A/N: Thank you for reading as we continue...

I Keep On Loving You

Chapter 14

Shortly after sunrise, Sara was roused out of sleep by two of her physicians who appeared to think it was a great time to be up, dressed, and entirely too excited about changing the cast on her arm.

"You're the first we've used this on! Ground breaking technology," one explained as the other carefully cut the fiberglass cast from her arm. He was also the one who scrubbed her arm until it was bright pink, tingling as skin was exposed to water for the first time in weeks.

Out of a box, they unwrapped a fishnet looking L-shaped form and held it up for her to see.

"Totally water-proof, a new polymer compound—some kind of plastic, I think," one explained as he gently placed it on her arm. "We'll shape it to your arm—the tighter weave goes where your fracture is—and seal it closed with this little device."

To Sara, the little device looked like a Dremel tool she had used in the lab but this one heated and, very carefully, the physician melted the fishnet polymer around her arm.

"We have to cut it off, but it's much lighter. You'll be able to move so much easier—probably forget it's here."

Watching the process, she asked, "Can I use a crutch?"

"Not yet—a few more days. The bones need to mend a bit more."

"Can I get one of these for my leg?"

Both doctors chuckled. One said, "We had to beg for this one, but if it works like it should, the next time you break a leg, you'll get one of these!"

They were right; the new cast—appearing as a white rigid mesh over her arm—was much lighter. The physicians studied scans of her leg and pelvis before deciding she would continue a slow process in rehab, promising another week and she would be ready for more intensive rehabilitation.

By the time she got back to her room, Grissom and Gracie were having a pleasant conversation over breakfast and Sara was hungry enough to eat two cups of yogurt, honey-drenched fruit, cinnamon and sugar toast, and cheese wedges brought on her tray.

A few hours later, Sara was sweating like a race horse as she maneuvered through a series of exercises that included pulling her body off an elevated mat. Hooking elbows over a bar, she had managed to do it four times with a slight push of her foot. The new 'cast' had been closely examined by the therapists—"impressive technology" one said. For Sara, it meant she could use her arm easier.

As one of the techs positioned a sliding board so she could move from the mat to a chair, Sara sensed a subtle change—everyone was looking at the entrance—and as she turned she heard the click of heels that could be produced by only one person.

And Catherine Willows was never one to be self-conscious about an entrance; Sara had to laugh out loud as Catherine walked across the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing; even the elderly woman struggling to balance on parallel bars stopped swaying and gaped at Catherine. The beautiful blonde entered in a swirl of floating pink.

Sara had to admit that her mouth popped open in a gawk for a few seconds. Catherine wore a pair of shoes with five inch heels; her knee-length pale pink skirt was pencil thin and a bright pink gossamer shawl floated around her slim body not hiding the architecture of a fashion model. Sara smiled at the obvious confidence Catherine could exhibit by walking across the room.

"Sara!" Catherine's voice rang across the room. In four or five long strides she was wrapping arms around Sara.

"I'm sweaty—I'm sweaty!" Sara protested as she returned the hug; her jersey shirt was damp with perspiration.

Catherine backed away; a look of astonishment on her face. "My God! What happened to you!"

Sara laughed, trying to remember the last time she'd seen Catherine—months ago, she was sure—as she tried to think back on all that had happened. She said, "That bad, huh?"

Grissom stepped around, taking a seat beside her on the mat, smiling as he watched the two women and placed his arm around Sara. He said, "She looks much better—she talking and moving around!"

"Did you really have to fall into a manhole to get this guy to return? And how long is this going to take—this rehab? Let me have a look at you!"

Sara knew Catherine was examining her and she knew she looked like—well, Sara thought, she really did not know how she looked because she had avoided mirrors for days.

Catherine gently touched Sara's hair and then moved on to the cast on her arm. "For the shape you're in, you look great. Thank God you will be okay. Gil says you are improving every day."

Sara nodded, saying, "It's taking a while—but at least I'm moving around."

Catherine stood, quickly surveyed the bright room, the dozen or so people in it who were suddenly involved in treatments again, and said, "What do we have to do to get you out of here so we can talk?"

The therapy tech who had been working with Sara quickly arrived with a wheelchair saying, "It takes a few minutes to transfer her." Grissom insisted on lifting her into the chair and in less time than usual, Sara was in a chair as Grissom pushed her toward the courtyard.

"Do you need anything?" He asked Sara and when she shook her head, he said, his voice low, "Outside is the only place we can get some privacy."

Catherine frowned as the morning heat hit her face; she slipped sunglasses over her eyes, saying, "And when do you get a private room."

"This afternoon," Sara answered. "I cannot tell you how I'm looking forward to it—no sounds other than what I make! I won't have to worry about waking up my roommate—who is a dear, but she wants to know everything—tells me everything she does!"

"The one who told you about the deaths in rehab?" Catherine asked. When Sara gave her a quizzical glance, the blonde added, "Gil caught me up—I'd say it's a real long-shot that nine or ten or eleven men under fifty should die in a place like this."

Grissom pushed Sara to a far corner of the courtyard where a stone bench had been placed, shaded by a trellis covered with vines.

Before she sat down, Catherine read the memoriam inscribed on the bench. "Gil," she said with a laugh, "I never ever want a bench at a nursing home to have my name on it!"

He winced at her words while Sara giggled. Catherine searched for a tissue in her leather bag and then wiped the bench before sitting on it.

The courtyard was the prettiest place in the facility with fake-flagstone walkways and blooming vines and barrels of flowers. Catherine inhaled the fragrance of flowers in an attempt to rid her sense of smell of bleach and pine cleaner.

"Thanks for coming, Catherine," Sara said. "I needed a breath of fresh air—the kind you bring! Everyone is so serious here!" Her mouth lifted in a smile. "It does get old—everyone in a uniform—all the patients with three exceptions—me, a young woman and a young guy in their twenties—everyone else is," she paused a brief moment, "elderly!"

Catherine had arrived to cheer up her friend, not evoke discussion of the depressing situation she had found. As she had walked through the facility, she had concluded that 'rehab center' was just another name for 'nursing home'.

"Okay," she said, "tell me the plan—for you, Sara. Girl, how long will you be in these—these casts? By the way, the one on your arm could be fashionable in certain places."

"Another week," Sara said, "and then it's more rehab at the new place by the hospital. I had to come here to get there." She laughed, sounding more melancholy than she meant to, adding, "It's not a bad place—the staff—they are very kind. Doing care that most of us take for granted—and doing it with a smile—I am grateful. So many of them really have a dedication to this work—and a sense of humor."

Catherine asked, "Tell me about the men—how on earth did you two uncover mystifying deaths?"

"We're not sure there is a mystery—or a crime," Grissom said. "Two people have given us some information along with a list of names—and one resident—Gracie. She was the first one who told Sara about the men dying—she thinks it's the water in rehab. The two others—and one is a therapist—think something caused the deaths other than the obvious—blood clots causing heart attacks—one had a seizure. They all appear to have died on their feet while in rehab." He held up one finger, adding, "One died while lifting weights—he had a history of heart disease."

"And no one questioned—no families?"

Sara and Grissom shook their heads. Grissom said, "We have a list of names, ran background checks, and nothing obvious pops up."

Catherine leaned back, crossed her legs, and leaned forward, pointing an index finger at Grissom, then Sara. She said, "You two know we have to poke our noses in a lot of places that is not our business to find out what is! I think we might flash a badge at the administrator and get some cooperation from him." She shrugged, "We can say Gracie got us interested."

Skepticism crossed Grissom's face. "I don't know if we should do that, Catherine. The two employees do not want their names known."

"Well, everyone knows Gracie thinks the water caused them to die," Sara said.

Catherine smirked. "I have a shiny FBI badge that says I can ask—rattle the box. I'll even give my boss a heads-up that I've heard of suspicious deaths at a nursing home where my friend is getting rehab—and it may involved federal funds. He'll love that part."

Grissom remained unconvinced yet he agreed he did not have enough evidence to learn more about the men. "A look at their medical records might clear things up."

"Let me talk to the administrator," Catherine said. "I'll use maximum diplomacy—he'll think he called me by the time I walk out of there."

Sara snickered; she had seen Catherine in action for years and had often wondered how her tactics played with the FBI's rigid reputation. The thought crossed her mind that maybe that's exactly why Catherine had been hired—she could adapt to any circumstance in seconds.

A few minutes later, after discussing Sara's routine for the rest of the day, Catherine asked Grissom, "You want to come along?"

"My people skills haven't improved," he said with a chuckle.

"You sit quietly and I'll talk—what about lunch? Can we eat here? Do I want to eat here?"

"The food is good," Sara said.

With that, Grissom left the women to order lunch.

As he disappeared into the facility, Catherine started with her questions. "Tell me all about it, Sara—when did Gil get back? And why did he stay away? Where has he been?"

Sara's mouth twisted into an enigmatic grin. She expected Catherine's questions and had anticipated how to answer. She said, "He's been in Texas, Catherine, studying bees—lots of traveling. We've had our ups and downs—but we—we have always loved each other."

Catherine waved a hand in the air. "We all know that, Sara! But what is wrong with Gil? He chases after you—goes to some jungle where you two get married and then you return to Vegas to work while he—he gads about the world looking at bugs! Marriage means—it should mean you live together—or at least see each other on a regular basis! Nick told me that you said he wasn't your husband any longer—when was that? Nearly two years ago! And then you take care of his mother when she's dying!" She shrugged her shoulders and continued, "Of course, when I was married to Eddie, we were in the same town—the same house—probably had too much time together! I might have liked him a little longer if I'd lived in another place!"

Sara winced at the memory. She said, "I should never have said that—that he wasn't my husband. I was pretty angry about some things." She smiled. "Gil's mother and I got to be good friends before she died—she depended on me—and—and I took care of her.

"As for Gil," quietly, Sara laughed. "You've known him for years, Catherine. Easy to love him, isn't it? But he—he…" she bit her lip in an effort to describe her husband.

Catherine finished her sentence, saying, "Gil sticks his head in the sand, Sara. The world could blow up and he'd never know it if there was a damn bug in front of his eyes! Once, I told him to get his eyes away from a microscope and see what was going on around him!" Her eyes narrowed as she made a face and laughed. "He's still doing it!"

"I love him," Sara said with a slight shrug, "always have—and he does love me. I know he does, Cath. It's hard for him to—to express it sometimes, but when he does," almost shyly, she smiled. "When he does—he's the most amazing man!"

Catherine giggled, "I remember you saying something along that line once—great sex." She reached for Sara's hand, asking, "What can I do? For you? I'm in town for a week." She laughed. "Unless you've discovered a serial killer right here in rehab—then I might be here longer. But I'm at your service—anything!"

A/N: More to come! Thank you for reading-thank you for your comments and reviews!