Fandom:
CSI
Pairing: G/S
Rating: PG
Summary: Too many pieces...
Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong
to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do
not have permission to borrow them. All the others are mine, and if you
want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is
intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are
mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved"
Note: I'm indulging myself, which means that there's more angst to
come. If you're worried...well...have I ever written an unhappy ending?
Rating may change later. Much gratitude to Cincoflex, who has kept this
thing going!
*********
In and out. That was all there was. One
minute she was awake, and the next she was realizing that another
unmeasurable span of time had passed by while she slept. Sometimes she
woke sharp, and sometimes waking was hardly more than a dream, but
there was always pain underneath.
This time, when she woke, she was alone for once. It was both
disappointment and relief. She didn’t have to muster a word
or a smile for anyone...but there was no one keeping an eye on her.
Somewhere under the fatigue and the pain, she was humbled by her
visitors. Nick and Warrick, Catherine and bright-haired Lindsey, Doc
and David, they’d all been by. She’d even opened
her eyes once to see Brass leaning back in the chair near her bed,
snoring faintly, and she would have giggled if she’d had the
strength.
No Grissom, though, and it was a stinging, bitter relief. The first
thing she’d done on waking and finding him gone was give the
attending nurse two names, people she didn’t want to see.
Doing so had taken most of her voice and all of her energy, and she
really didn’t think her father was going to show up even if
someone figured out how to contact him. But she’d done it,
she’d made herself safe, at least for the moment.
Somewhere under the heavy exhaustion, she was saving up anger for when
she had the strength to experience it. How
dare he... drifted by on
occasion. How dare he show up
here and act like he cares.
She closed her mind off from the wonderful sense of safety
she’d felt on opening her eyes and seeing Grissom there. It
had become anger almost instantly, anyway. She didn’t care if
he was her supervisor, or the emergency contact she’d never
changed because she had no one to take his place even when they
weren’t friends any more. He’d forfeited every
right to be there.
Sara shifted a little, aching and still exhausted but tired of the
position she was in. The IV in her arm and the broken ribs rather
limited her choices, and sometimes the constant low bustle of the ICU
made it hard for her to fall back asleep, drugs notwithstanding. The
curtains of her pod were half-open, which gave her something to watch,
but she was bored with the intermittent stream of medical personnel and
the occasional wheelchair.
The curtain rattled slightly, and a familiar head and shoulder appeared
around the edge. “Sara?” Catherine asked softly.
Sara felt a smile stretching her face, and she let it, despite the tug
at the cut near her jaw hinge. Catherine might be a difficult coworker,
but she was a terrific visitor, quiet and funny; she watched for signs
of fatigue but didn’t make it obvious, and was full of good
stories and gossip.
“C’mon in,” Sara said, or tried to, but
the words caught in her dry throat again. Irritated, she reached
carefully for the cup on the bedside table, her movements slow but not
too uncomfortable as long as she was cautious.
Catherine, smart woman, didn’t offer to help, instead sliding
into the visitor’s chair. “You’re feeling
better.”
Sara took a long sip of the water and put the cup back, nodding.
“Getting there. How’s Nick?”
Catherine crossed her legs and smiled wickedly.
“He’s insisting on going back to work tomorrow, and
I’m going to let him. I figure he’ll last about
half the shift, and I’ll spend less effort sending him home
then than trying to talk him out of it in the first place.”
Sara suppressed the chuckle--she wasn’t up to laughing
yet--but let out a grin. Catherine made a canny supervisor.
“How much can he do with one arm, anyway?”
“It’s his left arm. I can always give him more
paperwork.” She cocked her head and regarded Sara.
“You’re in almost the same boat, but I suppose your
arm will heal faster than your ribs.”
Sara shrugged, carefully. A sharp shard of rock had somehow embedded
itself in the back of her right arm during the mudslide, missing
anything major but requiring a number of stitches, internal and
external, to close. Already a physical therapist was stopping by every
day to help her stretch her arm gently. “I’m not
ready to go back to work just yet, anyway.”
Catherine patted her leg. “You take it easy for a while. You
deserve it.”
With a hole in my side,
I’ll have to, she
didn’t say. The surgeon kept telling her cheerfully that
she’d been lucky, a slow bleed easily repaired, but it
didn’t feel like it from where she lay.
Catherine stuck to funny little stories about the lab, doing her best
to make Sara smile, and Sara was willing to smile. The new dayshift
diener who had a desperate crush on Warrick, and Warrick’s
slightly bewildered attempts to evade the man; David being caught
smooching his fiancée on his lunch break; Mia’s
encounter with a garter snake that had apparently come in hidden in
some evidence and had found the lab to be an acceptable new
environment.
“She’s so calm and controlled, and there she was,
standing on her lab stool with her eyes so big I thought
they’d pop out,” Catherine chuckled, and Sara did
grin a little at the image. “Turns out Bobby has pet snakes,
so he collected that one for her. But she’ll take forever to
live it down.”
There were two people Catherine wasn’t mentioning, Sara
noticed--three--but then the number dropped to one as the older woman
went on. “Grissom says Greg’ll be back in next
week. Has Greggo called you yet?”
Props to her for being
casual. “At least
twice. I did answer the phone once when I wasn’t really
awake, and I’m still not sure who I was talking
to.” She reached for the water again. “Is he
okay?”
“Getting better,” Catherine said. “The
flu hit him really hard. I”ll admit, I don’t see as
much of him as I used to, but I miss the kid. It’s too quiet
without him.”
“He’s hardly a kid,” Sara objected
mildly.
Catherine wrinkled her nose. “You all are, to me,”
she said, joking, and then her smile softened.
“It’s too quiet without you too, Sara. You need to
get well and get back.”
She was getting used to it, the sudden drowning exhaustion as her tiny
energy stores ran out. Sara smiled and closed her eyes, barely feeling
Catherine’s pat on her fingers, and scarcely articulating the
thought before she was out again. Maybe
I don’t want to go back.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
Grissom looked up and pulled off his glasses as Catherine dropped into
the chair in front of his desk. “You do realize that your
shift was over three hours ago?” she prodded.
He shrugged, giving nothing away. “So?”
Catherine rolled her eyes. Grissom was glad to see it; he
hadn’t liked the person she’d become for a little
while, brittle and bitter and certain that everyone was against her,
even him. The swing supervisor position might not have been the one she
wanted, but it seemed to have eased her, and it was a relief to have
his friend back--even if she was going to needle him. “Gil,
you can’t live at the lab.”
“Says who?” He was joking, but Catherine merely
looked impatient.
“Look, Sara’s still pretty fragile right now. But
she’ll have to come back sooner or later. And acting like a
hermit and wearing yourself out won’t make that any
easier.”
It was something he was hungry for, and dreaded, at the same time. Sara
back in his orbit, where she couldn’t forbid him her
presence; back where maybe, perhaps, he could do something to put them
on a better footing.
Maybe. Perhaps.
“I appreciate your concern,” he said dryly.
Catherine eyed him impatiently. “Gil, you two--“
”Would you be willing to have Sara on the swing
shift?” he interrupted.
“What?” Catherine sat up straight. “Do
you really think Ecklie would--you’d be one
short--“
“Ecklie would have to acquiesce if Sara made the
request,” Grissom countered. “And I’d
trade you for either Warrick or Nick. I wouldn’t like to
break them up, but if Sara would be more comfortable on
swing...”
“Oh no you don’t.” Catherine’s
glare might not have an effect on him, but it was still impressive.
“You are not shoving this mess onto my plate. You and Sara
have the problem, Gil, you and Sara fix it. You’re not
running away from it this time.” She pushed to her feet.
“And don’t put the idea in her head.”
With that she was gone. Grissom snorted softly to himself. It
wasn’t something he wanted, Sara moving to another shift, but
it was something that might well happen, and he figured she’d
be more comfortable on swing than day. And Catherine wouldn’t
have a choice if Ecklie ordered it.
Grissom had no illusions about that. If Sara wanted to change shifts,
Ecklie would do it to keep her; if Ecklie knew it would hurt Grissom to
lose Sara, he would do it gleefully. Grissom wondered if Sara knew how
much power she could wield if she chose.
Well, it’s
all moot until she gets back anyway.
He pulled another report towards him, not willing to go home despite
Catherine’s admonition. As ever, the terrifying events of the
accident rose up in the back of his mind, though he tried to ignore
them; voices and moments replaying at the edge of his consciousness
like a TV on low.
He’s probably
relieved.
I should never have come.
The crash and roar of the falling SUV, and his horror as he realized
what had happened.
I’m cold,
Nick.
Abruptly he grunted, and tossed the report down, pinching the bridge of
his nose. The thought was sudden.
I wonder if Nick told her that I heard them?
...Probably not.
The younger man’s own sense of compassion would most likely
have barred him from mentioning it. There was another memory--Nick
barely conscious, bruises lurid in the lights from the chopper, frantic
about his friend.
I could ask him, I
suppose.
But Grissom knew he never would.
He was there every day, and she blessed him for it. Nick might not stay
for long, but he came each day, taking a cab in because he
couldn’t drive yet and padding quietly into her room to give
her his beaming smile.
Sara was just able to sit up in a chair, and was ruefully aware of the
fact that such a small thing hadn’t seemed like a victory
since she was an infant, when he appeared bearing a small bag.
“Hey! You’re outta bed!”
She grinned at him, pleased. “Observant, Nicky.”
He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head, dropping the bag into her
lap. “Here.”
“Not another one! I thought I told you to quit with these
things.” But Sara opened the bag as she spoke, upending it in
her lap. Nick sat on the edge of her bed, and chuckled as a tiny
stuffed dog fell out.
“C’mon, I’m on a roll here.” He
waved at the table beside the bed, which held an array of small
canines.
“And I’m out of room.” She smiled down at
the toy nonetheless.
“So? I’ll carry them all out for you when you go
home. Or you can leave ‘em for the next patient.”
Sara snorted carefully and handed him the dog so he could place it on
the table. “How’s the shoulder?”
Nick moved the joint in question, equally carefully. “The doc
says I don’t need surgery.”
Her smile was warm. “That’s great.”
“Tell me about it.” He gave an exaggerated sigh of
relief. “How about you? When are you getting out of
here?”
“They’re moving me down to the general recovery
ward tomorrow.” Sara rolled her eyes. “I should
have been down there today, but they claimed I was running a fever last
night.”
Nick sobered. “You were?”
“If I
was, it was about half a degree.” She patted his knee.
“They’re paranoid, Nick. I’m
fine.”
“You sure?” He frowned at her.
“Infection’s nothing to sneeze at, Sar.”
“Read my lips: I’m fine.” Sara rubbed her
abdomen gingerly. “As long as I don’t move too
fast.”
“Well, you take it easy,” Nick said sternly.
“We--“
Sara cut him off, dreading any hint of sentimentality. “So
how’s Greg doing?”
Nick’s knowing look told her that he saw what she was doing,
but he let her get away with it. “He’s a lot
better--I stopped by to see him before shift yesterday. He’s
lost some weight, but you know Greggo--nothing keeps him down for
long.”
She chuckled, glad that she could laugh a little without hurting
herself. “That’s my boy.”
“You know he’s going to be here the minute they let
him.” Nick cocked his head. “Sara...”
His tone of voice warned her, and Sara stiffened. She didn’t
remember their conversation in the wrecked SUV with any degree of
clarity, but she had the feeling she’d said more than she
should have. “Yeah?”
“Why won’t you let Grissom come visit?”
She glared at him. Not even Catherine had had the chuzpah.
“Don’t go there, Nick.”
“Sara, he’s a mess. He’s barely speaking
to anyone, and Archie says he spends most of his time at the
lab.”
She looked down at her lap, feeling her fingers tightening on the
fabric of her robe. “Not my problem.”
“You sure about that?”
When she lifted his head, Nick’s gaze was clear and a little
stern, but Sara raised her chin and stared right back. “His
feeling guilty is not my responsibility--“
”It’s not guilt--“
”I don’t want to talk about this.” Sara
closed her eyes, her energy running out like a sponge wrung dry. She
heard Nick sigh, and then his big hand covered one of hers, squeezing
gently.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“Forget it, Sar. Just take it easy for a while.”
The anger sank away into her exhaustion, and she let it go, unwilling
to struggle with it just then, unwilling to spoil Nick’s
visit. She summoned a smile, and opened her eyes.
“It’s okay,” she said.
“Don’t go yet.”
“I won’t.” Nick’s grip was
steady, and she let herself depend on it. Just for a little while.
The reason Mia didn’t watch soap operas was because she hated
being dropped in the middle of a plotline without knowing what had
already happened. She often avoided TV series for the same reason,
adamantly refusing to watch a show--no matter how popular it proved--if
she hadn’t seen it from the start.
The trouble was, she felt like she’d been thrust into the
middle of an ongoing story at work, without benefit of so much as a
plot synopsis. And nobody but Hodges was willing to talk about what
she’d missed, and she wasn’t about to ask him.
Even if he really knew the whole story, which she doubted he did.
It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that there was something
going on between Grissom and Sara. Mia might not be a CSI, but she was
a very good observer, and she’d seen the looks one would give
the other when they thought themselves unobserved.
Some screw-up there.
That was obvious. Mia straightened from her microscope and made a
meticulous note on the report next to her, but the back of her mind was
pondering the puzzle of the two of them. She had never given their
tension much thought, until the news had hit the lab about the
accident, and half the personnel had dropped what they were doing and
sped to the hospital. Mia hadn’t been one of them--she
didn’t really know either Nick or Sara all that well, and
somebody had to do the work. But it had felt a little isolating, being
outside of the web of concern and fear.
Well, it made it easier to observe. Grissom had vanished entirely for
three days, and Warrick and Catherine had been scarce. Sofia had turned
up, looking like death warmed over, to try to pick up some of the
slack.
And then Grissom had turned up again, and scarcely gone home.
Rumor had it that Sara had thrown him out of her hospital room for some
unspecified reason, but having heard the extent of her injuries, Mia
doubted she’d been up to throwing anything. However, Grissom
looked like a man who’d been kicked in the gut one too many
times, when Mia did actually see him emerge from his office. Reports
were that Sara was recovering nicely--so why did everyone still look so
worried? Even Nick, when he came back to work, had lines in his face
that weren’t all caused by pain.
She really hated it, but there wasn’t much she could do. It
wasn’t like anybody kept an ongoing log of the
lab’s relationships...or...did they?
Mia looked up as a form passed by outside her lab’s glass
wall. “Archie?”
The A/V tech halted, turning an amiable face to her, and when she
waved, he pushed the door open. “Something I can do for
you?”
Mia turned on her stool to face him. “Who’s the
biggest gossip in the lab?”
Archie raised his brows. “Hearing or speaking?”
“There’s a difference?”
The tech shrugged. “Everybody talks to David. Ronnie in
QD’s the king of information, though, if you want to find
something out. David probably knows more, but he won’t
usually repeat it.”
Mia smiled. “Great.”
She'd make Questioned Documents one of the stops for her lunch break.
Chapter 4
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