His eyes stayed on Sara's as he said, "I was a fool, Greg. Don't follow my example when you find the right one." Leaning over, he kissed her forehead.
Greg was rendered speechless by this show of affection from his former supervisor whose reticent personality was legendary in the lab. He cleared his throat and quickly gathered the remaining trash, asking, "Want to keep your drinks?"
"Yes, please," Sara said. "Best drink I've had all day!"
A few minutes later, Nick returned, reporting that he and Gracie were becoming great friends. "I might have to return for that dance we heard about," he said with a smug smile.
Before any of them could mentioned the deaths in rehab, the small beeper attached to Sara's shirt chirped several times.
"What's that?" Greg asked. With a laugh, he added, "It reminds me of the time Ecklie was going to keep track of all the lab techs by giving us a beeper!"
"It's my shower time," Sara explained. "The bath team sends a message so I'll know they will be in my room in fifteen minutes. It works both ways—I can message a nurse or my nursing assistant and they message me."
For ten minutes, the friends talked; deaths of young men were not mentioned as Nick and Greg caught Sara up on lab gossip and heard of her progress—little as it was, it was more than she had been doing for days.
"Your substitute stayed with us for three shifts," Greg reported. "Now we have a rotating person…"
"And you know how that works," Nick added.
Staying outside as long as possible before her scheduled shower, Sara extracted promises of return visits. "You don't have to bring food and you don't have to stay long—and come in the rehab entrance. Much less traumatic," she said as she laughed. "It's not a bad place—actually it's pretty nice when it comes to being seventy-five percent helpless!"
As Sara worked the remote control and got the chair turned in the right direction, Grissom gave Nick and Greg a silent signal to stay in the courtyard. A few minutes later, he returned.
"Doesn't she look great?" He asked, a smile forming across his face as he turned a chair to face them.
Greg glanced at Nick. The two men had talked about Sara after she left; he waited for Nick to answer.
"Grissom, Sara seems very positive, very upbeat—she's—she's okay about being here," Nick said, a brief grin forming on his face. It was quick-lived as a thoughtful frown followed. "But, Gris, Sara's—Sara's so pale—she's so thin. Did you see what she ate? Four bites of fruit—barely a spoonful of salad—a bite of the spring roll, and two cookies. She seems—I don't know how to say this—she seems overly cheerful."
The smile disappeared from Grissom's face; his hand swept across his face. And suddenly, Greg knew his former supervisor was fighting seldom seen emotions.
Sighing, Grissom said, "She loved you two coming today." He paused, wiping his face again. "She's getting better—it's—it's just a long way to go. The meds are part of the cheerful demeanor—the physicians strongly recommended an anti-depressant just to keep her from getting discouraged."
Immediately, Greg said, "Don't blame her—I'd be depressed beyond words if I were here!"
Nick studied Grissom's face for a long moment. "And what about these guys who have died here? What's that all about? Is she safe—I mean—she's defenseless!"
"I don't know what has gone on with these guys—nine men, maybe more, in relative good health. Two employees here have—have approached me, asking if I'd look at them—unofficially, just review what they remember. On the surface—I'd be guessing if I said anything—but with traumatic injuries, there is always the possibility of blood clots." He nodded to Greg, saying, "If you can do a routine background check on the names, I can see if there is anything obvious that connects them prior to coming here."
"And it gives Sara something to do—other than therapy and listening to Gracie every day," Greg added.
Grissom chuckled, "That's true."
Nick said, "You know we'll do anything—anything we can for Sara. And for you, Gris, we'll help any way we can. You don't have to do everything!"
Nodding his head, Grissom was quiet for several minutes. His eyes downcast, he spoke, so softly that Nick and Greg inclined heads in his direction. "I owe her so much—so much more than I can give her. She brought me to life—you have no idea—she's been my heart from ten minutes after we met. And, I almost destroyed her—I knew better—my mother's disappointment in me was there the day she died—with Sara sitting by her bedside. It was me—my own selfish ways—with thoughts of my own making that kept me away.
"It all goes back to—to—I thought I was too old—it took me—it took Sara a long time to convince me that our age difference didn't matter. But I still had doubts, especially when I was away from her." He made a sad groan, glancing at the two men. "Did you really think it was honorable for an old man to take advantage of a much younger woman's affections? Does a woman want to get romantically involved with a man who would most likely become a burden?"
Nick grunted, saying, "I don't think age has crap to do with love, Gris."
A slight lifting of his mouth occurred as Grissom said, "I know that—in my—my own way, I know Sara doesn't care—she never cared how old I was. She just loved me—and it was my fault that I put her through such misery for months on end!" His hand splayed in a powerless gesture. "All the hours since I returned, she's been nothing but optimistic—even in pain, she's so determined." His hand came to the table in a fist. "I've promised I'll do whatever I can—whatever it takes—for her to get well. To start over—to give us another chance."
When his quiet outburst ended, Nick and Greg remained quiet; both men remembered another time when Sara had been a victim, kidnapped by a serial killer, and Grissom had been like a mad-man on a singular task.
Finally, Nick said, "Grissom, we've all known—we knew before you did—that Sara never had eyes for anyone but you, man! She doesn't care about age—she only cares about you—she wants you to love her as much as she loves you!"
Grissom sighed, "I made a mess of the best thing I've ever had—and I'm determined to set things right. I will be here every day, doing anything I can to make Sara happy—to get her well—and right now, I feel pretty damn useless."
"Well, we all do," agreed Greg. "If you think coming here will help, I'll be here every day. Heck, I'll come in the middle of the night!"
"Why can't you take her home? Set up therapy and care there?" Nick asked.
Shaking his head, Grissom said, sadness in his voice, "Insurance—she has to be an in-patient to be admitted into the rehab institute—and that's the best place in the state—in three states. If she went home, she'd end up with a much longer rehab. And," he sighed, "she's making progress—slow as it is."
Finally, Grissom smiled, saying, "She says she sleeps well—I think one of her meds relaxes her so she can sleep and its pretty quiet here after nine o'clock."
"I'll bring her dog—both of them—all you have to do is say the word," Nick said.
"Thanks, guys, this means so much—lunch, getting her to laugh. Hopefully, she'll keep improving—and gain a little weight. She's dragging around ten pounds of weight with the casts and metal plates."
Greg asked, "How long does her bath take?"
Another grin developed; Grissom said, "That's the highlight of her day—takes about forty-five minutes and she always feels better afterwards."
Just then, the automatic doors opened and Rhonda appeared. She waved and approached the table. After quick introductions, she slipped an envelope to Grissom at the same time she asked about Sara. In a few minutes, she walked on, to doors on the opposite side of the courtyard.
"Okay, guys, we have names," Grissom said as he pulled a single page of paper from the envelope. Unfolding the page, he glanced at eleven names along with two dates for each name. "She gave us birthdates and death dates."
Greg said, "We'll take that—and get to work. By tomorrow, we may know something—or at least more than we now know."
The three men talked for another half hour about local politics, the lab, the sheriff, and their friend, Catherine Willows, before the doors opened again and Sara, damp hair curling around her face, returned, this time with a large, dark-skinned woman introduced as Dona, as Sara added "the best bath-giver in the universe!"
The two visitors left a short while later, Grissom guiding them the rehab entrance where they chose to trek around the building avoiding the lobby of the nursing home.
"I'm going in early tonight," Greg said as he touched the pocket containing the list of names.
Nick agreed, "I'll meet you there. With two of us checking, it shouldn't take long."
"First blush—what do you think?" Greg asked.
"About the deaths? Who knows? I think Grissom is more curious than worried." Quietly, Nick asked, "What'd you think of Grissom? Think he's learned his lesson?"
Greg laughed. "I will never pretend to understand Grissom! It's sad—more than that—it's tragic that Sara had to nearly die for him to return." He saw Nick's inquiring glance and continued. "You know it's true."
Smiling, Nick said, "Let it go, Greg. He's back, Sara's happy." Good-naturedly, he elbowed his friend and co-worker, saying, "Maybe Grissom needed a ton of bricks—Sara almost dying—before he came to his senses." A grin spread across his face as he added, "Maybe you need to speed things along—before you get too old!"
A/N: Again, thank you!