Relief
Summary: Sara gives Grissom some relief in the backseat of the Denali.
A/N: Thanks to Ann and Burked for being betas on this. Response to the Improv Challenge. First and last lines are provided, with 1,000 words to fill in the rest.
Rating: PG. (Sorry!)
Disclaimer: If I refuse to put a disclaimer here, do you really think I'll get in trouble?

"Would you please stop doing that?"

Sara paused in her ongoing attempt to start the Denali to stare out the window angrily. It was already hot, even by Las Vegas standards, and dealing with a dead SUV on the way back from a crime scene in the middle of the desert was enough to irritate her. Toss in a grouchy passenger, and she was ready to blow. Despite the 'please', there had been nothing polite in his request. Turning to her right, Sara's rebuke died when she saw him.

"Are you sick?" The question was unnecessary. Grissom's face was drawn with pain, his eyes closed tightly, and he looked pale.

"Migraine."

"Do you have any medicine with you?"

"If I did, I think I could have figured out to take it myself."

Definitely grouchy. Wonderful.

Help in the form of a tow truck was on the way, but who knew how long it would take it to reach them in this remote location. It wasn't like Grissom was going to die on her, but she knew that he would be in misery until the migraine passed.

And it looked like he was a firm believer in the adage that misery loved company.

Grissom winced as the door opened and closed. Sara moved softly, but the noise was still enough to make him wish that the surgery to correct his hearing had failed. To make matters worse, his stomach was definitely joining his head in rebelling. It wasn't her fault, but her extended attempts to fix the SUV had only aggravated his worsening pain. Even now, the occasional noise from the rear of the Denali shot through him.

When his door opened, Grissom pried one eye open to see a concerned Sara handing him a bottle of water and an open packet. It took a moment to realize she'd raided the first aid kit to get some ibuprofen. It wouldn't do much for his head, but it couldn't hurt either.

"Can you move to the backseat?" she asked very quietly once he'd managed to swallow the pills. "You'll feel better if you lie down."

"I don't need a nurse," Grissom muttered, reluctantly allowing her to help as he tried to climb out of his seat. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he was hallucinating; he could have sworn that she called him 'Oscar' under her breath.

Sara climbed into the backseat after Grissom, positioning the folded up blanket under his head as he lay down. Once that was accomplished, she moved to the coveralls, trying to drape them over the windows.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to dim the light in here," she replied calmly, knowing his harsh tone was due to his pain. Or so she told herself. "There's a bag if you get sick."

"I told you I don't need a nurse," Grissom complained, memorizing the location of the large, empty evidence bag.

"Good, 'cause I'm not one."

Closing his eyes, Grissom tried to regain some control over his body. It was a losing battle; he knew time was the only thing that would make the pain go away. He couldn't control the pain, but he could try to direct his reaction to it.

His attempts at reaching an inner calm died when he jerked suddenly.

"Sorry," Sara whispered, gently pushing him down and repositioning the cold compress back on his forehead. "Stay still."

"I would if you didn't go dumping water on me."

"I didn't dump it," she pointed out, making herself remain cool.

"You shouldn't waste the water. We don't know how long we'll be out here."

"We're not that far from Boulder City. I can walk there before your bones are bleached."

"Then go," he grumbled.

"Argue all you want, Grissom. It's only making your headache worse."

He let out a sigh as he closed his eyes again. The relaxation techniques he'd learned years ago helped somewhat, but he couldn't repress a groan as the nausea struck.

"Sit up," Sara urged, moving so she was behind him. Grissom tensed as her fingers reached his neck and began a gentle kneading.

"Oww! Dammit. Don't!"

"Relax, Grissom," she said tiredly. "Dad swore this was the best treatment he ever had for his migraines."

Fresh waves of pain and nausea wracked his body when he tried to twist out of her reach. Realizing he was trapped, Grissom grudgingly allowed Sara to continue. After a few minutes, he let out a small grunt. This really was effective.

"Guess you had a lot of practice with this."

"No," she said softly. "When he had a migraine, Mom was the only one Dad trusted to get anywhere near him."

"He should have trusted you," Grissom stated.

"Yeah, you're one to tell someone else to trust me."

Grissom let out another groan. Sara had spoken so lightly he had barely heard her, but the pain in her voice had cut through his mental fog. He knew he was at his worst when he had a migraine. When he was younger, there were times his behavior had driven his mother to leave him alone until the headache passed. As an adult, he liked to believe he'd outgrown his immature reactions.

Apparently not.

Despite his own pain, he felt guilty being so curt to Sara. Even at his absolute worst, she was by his side, taking care of him. Slowly and gently, Grissom pushed against Sara, prompting her to slide to the edge of the seat. "Wait," he urged before she opened the door, gingerly laying his head down on her lap.

He got one eye to open long enough to wait until she smiled. Reaching over, he grasped one of her hands, resting them on his chest before shutting his eyes.

"That's better."

The End