Last Night
"I always liked the story of Noah's Ark and the idea of starting anew by rescuing the things you like and leaving the rest behind."
-Zach Braff
I always knew I'd retire at some point. Couldn't be a CSI forever. But I figured as long as I was still working with you, it made sense to hold off. I got to come to work each night and solve crimes beside you, then go home and hold you while we slept.
There are worse ways to spend a life.
Things were going... well, not fine exactly, but we were managing all right. We'd managed to get past the speed bump called Natalie, and there were times that I was pretty sure you'd gone a whole day without remembering.
We were doing okay, you and me.
And then, everything shifted in the span of thirty seconds.
You and Greg were processing a car from a drive-by shooting, while I was relaxing in the break room, sipping a cup of coffee while I waited for some lab results to come back. I remember the faint sound of the television in the background, its volume almost masking the heavy footfalls as Greg ran down the hall. He made it to the break room, gasping for breath, horror in his eyes as he looked at me and choked out, "Grissom-"
But I was already out the door, before he could say anything more. Somehow I knew what had happened, without having to be told.
They were in the garage, gathered around the car you'd been processing. Nick was near tears, I could tell, and Catherine wasn't much better.
Warrick came over to me at once. "The hydraulic lift is malfunctioning," he said. "When we try to raise it, it just lowers the car further, and-"
He may have said more, but I was on my knees already, peering underneath the car's chassis. I was prepared to give you a quick, reassuring smile before leaving to get help.
But then I saw your face.
"Hey..." I leaned further under the car. "Are you-"
"Don't come under here." Your cheeks were already wet with tears, and I could hear the terror in your voice. "Just... just get away from the car."
"Honey-"
"Get back."
"No can do," I said, my voice low. "We're in this together."
"I can't breathe."
"You need to keep your breaths nice and slow. You've got plenty of air." Turning my head, I called out for Catherine, telling her to call the fire department, a mechanic, anybody who could get you out of there.
Months of psychological healing, all shot to hell.
And truth be told, I knew it was going to affect me, too.
"Cold," you whispered, your teeth starting to chatter.
"You're okay."
"Can't feel my fingers."
"It's okay, help's on the way."
But you were moaning quietly. I caught a "No" and a "Please" and a "Natalie" before my own tears started to fall.
"You've got to stay calm, honey," I pleaded. "Can you hear me?"
"Desert."
"You're not in the desert." I reached in as far as I could, trying to grasp your fingers. "You're here with me. You're fine."
You weren't fine, though. We both knew it.
They got you out twenty minutes later, and you weren't talking. Weren't responding to my calls, or the EMT's commands. Shock, probably, but we took you to the hospital just in case.
The sedatives put you to sleep, and I fell asleep, too. Leaned my head against your hospital bed, my fingers intertwined with yours.
You didn't call my name when you woke up. Didn't squeeze my hand, or cough.
Instead, you said softly, "We need to retire."
I awoke at once, blinking at you. "What?"
"We need to retire. We have enough savings and investments, we should be fine."
"But-" My mind raced. "Sweetie, you're not thinking clearly. Hydraulic lifts malfunction, what, once a decade? We're-"
"I don't like my memories."
That shut me up pretty quickly. "Oh."
"And even worse than the memories are the nightmares." You shifted, rearranging your blanket. "You know what I was thinking about, when I was stuck under that car in the garage?"
I couldn't help it, my hand reached out for yours again. "What?"
"That I was in the middle of my workplace, with plenty of people around... and I knew help was on the way... and even still, I was so afraid. It was hard to breathe, and every muscle in my body hurt... and even still..."
I swallowed. "Even still?"
"It wasn't a tenth of what you went through." Your eyes filled, and you swallowed thickly. "I didn't have to worry about the heat, or flash flooding, or coyotes-"
"But-"
"Or scorpions, or rattlesnakes-"
"But you-"
"Or not being found-"
"Grissom, stop."
"I can't," you insisted, squeezing my hand. "I can't stop thinking about it. Imagining you under that Mustang, fighting for life-"
"I'm fine, though."
"Are you, Sara?" You gazed at me keenly. "Tell me you're not having nightmares, tell me you don't jump when someone comes up behind you-"
"That's a normal reaction to a trauma. You know that. I'm fine, really."
"So maybe we should cut our losses, then. Move on before Vegas wins. It always wins, isn't that what they say?"
I thought about Nick and Greg, Catherine and Warrick.
Thought about all the Pamela Adlers, and the Linley Parkers, and the Debbie Marlins.
Then I thought about your expression as you lay under the weight of that car.
"Okay," I nodded, leaning forward to kiss your palm. "Retirement it is."
You gave a deep sigh. "Thank you."
"So what do you have in mind?" I asked. "Florida? Shuffleboard and canasta?"
You smiled, and it suddenly occurred to me that it was the first real smile I'd seen grace your lips in months. "Actually, I was thinking about Montana. You ever been there?"
"Nope."
"It's nice." Your smile faltered a little. "I know, there's nice things in Vegas, too-"
"I'll drive," I told you. "You'll ride shotgun, and Bruno can sit in the back. The best parts of Vegas, all in one car."
"One Denali," you corrected me, grinning again.
"Ah, yes. Of course."
The gentle beeping of your monitors gave a pulse to our plans as we made them.
-
I'm leaving the ice, but I want everybody to know that I'll never leave the sport.
- Guy Lafleur