The sound of birds chirping filtered through the shadow of sleep and she dragged her heavy eyes open to find, to both her surprise and complete consternation, that her dark, shuttered room had faded into a bright lush meadow. The brightness no longer hurt her retinas, and she watched in childlike wonder as dozens of white butterflies flitted about in the cool air above her. The cold tile she had collapsed onto had been replaced by soft green moss, and she lay on her back gazing up at a crystal clear sky, white clouds floating across its distant surface. It was as if a spell of perfection had been cast over the scene, and Sara smiled peacefully at a cherry throated hummingbird that paused in midair above her, humming, then zipped away.

"Do you like it?" A familiar voice pierced the dream, and she opened her eyes again to see him standing above her, grinning broadly, his face relaxed and open, the guarded shadows gone from his piercing blue eyes, hands resting lightly akimbo on his hips. Her lips parted softly as she returned the smile, reaching up a hand toward him, but not relinquishing her comfortable position. He bent easily, and took her hand in his larger one, lowering himself down onto the moss next to her, propping himself on one elbow, eyes never leaving her face.

"It's just - lovely," she replied, still holding lightly to his hand. "I think it might just be the absolutely loveliest thing that I have ever seen."

"Well, that's pretty high praise," he chuckled, releasing his grip on her thin fingers and sitting up, crossing his arms across his knees, his blue eyes drifting to the far distance across the valley beneath them. "Lovelier than me, I suppose?"

"Lovely isn't the word I would use to describe you, Gil Grissom," she countered faintly, casting an appreciative glance his direction turning onto her side, hands clasped beside her head.

He reached over and smoothed back her hair lightly, then let his hand drift back to rest on hers. His gaze was intense for a moment, studying, calculating, a faint hint of furrow at his brow, then he smiled down at her and looked away again. "So, what word would you use, Sara Sidle?"

Her eyebrows flew up at his forwardness and she laughed outright. "You want me to actually say it and ruin this perfectly wholesome moment with my - secret thoughts?"

"You could never ruin anything, my dear," he said warmly, lacing his fingers with hers. "Just be kind and enlighten an old man."

"You're not old," she laughed, a gently musical sound.

"Mm, feels it," he grunted, shifting his legs. "So. What are you thinking?"

Her brows rose, crumpling her forehead in that familiar thoughtful expression she got when trying to decide how to explain something in a way he would understand it. "I think -" Her voice trailed off, and she smiled. "I think I would like you to kiss me."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and it took a minute for his face to catch up with his ears, as a pleased, focused grin crossed his face. "You do?"

"Yeah," she whispered, soulful brown eyes frozen on his face.

All playfulness faded from his eyes, and something warm and protective replaced it, as he half rolled, reaching across her to anchor his body weight with a hand next to her head, his face merely inches from hers.

"You sure?" he asked once, his eyes searching her face for any hint of resistance. There was none.

"Yes." Her voice was soft, vulnerable, and it made him want to kiss her passionately, gently, fiercely, as if all of the depths of his love could be measured in the contact of his lips on hers.

But, ever the overthinker, and self-denying gentleman, he simply kissed her gently, brushing a hand across her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw.

If she expected anything more, she did not show it, but her hand sought the company of his again. He leaned back on both elbows, studying the sky again.

"It's so quiet, feels like we are the last humans on earth." She finally spoke, her voice faint.

"Well, we certainly aren't the only ones, my dear, but it is peaceful. Are you comfortable?"

"Oh yes," she replied, sighing and wiggling a bit more firmly into the moss. "It's so soft. I just want to stay here forever."

"You can't, though, Sara," he said, suddenly very serious, squeezing her fingers gently.

"Aw, why not?" she begged petulantly, poking out her lower lip at him. This flirtatious expression would typically melt him, but he released her hand and brushed his fingers across her forehead.

"You have to wake up, Sara."

"But I am awake," she laughed, recapturing his hand in hers. "We both are. Gil, what kind of butterflies are those?"

This question caught his attention, and he scanned the surrounding grass for the white butterflies that flitted around them who had drifted off into the tree line. "Pieris rapae, from the family Pieridae. They are also called cabbage whites. Pretty, aren't they?"

"I have no idea what you said, but thanks," she laughed. She turned soft eyes toward him again. "I like it when you speak bug, Gil."

His lips quirked up for a moment, but the newly risen concern had not faded from his eyes. "Sara, I know all of this is beautiful, but you have to wake up now."

"Gil, I am awake. See, talking to you? That's awake. Are you okay?"

"No," he breathed softly. "I'm fine but you aren't. You aren't awake. This is very important, Sara. Very, very important. No matter what happens, just listen to my voice. You have to wake up. Now."

She half sat up, lower lip trembling at the intensity in his eyes. "Gil? Gil, you are scaring me, what is it?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but thunder drowned out anything he might have said. Just moments ago, the sky had been blue and beautiful. Now, thick black clouds had covered the beauty with shadows, and the sky opened as rain began to fall in chilling torrents, like buckets of ice water being thrown over her head.

"Gil!" She shouted, scrambling to her hands and knees, the water already up to her waist. "Gil! Where - where do we go?"

She stumbled to her feet, immediately soaked, shivering violently, reaching into the darkness with a shaking hand. "Gil? Gil come back, I - I need you - it's so cold - Gil?" Her voice faded, and tears streamed down her face as she tried to stumble toward the trees where shelter surely awaited.

"Please, make it stop," she whimpered, each step through the rising water sending stabbing pain through her feet. "Gil, please."

She fell again to the ground, her fingers sinking deep into the mud with an ugly suctioning sound as the ground pulled her hands into its depths. She could not pull her hands free, and she could feel her knees sinking into the softening ground as well. "Gil - save me -" she panted, eyes squeezed shut against the splashing torrent that pummeled her body, each raindrop a separate marble of pain, multiplied by hundreds of thousands from the clouds above. "Hurts -" she cried softly, shoulders slumping, as the cold dampness shook her slight frame with chills again. "Please - it hurts - so cold -"

She threw her head back suddenly, as it registered in her head that the water was rising. "No - no - no" she panted, pulling at her immobilized hands. "No - help - help - GIL!"

Flashbacks to a desert, a car, and her head above water drove her fear higher and she screamed "GRISSOM!"

He had been idly running his fingers through her damp hair, massaging her scalp carefully, frowning at the heat still emanating from her skin, when the beep of the thermometer refocused his attention, and he tugged it easily from between her lips. "104.2" he murmured, brow furrowing. "You sure know how to give it 110%, don't you, sweetheart?"

She had fallen into a semi conscious state, her eyelids fluttering when he spoke her name. She was restless, feverish, and chilling all at once, and he hated how nervous he felt. It wasn't that he didn't know how to treat her, per se, it was just that it was his Sara that was sick. He didn't like that at all. An enemy he could protect her from, threaten, and send the guy to jail. A virus he could not treat, could not stop, and it made him feel helpless and sad. The intrusive thoughts told him that he had waited too long to get to know her, and to let her in his life, and now that he had let her in, fate would rip her away before he could say 'Sidle'.

He was kneeling on the tile floor of her bathroom beside her tub, on a towel to spare his aching knees, one hand testing the water she was half submerged in, the other hand keeping her head safely above the water.

Her temperature had been 104.4 when he had originally tested it and he promptly readied a cool bath for her. His scientific brain told him the right temperature for the water, cautioning his overzealous nature to not make it too cool. He watched her carefully for any signs of shivering, cupping cool water in his hand to pour carefully over her head, avoiding getting it in her eyes. He brushed a wet hand across her forehead, pushing back the wet strands, and cupped her burning cheek in his palm.

"Please wake up, Sara," he whispered. Selfishly, he wanted to talk to her, to know she was alright, even though he knew her body was keeping her out of it to protect her, and let her sleep. "You're fighting a war, little one," he added, softly. "Please know I am there with you."

Every few moments he retested her temperature, and it dropped so slowly that he was beginning to think it wasn't working correctly. He pulled it out of her mouth again, and frowned at the 104.0 that shone red on the display. Frustrated, he threw the thermometer across the room, cupping water over her head again, trying to still his racing heart. Common sense told him that he needed to go get it and stop being a baby, so he sighed heavily through his nose and carefully rested her against the tub, wincing at the small whine of protect that she gave at the loss of his hands.

He shoved himself to his feet, taking a couple stumbling steps as the circulation rushed back to his cramped ankles, then he trudged over to where the thermometer had slid under the cabinet. He fished it out of the corner, and was dusting off the dust from it when a splash startled him from his thoughts and he turned back to the tub. She wasn't under the water, to his relief, but she was stirring, and her face was crumpled and agitated. She was murmuring incoherently, hands swishing through the water as if reaching for someone. He plunged his hand in and laced his fingers with hers, pleased at how she immediately seemed to recognize him by touch.

But she still mumbled, her brow furrowing deeply, panic clearly displayed on her face. His heart plummeted to his stomach and he cradled her head against his chest.

"Shh, Sara, it's okay, it's okay. Shh, I've got you."

"Gil," she whimpered, a tear trickling from her closed eyes.

"I'm here," he comforted her, one hand rubbing up and down her back. "I'm here, darling."

"Gil," she called again, faintly, and he shushed her again, resting his chin on top of her head. She sounded as if she were looking for him, and he kissed her head.

"I'm right here, Sara, right here."

She tried to pull away from him, and he carefully held on, unsure of her mental state, as she grew more and more agitated. Within thirty seconds, she went from cradled against him to thrashing in the water as he tried to reclaim her hand in his to contain her.

"Sara!" He commanded, regaining his grip on her, pressing her to his chest again, squinting at the water that splashed up into his face and dripped from his hair and soaked his shirt. "Sara, stop, sweetheart, it's okay, I've got you."

Then she screamed his name, a gut wrenching sound that bounced harshly off the tile and glass in the room, piercing and terrified.

He wasn't even sure what to do, except hold onto her, containing her fighting, flailing limbs, as she gradually fell still and silent against him again, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

"Gil," she murmured, raising her head. The voluntary movement of her head sent a spark of hope through him and he tilted his head to look at her face. Her eyes were unfocused, but she was conscious.

"Sara," he called softly, brushing back her hair again. "Sweetheart, can you hear me?"

"Cold," she murmured, leaning into him, seeking his warmth. Grissom wrapped both arms around her, nodding.

"I know, I know. You're sick, darling. Temperature was real high, so I have you in a cool bath to get it down. Do you think you can take some medicine?"

She nodded wearily, and pushed away from him, flailing her hands momentarily to find some support against the sides of the tub. "Like a lobster in a pot," she muttered, looking around slowly, with much the same face as that of a newborn giraffe.

"Lobsters are high priced and overrated," Grissom called from the bedroom, before reappearing with the bottle of Motrin and a glass half full of water.

"Am I?" She muttered quizzically, still blinking and taking in her state of complete dress with an expression that showed she still wasn't in full grasp of her faculties.

"Are you what?" He looked confused for a second then knelt by the tub again. "Here," he directed her, holding out a tiny plastic cup of orange liquid. "Drink this before you try to figure out anything else. The fever's still pretty high and you have been pretty loopy."

Her eyebrows raised, as she reached out a hand to take the cup, missing it entirely, swaying slightly, her eyes drooping shut.

"No, no," he interrupted her drifting, using a slightly too loud tone. "Medicine first, come on, Sara. You can do this."

She tried to take the cup again, and missed it, even though he tried to get it into her hand, and her petulantly frustrated grunt mixed with his longsuffering sigh.

"Need help?"

She glared at him with too bright eyes, and a smile quirked the corner of his lips. There was his Sara, her fighting spirit was returning.

"Okay, fine." He touched the cup to her lips, letting her tilt it back between her teeth, pouring the medicine between her parched, cracked lips. He instinctively settled a hand at the back of her neck to support her, and, satisfied that she had taken all of the medicine, dropped the little cup onto the tile and held up the glass of water. "Sorry, sweetheart, one more pill, okay?"

He helped her take the Tylenol tablet that had been tucked into his palm, then he checked her temperature again. 103.1 Finally coming down.

He knew the medicine would work together to drop her temperature quickly, so he could focus on getting her dry and in bed.

"Sorry I dumped you in their in your pajamas," he said conversationally, shoving himself to his feet, to grab some towels. "I didn't want to strip you, with you not able to decide if that was okay or not. I will get you some dry things, alright?"

"Always a gentleman," she muttered, swaying sideways as sleep nearly claimed her. He dove to grab her as she corrected, getting a splash of water across his already damp clothing.

"S-sorry," she glanced at him, her face still half coherent, but contrite. "You're all wet."

"Not as wet as you," he said playfully, pulling a fluffy robe off the hook and shaking out a neatly folded towel. "Now come on, out you come. I can't have you drowning in their while I dig through your t-shirts."

She snorted, and tried to stand, but she was still weak, and visibly in pain from the strain her muscles had been under. He basically carried her out of the tub and set her on the floor, where she leaned against the tile wall and sighed, shivering slightly at the change in temperature.

"Stay right there," he commanded, stepping into the bedroom again, where he dug swiftly through her things to get dry clothing. While that would have typically been an awkward thing to do to a new girlfriend, this was Sara, he had worked with her in some of the goriest cases they had experienced, and his mind was on the science at the moment, not really thinking about anything other than getting her dry, and safely tucked in bed.

He returned to her side, dumping the articles of clothing on the tile. "Alright, brought a nightgown, easy on, and here are some socks. Don't want you slipping. Do you need me to help you?"

"Y-yes," she replied faintly, blinking up at him with a suddenly bashful frown.

He swept a hand across her forehead, tucking loose hair behind her ear. "Alright. How much help do you need from me?"

"Everything hurts," she replied faintly, and he nodded.

"I know, I know, it's part of the symptoms of the flu. Hey, I will close my eyes, if you want, okay?"

She laughed outright, and shook her head slightly. "Gil," she whispered roughly, and he winced at the rawness of her throat. "It's nothing - you haven't - seen already. Please get this - over with. The floor-is really cold."

She could barely make out his blue eyes through the fevered haze, and she could see the respect and intense love there, and she hoped that he knew that she trusted him completely. He nodded once, and reached for her pajama top, fingers pausing inches away from the wet hem. "You sure?"

"Gil," she said again, with a hint of feminine warning, and that tone gave him the permission he needed to set about getting her dry and warm again.