GSR. No spoilers. Rated M.

HEAT

Sara was striding ahead of him. She seemed to do so effortlessly, with a calm steady pace that ate up the miles. Grissom, on the other hand, was struggling. Moving forward in fits and starts. Dragging a sleeve across his face. Breathing heavily. Feeling his muscles cramp and burn.

God it's hot.

Not a brilliant observation, since they were in Nevada, hiking through the desert, under a blazing sun. The ground was uneven and steep, with lots of sharp stones to slow them down or trip them up. Grissom had to concentrate on each step. Sara seemed to float along. He envied her; her youth, her energy, her long legs, her grace, her endurance. The bare legs, though, were a bonus.

Christ it's so fucking hot.

You'd think I'd be used to it. It was a rare day when it wasn't. Man was not meant to live and work under these conditions. No other life form was visible for miles around, other than twisted and browned plants and signs of scavengers–scat and tracks and little bones. If not for some greedy developers, no one would have plopped down this crazy city in the middle of the damn desert.

Sara sensed his discomfort, stopping often to let him catch up. Offered him water each time. Let him catch his breath, each time, by making small talk, so it wasn't obvious that she was babying him. Letting him keep his pride. Pride seemed to be the only thing that kept him going. Grissom was a strong man, she knew, and he had been a talented athlete in his youth, but that fitness had eroded over the years. Too many years in air conditioning, sitting at a desk or lab or in an interrogation room. Too many years driving, not walking. Too many hurried unhealthy meals. He'd grown soft.

He'd left his hat in the car. A small thing, but it kept nagging at him. Grissom kept picturing it, that silly straw hat that everyone made fun of, uselessly resting in the trunk on a pile of equipment. At least he had sunglasses, but the sun beating on his head felt like it was baking his brain.

Sara was dressed as comfortably and sensibly as possible. A CSI cap pulled down low over her eyes. Her chestnut hair pulled through the back so it shaded and let the back of her neck breathe. Dark-black sunglasses, so she wasn't squinting like he was. A white tank top. One arm swinging free, carrying the silver crime scene kit. They only needed one, she'd insisted. Loose khaki shorts that reached more than halfway to her knees. Reinforced white cotton/blend hiking socks and sturdy ankle-high desert boots. She actually looked at ease.

Grissom looked extremely uncomfortable. He was. Long sleeves. CSI jacket. Long polyester blend pants. Shoes, not boots. Beet red in the face. Sweat all over his body, stinging in his eyes.

God it's hot. Must be well over 110 now. And that would be in the shade.

Shade was like gold out here. Better. Wherever rocks or ledges cast a little shade, there would be little critters hiding, dug in, waiting until dark. Snakes. Lizards. Beetles. A few little rodents. Not much else.

"Freaking day shift." Sara said, looking around. Grissom agreed heartily.

The call had come in at the very end of their shift. Another half hour and those buttheads would be out here suffering in this awful heat instead of us. It was just a pile of bones. A skull grinning up at an indifferent sky. A lost hiker, most likely. Natural causes, probably, but they had to investigate regardless. The CSIs had to hike out to it in daylight as it was miles from any road and inaccessible. The skeleton had only been stumbled upon by some ATV riders. Sara and Grissom were trying to follow the faint ATV tracks but they wandered in all directions. And they were invisible for long stretches. They had a compass bearing and some vague directions but few landmarks to guide them. Their SUV and the state trooper and his squad car had long ago vanished behind them.

Dirt and sand. Baked hot rocks. Hills. A sky white with heat. Parched landscape. Browns and greys the only colors. Monotonous. Inhospitable. Lifeless.

Grissom and Sara paused at the bottom of yet another steep hill, eyeing it. They shared some more water. It was warm, hot even, but it was life.

"Uh. I...need to pee." Grissom told her, looking away.

"I do too. I'll go this way and you go that way, okay?" Sara said kindly.

Grissom grunted in acknowledgment and they did so, respecting each other's modesty.

Again they stood at the base of the steep broken hill, internally plotting their way up.

"Shouldn't be too much further." Sara tried to sound encouraging.

Grissom huffed a breath and they started upwards.

At least it's Sara out here with me. Keeping me good company. Respecting my limitations. Respecting my pride. She's...kind. She...takes care of me. He thought about that. Sara takes care of me. Almost like...a wife would. She knows what I need. She doesn't complain or annoy or pester me. Never asks for much. Just a little respect. Just a little...compassion. Why is that so damn hard? A little affection? Appreciation? For everything she does, and is? So intelligent...so good...so damn beautiful. Grissom shook his head angrily and cursed himself.

They got to the top of the hill and looked ahead. Another, bigger hill, the biggest they'd faced yet. Practically a mountain. No sign of their destination. No sign of anything. Grissom and Sara both groaned with pain and frustration.

"Fuck it's hot." Grissom muttered.

"Sure is." Sara answered, an eyebrow raised at his rare obscenity, looking him over. Sure he's been struggling, but now he looks worse.

"You doing okay?" she asked worriedly.

"Fine."

"Wanna sit for awhile?"

"Want to...get this over with." Grissom muttered bitterly.

"I do too." She started forward and Grissom followed her footsteps.

He concentrated on watching her walk. Following her step for step. Those muscles in her legs flexing. Calves, thighs, even the inside of her knees perfectly formed. Beauty. Art in motion. Her shifting hips. The white tank top ringed with sweat. Her hair swaying in rhythm with her steps. Head down. The shiny silver case swinging. Plodding on.

It got steeper. The rocks slid beneath their feet. Sara slowed to a careful crawl, stopping until she heard his footsteps crunching closer. Grissom followed close behind, keeping his eyes on her lithe body.

The burning heat inside his head was beyond a headache. It was making him feel weak and dizzy. His breathing was ragged. Grissom's stomach roiled with bile. He realized he hadn't eaten for more than 24 hours. Hadn't slept well or long in days. His legs were more and more wobbly.

Sara leaned forward, fingertips brushing the dirt as she climbed. She threw the case as far up and ahead of her as she could then climbed on. Grissom was mesmerized by the pale smooth skin of her back as her shirt rode up. Glistening drops of sweat slid perfectly down the straight furrow of her spine and disappeared under her waistband. Grissom thought dazedly he had never seen anything more arousing in his life.

Sara stopped and tried to balance herself on her hands when her lower foot slid out from under her. She looked like a sprinter waiting for the starting gun.

Grissom's hands moved straight out in front of him without conscious control. He just had to touch that skin. Feel that sweat on the very tips of his fingers. Grasp her by the hips and pull her up against him. He wasn't a scientist anymore. Nor a rational, thoughtful man. He was reduced to an animal driven only by base desires. Want. Need. His conscience had curled into a ball and gone to sleep.

Grissom closed the small distance and his hands grabbed her waist. He seemed to be watching them do it from afar. Sara gasped and flinched.

"Wha? Grissom?"

Sara shot a look at him over her shoulder. His eyes were unfocused. His color was mottled. Face blank. He looked like zombie. His fingers were the only part of him that moved. They gripped her tighter and pushed in the softness just above the hips.

"Gris? Gris! Are you okay?"

No reaction. My hands. My hands...glued to her. Magnetic...She feels...

Sara turned and watched his face go completely white as swiftly as if someone had pulled a plug.

Black spots swam into his eyes. Tunnel vision. There seemed to be a voice calling his name, far away.

"Grissom!"

Grissom collapsed in a limp heap. His body slid downhill face first and his head bounced and then he was still.

"GRIS!!"

Sara reacted in a moment of raw panic. She slid down next to him and grasped his head. She held on and let herself cry a little. Help. Oh, God, Grissom.

Yes, still breathing, but shallow. Yes, a pulse, but thready. Bad. This is bad.

Sara rolled him over and pulled his head onto her lap and looked all around, thinking frantically.

She felt his skin. Hot and dry. This is very bad.

Heat stroke.

Shit. Heat stroke. A potentially life-threatening condition, a flat voice recited in her brain. Seek urgent medical attention immediately. Dizziness, unconsciousness, altered mental state, hot dry skin, weak pulse. Can cause...Stop! One thing at a time.

What to do? What to do first?

Call for help. Sara unclipped the cell phone on her belt. No signal, the screen mocked her. She got out Grissom's. Low battery, his jeered. No signal. Fuck.

Okay. Don't panic. They know we're out here. Don't panic.

Sara felt around his head but found no sign of a head injury. Good. There was a red raw scrape on his face that trickled a little blood. For some reason it bothered her, a lot. The bloody scrape was full of dirt. She wet a finger in her mouth and gently tried to clean it.

Lower his body temperature. I can try. Sara worked off his knapsack first and set it aside. She struggled with his clothes. Why do you wear so many clothes, Grissom? A polyester jacket? In this heat? Are you nuts? He was as heavy and limp as one of their mannequins, but she managed to roll him on his side and work his arms out of the sleeves.

One step at a time. It gave her comfort to see his chest rise and fall with his breath.

"Long-sleeved shirt. Buttoned up. Do you need someone to dress you in the morning, Gilbert?" she asked him, frustrated. "You're a genius–and a damn fool."

Sara methodically worked all the buttons loose. He was wearing a white T-shirt under that, soaked with sweat. She sighed. She took off his shirt the same way she had his jacket. Then his shoes. And socks.

Sara grasped his belt, then paused. The groin is the hottest place on the body, she reminded herself. Sara smirked. Keep your mind out of the gutter, Sidle. It just is. Armpits are number two. Would Grissom appreciate her taking off his pants? She snickered, picturing his reaction, what he would say. Some of her anxiety evaporated in giggles. What a look he would have on his face. Oh my.

Lifesaving measures, right? Okay. A compromise, for now. Sara undid his belt and removed it from the loops, then unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. A little better. What next?

Water.

"How much do we have left?" Sara muttered aloud. She went through his knapsack first. One full liter. Good. Sara balled up Grissom's jacket and pillowed it under his head, then scrambled uphill and retrieved her kit. One empty bottle, less than a mouthful in the bottom, one 2/3 empty. Not so good.

She tried to remember everything she'd learned at a team class on desert dangers, on everything from rattlesnakes to dehydration and poisonous spiny plants, years ago. It was way back when she'd first started at Vegas, a green CSI. She had sat with Greg in the back and he kept her giggling most of the time. Grr. Why hadn't she paid better attention?

Don't worry. Use your common sense. You can do it.

Sara looked over the shirt. He's not wearing a hat. Maybe I can...she wrapped a sleeve around his forehead and the rest over his hair. Better. Then she carefully moistened the sleeve with a tiny bit of water and tied it around his forehead again, carefully shading Grissom's eyes and pushing the sunglasses in to hold it in place. She smiled at her own ingenuity. He looked like a sheik, and with that dark beard, like Omar Sharif. Nice.

What else do we have? Sara carefully unpacked and looked at each item in her kit and in Grissom's knapsack, evaluating their usefulness. Hey. A waterproof poncho. Wonder if I can rig up some shade. She got up and looked for sticks, but they were too short and brittle. Unfolding a telescoping tripod, she maneuvered it until it blocked the sun and hooked the poncho up and anchored it with rocks.

Now she felt quite proud of herself. The shade easily dropped the temperature down 20 degrees, maybe more, and his dry skin was already cooler. The sun should soon go over the hill to the other side. Sara calculated. In about–an hour and a half. But then it will be pitch dark. And cold. Another wave of panic hit but she fought it down bravely. The team will know we are in trouble when night comes. One thing at a time.

Keep busy. Help Grissom. What else? She found a tube of lip balm and grinned like she'd found a diamond. Grissom's lips were dry and starting to peel. So were hers, she realized. She smeared it on his mouth generously and then her own. Not how I imagined our first kiss, she thought, and laughed at herself. A kiss. Why not? What if he...? She leaned forward before that thought could take root and kissed him gently. Stroking his face and beard, she looked at him and then kissed him again. His lips were hot, but unresponsive.

"Oh, Gris. Wake up. Wake up so I can kiss you properly. Kiss you silly, you big lug."

Tears glittered in her eyes and she wiped them away impatiently.

She took the lip balm out again and smeared it all over his handsome face. There was sunblock in it and that would keep him from getting burned any worse. And it would keep some of the moisture in his body from evaporating. Dehydration. Kidney damage. Spiked temperature. Brain damage...STOP! You can only try to help!

Sara concentrated on smearing every exposed inch of Grissom's skin with the lip balm. These things never run out anyway. God knows how many tubes I have, and I can't remember ever throwing a single one away. Up and down his arms, finally able to feel the beautifully defined muscles there. Hands. Fingers. Feet. She ran her hands across his broad chest, feeling it through the cotton T-shirt. It was intoxicating to be able to touch him like this, at last. His neck. Throat. Up to and including his ears, their tops already red and blistered.

Then she methodically spread it on her own body, starting with the places that were stinging with sunburn. Shoulders. Nose. Ears. Tops of hands. Kneecaps. The middle of her upper back was burning, but that was hopeless. It calmed her to stroke the slick waxy substance on every millimeter of skin she could reach. Good. Keep a cool head. You're doing good, Sara.

Back to Grissom's mouth again. She tugged a lip upward and checked his gums. Pale, but tinged slightly with pink. Good. Lifted an eyelid. Pupils responsive to light. Color looks better. Breathing not good but--pulse maybe a little stronger. Nice work, Dr. Sidle. She let herself feel hope. Maybe they would be okay.

TBC

A/N: I will be continuing Trusting the Team soon, promise. This story is insisting to be written right now. Today it was poking me with a sharp stick, so I decided to get it out of my system. Feedback is very welcome. Should I continue this one?