The clock chimed a cheery ten o’clock and a smile crept across Sara Sidle’s face. Lately in her life, she loved her days off, sleeping normal hours (and even a bit later), lazing about, catching up on some reading, and, of course, doing the puzzles in the newspaper.

She blinked her eyes a few times before sitting up in bed and turning to lean on her elbow. As she’d hoped, it was there on the table: a crisp, folded newspaper. She grinned, grabbing a nearby pen and flipping through the sections. She felt warm and happy as she started to scribble in the answers, her pillow stuffed under her side for support. She could smell coffee brewing, and heard the radio playing softly in the next room. The sun shone in through the window, reflecting the floating, falling particles hanging in the air. The clock continued to tick as birds sang blissfully outside. She hardly even heard the shower in the ensuite bathroom as, with a tiny squeak, the water stopped and the door swung open.

She was half-done the puzzle when Grissom came into the bedroom, clad in a navy bathrobe, smelling of soap and spices. Lying away from him, she smiled inwardly, keeping to her paper and not turning around as he moved towards his side of the bed. They could hear the scratching of her pen. Grissom’s own expression revealed content as he marveled at the woman in his bed. Some strands of her hair hung in her eyes and she habitually tucked them back behind her ear. The rest cascaded over her bare, slender shoulders. The blankets draped over her body created a soft, temporary mold of her frame, except for the single, smooth foot that protruded from the covers, its toes flexing from time to time. He paused to savour the scene.

Finally, after several moments, he pulled back the covers on his side and slid into bed behind her. Her could hear her expel a breath through a grin as he curled up behind her, resting his hand on her hip and sliding his chin over her shoulder.

“Good morning, Sara,” he said, in a raspy, singsong way.

“Hey,” she murmured back, leaning into him slightly as her hands continued to dance over the page. Her smile pervaded.

Grissom’s blue eyes watched her intently. “It doesn’t seem to take too much to make you happy,” he chided playfully.

“Very little is needed to make a happy life,” she replied, pushing the paper and pen away from her and turning to him.

“Marcus Aurelius?” he inquired.

“Mhm.”

He draped his hand over her stomach and she sighed. She stared into his eyes, and he stared back. Between them, they shared another one of their many perfected moments of silence where an exchange occurs that is more profound than that of mere words, and waves, like electromagnetism, are felt by their souls connecting. Against her shoulder, she could feel the tickle of Grissom’s chest hair, protruding from his burly chest. She felt the strength in his arm as she touched it, squeezing his hand. His lips pouted into a soft smile. They seemed absolutely kissable.

He pulled her towards him and she felt a familiar excited sensation rush through her body. She closed her eyes, waiting for the release.

Suddenly, she felt the rain and wind on her face again, and the grit in her palms. She opened her eyes and saw the darkness again, the pleasant vision completely disapparated. She could see very little through the obscurity; a few plants, some rocks and pebbles in the sand. Flashes of lightning blinded her, racing through the rain towards her and thrashing her retinas. She winced and squinted again, the rain falling harder upon her still. She was cold and wet. And confused.

The numbness in her body did not distract from the pain in her lower back. Blood had pooled up to where she could see it, dark and diluted in the shadow. Her skin had wrinkled from the water, her fingers stiff from frigidity. She could feel the mud beneath her nails. Her other arm was somewhere on the other side of her, but she could hardly sense it at all. She kept her toes wiggling, a sensation she could feel, if only slightly.

She’d begun to cough about an hour ago, and she fought to avoid the muck that had filtered in around her face. She could feel mucus and liquid in her throat, jolting with each rough heave of her chest. Her neck was tired and her oesophagus burned.

Recalling the vision, which wasn’t the first, she cursed it for having ended. She cursed her situation. She cursed the rain. She’d started to curse the investigators for not knowing where she was. Mostly, she cursed herself. She felt so desperately close to the end. She wondered if this was one of those situations where you were supposed to hold on, where the strong ones survive and the weak give up.

Is this life or death?

She felt she was giving up. She didn’t have a shred of strength left in her. She would become ones of the ones that didn’t make it.

The weight. The crushing weight. Her breathing was so shallow. Her knees were plastered into the ground beneath the unbearable force of the wreck. Her ribs felt as though they’d caved in. She clambered her fingers into a fist as tears once again burned her eyes. She tried to sob, but she could only cough and splutter.

Exhausted and afraid, her eyes refused to stay open.