A/N: I'm taking some liberties with the treatment of and recovery from a fractured femur, since the only part I'm trained in is on-scene emergency care (yay EMT class). The major aspects are correct, as far as I am aware, but things like recovery times and the leg's appearance after surgery, I've fudged a little.

The boards hadn't looked that rickety to Grissom. The first section had borne his weight easily enough, and he hadn't been walking particularly softly, but diasaster struck when he tried to move on.

With only about a quarter of his body transferred to it, the next board snapped, triggering a chain reaction that took out the next five feet of the deck he'd been exploring. Caught completely by surprise, he'd shifted his weight forward before he could catch himself. He recovered just quickly enough to use his hands to stop the fall as his right leg slipped through the newly-formed hole, followed by two cinder blocks from the pile that the homeowner had stored on the deck. As his hands met the solid planks on either side of him, he heard a cry from below that cut off abruptly.

Within seconds, he'd pulled himself up and was heading for the stairway leading to the ground. He had a good idea of what that shout had meant, but was praying he was wrong.

As he descended the stairway, his fears were confirmed when the silence that had followed was broken by someone's yell of, "Sara!"

"I'm fine," Sara was protesting a few minutes later. "I don't need an ambulance!"

Catherine, who had one of Sara's arms across her shoulders, snorted. "You have an open fracture of your femur. You're not fine."

"I know that," she replied indignantly. "But I am not riding in an ambulance when we have two perfectly good SUVs and a police car sitting right here."

Brass, supporting her other arm, leaned slightly behind Sara so he could meet Catherine's eyes. They both knew that the department's standard procedures dictated that EMS to be called in a situation like this, but neither said anything; the scene was unsafe now anyway and couldn't be examined by CSI until it had structural support, so they saw no reason not to bend the rules. "Ok," he said after a few seconds. "I've got the big flashing lights; I'll take you in my car."

Sara let out a relieved breath. "Thank you...ow!" Without thinking, she had tried to put weight on her injured leg.

At her yelp of pain, the whole procession - Catherine, Brass, two uniforms, and Grissom - stopped short and looked at her in surprise.

"I told you not to put it down!" Catherine scolded. "Do you believe me now?"

"Yes," Sara muttered. "Just put me in the car." She had been holding herself together up to this point, but as they started forward, a sudden wave of exhaustion mixed with self-pity rolled over her and she let her head droop and closed her eyes as Catherine and Brass more or less carried her to the police car.

Grissom, walking a few feet behind and feeling like this was all his fault, saw her go limp and felt a sharp bolt of panic. He hurried his steps, catching up with them. "Is she..."

"I'm fine," Sara mumbled before he could finish. "Stop freaking out."

"Someone should ride with you to the hospital," Grissom told her.

"Right. Brass already said he is," she answered, confused.

"No, I mean besides that. To support your leg while he drives. We don't have a splint, but we need to apply traction."

It was a valid point, but she didn't like that it was Grissom who'd come up with it. Who was going to just drop everything and go along for the ride? Certainly not him; he'd said a total of 15 words since the accident - 10 of them in the last 30 seconds - and she had a feeling he wasn't going to jump up and volunteer. "No one has time for that," she said stiffly. "I can steady my own leg." Her face contorted suddenly as the muscle in her thigh spasmed.

Grissom looked around at the others, waiting for someone to set her straight, and was annoyed when no one spoke up. She'd been hurt on the job and none of these people were willing to give up half an hour to get her to the hospital with a minimum of pain? "I'll do it," he finally said.

She didn't think the annoyance could have been any clearer in his voice. He was obviously irritated that the others hadn't volunteered and now he had to do it. "I said, I can do it myself," she said, glaring at him.

"Better figure it out in the next few seconds," Catherine broke in, opening the door to the backseat.

"I don't need you," Sara said harshly to Grissom, ignoring Catherine. Without giving him time to answer, she ducked her head and helped Brass and Catherine slide her onto the seat so that her leg was stretched out across it with a towel beneath to catch the blood oozing sluggishly from the wound.

"I'm coming," Grissom said, just as obstinately, and climbed in after her, careful not to jar her foot.

Brass shot Catherine a pleading look as he got into the driver's seat, trying to communicate don't leave me alone with these two! but she just shrugged and waved goodbye. With a sigh, he settled himself in the car and hoped they wouldn't kill each other before he got them to the hospital. And if they did try to kill each other, he hoped the bulletproof divider between the front and back seats would protect him from their fire.

"Here we go, guys." He hit the master switch for the light bar to set it flashing wildly and stepped on the gas as hard as he dared with an injured woman in the backseat.

"Seatbelt, Sara," Grissom was saying behind him.

"My leg is broken. I am sitting the wrong way on the seat. I am not putting on my seatbelt! If you're so worried about keeping my leg steady, then you can just hold on to me if we stop suddenly."

He ignored her and pulled out the seatbelt that went with the seat where most of her body was, twisting it around her to fit it into the buckle on the other side of her. "Only your leg is broken, and I, for one, would like to keep it that way. A broken neck would not add to your fun."

He ran his thumb under the seatbelt, trying to straighten out the twists so it didn't dig into her. She watched him do it, saying nothing, and then turned her face away.

Before the atmosphere between them could get any tenser, the car hit the first in a series of potholes. "Sorry!" Brass called through the glass. "I'm trying to avoid as many as I can!"

Sara's face had gone white when Grissom looked back at her, and it was contorted in pain. Her hands were fisted tightly, lying on her thighs.

Despite her obvious pain, she didn't make a sound. She hadn't when the blocks had fallen on her, crushing her leg, either, Grissom thought - it had been Brass's shout that he heard. Wanting to do something, anything, he reached out and covered one of her fists with his hand.

Her tense body jumped at the contact and her eyes flew open. "Don't," she managed through her clenched teeth. "Don't touch me."

He didn't know if it was because she was in pain or because she didn't like him, but he pulled his hand back. "I'm going to have to hold onto your leg. It's probably going to hurt at first, ok? But it will help the muscle stop clenching and keep your skin from tearing any more." Stopping himself, he closed his mouth; not only was he babbling, but he was babbling probably the most un-comforting words possible.

He was busy berating himself for this when he was surprised to hear Sara whisper, "Ok."

Not sure he'd heard her right, he leaned over toward her. "Sara?"

Her eyes opened again and locked on his. "Do it," she said tightly.

With the lightest touch he could, he wrapped his hands around her ankle and pulled gentle traction on it. Sara let out a hiss of pain, but said nothing as he experimented with how much force he could use without really hurting her.

"You guys ok back there?" asked Brass, without looking away from the road, a few minutes later. "I'm pulling into the hospital lot now. Want me to take you right up to Emergency?"

"Yes," Grissom said, wanting to collapse in relief that she would be taken care of soon.

"Ok, gimme one second." Brass maneuvered the car between two ambulances in the EMS bay, turned off the engine, and jumped out, opening the backseat door for Grissom. "How are we going to do this?" he asked, noticing Sara's pallor.

"I'm not sure," Grissom began, but was interrupted as the doors to the ER hissed open and two EMTs walked out. Brass, taking one look at them, dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "What?" Grissom asked, taken aback.

"Oh my god," Sara muttered in his ear. "Don't let him see me."

Grissom was really confused now. "Who?"

Sara said nothing, just refused to be moved until the EMTs had gotten into their ambulance and driven off. While Grissom tried to convince her to get out, Brass headed into the ER to commandeer a wheelchair. As much as it would make them feel virile, Grissom acknowledged, neither of them was up to carrying her all the way in.

Along with Brass and the wheelchair came a stately-looking doctor who appeared to know the detective. He looked at the car, then back at Brass. "Why isn't she cuffed?"

Sara's eyes widened accusingly, but before she could say anything, Brass had clapped a hand on the doctor's shoulder and turned him away. "She's not an arrest. She's a CSI, got hurt working a scene. My car was the most convenient way to get her here."

"Well, in that case," the doctor said, turning back to Sara and nodding apologetically, "it's nice to meet you, although of course not under such circumstances. I'm Dr. Mack. Most people just call me Mack." He stepped out of the doorway and approached Sara and Grissom. "I'd offer a handshake, but you both look occupied." No one laughed, and there was an awkward moment of silence before the doctor regrouped. "Hmm, that one didn't go over well. How about we get you out of this car and so I can take a quick look at you?"

Between the three men, they managed to slide Sara out of the car and into the wheelchair without causing any major pain. The doctor crouched down so his eyes were level with Sara's and studied her face. "How do you feel, other than the pain in your leg?"

"Fine," Sara answered almost before he had the words out of his mouth.

"She seems very tired," Grissom overruled. "And she's not normally this pale. There's been some bleeding, and I know there can be significant blood loss with femur fractures, so...

"Grissom!" she said sharply, cutting him off. "I'm fine," she repeated to the doctor. "Other than the leg."

"Hmm." The doctor didn't answer her, only drew her hand out to check her pulse, then pressed on a fingernail on each hand. After a minute, he stood up. "You seem to be in pretty good shape, considering. Your circulation is adequate and your pulse is regular. I know you're in a lot of pain, so let's get you inside and see what we can do for you," he said with a smile.

Brass and Grissom watched Mack wheel Sara through the doors, then looked at each other. "You going to stay?" Brass asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"Yeah." Grissom ran a hand down the side of his face. "I'm the one who fell on her, I think I owe her that much."

"You didn't fall on her. The bricks did. And it wasn't your fault."

Grissom shrugged, clearly not willing to argue the point. "Do me a favor, when you get back can you go to the lab and tell everyone she's ok? And I guess..." He paused, looking at his watch. "Tell them I'll call if anything changes."

Grissom trailed the wheelchair into a curtained cubicle, feeling helpless as the ER staff lifted her onto the bed and efficiently checked her for other injuries. "Out," a nurse ordered him as the activity around her bed began to increase. "We need to get her pants off," she explained when he just looked blankly at her. "We'll call you back in when everything's taken care of."

He looked to Sara, wanting her to overrule the nurse, wanting her to need him, but her eyes were closed as an ER tech gently peeled off the shoe and sock on her injured leg. He wasn't sure she even knew he was there.

"Sir, please," the nurse coaxed. "We're not kicking you out, just asking you to give her a little privacy for a few minutes."

Casting one last worried look toward the woman in the bed, he obeyed.

"Hi, Sara," the nurse said conversationally as she turned back from closing the curtain.

"Hi."

"We're going to need to cut your pants, ok?"

Sara wondered if anyone actually said no, more concerned about their pants than their limbs, at this point. "That's fine." The tech made quick work of her lightweight trousers, handling the clothing shears in a way that made it clear that this was a common occurrence for the hospital.

As the pants fell to each side of her leg, the nurse gently touched her thigh. "Ok. You're not bleeding too badly, but while we wait for Dr. Mack, we're going to try to get it stopped entirely and clean you up a bit." She went to work with some damp gauze, casually adding, "Do you have any pain anywhere else? Headache, tingling in your arms or legs?"

"My head hurts a little, but I get a lot of headaches and it doesn't hurt any more than normal."

When the doctor pushed through the curtain a few minutes later, the first thing he did was use a penlight to check her pupils. Apparently finding nothing wrong there, he bent over her leg for a moment, then straightened up and patted her hand, saying, "Don't worry, we're going to get a morphine drip set up for you."

While the nurse slipped the IV into her, Dr. Mack circled around and touched her foot. "I'm just checking your pulse." A short pause. "Ok, feels good. Now wiggle your toes for me...good." He stood up and gave her a reassuring smile. "You're in very good shape, for someone who's just broken a long bone. Next time you see him, you should thank Detective Brass for rushing you here."

"Mmm," Sara breathed as she felt the painkiller start to course through her system. "Are you going to set it?"

"More or less, yes. But we're going to need to use a steel rod, which means surgery."

She wished she could refuse - surgery was not her idea of a fun way to spend the night - but knew that now would not be a good time to be stubborn. "How long?"

"Until we do it? The orthopedist happens to already be on-site, so we're going to start prepping you right now and then bring you to him."

"Oh." She was quiet for a moment, and then: "Did someone come in here with me?"

The nurse who had spoken to Grissom said, "Yes, there's a gray-haired gentleman outside the curtain. I didn't get his name."

"Grissom. Could you tell him about the surgery, and that I'm ok?"

"You can tell him yourself, if you'd like. He looks eager to see you."

"Oh...am I covered?" Sara asked, feeling toward where her pants had been removed.

"I'll throw a blanket over you, how's that?"

"Ok." As the nurse turned away from her, Sara closed her eyes and tried to relax.

"Sara?" his tentative voice came, a few seconds later.

"Hi. I'm ok."

Not sure what to say to that obviously untrue statement, he just replied, "Ok."

"They have to do surgery on my leg."

Grissom's eyes shifted to the doctor. "What kind of surgery?" he demanded.

"Femur fractures cannot be casted in most circumstances. It would require an almost full-body cast. For adults in this situation, we usually stabilize it from the inside out, using a steel rod. Since her leg will have to be opened up to insert the rod, it calls for general anesthetic."

"And she'll recover full use of it?"

"Grissom!" Sara groaned. "Leave it alone."

Ten minutes later, he watched, feeling impotent, as Sara was wheeled past the surgical waiting room where he sat.

Catherine answered her phone with her usual, "Willows."

"Catherine, it's Grissom."

"Where are you? Brass came in and told us that he had just dropped you two off and he didn't know anything else...is she ok? Are you still with her?"

"We're both still at the hospital. She's in surgery."

"Surgery? It was that bad?"

"The doctor said the only practical way to set a mid-shaft femur fracture is by implanting a rod into the bone." He rubbed at his forehead with his free hand. Every time he thought about them cutting Sara open, his headache got a little worse.

"Oh, no," Catherine said softly. "Does she know you're there?"

"I saw her for a few minutes before they took her into the OR. She was...in a lot of pain, I think. But I couldn't tell for sure; you know how she is."

"Yeah, we all do." She sighed. "Listen, Gil, this isn't your fault. Any one of us could have been walking on that deck, and any one of us could have been the one underneath. And if those bricks hadn't been there, nothing would have happened anyway."

"I know that, objectively. But you didn't see her lying on the hospital bed. She just looked...fragile. And Sara shouldn't look like that. And she wouldn't look like that if I hadn't been so clumsy."

"You're not going to believe me, are you?"

"Not if you're going to keep saying I'm not culpable."

"Ok, then. I won't. But I do have good news for you - we were slow tonight, so I gave Nick and Brass your spare car key and they dropped your car off in the hospital lot. Whenever you can get her out of there, you don't need to worry about a ride home."

"Thanks," he said. The thought of a ride home hadn't even occurred to him, and he was glad someone had a cool head on their shoulders and had taken care of it. "Really."

"Not a problem. I did have to convince them that they couldn't just barge into the hospital while they were there, though. Do us a favor and call back when she comes out of surgery, ok? Or if anything else changes? We're all worried about her too."

"Yeah." He slumped back onto the vinyl-covered seat. "Yeah, I will."

"Is there a Mr. Grissom in here?" a nurse said two hours later, poking her head into the waiting room. When Grissom jumped up, she smiled. "Ms. Sidle is out of surgery. She's in the recovery room, if you'd like to come see her - but she's still groggy."

He was almost afraid to follow the woman. Sara had looked so wounded before she went in, how would she look now with the ugly marks of surgery on her?

"Third bed in on the left," she said. "The surgeon's with her."

He walked slowly to the bed, waiting for her to move, to show some sign of life. "Sara?" he managed in a hoarse whisper as he approached her.

Her eyes fluttered open and her hand clenched on the blankets. "Gris? Wha-- what's going on?"

She was more than groggy - she seemed incoherent! Grissom looked accusingly at the doctor, who shrugged sympathetically. "Anesthesia can lead to unusual effects as a person is shaking it off. I've had people start crying hysterically as they open their eyes, for no reason. Sara should be fine in ten minutes or so."

"Is she...I mean, did you fix her leg? Is it set?"

"She came through like a trooper. She's going to have a fairly long period of limited activity and rehab ahead of her, but if all goes as it should, her leg will be good as new."

"Grissom?" Sara rasped from the bed, sounding less confused. "Is that you?"

"It's me," he said, forgetting about the doctor as he moved to stand by Sara's head. Her hair, normally straight and shiny, looked limp and lank against the plain white pillowcase, and without thinking he brushed a piece of it off of her face. "How do you feel?"

She licked her lips. "Mmm...woozy."

"Do you know what happened?"

She thought for a second. "Yeah. I...broke my leg, right? At a scene?"

"Actually," Grissom said, feeling another pang of guilt, "it's more like, I broke your leg."

After a moment of considering that, Sara smiled slightly. "Then I'll just have to break yours once I can manage it."

Moving her eyes to the doctor, Sara said, "When can I go home?"

Grissom smiled a little at that. The doctor had been right; now that the anesthetic was wearing off, Sara seemed to be rebounding just fine. "I second that question," he said to the doctor. "When can I take her home?"

"Well, certainly not until the anesthesia's completely worn off," the surgeon told Sara. "After that, we'll get you set up with a prescription for painkillers and a general rehab plan, and if you're still doing fine then, you can get out of here."

"Crime lab," Nick answered the phone. "Stokes speaking."

"Nick, it's Grissom."

"Oh! Hold on a second." He covered the mouthpiece and turned around, calling for Catherine, Warrick, and Brass. A minor stampede ensued as all three of them hustled into the room and jockeyed for positions close to the earpiece of the phone. When they'd arranged themselves, Nick uncovered the mouthpiece. "Ok Gris, go ahead."

"She just got released from the hospital," Grissom began. "The surgery went well and the doctor thinks she'll recover without much difficulty. I'm about to take her home now."

"How does she feel?" Catherine shouted over Nick's shoulder.

They heard Grissom's muffled voice say, "Sara? They want to know how you feel." He paused, listening. "She says 'sleepy'. They stuffed her full of Vicodin before they let us go," he explained.

"Are you going to stay with her once you get her home?"

He blinked. "I, uh...hadn't thought about that."

"Tell him that someone's going to have to stay with her!" Catherine hissed at Nick, who dutifully repeated this to Grissom. "One of us will do it if you can't," Nick added, giving Catherine a half-hearted shove away from the phone. "But we need to know, one way or the other."

Grissom sighed. They were right that someone needed to be with her, and if he was honest with himself, if he left her now he'd just spend the rest of the day worrying about her. "I'll do it."

Nick heard the lack of enthusiasm in Grissom's voice and assumed he wasn't looking forward to staying with an injured Sara. "If you need someone to spell you, or just help out, you call us, ok?"

"Ok, Nick. I will."

"Sara?" Grissom said softly as he parked his car. "We're here."

Sara had dozed off during the ride to her apartment, and her only answer was a grunt.

Grissom climbed out of his seat and walked around to the back, where Sara was securely seatbelted in. "Come on, Sara...I need you to wake up for a few minutes, and then you can go right back to sleep, ok?"

"Mmmph." But she opened her eyes and tried to focus on him as he leaned over and released her seatbelt.

"Stay there for a second," he said, realizing that he'd gone about this backwards. He should have gotten the wheelchair out of the trunk first, and then come around to get Sara. "I'm shutting the door, but I'll be right back."

He retrieved the folding wheelchair the hospital had lent them from the trunk and brought it to where he'd left Sara. "Ok, here we go. I need to get you into this wheelchair, Sara...Sara?" She had closed her eyes and seemed to have dozed off again, this time with a dreamy smile on her face. "Sara," he said, touching her shoulder cautiously, "wake up. Stay with me five more minutes and then you can sleep."

Sara sighed deeply. "I'm tired."

He knew he should blame the painkiller she'd been given, but he couldn't help feeling like he was the one who had reduced her to this injured, semi-coherent state. "Please?" he said quietly.

"You never say 'please'," Sara told him.

"I am now. Please, Sara, help me get you into the wheelchair."

"Well, you said please," she said, trying to sit up so she could lever herself into the chair.

Grissom's arms went around her sides, cutting off her retort. "Watch your leg. Tell me if I'm hurting you," he ordered, pulling her gently backwards on the seat. As her backside left the seat, he paused for a moment, wondering how he was going to do this. After a second, he realized that there was only one way to do it. "Tell me if I'm hurting you," he repeated, this time more sternly. "I need to put my...I have to...There's a drop," he finally managed. "I need to lower you about a foot, and need to put an arm under your legs to do that."

She said only, "ok," and watched his face, eyes wide, as he slid his hands under her and lowered her into the wheelchair.

"There we go," he said, jerking his hands away like they'd been burned. "Now we're set." Sara closed her eyes again as he wheeled her up the drive and unlocked the door with the key he'd fished out of her ruined trousers at the hospital..

"Where do you want me to put you?" he asked as he tried to maneuver the wheels over the threshold without jostling Sara.

"Hmm...couch is fine." She waved a hand at the corduroy-upholstered sofa. When Grissom had wheeled her there, she used her arms to push herself out of the chair, balancing on her good leg, and slide onto the couch. The soft, comforting feel reminded her of all the other times she'd lain upon the same couch, sick with a cold or the flu, alone in her apartment. This time there was someone else with her, she thought, but he'd be gone as soon as he could.

Grissom looked down at the woman lying on the couch, face pressed into the couch cushion like a child who was sacked out after a long day. Deciding to let her rest, he found her bedroom and gathered up the comforter and two pillows, dragging the bundle back to where Sara lay. He didn't want to wake her up, so he tried to slip one of the pillows under her leg as gently as possible. He needn't have worried; Sara had fallen into a deep sleep and didn't even twitch as he shifted first her leg, then her head to put pillows under them. He settled the comforter over her, tucking it around her sides as best he could, and stepped back to look at her.

It was the first time since the blocks had fallen on her that he could study her face without anyone asking him why, and he examined it for close to five minutes, feeling his guilt grow a little heavier as he catalogued each scrape and bruise on it. He was the reason she was lying there, and if he were in her position, he couldn't imagine ever forgiving the person who caused him such pain.

After about five minutes, he simply couldn't stand it anymore, and looked away, moving back to the counter where he had dropped the post-op instructions the hospital had sent Sara home with, along with the bottle of pills the pharmacy had provided her.

He picked up the sheet and scanned it, making notes on a legal pad he found on the counter: Sara was not to try to put weight on the leg for at least a week and should avoid most physical activity for about the same length of time; she should maintain a regular course of painkillers for about a week and then use them as needed; she was to avoid scratching or picking at the surgical staples holding the wound closed.

The more he read, the more he realized that Sara was going to need someone with her almost constantly, at least for the first week. He wasn't sure how he felt about that; after all, it would be an excuse for him to spend much-desired time with her...but it would be, at the absolute best, very stressful much-desired time. At worst, one of them would murder the other. But he owed her that much, he thought. He couldn't forget that he was the one who'd caused this.

Catherine closed her cell phone and turned to the group of people staring at her expectantly. "Grissom decided to stay with her all week. He claims it's because she's so limited by the surgery, but I figure he's probably trying to atone."

"So...what?" Brass asked. "He's going to call in sick for the next seven days?"

"Close. He's using a week of the vacation time he's been hoarding for fifteen years."

"Whoa," Warrick said. "Heavy."

Nick just shook his head and sighed, "This is going to be an interesting week."

"Sara," Grissom said, shaking her shoulder later in the day, "come on, wake up. Time for another pill."

"No."

"Yes." He shook one of the capsules out of the bottle and waved it in front of her face. "If you don't, you're going to be in a world of hurt in an hour or so."

"Fine," she groaned. "Since you've got me awake now." She obediently took the pill and glass of water he held and swallowed the drug, then looked at him. "How long was I asleep?"

"About four hours," he said, idly tucking the comforter back around her.

"You sat here for four hours? Doing what?"

He shrugged. "Nothing much. Making sure you were ok, mostly."

She sat up, frowning at him. "Grissom, I'm fine. I'm plated and screwed and drugged - good as new!"

He held out the sheet of paper he'd been studying earlier. "Have you read the instructions the hospital sent you home with?"

"You know I haven't; I've been asleep."

"Well, if you had read it, you'd know that you're not to put weight on your leg for another week. Which makes you somewhat in need to assistance."

"I can manage."

"Possibly," he acknowledged. "But I'm concerned about you, so I'm not about to leave you here on your own."

She lay back down, looking at him skeptically. "So you're just going to sit here for a week, staring at me?"

"Of course not," Grissom replied with a small smile. "I cook and clean, too - it's all included in the price."

"Oh? And what, exactly, is 'the price'?"

Grissom blinked. "Uh...I don't know. Let's just say...that my price for cooking, cleaning, and caring for you while you recover is that you allow me to stay here while I do it."

She narrowed her eyes. "That's it?"

"Well, yes."

"Do you mean, like, overnight? You want to stay here for the next week straight?"

When he nodded tentatively, she added, "I don't have a guest room. There's nowhere for you to stay."

He thought about that for a moment. "You have a bed and a couch. I can use whichever you're not using."

"You're going to wear the same clothes for a week?"

He hadn't considered that. "Um, I could run back to my house and pack a bag. One of the other guys could stay with..."

He was interrupted by the sound of Sara's buzzer. He looked at Sara, who just shrugged and gestured toward the control box.

"Yes?" Grissom attempted into the intercom.

"Grissom? It's us," Catherine's tinny voice said. "Let us in!"

"Button on the right," Sara supplied before he could ask.

A few seconds later, Grissom was letting Catherine, Nick, Greg, Warrick, Brass, and Doc Robbins into Sara's small apartment. As they jostled for standing room, Grissom returned to Sara and whispered, "See? How would you have let them in if I wasn't here?"

"Oh, fine," she whispered back. "Go pack your bag."

"Good girl," he told her. He touched her cheek fleetingly, smiled, and turned away, addressing the crowd. "I need to run home for a few minutes. Will you guys stay here with Sara until I get back?"

"Of course," Robbins spoke for the group. "I wanted to get a closer look at our patient anyway."

As the door shut behind Grissom, the group, which had maintained a semblance of order up until then, broke apart and made a mad dash toward Sara.

"How are you feeling?" Nick asked, squatting down by her head.

"Did they give you good drugs?" Greg demanded, grabbing the pill bottle Grissom had left next to the couch.

"Leave those alone!" Catherine told him, grabbing them, then examining the bottle herself. "Ooh, Vicodin, very nice. How doped up are you right now?"

Sara couldn't help laughing, even though her leg had begun to throb. "I feel ok, considering. The drugs seem fairly good. I'm not nearly as doped up as I'd like to be, because I just took one about five minutes ago and it hasn't kicked in yet."

Doc Robbins, avoiding the chaos by Sara's face, pulled the blanket off of her legs and eyed the surgery site. "This was an open fracture?" he asked.

"Yep."

He leaned a little closer, squinting through his glasses. "They did a very good job. Not much swelling, although those staples are god-awful ugly." He looked up and smiled. "Even more impressive considering they were working on a patient who was still alive!"

"Oh," Brass said, rolling his eyes, "that's comforting." He looked at Warrick. "Are we the only sane ones here?"

Warrick shrugged. "I'm waiting for someone to move so I can steal their spot," he said with a grin.

"Guys!" Sara laughed. "Everyone calm down! I'm doing as well as someone who just cracked open their leg can do. It doesn't hurt much right now. I'm more annoyed at the fact that I can't use it for at least a week."

"For how long?" Greg echoed.

"If Grissom is to be believed, for at least a week and possibly longer." She sighed. "Which sucks. I'm going to be bored out of my mind."

"Do you have someone who can stay with you?" asked Catherine, although she already knew the answer.

"It appears that Grissom's designated himself as my caregiver, though I don't have a clue why. You guys need to visit me a lot, please!"

"Aw," Brass teased, "you're not looking forward to being closeted with Gil 'Bugman' Grissom?"

"I can think of more painful things," Sara joked, "but not many."

A/N: I'm sorry if this shows up all run-together. The site and I seem to be having a major disagreement over what shows up on uploaded documents (hint: not line dividers or blank lines). I'm trying to figure it out, so bear with me :)