House Of Healing
By Miss Jazz
Genre: Drama/Angst
Summary: After a difficult case, Greg finds himself in California with Grissom and Sara. GSR.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I wish I did. Same old, same old.
Author's Note: Thank you for checking out my new story! Updates are on the way for Escapade. It's still in the works. Thank you for giving me such incredible support for that story (even though it has been in the works for years). I really hope you enjoy this one! Chapter 1 is actually from the middle of the story. Chapter 2 will go back to the beginning.
He watched them through the window of the summer house as the rain pounded the roof of the porch unforgivingly. Candlelight brightened small patches of the living room and left others in shadow, creating an eerie glow against the glass at his nose. There was just enough light for him to see, though he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes tightly.
Holding his breath, he counted slowly against the rapid rhythm of the rain, hoping to calm himself. His eyes closed for just a moment and he welcomed the darkness, for that was all he could feel. It would be alright, he thought, to lose himself in the dark. The candlelight held too much pain, too much fear. It would be so easy to just stay there, to forget...
The voice inside his head was busy telling him to hide himself away. If he wasn't there, then nothing was wrong, right? But his heart was heavy and every time he tried to pretend, it thumped a bit harder and a bit faster, sending fear and guilt through every inch of his body. The pain would hunt him down; unrelenting until he crashed to his knees.
So his eyes opened and holding his breath, he forced himself to watch the storm inside the window.
She looked about the same as she had a minute before, laying there on the floor, her wavy, wet hair splayed around her head. The blankets around her looked heavy as she pulled her arm from beneath them to gently touch the cheek of the man above her. He took her hand and pressed it firmly to his skin, holding it there as weakness overtook her small frame again. She looked up at him gratefully. Her eyes closed--just for a rest--as she'd been saying all night.
The man watched her carefully, studying every laboured breath, feeling her forehead gently with the back of his hand. He kissed the top of her head and sat back for a moment, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He leaned back against the couch and drew his knees up to his chest, resting his tired arms on them, letting his glasses dangle from one hand. His face was pale, his features full of concern, love.
The window rattled.
He looked up quickly and for a few seconds, two exhausted men exchanged silent fears.
One inside and one out, both in the storm.
The unrelenting wind rattled the window again and the communication was lost.
Her eyes fluttered open, hazy brown staring up into concerned blue. She gave him a weak smile and made a valiant effort to speak, but the words would not come. She shook her head slightly in frustration, her eyelids already drooping. She fought them, true to her very nature.
He squeezed her hand tightly and kissed her knuckles, his other hand reaching up to stroke her clammy forehead. His eyes remained focussed on hers, and every breath they took seemed to be in unison. It was like they were one, completely inseparable, completely lost in each other despite the storm. They just were and everything else was not. It didn't exist.
The storm.
The pain.
The window.
Alone on the porch, Greg Sanders looked down at his shaking hands before turning away from the window and sliding down the wall. He fell, landing in a heap, feeling the world spin around him. His palms brushed the wooden floorboards, smooth and wet, before he clasped his hands in front of him and looked to the roof, his tired eyes finding the cracks and following the path of the raindrops as they forced their way through. The rain was coming faster and harder, though he didn't know how that was possible.
He should go inside, he knew that much.
He'd been gone too long.
Grissom needed his help and Sara...Sara...
He pulled himself back up and reached for the door. The screen was off its hinges, swaying at an awkward angle. He pulled it carefully and went to move inside, but his legs were frozen in place. His hand stopped just above the doorknob, hovering as it had the day he'd arrived, when he'd been so hesitant to bring his darkness into their house, but so desperate for the light they could give him.
He'd taken that step inside weeks before and they'd shared the peace they had discovered; a gentle peace that he'd never imagined seeing in their eyes, hearing in their voices. They'd discovered it, and they'd built it– the two of them. Hope in Costa Rica. A home on the shores of California. A life.
It was both painful and beautiful to see that some of that peace was still there, even in the middle of the storm, even as they struggled to make it through the night. He'd watched them through the window and he'd seen the trust there, the determination. And he knew that he would see it when he stepped inside. Sara would be smiling up at Grissom, even as her forehead glistened with sweat and pain marked every move. Grissom would be speaking to her softly, reminding her about an afternoon in Costa Rica or the beauty of yesterday's sunrise.
Yes, there was still peace in the house.
Inspired at the realization, he walked through the door, a sudden determination building out of the darkness. It would be entirely his fault if Sara didn't make it through this storm. He couldn't change that. But there was still peace in the house, and there was still some power resting in his hands. He could do something to help. It was his turn, after all.
TBC