Have you ever wondered what can happen in thirty seconds?
A car travelling at sixty miles an hour covers half a mile.
The new, must have, PlayStation game gets advertised on television.
Someone declares their love.
Someone loses their love.
A baby is born.
A test is passed.
A future decided.

Despite at times being too reflective, Gil Grissom had not really thought of the meaning or consequences of thirty seconds. After all, he had his life finally sorted, longer stretches of time to look forward to than thirty seconds.

Now here he was pondering the idea of thirty seconds. When had his world turned upside down? Well that wasn't really too hard to answer, it had changed in those thirty seconds it had taken for him to realise too late that he was being shot at, then the first bullet had hit him just below the shoulder. Been turned upside down when the second bullet hit him in the stomach. Now here he lay on the concrete driveway, alone. Counting the thirty seconds until the sirens heralded the arrival of help. Keep counting the thirty seconds; keep holding onto this world. He'd heard someone say time wasn't important in the afterlife, if he kept counting the thirty seconds he could hold on to this life and he had so much to hold on to.

Thirty seconds the length of time it takes to offer some much needed comfort on a difficult case. He remembered those thirty seconds as if it were yesterday. Standing outside the morgue waiting for her, knowing she was headed this way, knowing how much this case affected her. He knew she needed him, but it was obvious she didn't want to let him know.

"You didn't have to come."

"I know. I wanted to. In case you need me." He'd inwardly smiled, when would Catherine ever let anyone know she needed them. But he'd been surprised by her next confession.

"I probably do. But this is something I'd rather do alone." With that she'd tried to walk past him, escape his gaze so he could see no sign of weakness.

He'd sought to reassure her, "Fifteen seconds, you're in, you're out we make a DNA match and it's over okay?" He knew it wasn't okay, but he also knew she wouldn't have it any other way. Her nod and admittance it was okay was as much as he'd get for now. But he'd waited for her, counting down the seconds, fifteen seconds, half of his thirty seconds.

They'd moved past this. It was one of the things he loved most about her, the way she tried to hide her vulnerability, her fears, beneath a wise-cracking mouth and a dazzling smile. He, more than most, knew how much her independence mattered to her, she valued it, wore it like a badge of honour. Yet he often saw the cracks appear. Times like these, tough cases. An unwritten rule lay between the two of them, not to mention each other's failings. To Catherine, he knew, showing vulnerability would be seen as a failing, as if she couldn't do her job. She'd had to fight too many battles to get where she was, had to ride the comments, the leers not just from her previous job, but also by some members of the police department; who knowing her past, had tried to take advantage. Then out she came with those smart-ass comments, soon sending them running with their tails between their legs. He had to repress the urge to smile when she was in full flow. Another way of showing his support, standing beside her, lesser men would have distanced themselves from associating with her, frightened her colourful history and personality might in turn taint them. No, not him, he embraced it like an exotic butterfly, his exotic butterfly.

Shouldn't the ambulance be here by now? What was happening to the emergency services? Gone were the days when friendly fire fighters rescued old ladies cats from trees. He knew the demands put on the various emergency departments. It was his job, as soon as they'd dealt with the initial emergency; he and his team were normally called in to investigate. But this was ridiculous; here he was lying on a concrete driveway and not an ambulance in range. He could hear the sirens, but in his past four counts of thirty seconds the sound had got no nearer. It was a good job Catherine wasn't here. He would pity the team trying to placate an angry Catherine, especially when it had involved some member of her family.

He thought back to just after Holly Gribbs had been killed, another thirty seconds, this time trying to reassure Catherine about her family. The explosion in the break room had been bad enough; her anger over her daughter's decision to forfeit a party had left a cloud over the team. He'd been concerned for her. The times they'd spent planning the party and entertaining her daughter each birthday, had, for him, been one of the highlights of the year. Yet here she was, all of a sudden not wanting a party. It hurt him nearly as much as it had hurt Catherine. He'd had to make sure she was okay, on asking her he'd been surprised by her insecurities.

"I'm just afraid that I'm making her weird, you know?" She'd sighed.

He'd looked at her, did she think he was weird. Knowing she'd needed words to comfort, he'd quickly answered, "No."

The `why' had been left unsaid but the intent was there. Catherine had seized on it and her insecurities had come flooding out, how she worried about the hours she gave to the job, how little time she had to spend with her daughter and how she no longer wanted a party.

She'd needed him and it had seemed perfectly natural to allay her fears by questioning these insecurities, "And that's because of you?"

He smiled now at her reply, "Yes. I'm her mother. She mimics me." It was obvious from this these worries ran deeper than she cared to admit.

He couldn't help himself; his reply had seemed so natural. "Well, then she'll be fine. I mean look at you." He'd had to fight the urge to hug her, pull her into an embrace, technically she was still married, so instead he'd resorted to the safety of the flirting game the two of them had played for so long.

She'd immediately realised what he was doing, "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

But it had worked, she had a smile, her mood was improved. Another thirty seconds spent making her life a little brighter. The next day she'd come in and told him the reason behind Lindsey not wanting a party. Her daughter had told her she got to see her friends all the time, she never got to spend time with her mom. She'd cried when she'd revealed this, he'd put his arm around her seeking to comfort her, not really sure what to do. When her tears had stopped, he promised to take Lindsey and her to the zoo, that way he could give her daughter the birthday present and allow her to spend time with her mom.

Weird, a word some people threw around when they were frightened. Scared or intimidated by those that were different, so they resort to name- calling. He thought it strange in many ways that Catherine, who had fought not to conform for most of her life, now worried her daughter might not fit into the ideal of what a childhood should be. I mean come to think of it he was probably thought of as being weird. He had certainly heard that word banded around when he overheard others talking about him in high school. Weird that was how they described his fascination with dead animals; he'd even heard his mother say it once. Like Catherine's badge of independence, weird was his emblem, something he revelled in, something he was proud of. Yes he was different, but then again wasn't everyone? Lindsey was going through a phase, a phase that hurt her mother, but one he was confidant the gregarious little girl would soon overcome.

Yes he could definitely hear the approach of a vehicle. Finally.

"Okay, sir. Sir, don't panic, we're going to take you to the hospital now. Don't try to talk."

How many thirty seconds did it take to get to the hospital? Keep counting.

Then there had been those thirty seconds when he doubted their friendship could be saved.

Her accusations following the case of Wendy Barger had hurt. A case where they'd almost competed with each other on each piece of evidence, each resolute on the right course of action. He had hidden behind the evidence; she'd been driven by her past and his part in Eddie's betrayal. Although he found it difficult to admit he'd understood her motives, her anger. It hadn't stopped the accusations she threw at him from hurting though. He'd replayed her anger over and over in his head, even used it to persuade Sara to make a life, hypocritical maybe, but he had tried to make changes.

It's not as if it was their first argument, and it certainly wasn't their last. They'd argued over many things over the years, her involvement with Sam Braun, the possible compromising of future trials by accepting his cheque, her dates, his dates, her ex husband, her emotional involvement, his lack of emotional involvement. Somehow nothing hurt as much as her accusations;

"I should be just like you. Alone in my hermetically sealed condo watching Discovery on the big screen working genius-level crossword puzzles, but no relationships. No chance any will slop over into a case."

In reply what had he done? Correct her as if she was presenting evidence. That was what had got them into this argument in the first place. When they'd gone to the house and discovered what Wendy's husband had done, he couldn't bear to call her on it. It was clear she was already questioning herself, putting herself in Barger's position. Would she of done that to one of Eddie's women? Could she have lost control in her anger? He knew she couldn't, wouldn't, despite her insistence she'd kill to save Lindsey, that was a long way from seeking vengeance for a husband's misdeeds in a marriage that was heading down the toilet.

He admired her strength and wondered if he'd ever get the chance to tell her that. She was the one person he knew who had looked at the hand life had dealt her and decided it wasn't good enough. She'd then fought to create a new ideal and he'd admired her for it. Some people thought this fight hardened her; but he knew better, he knew that the outer skin she displayed to strangers hid the real Catherine, the vulnerable, caring woman who loved life and did her best to radiate that love to those around her. When Nick had got his promotion, she'd been the first to try to get the team to celebrate with an offer of breakfast. She'd taken Sara out for beer when Hank had dumped her. She'd even got him to send Sara a plant after he'd been on the receiving end of one of her lectures about family. He knew well enough who was responsible for building the family around him, the mother figure, Catherine. He'd not objected, it was another of the games he played, he pretended not to notice the little ways she took care of him, in the hope these small gestures would lead them to a grander statement.

He wondered if he'd ever get the chance now to thank her. He'd said thank you over the years in different ways, he wasn't ungrateful, but it always seemed to come out like an apology, almost as if he was embarrassed for needing to rely on someone else.

After she'd shot Syd Goggle, he'd felt the need to apologise, not thank her.

"I never should have put you in that position, Catherine. I'm sorry."

"What position? Never doubt and never look back. That's how I live my life."

"I admire that."

The look that passed between them however spoke volumes. She'd picked up on his attempt to say thanks, mixed with his whole embarrassment over the situation. She'd not been happy having to fire her weapon, but had covered it with her outward display of confidence. Thirty seconds with Catherine where he'd wasted an opportunity, thirty seconds alone before their team made their return laden with food and bickering about payment. Thirty seconds to search her eyes for some deeper feelings, he thought, hoped, wished lay within them.

Some months later, they'd spent an evening reviewing files, he'd brought the subject of the shooting up and had not been entirely surprised when she revealed her doubts and regret over her actions. She'd made it clear, she'd not regretted saving his life, but had had several nightmares regarding the taking of a life. They'd talked it out, replayed the events, even recreated the scene; until she was satisfied her course of action at that instant was the only available option, which would allow Grissom to live. Again he'd failed to thank her. He owed her so much, not least his life.

They were slowing now. Yes the ambulance was definitely slowing. He wanted to open his eyes, let them know who to contact, but he didn't have the strength. He'd made it to the hospital, now he needed to make the rest of the journey. He needed to block out the pain. He needed to count his thirty seconds. He needed to stay in this world. He needed to stay alive. Keep counting the thirty seconds. Keep counting. The moment you stop is the moment you're in limbo, between two worlds. There was too much for him to sacrifice to leave this world behind. Keep counting the thirty seconds. So that's what he did.

Thirty seconds to open the doors. Thirty seconds to lower the stretcher. Thirty seconds to feel the cool breeze on his face. Thirty seconds being rushed through the E.R., people around him shouting out for assistance. Thirty seconds of pain as his body was moved from the stretcher. Thirty seconds to sacrifice his modesty as his clothes were roughly cut away to enable his wounds to be examined and treated. Thirty seconds mouthing the name, he hoped they'd find in his wallet, to contact her. Thirty seconds of regret, taking no back-up to interview a witness.