AN: I own nothing.

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She had just climbed out of the shower when she heard the knock at the door. "One minute," she called, and then dried off and scrambled into jeans and a t-shirt. She didn't really know who to expect when she looked through the peephole, but it certainly wasn't the person she saw.

***

He tried to rest when he got home, but all he could see was white. White walls. White hands. White pottery pressed to the white skin of her neck as he waited for the white to be replaced by red. Even her voice had seemed white. White and brittle. Even hours later, it had seemed that if he touched her, just lightly, she would shatter like a frozen flower dropped on concrete.

'She said she was fine,' he reminded himself. 'She won't thank you for bothering her when she would rather be alone.'

'She always says that,' he argued. 'Sara would say she was fine if she had both of her legs chopped off. That doesn't mean she's telling the truth.'

He slammed both fists into the mattress but it did nothing to stop the flow of images. He remembered her arms silhouetted against the barred window and then wrapped tightly around her, as if she were trying to hold herself in one piece. He remembered the last time her smile had been as white and brittle as she was that day. He remembered that he had gone to her door that day, and she had let him in.

***

She undid the locks and opened the door. "Grissom?"

"Hi," he said, offering her a shadow of a smile.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out.

"I-I wanted to— I came to see if you're ok."

One of her eyebrows went up, but she stepped aside to let him in. He breathed an internal sigh of relief. She faced him after closing the door. The brittleness in her frame was somewhat mitigated by the frown on her forehead.

"You came to see if I am ok," she stated. Her face was unreadable but he though that she placed slight emphasis on the words 'you' and 'I'.

"Yes."

"You?" she questioned sharply, but then her face softened and she continued before he could respond. "Griss…you look like you've been dragged through hell behind an oxcart."

Her unusual imagery startled a laugh out of him. "These past few days have seemed something like that, but I've felt worse than I do right now, and far worse than being dragged through hell, is having to live there."

Her eyes widened when she caught his meaning and she tensed and looked away. "Sara…"

She shook her head violently and avoided his eyes. "I'm fine."

"I don't believe that."

"Sounds like a personal problem," she shot back. Her voice made him think of hollow eggshells.

He took a step closer and rested a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and continued to stare determinedly away. The muscles in her jaw fluttered with tension. He thought of butterflies spiraling higher and higher.

"It's ok to let another person help you sometimes. There's nothing wrong with needing that."

She laughed bitterly. "Every time you accept help from another person, you give them one more weapon to use against you when the time comes."

"And you believe that I would do that to you? You really think that I would hurt you in that way Sara?"

She finally met his eyes and he held perfectly still as she considered his question. Something seemed to relax slightly and she looked down. "No," she said quietly, "Not in that way, no."

He let his hand fall from her shoulder to her side and then pulled her to him. He hadn't missed the qualification that she had made, but he filed it away to be examined later.

He hadn't realized just how tense she was until he was holding her flush against him. Her whole body was shaking, too slightly to see, but enough to feel. A moment passed and then she returned the embrace.

***

He held her silently, listening as her breathing became normal and the shaking eased, then stopped. She no longer felt as if she would break. She hugged him for a moment longer before pulling away. She smiled at him, a little ruefully, but closer to her normal smile. "Thanks. I think I needed that," she admitted.

He returned her smile. "I think we both did."

An awkward silence descended on them and they both shifted from foot to foot, neither one knowing what to do. Sara broke the silence by walking away from him and sitting on the couch. "Well," she said brightly, "you've done your duty. Now you can go home and sleep soundly, knowing that."

"Sleep soundly?" he asked skeptically. Even now, he wouldn't be sleeping soundly for days.

She shrugged. "Or you could stay here and keep me company. I know I won't be able to sleep at all for a while."

"I'd like that," he stated honestly. She patted the cushion next to her and he walked over to accept the invitation.

She never meant to fall asleep. She hadn't thought it was possible, but they talked a lot and laughed a little and before she knew it, she was relaxed and the needs of a body that hadn't had a proper rest in days took over.

***

She was trapped! He had her pinned and he was going to—but she couldn't let him! "No!" she yelled and shoved herself away from whatever was holding her down. She stumbled and nearly fell, taking several steps backward to catch her balance. Disoriented, she scanned the room for threats, but found none. Instead, she saw a very surprised Gil Grissom sitting on her couch.

By the look of him, he had been asleep too, until a moment ago. They must have moved closer together in their sleep. It had been his arm around her that she had thought was a danger. She swallowed over a lump in her throat. "Shit," she whispered, "sorry."

He stood and tugged his shirt straight. "Bad dream?"

"The variations are endless, but I'm sorry…"

"It's ok, understandable." He looked at her clock and she noted with surprise that she had slept longer just then than she had in the past three days combined. "I'd better go home and get ready before shift starts."

"Yeah."

"You need to take a day or two off—"

She cut him off "To sit at home and go crazy? No way. I'll be there."