Together
Chapter 1
Grissom held her hand while she cried. She did not tell her story easily. It choked and sobbed and twisted from well hidden crevices of her brain. He continued to hold her hand, his face unflinching in the raw trauma of the telling. When she said all she could, and there was more that she could tell, he stood, pulling her up. He didn't speak, just wrapped both arms around her and held her close.
"Come on," he whispered. She did not resist. He guided her into her bedroom, sat her on the bed, and pulled the covers back. "What do you sleep in?"
She looked at him with re-rimmed, wide eyes.
"You need to sleep." He had stepped into her bathroom and quickly returned with a damp washcloth. Very carefully and with short delicate movements, he washed her face. "That's better." He looked around the bedroom. It had been so long—months after she moved in—that he had last been in this room, neat, comfortable, one framed photo beside her bed, of them made in San Francisco. She was giggling while holding a camera at arm's length.
Finally, she spoke. "Behind the door. What I sleep in."
He found gray sweatpants and a shirt on a hook, handed them to her, then turned his back, pretending to adjust the blinds while she changed. He heard her slip between the sheets.
"Hey," he said as he sat on the bed beside her. She covered her eyes with her hand. "This is between us. I'm staying for a while. Ok?" He almost smiled.
"Why?" she asked.
He moved to the other side of the bed, removed his shoes, and stretched out beside her. "I want to." He nodded toward two books beside her bed. "Do you mind if I read?" She shook her head. He opened a book where her marker lay and begin to read out loud. His words slipped quietly out in husky, smooth sounds.
She reached over and touched his arm. "Thanks. I've missed you." In ten minutes, her soft even breath told him she was asleep. He leaned back against pillows and in a few minutes, he was asleep.
She moved and woke him up. Her hand lay on his chest, right above his heart. As he watched her sleep, he realized how young she looked. He moved his hand to cover her. She stirred again and her eyes flickered open.
"What happened to us, Grissom?" She said as her eyes met his.
He took her hand in his and moved it to his lips. "I don't know, Honey." He gently kissed her hand. "I just don't know what to do."
"Just love me," was her quiet response.
He squeezed her hand and neither said anything for several minutes. Finally, he said, "I do."
She remained very still hearing what he said, taking a minute to realize what it meant.
"Can you sleep?" He asked.
She nodded her head.
"I need to return to work." He got up, saying, "I'll be back later and bring food."
"You don't have too. I'm fine. Really."
He reached over and brushed back a lock of her hair. "I know I don't' have to—I want to. Now get some sleep."
She watched as he closed her door and she heard him leave. She reached over and pulled the pillow he had used into her arms. She could sleep. She could wait for him to return.