The hospital room felt cold, the overhead lights too bright against your closed eyelids. Every sound from the hum of the machines to the footsteps in the hallway all felt too loud, too jarring. The aftermath of what you’d survived weighed heavy on your chest, making each breath feel sharp and difficult. You knew you were safe now, yet the sense of vulnerability lingered.

The door opened softly, and you looked up to see Gil Grissom enter, his expression as calm and steady as always. Seeing him there—someone who had been with you through so much, someone you trusted—brought an unexpected sense of relief. He’d found you, and now he was here to help you through this next step.

As he moved closer to the bed, he met your gaze, his eyes filled with a kindness that made you feel, for the first time in hours, that you could get through this. "Thank you for asking me to be here." He said gently. "I’m here to support you, and we’ll take this however you need.”

Grissom sat quietly beside you, his presence grounding in the sterile hospital room. He waited a moment, allowing you to collect yourself, never rushing, never pushing. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady, and filled with a kindness that eased some of the tension in your chest.

“I’m going to ask a few questions.” He said softly, his gaze gentle and understanding. “If there’s anything you’re not ready to talk about, just let me know. I’ll follow your lead.”

You nodded, grateful for his patience.

"Can you tell me anything about what happened leading up to the attack?" He asked, leaving space for you to fill in only as much as you were comfortable. “Anything you remember about where you were or who was around?”