Yield
by Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: Not mine, never was. CSI is CBS's and I merely borrow for a little while.

Author's Notes: Post-Grave Danger and thus contains spoilers. Poem recited by Grissom is Ulysses by Tennyson and it's in the public domain.

Thanks to Carbyluv for proofreading.

II

'It is finally over,' she thinks and yet knows it has barely started.

Nick is safe. They found him. He will live. He will. She doesn't need to be the CSI she moulded out of ice to find him any more. She can let go, let in.

But all she can do is sit and feel the night outside, longing for its touch. Too many walls here. Not enough space.

The hospital hallway is quiet, almost a tomb, though Sara isn't sure what has been buried. Illusions of safety, of being untouchable, perhaps.

It could have been any of them.

It could have been Greg, who is sitting alone, staring at his clasped hands. She wonders if his calm is genuine, if he has absorbed so much of Grissom he can be a rock even now. Or perhaps he has built walls he's waiting for to shatter now that they're not needed any more. Nick has been found.

Nick has been found. They can let go, there is no need to be professional any more.

Warrick and Catherine have sought each other. Catherine is perched up against an armrest, Warrick leaning his head against her thigh, her arms around his shoulder. There is silence between them, but comfortable silence, no words needed in the nearness between them. Warrick's eyes are closed, and Sara is sure that behind his eyelids, nightmare scenarios are still playing out.

She knows they are in her mind. Nick dying, Nick dead, Nick in the box, Grissom in the box, Grissom dying, Grissom dead, her in the box.

Her body is itching as if ants are crawling over her and suddenly the walls of the hallway seem to be rushing against her, crushing her bones, her calm, her mind.

She gets up abruptly and walks away, feeling Greg and Catherine's gaze on her back, but no one speaks. Perhaps they understand, as Grissom doesn't.

Time to yield to the human and all its complicated, crushing emotions.

The outside air is cool on her skin, or at least cooler than inside. But even the sky seems to come crushing down and not even the wide, wide Universe is open enough to take away this feeling of a trap around her.

It could have been her. Could have been anyone. Warrick, Greg, Catherine, her, Grissom...

She shudders and the night is too cold, too loud, too silent. She wants to sleep, but sleep will bring nightmares and all the thoughts her mind locked away to be professional. She's just human now.

"Sara? You okay?"

She groans. Not him, not here, not seeing her weak again.

"Sara?"

The voice creeps closer and she blinks the tears away, trying to rebuild her walls. But she is so very, very tired and all she wants to do is bleed it all out until she can sleep with only darkness as her company.

"Sara?"

She looks up. He is standing there, still the rock, still the expression on his face that reveals almost nothing. She wants to scream and rail against it, as if it's the walls of her box trapping her in.

"Are you okay?" he asks again, almost gentle. Almost concerned. Almost seems to be Grissom's path in life. Almost letting her in. Almost letting her go. Almost, almost, almost.

"I'm okay. I just needed fresh air." The lie is bitter in her mouth, tasting of ashes and dirt. "You should be concerned about Nick."

"I am. Doesn't mean I can't be for you too."

"Right."

"You did well, Sara. You should be proud."

"Proud?" She laughs, the sound hollow even in her own ears. "Proud? If I'd been in that box, I don't think I could have fought that along, I would've..."

She shudders, but Grissom shakes his head.

"You're strong, Sara. You would have lived."

"And you?" she bites. "Would you have watched me as calmly as you did Nick? Searched for me as calmly? Guided me through the rescue as calmly?"

"Yes."

The word hurts so much that for a moment, it is death and a grave beneath the earth.

"Yes," he says again. "But I would be screaming in my mind."

She stares at him, the hurt becoming a strange joy at his admission. How he can hurt her and delight her all at once, she doesn't know, but he can.

"I would need to be calm to save you," he explains, as if this is obvious. Perhaps it is, but that doesn't mean it's human.

"Yeah," she mutters, as Grissom is clearly expecting this to mean a great deal. "Nick fought bravely."

"We are not now that strength which in the old days / Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are/ One equal-temper of heroic hearts/ Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will /To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield," Grissom quotes softly, almost fondly.

'You never do yield, do you?' she thinks bitterly and suddenly, she is bleeding.

"Yielding is not always a weakness, Grissom," she says forcefully, feeling anger rise with her words. "You can't win all the time. Life must surrender to death or there would be no new life. You yield to your parents so they might guide you into life. You yield to your boss, even when he's being an ass."

Grissom looks uncomfortable, eyes on the ground, his hands deep in his pockets, as if hiding them can hide him.

"Sometimes, you even yield because you love someone," she whispers and now he looks at her, eyes wide and dark.

He looks on the verge of speaking a few times, but nothing comes and she sighs.

"Yeah, never mind," she mutters and steps away, as she always has to. Always her yield, never his. Always her wound.

"Sara?"

"What?"

"I want you all to be safe," he whispers and his voice is so filled with need and despair she turns in surprise. "You're my team. All of you."

"Doesn't mean you always have to be our rock," she whispers back. "Yield to me, Grissom."

For a moment, they stand as so and she senses the battle within him, raging across his face. Controlled, calm, scientist Grissom against the human, the human she knows he fears her for bringing out. And then he steps up to her and his warmth is all around her and she lets go, crying into his shoulder. For her, for Nick, for Grissom, for them all. She's not sure if he cries or not, but he clings to her and for tonight, perhaps that is surrender enough. Perhaps that is human enough for there to be hope.

And on the horizon, darkness is slowly yielding to the rising sun and the new day dawning.

FIN