Intimate encounter by chibiness87
Genre: Angst/romance (but in a GOOD way!)
Pairing:GSR
Length:1436 words
Spoilers: GD
Disclaimer:Not mine.

Summary:What counts as intimate, anyway?

A/N:Response to a challenge over at YTDAW, set my milla. Thanks to inner-urge and butterfliedgsr for beta'ing.

The first time we were intimate, we didn't make love, or any other euphemism for that you want to use. We didn't even kiss. No. What we did that day was more intimate than anything I had ever done before in my life.

May, 2005

"Come on, I'll take you home."

You don't reply, still standing at the almost grave-site, a blank look on your face. I've seen that look on your face maybe five times in all the years I have known you, and it chills me to the core every time I do.

It's a dead look. The lights are on but there's no-one home.

I reach out and take your hand. I've held your hand maybe 3 times in all the time we have worked together, so I expect this will cause some reaction.

But it doesn't. You still stand there, eyes fixed on the dirt.

"Come on."

I pull gently, and watch as your eyes blink slowly, still unfocused. Your head moves, and for the first time you realise I am holding your hand.

But still, you don't react. Just stand there, eyes now fixed on our hands. It's like the lab explosion all over again.

I could call you "Honey" and I don't think I'd get more than a blink.

It's beginning to really scare me.

I tug again, and this time it's enough to get some motor skill enabled. You follow me, almost mechanically, as I bring you to the Denali.

When I let go of your hand you still don't react. I end up opening the door and helping you into the car. If you were anywhere near coherent you'd probably kick my ass for that. But as you're not, the point is moot.

The drive over is quiet. Not surprising really, you're still out of it. As we pull up outside your place I think back to the last time I was here, and the situation behind it. But I don't dwell; it's depressing to think back to those times.

A lot has changed since then; the past few months we've gotten better at talking to each other.

I think we have, anyway.

I'm sure there are lots of things about your past you've not told anyone, I can't blame you really. After all, I'm the same way.

We sit outside for a good 5 minutes, still in silence. And then you blink, slowly, and I see your eyes finally taking notice of where we are.

You look over at me, and I am blown away by the tiredness I see. I know Nick means a lot to you; he means a lot to us all. But I have never seen that expression on your face before.

Before I can say anything however, I notice the slight squint to your left eye. Your hand comes up and rubs at your temples in a circular motion.

"Headache?"

"Migraine. I get them from time to time."

"Ah. Do you have any medication inside?"

You nod your head, and I can see the second you regret that move, a wince shuddering through your frame.

"Come on."

I'm out of the car and opening your door before you've even got your belt off. You glare at me, as much as you can with the migraine, but I don't move. Eventually you sigh, and let me help you.

Together we get up to your front door, and you've produced your keys from somewhere.

"Come on in."

I follow you through the door, glancing around, and suddenly stop when I am met by a pair of intense brown eyes staring at me.

We just stand there, the two of us, in the entry-way of your home, gazes locked. Just as I am about to say something to you, we're interrupted by the arrival of the mail. The noise breaks the staring contest, and I blink.

When I open my eyes the soulful brown orbs that held my gaze have gone, and I turn to look for you. You're standing in the kitchen, glass in your hand, but you've stopped again.

I approach slowly, not wanting to startle you. My hand lands on your shoulder lightly, and you start, turning around quickly, your grip tightening on the glass.

"Sorry."

"No, it's ok." You shake your head as if to clear it, but it was a mistake, something you realise as your migraine reminds you of its presence once more.

"Pills?"

"Um, bathroom."

"Want me to get them?"

"No. No, uh, I can manage. Make yourself at home."

Mindful of how I know migraines can work, I click on a table lamp, lighting the room softly so I can see where I am, but not too bright to cause you more pain. I take a seat on your couch, and pick up the deck of cards sitting on the coffee table.

My brain is churning too much to settle on one thought, so I start a game of solitaire, trying to calm my head. In the background I can hear a tap running, and then you appear in the room once more, changed and with a glass of water in your hand.

"Can I get you anything?"

I raise my head to meet your still somewhat glazed eyes, and shake my head. "No, I'm ok."

You sit on the couch next to me, but far enough away so we aren't touching.

It's you who breaks the silence first.

"I could have lost you today."

I stop playing, blink, and look at you. Your eyes are unfocused still, be it from the days events or the pills for your migraine I don't know.

I think over your words, and there is only one thing I can think to say to that.

"I could have lost you, too."

We don't say anything after that for a while, just letting the truth sink in. We could have lost each other. There were too many close calls on this case. Nick's case.

"Do you think Nick's going to be ok?"

"Physically, he'll be fine. The ant bites are easily treated. I'm not sure about mentally."

"No. No, me neither."

Silence again.

"Griss?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it bad that I'm happy Nick was taken?"

"You are?"

"Well, not, no, not happy. Relieved maybe? No, I don't mean that either. I mean, it could have been you, you know? And I couldn't… It was hard enough it was Nick… if it was you I…"

"I know."

"And then I almost lost you anyway. When Hodges called… god, what if he had called later? Another second and you would have been blown up… and god, you almost were. I don't…. I can't…"

We're hugging then; clinging to each other, actually. And it takes me a second to realise that the wetness I can feel is our tears; both yours and mine.

A while later we pull apart.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to cry all over you."

"It's fine, Sara."

"God, I must look like a mess."

"You're beautiful."

I try to say something else, but I'm met with the same intense brown eyes I saw in the doorway, and instead I fall silent.

"Stay with me tonight."

I blink, shocked.

"What?"

"Please? I mean, nothing has to happen. That's not… I just…" you sigh, trying to find the words.

"I need to know your safe. That it's over, and you didn't get taken, or blown up, or something."

It's the vulnerability in your eyes that gets me.

"Yeah, I'll stay."

In return I get a smile, small but there. You stand up and reach for my hand. I follow you down the hallway, pausing in the doorway of your room.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I just…" you sigh again. "I need you tonight. Please?"

"Ok."

I follow you once more, sitting on the bed, feeling slightly awkward. But then you're pulling me to lie down, and so I kick off my shoes and relax into the mattress. I close my eyes, only to feel a shifting weight. And then I get the feeling I am being watched.

I crack open my eye, and, yes, brown eyes are gazing at me.

"Sorry. I forgot you…" You pause.

"Sara, Hank. Hank, this is Sara."

I freeze.Hank?!

"Hank?"

"Yeah. Hank Aaron."

"Oh."Baseball. Of course.

"If he's too much of a problem I can make him sleep in the other room…" you offer.

"No. No, he's fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Sleep, Griss."

And we did.

So yes, the first time we were intimate we didn't have sex. But then, there is more than one type of intimacy.

End