Disclaimer: Don't own them. Wish I did.
Rating: K
Spoilers: Empty Eyes
Summary: Post-Empty Eyes fic. GSR
A/N: This was in my head this morning. Oh, and super crazy congrats to SuperCrazyFangirl. She knows why.
Gratitude
He kept glancing over at her in the passenger's seat as he navigated his SUV through the crowded Las Vegas streets. Sara had yet to say anything since leaving the lab, and Grissom knew no words of his would erase her memories of the case. She had seen a victim die, held her gushing wound while they waited for the paramedics to come. What would have been horrific for any regular CSI must have been all the more heartbreaking for the CSI whose first crime scene was her own childhood living room.
After pulling into a parking space in front of her building, Grissom quickly got out of the vehicle and moved around it to her door. She had already opened it, and was about to get out when he eased his hand in the crook of her elbow and slowly guided her as she stood. The mid-morning air was warm, the sunshine bright as it hit her face. Sara quickly shielded her eyes with a hand and walked with Grissom to her front door. He retrieved his key and opened the door.
Once inside, Grissom's eyes darted around. After coming home from work, they would usually relax on the couch for a little while and decide if they'd order food from one of their favorite restaurants or if they'd tackle making something in her small kitchen. Now…well, he didn't think she looked very hungry, and seeing her cry had made him lose his appetite. Buying time until he figured out what to do, Grissom peeled off Sara's jacket from her shoulders and hung it up in the closet, taking his own off as well and doing the same.
She was watching him. He met her gaze and held his breath. Sara imperceptibly cocked her head in the direction of the bedroom.
Grissom pursed his lips in agreement.
Taking her by the elbow once again, he slowly walked her down the hallway. When they got to her bedroom door, Grissom opened it and stepped aside, letting her enter their sanctuary first. She did so without a word, making her way to the bed and taking a seat so she could slip off her shoes. After carefully placing them at the foot of the bed, Sara stood and began to undress. Grissom followed suit, keeping an eye on her as he unbuttoned his shirt. She donned pajama bottoms and a tank top and disappeared into the bathroom. He listened to the water run in the sink and the toilet flush as he pulled on his pajamas, tossing his work clothes into the hamper with hers.
She appeared a minute later, leaving the light on so he could brush his teeth. Grissom ran his hand down her arm as he passed her on his way to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth quickly, peed, and then washed his hands, drying them on the fancy hand towel that hung by the sink. It was pink with a white ruffle, and it oddly charmed him whenever he used it. His Sara, who wore dark colors and never seemed too prone towards extravagance, had a soft spot for frills. It was a trait she kept well-hidden, and Grissom considered himself privileged to be acquainted with that side of her.
He found her huddled on her side of the bed, her back facing him. Slipping under the covers slowly so as not to startle her, Grissom tentatively placed his hand on her upper arm. Sara didn't move closer, but she didn't shy away. He inched his way towards the middle of the bed until his body lined up against hers, the flannel of his pajama top kissing up against the soft cotton of her tank top. He held her there quietly, watching her.
"I'm so glad I come home with you."
Grissom blinked, unsure if he had imagined the break in the silence.
Her husky voice continued, "If we'd worked on this case two, three years ago, I'd be by myself. Alone." He could feel her sniff loudly, and watched from behind as she slowly broke down into sobs. "I feel so lucky."
"Sara…" he began, unable to come up with anything else beyond her name. Turning her in his arms, he held her tight, feeling her tears soak through the front of his flannel top. She was suffering, but nothing he said was going to stop the flow of her tears or magically take the pain away.
It wasn't his job to take the pain away or to stem the flow of her tears. No, he was put on Earth to hold her while she wept, to kiss her forehead as she fell asleep, and to be there when the nightmares ended.
"I'm here," he whispered.
"Thank you."
THE END