Author's Notes: I wrote this as kind of a celebration for having my computer back after five long, LONG weeks. Thanks to Lisa and Alison for looking it over, and thanks to you for clicking on it;) Enjoy!
Restless
by Kristen Elizabeth
Logically, she knew she shouldn't let second-hand observations about Grissom bother her, especially not when the primary source of the information came from Hodges. The man might flatter himself into thinking he had an intellectual bond with their supervisor, but Hodge wasn't sharing a life with him. He wasn't scrambling eggs for Grissom in the morning, or throwing a load of Grissom's socks in with his own laundry. And he definitely wasn't sharing a bed with him. So how was he to know if Grissom couldn't sleep, much less what the reason behind his insomnia might be?
But as Sara contemplated her conversation with Wendy, worry began to gnaw away at her. Was the miniature serial killer bothering Grissom more than he let on to anyone, herself included?
As she finished up her report for the CDC, she thought back over the weeks since he'd returned from Williams. He seemed to be better. Less stressed, more driven. Like the Grissom she remembered from her first two years in Vegas. Things had certainly picked back up between them without any problem. They made love at least three times a week, but even when they didn't, they always fell asleep together.
Or did they? Sara searched her memory, but was unable to come up with a single recollection of witnessing Grissom actually sleeping since he'd come back. She was always the first one to close her eyes. And if he didn't wake her up as he climbed out of bed, the sound of the shower turning on invariably did.
Putting all of that together with the fact that when she was with him she slept deeply, Sara couldn't be entirely certain that Hodges wasn't on to something. For all she knew, Grissom could be laying awake every day while she slept beside him, unaware of his inner turmoil.
There was really only one way to know for sure. She would have to sacrifice her own sleep to make sure he actually rested. And if he didn't, then he would have to talk to her and explain what was going on in his head. His precious, but too often cluttered head.
Sara knew they would make love that morning. Neither one of them had been involved in a case that weighed too heavily on their minds. He'd spent the whole shift tracking down a rat with Doc Robbins, and even though she'd spent eight hours interviewing people with herpes, she was ready to go the minute they finished eating a hastily prepared breakfast.
Twenty minutes later, she lay on her back next to him, panting for breath. He'd worked up quite an appetite searching for that rat, and it wasn't only for oatmeal and toast.
Grissom shifted onto his side and looked down at her. "Sorry," he apologized. "That was too fast."
She shook her head on the pillow. "Do you see me complaining?" With every bit of energy she had left, she rose up on her elbows and gave him a kiss. "I bet we'll both sleep well now."
He smiled. "Come here." His arms opened up, inviting her in.
Any other time, she would have rolled into them, settled her cheek against his comfortable chest and drifted off while he read or watched TV. She could sleep through anything after a great orgasm.
But she had to resist temptation. For his own good, not to mention her peace of mind.
"Why don't you come here?" She offered up her own embrace, and her own even softer body. "Let me be your pillow for a change."
Grissom took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "Actually I have a few journals I should look at."
"Well…" She thought fast. "Me too." He frowned. "What?"
"Nothing," he said. "You're just usually tired. Afterwards."
"Not today." Sara bit her lip to keep a yawn at bay. "I'm so far behind in my reading. It might take me hours to catch up." She reached into his nightstand drawer. Some guys kept porn; Gil Grissom kept the American Journal of Forensics. Opening up the issue that was several months old…and one she'd already read…Sara tried to focus on the neat rows of words.
Peeking over the top of the page, she caught his puzzled look. By the time he retrieved his glasses and settled back with his own journal, it had faded away.
She couldn't stop another yawn, but at least she could hide her face behind her reading.
By nine thirty, Sara decided she needed a new tactic. There were only so many times she could read the same article about fingerprint ridge detail.
She closed up her journal with a great flourish. Grissom lowered his, the puzzled expression back in place. Damn him…his eyes didn't even look tired.
"How about a massage?" Sara asked as brightly as possible.
"A massage?" he asked, like it was a completely foreign concept. "You want to give me a massage, or you want me to give you a massage?"
"Baby, when I want a massage from you, I'll lie down and tell you to get to work," she replied with all the sweetness of a woman who desperately needed a few hours of sleep. "Come on." She pushed the covers off her legs and got up onto her knees. "On your stomach."
He thought for a second. "If it'll make you happy." After taking off his glasses, he stretched out across the rumpled sheets. He rested his cheek on his crossed arms and looked at her. "How much coffee did you have last night?"
Ignoring this, Sara cracked her knuckles and got to work on his shoulders. "You're so tense," she observed. Actually, she wasn't all that sure. Muscle just felt like muscle. Maybe she needed to work harder.
"Easy, honey," Grissom said a few minutes later. "There are still a few nerve endings you haven't beaten into submission."
She wiped a bead of perspiration off her forehead. "I just want to help you relax."
He twisted onto his back. Tugging on her arm, he brought her toppling down onto him. "I can think of better ways."
Half an hour later, she was staring at the ceiling again, cursing her own lack of self-discipline. All it took was a damn crook of his finger, and she was letting him explore her like Christopher Columbus.
Grissom kissed the spot where he'd left a mark only minutes earlier. She'd be wearing a scarf to work again that night. He slipped his arm under her neck and began gently pulling her towards him.
She could have just closed her eyes and melted into his warm, solid, beloved body.
I just thought maybe you guys all talk about it… Hodges said…keeping Grissom up at night…
"I wonder if either of our cases made the news," Sara said suddenly. Vaulting up into a sitting position, she grabbed the remote control off the nightstand. "Let's find out."
She heard Grissom sigh as she turned the TV on and began flipping channels. "Sara," he said wearily.
"It looks like Maury's doing another show on obese babies," she noted. Stifling a yawn, she continued, "And Montell's got Sylvia Brown again. No relation to…"
"Sara!" He took the remote out of her hand and turned the set off. "What's going on here?"
"Nothing."
"Why aren't you sleeping?"
She lifted an eyebrow. "Why aren't you?"
"I'm not tired."
"Neither am I." She might have pulled it off if she had been able to fight off another, even bigger yawn. "Damn it!!"
"Stop." Grissom pushed his fingers through her hair. "Tell me what you're thinking."
"Oh, because you always do?" she snapped. The sudden hurt on his face had her immediately ashamed. "Sorry."
"Have I done something to upset you, Sara?"
She watched his eyes for a moment. "Tell me about your day."
It was the half-second pause before he replied that told her for certain…he was about to lie to her. "I dissected a rat with Al."
"That's all?" she challenged him. When he said nothing, Sara swallowed heavily. "You're lying."
Grissom shook his head. "I'm sorry, honey."
"What are you keeping from me?" She waited a second. "The mini-crime scenes?" He looked away, confirming it. "I was with you when we found the first one. I'm on the case as much as you are. You can't keep me out of the…"
"It's different now," he shouted. Shocked, she blinked several times. He never raised his voice to her. "It's different," he repeated, quieter, but not any less fervent. "The last one was sent to me personally."
"So?"
"I don't like that, Sara. All of us have worked on these cases, but I've become the face of the investigation for the killer. I just know that he knows more about me than I do about him. Which means he could know about you. And if he snaps again…"
"Snaps?" she asked, confused.
He glanced away for a second, as if deciding something. Finally, he looked back at her. "Hodges pointed out a common link in the cases today. He…"
"Hodges?" Her eyes narrowed. "You really have been confiding in Hodges?"
"I think 'confide' is too strong a verb," Grissom said. "He's a kiss-ass, but an intelligent one. What kind of a scientist would I be if I ignored evidence just because it was discovered by someone I don't always care for?"
"These cases have been keeping you up at night, haven't they?"
She must have been frowning because he used his thumb to smooth out the lines on her forehead. "I always sleep when you're here, Sara."
"I never see you sleep."
"And I never see you take the pill, but I know you do."
"That's a really crappy comparison," she informed him, smartly. "But…I get it."
He smiled. "So all of this…the journals, the massage, the sex…"
"Well, the sex was recreational. The rest…I just wanted to see you sleep," Sara confessed. "And if you didn't, I wanted you to tell me why you couldn't."
His chuckle was a low rumble in the back of his throat. "Ah, but you didn't ask me how much coffee I had last night, in order to keep looking for that rat."
"Also…" She shrugged. "I wanted to know that you're as comfortable with me as I am with you."
"I'm comfortable with you," Grissom said, seriously. "More than I've been with any other woman in my life."
"Prove it." She lay back down against the pillows and held out her arms. "And not just because it'll make me happy."
Grissom settled his cheek against her breast, and for a brief moment she missed his beard, the way the coarse hairs used to scrape her nipples, leaving her quivering underneath him. She waited until his eyes were closed before she closed her own.
She was asleep when he opened them a few minutes later. He lay in the soft circle of her embrace, his mind running through each tiny crime scene, over and over again. He would solve the case. He would see the killer behind bars.
And when it was over, he would sleep.
Fin