A/N: This is the last and final part of Comfort Food. Thanks for all those who have been reading it since the first part :)
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters written below.
The ride back was silent, but he knew they had a lot of talk about.
Too much.
She was looking out the window, her eyes taking in the blurred lights. There was nothing as beautiful, or tacky, as the strip casinos. He could almost feel her memories cloud the air, staining his vision and gripping his heart in a vice.
Who knew the reason she was to return to Vegas was for a funeral?
She turned to him and whispered quietly. "I missed you, this, everything."
He nodded but couldn't find the right words, and the car was silent once more.
--
She stood by the door frame, inhaling deeply. Nothing else in the world smelt quite like Grissom's apartment – a comforting blend of citrus and old books. Every night in San Francisco she would grip her pillow tightly and press her face into it, because it smelt like this.
He walked past her and right to the fridge, pulling out a large bottle of water. He poured it halfway to the rim and handed her the glass silently, and she thanked him. Everything felt to familiar, but different and unnerving at the same time. Like the first time she stared into the mirror after her 'incident', and could barely recognize the person staring right back at her, the blue and black and red spread all over her face.
It made her feel like tearing up.
Well, maybe more than just the feeling of tearing up, because the next thing she knew, she had tears running down her face, salty tears falling and mixing with the filtered cold water.
Before she knew it, the glass was taken from her hand and his arms were around her, just like at the lab hours ago. He held onto her, the warmth of his arms welcoming, with her face buried in his shirt.
He gently guided her to the couch, the one she had spent countless hours lazing around on, and draped her favourite cream afghan blanket over her shoulders. She tucked her head in the blanket as he sat down next to her, rubbing her back in a circular motion till her tears stopped.
The next moment, his palm was off her back, and he was gone. She just sat there trying to sift through her emotions the way the therapist had advised her to, keeping her eyes shut and her face buried in the soft blanket.
She heard him return by the sound of his approaching footsteps, and she lifted her head to apologize for the number one thing on her list of things-to-apologize-for.
"Gil, about the letter, I re-"
Her mouth fell open slightly as she caught sight at what he had laid on the coffee table.
Blue and white packages greeted her, all of different Oreo variations. Mini Oreos, Double Stuff Oreos, and original Oreos sat there in their respective packaging. She counted at least twenty packets. He even had a bottle of milk by the corner, complete with two mugs.
"I bought a packet every time I missed you," he explained. "But eating them was out of question, I still dislike the taste. I also stocked up after telling you about Warrick."
She smiled, but felt herself tear up again.
He sat down next to her and picked up a pack.
"Original?"
She nodded, and he opened the packet easily. Gathering the mugs in his hands and setting them down on the table, he poured the milk right up to the rim.
He picked up one, and twisted the cookie open, before licking the thin white circle swiftly.
"I thought you don't like them," she said questioningly, sipping the warm milk, tasting a tinge of honey in it.
"I thought you might like the company. Besides, you always follow me on the Manhattan Express…"
He replaced the cookie top on, but instead of eating it, he offered it to her. She accepted it, and dipped it quickly into the warm milk before biting in. It tasted better than all those ones she had spent eating alone in her apartment in San Francisco. Better than the ones she had when she was younger, staring out at the sun.
She finished it hungrily and looked into his eyes, her watery brown ones reflecting in his bright blue.
"Thank you," she said sincerely, wondering if it was possible to love him more than she already did.
"It's okay." He replied, kissing her forehead.
It was.
They spent the rest of the night on the couch; him twisting, licking and dunking the cookies for her, her resting against his chest and devouring countless cookies, watching the tiny crumbs fall onto the shiny wooden floor, all while talking about everything and nothing at all.
