Animal Crackers
by Miss Jazz
Category: Drama/Romance, GSR.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Sara has the flu and Grissom has just the right remedy. Guest starring: lions and tigers and bears. Oh my! GSR fluff.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters but if I did, Grissom and Sara would definitely be together. And there would be fluff. Lots and lots of fluff. And mushy moments. And just plain old happiness all around!
Sara Sidle was pretty sure that she had just left her apartment. Why she was now back there, trembling in her doorway with Gil Grissom's arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, was way beyond her. At least it was until Grissom started guiding her towards her bedroom. Then she remembered.
Oh yeah. Sara moaned. I'm sick. Fever. Flu. The last few hours came flooding back and Sara grimaced, remembering how sick she'd been for the past couple of days. She remembered trying to ignore the aches, the chills, the fever and the nausea. And she definitely remembered the exact moment, only an hour earlier, when she realized that she couldn't do that. She had been in the break room, getting yet another cup of coffee when the world dissolved into darkness. She had opened her eyes to find herself on the break room couch with Grissom and Greg hovering over her, studying her as if she were an important piece of evidence under one of the lab's microscopes. She remembered being forced to drink a glass of orange juice which she had thrown up rather promptly. Then, she had been bundled into Grissom's SUV and he had driven her home, with a quick stop at the grocery store to buy some soup, orange juice and a few other items that Sara hadn't had the strength to inquire about. She had fallen asleep well before they had reached her apartment and everything was still fuzzy.
Grissom brought me home, she silently reminded herself. She was still surprised that he hadn't sent Greg with her. Grissom's in my apartment. And he's about to be in my bedroom. Sara moaned again. This is not how I pictured this happening!
The bedroom was dark and Grissom's hands were gentle on Sara's waist as he led her over to her bed, pulling back the covers before helping her sit down. "What, uh, what drawer are your pajamas in, Sara?" he asked, standing awkwardly next to the bed as he waited for her answer.
Sara slowly raised one limp arm, holding it up just long enough to point him in the right direction. "Second drawer from the top," she whispered, her eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to wake herself up."Any pair is good."
Grissom, with his own eyes half-closed, fished hesitantly through Sara's drawer, pulling out a pair of flannel pajamas. He returned to her side, depositing the warm, soft material in her lap. "You get changed and I'll be right back," he said reassuringly, patting her shoulder before reluctantly leaving her to battle with her tired, achy limbs.
Sara had just managed to pull on her pajamas and crawl weakly under the covers when Grissom came back in, knocking first and calling to her softly."Sara?" He stood at the door. "Where do you keep your thermometer and Tylenol? Bathroom?"
"Yeah," she called back, her voice hoarse. "Top shelf in the cabinet." She pulled her comforter up to her chin, shivering wildly. "Thanks, Griss," she said, hoping that he would hear her. He didn't answer but he returned only a minute later, the thermometer and the small bottle of Tylenol in one hand and a cool facecloth in the other.
Sara was completely awake by the time Grissom sat down on the edge of her bed. She shuddered, wondering why he allowed himself to get that close to her. Sick or not sick, he was never that close to her. Ever. But tonight he gave her a small smile and he sat close by, adjusting her pillows and her blankets, and being a lot warmer than Sara would have ever expected him to be.
Grissom shook the thermometer and his head in sync. "I should have known you'd let yourself get this sick," he said softly, sticking the thermometer under her tongue. Sara would have tried to glare at him but she was too touched by the fact that he was actually sitting at her side, caring for her.
"I fweel a wot bedder mow," Sara mumbled, holding the thermometer in place so it wouldn't fall from her moving lips. "Sworry 'bout donight."
"Stop talking," Grissom told her, one eyebrow raised. "Don't worry about tonight. It was slow anyway. I'm just concerned about you."
"'M fmine, Gwiss."
The thermometer beeped and Sara weakly made a grab for it but Grissom beat her to it. "You're not fine, Sara," he told her sharply. "You passed out at work and your fever's at a hundred and two point five. That's far from fine."
"Just the flu," Sara sighed. Her fingers fumbled with the bottle of Tylenol and when she finally managed to get two pills out of the container, she tossed them into her mouth, swallowing them dry.
Grissom just shook his head again and he placed the cold cloth on Sara's glistening forehead. She whispered something incoherent as her skin encountered the source of cool relief and then she closed her eyes again. "I'll be right back," Grissom told her. She nodded and listened as Grissom tiptoed from her room.
When he came back, he was holding a large glass of orange juice. Sara looked at it and she narrowed her eyes, remembering the last glass of orange juice and its consequences. This time she did glare."I hope I'm contagious," she muttered.
"I know you're not hungry or thirsty," Grissom began. "But you need the vitamins and you need to eat a little, to get your strength up. Otherwise, you'll be fighting this flu for a lot longer than I'm sure you'd like to."
"I don't want to fight it at all," Sara huffed. "I'll be back at work tomorrow night."
"Not if you can't keep anything down," Grissom replied. "And not with a high fever."
"My immune system hates me."
"No," Grissom replied firmly. "Other way around. You hate your immune system. You don't treat it well enough for you to get anything in return. You don't take care of yourself, Sara. You work yourself into the ground. You probably haven't eaten anything in the past few days. Am I correct?"
"I had coffee."
"And then you passed out, spilling that coffee," Grissom told her. "Greg's probably still cleaning it up."
Sara smirked. "He must be in a great deal of pain."
"It's a good thing you didn't spill one of his specialities."
"He'd never forgive me."
Grissom gave her another small smile. "So–you haven't eaten anything recently?"
Sara shrugged. "Hot case yesterday."
"Well lucky for you, you're spending the next few hours with me," Grissom replied, his smile turning into satisfied grin."And I get to make sure that you eat and drink absolutely everything that I put in front of you." He handed her the tall glass of orange juice. "Starting with this."
Sara took it from him, grimacing. "I've never been so disgusted with orange juice," she muttered.
"Like I said, it'll help. Full of Vitamin C."
"Well, it's not so good when it keeps coming back at you." Sara pulled the blankets closer to her chin and she sneezed. Then, she looked up at Grissom, her face twisted in her misery. "S'cuse me," she sniffed.
Grissom sighed, giving her an encouraging half-smile. "I'm going to make you some soup," he announced, making his way to the door. "Do you think you can handle some toast with it?"
"No," Sara groaned. "No toast."
"How about some fruit?"
"No thanks."
"Anything?"
Sara shook her head. "Just some water, Griss. If you would."
Grissom nodded. "Of course, Sara. But you're still drinking your orange juice." With that, he ducked out of the bedroom before Sara could give him any sort of reply.
Sara was staring at the ceiling when Grissom returned, the washcloth, now very warm, still on her forehead. She mumbled a few things when she heard him come in and Grissom wasn't sure he wanted to know what she was saying. He figured it had something to do with the orange juice but he didn't say anything because the glass was empty. He eyed her bathroom warily, wondering if she would have had enough strength to go behind his back and dump it down the sink. But he quickly decided that she didn't. She was bold enough when she was healthy but at the moment, she was entirely too weak to even sit up by herself.
"I was wondering if you got lost," Sara joked, rather weakly. She pulled the cloth from forehead, eyeing Grissom as he set a small tray down on her night table and then sat down again, perching on the edge of her bed. "Yes I actually drank all of the orange juice," she told him, reading his mind and looking positively glum."I'll do just about anything to get better."
Grissom's expression was soft and more than sympathetic. "You'll feel better before you know it," he told her gently. He hesitated for just a second before reaching behind Sara's head and pulling the crisp, white pillows up. "You okay to sit up?"
"I'm not that sick, Grissom," Sara replied, rolling her eyes. She moved to push herself into a sitting position but an instant wave of dizziness forced her back down. "Okay, maybe I am."
"Thought so." Grissom timidly wrapped an arm around Sara's shoulders and helped her sit up, propping her against the pillows. "Okay?" he asked.
Sara nodded, her head pounding along with the movement. "Yeah." She smiled faintly. "Look, Griss–" She watched him as he settled the tray onto her lap. "You really don't have to stay and do all this. I appreciate the soup and everything but I'll be fine."
Grissom stared at her with one eyebrow raised, his lips twitching in thought. "What if–" He stopped, hesitating for a second. "What if I want to stay and do all this?"
Sara eyed him curiously. Who are you and what have you done with Gil Grissom? That was her first and only thought. She barely managed to open her mouth. "What?"
"I want to make sure you're okay, Sara," Grissom told her. "You're in no condition to take care of yourself and from what I see, feel and hear, this flu is no picnic. I want to help."
"You know, I can and do take care of myself," Sara said, almost snapping out her reply. "I've been doing pretty damn well on my own, thank-you very much." It's not like you've really given me much of a choice until now, Grissom, she silently added.
"Yes but you haven't been sick like this, honey," Grissom insisted, his voice gentle. "You can't possibly take care of yourself when you can barely sit up." He took a deep breath and then he timidly reached out to take her cold hand into his. Sara's eyes widened and she immediately softened, feeling warm–in a good way. A very good way.
"Well," she sighed, a slight smile brightening her pale features. "When you put it that way–"
"Good," Grissom said, smiling himself. "Now will you have some soup before it gets cold?"
Sara's smile turned sly, despite her illness, and she shrugged. "I have a microwave."
"And you have a fridge. In which I have more orange juice all ready to go."
Rolling her eyes, Sara quickly nodded. "You win."
Grissom handed her a spoon and gestured toward the steaming bowl. Sara gave him a gloomy look and sank her spoon into the liquid, looking quickly to see what she was about to–reluctantly–eat. Sara stifled a small gasp at the sight of her soup. "Grissom?"
He smiled.
"Are those animal crackers?" she asked, peering curiously at the oddly-shaped objects floating in her bowl. She squinted, trying to make out the various shapes, recognizing a few lions, a few tigers and one bear. Her heart fluttered and she gave a little sniff, looking up at Grissom with soft, bright eyes. "You put animal crackers in my soup?"
Grissom raised his eyebrows, giving her a little nod. "Yes, Sara, I did," he said, with a small chuckle. "Bought them at the store. I thought, for some reason, that it might cheer you up." He searched her face, locking gazes with her. "Was I right?"
She nodded, biting her lip and blushing madly. She managed to squeak out a "yes" before momentarily losing herself in a small fit of laughter, which ended quickly in a few heavy coughs.
"I'm glad you like them," Grissom told her. "But you need to start eating. The soup and the crackers."
Her head was pounding but Sara grinned, full force. "But I'm a vegetarian."
Grissom raised one finger, pointing it at the soup in mock exasperation. "Not funny, Sidle. Eat." Secretly, he loved her weak joke but he was too worried about her to let her get away with it.
She pursed her lips, sighing. "All of it?"
"Yes. All of it," Grissom said sternly, trying to hide his smile. He decided to play with her a bit, noticing that their banter seemed to be making her feel better. "You're going to eat all of that soup," he insisted again. "And then you, my dear, will get a second helping. Which you will then eat. Animal crackers and all. Have I made myself clear?"
"As clear as my empty glass of orange juice," Sara muttered through her smile. "You wanna fill that up again? Or have I satisfied my daily juice quota?"
"Sick and sarcastic." Grissom pretended to be annoyed. "Eat. Now. Or I'll feed it to you myself."
Sara blushed again and she searched her exhausted brain for another sarcastic response. Well, maybe I'd like that, she thought, feeling light and fluffy for a fleeting second before an intense chill swept through her fevered body. She began to shake uncontrollably, her sarcasm melting away. "Damn," she breathed, her fingers tightening around the spoon.
Grissom rested the back of his hand against her forehead. "We really need to get your fever down," he said quietly. "Just try to eat a little bit, Sara. Then you should try to get some sleep."
"Two of my least favourite things to do," Sara noted.
"And they just happen to be two basic life functions," Grissom softly responded.
Sara blinked. He's really concerned about me, she realized. He really is. A faint smile curved her lips again and she looked into her bowl, scooping up a cracker and a spoonful of warm vegetable soup. "I'll let you know if I see a bug-shaped one," she said, feeling Grissom's fingers stroke her hair gently. He had reached out to her and she hadn't really noticed it until she felt his gentle touch. Sara closed her eyes for a moment, feeling sick, surprised, relieved and overjoyed all at the same time.
"Unfortunately, they don't make bug-shaped ones, honey," Grissom whispered, giving her a wink. "But I, uh, I love them anyway." He paused and then he pulled his fingers away rapidly, as if he were just realizing what he was doing. "Sara–"
"It's okay."Sara's voice was light and breathless, her face bright–a mixture of pure happiness and fever. She shyly lowered her eyes and then toyed with her spoon, dragging her soup and crackers around in circles, spinning them into a delightful whirlpool.
Sara looked up to meet Grissom's anxious expression. "I love the animal crackers, Griss," she said gently, her face aglow. "And I really love the fact that you love them."
"You do?"
Sara finally drank down the spoonful of soup, complete with the soggy cracker, and then she cleared her throat, gazing at Grissom. "Definitely," she replied. Her chin began to quiver and her smile broke loose again, followed by another fit of light laughter. This time, it lasted longer and Grissom could only sit there, stunned. He couldn't help but feel warm all over and he suddenly had to remind himself that it was Sara who had a temperature–not him. But it was almost hard to tell, really. There she was, weak, feverish and pale, barely managing to sit up in bed yet she was laughing up a storm.
"Well, I guess it's true then." Grissom shook his head in disbelief.
Between her weak giggles, Sara spooned another softened cracker into her mouth. "What's true?"
"Laughter really is the best medicine."
Sara stopped laughing right then, her hazy brown eyes connecting with Grissom's nervous but sparkling blue ones. He gazed at her softly and she smiled, her pale cheeks turning crimson red.
"No, Griss," Sara replied, lowering her voice to a warm whisper. "You are."
The End.
Author's Note: I seem to be on a Grissom/Sara comfort spree lately! I really don't intend to make Sara suffer in all of my stories–she's much cooler when she's happy! I hope you liked this and I'd like to thank all of you who have been so incredibly supportive of my stories! Thank-you so much!
Jazz.