Bedside Stories Chapter 9

She shook her head. "Nothing. I'm just tired. I started to cry when Jim was here." She whispered.

He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. "I'm sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry." He sat on the bedside holding her hand. "This should never have happened to you." He turned back to the door. "I'll be right back." He was gone for a few minutes.

When he returned, he had a smile on his face. "Move over. Let me help you." His arms moved her enough to make space for him beside her. He toed his shoes off and slipped into the bed with her. She curled against him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Tell me." His lips touched her hair as his hand brushed her chin. He whispered her name.

Minutes passed before she began to talk. She spoke of what she could remember, being afraid that no one knew she was taken, of how frightened she was in the trunk, knowing Natalie had killed others, of how confused her mind was, of the sudden rain and flood while she was trapped underneath the car. Sara told him about the coyote coming up to her and she knew she would not die, not underneath the car.

Stumbling in the heat, trying to find a way out of the desert, she had remembered her parents. Her mother's image came to her, young, beautiful, and laughing, as Sara's memory returned to childhood. She had not thought of her father with any degree of fondness in years; however, that day, trying to stay awake by repeating multiplication tables brought her dad into her memories. She had remembered little math cards he had made and used to teach her math problems, of riding in a car with him and working out speed and distance—all remembered when she was trying to find another man. When she lost consciousness, her last thought had been of the man beside her. Her hand gripped his.

Grissom told her about the last miniature in his office, of lifting the model car and finding the little figure with dark hair, of finding her car, of how all work stopped so everyone could look for her. And he finally told her that everyone knew about them. Not only had he announced it to the team, but once Natalie was in custody, he had screamed at her before Brass pulled him from the room. If there had been any doubt about their relationship, it was gone after that incident. Ecklie, even the sheriff, had backed away from him as he charged through the lab, taking who and what he needed to search. He would never use the word 'frantic' but others would in their description of him that night and the next day.

He kept her hand in his. Her fractured arm lay across his chest. When each had said as many words as they could, she relaxed against him and dreamed. For so long, they had shared a bed with no one and now neither wanted to sleep without the other. One day, years ago, they had found each other in a lecture room. She looked up and he was there. His eyes met hers—both had the same thoughts sensing an affinity of minds—and she asked questions. From that day, she was his.

Later as he recalled how she asked too many questions, she admitted to uncertainty and shyness trying to work up courage to ask him to dinner.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to stay awake, but the past three days and lack of sleep and worry crept into his brain until he too was able to sleep, listening to her quiet breathing. Night came and no one entered the room with 'Isolation, No Visitors' and 'Check with nurse' signs posted on the door.

Before nurses changed shift, Grissom slipped from the bed and opened the door. He found the charge nurse, thanking her for the signs on the door. She found her patient sleeping as comfortably as one could with a stiff heavy cast from shoulder to fingertips.

"Let her sleep." Grissom asked. "I'll get you when she wakes up."

The nurse agreed. It wasn't protocol, but none of the care for this patient had followed normal processes. One more deviation would not hurt.

Grissom settled beside her with a book. He had turned two pages when he looked up at the open door and found Warrick, paused at the threshold waiting for an invitation.

Grissom waved his hand. "Come in."

Silently, the tall man eased across the floor to the empty chair. "Nick said she was doing a lot better."

"She is." Grissom nodded toward the bed. "The first good sound sleep she's had. And she's finally unhooked from everything." He touched her hair brushing a lock behind her ear.

"She's a fighter, Grissom. She'll be fine." He said as he stretched long legs across the floor. "We wish we were more like her."

The two men watched her for long minutes before Warrick asked, "Where's her parents? She never talks about them."

Grissom shook his head. "Her father died years ago. Her mother is in San Francisco. They—they are not close."

Warrick cleared his throat before asking, "How long—you two?"

"She moved in about a year ago. No, truth is, I moved her into my place. She was dmn determined not to do it even when she was spending every day and night there." He laughed softly at his statement. "I went over there, put her things in boxes and moved her in while she laughed at me."

"We never suspected anything." The visitor leaned back against the chair, chuckling as he did so. "Nick and I decided years ago that she was 'Grissom's woman' which meant hands off."

Grissom did not laugh, but arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, and why was that?"

Warrick grinned, "We could never get her to date our friends. We gave up after a while cause she just was not interested."

The two men were quiet again; not uncomfortably so, both arranging thoughts before saying words.

Grissom was the first to speak. "Remember Debbie Marlin? Nurse, killed in her bathroom?"

"Yeah. Boyfriend killed too. We never got who did it." Warrick did not know where this was going.

Grissom wiped his face with one hand and looked at Sara. "After that case—Debbie Marlin could have been Sara's twin—I knew I had to change things. I didn't want to be alone any more."

Warrick's voice was low when he replied. "I felt that way after Nick's kidnapping—I didn't want to be alone." He shook his head. "Of course, Tina and I should have lived together first, gotten use to each other's schedule."

Grissom said, "It took me a long time to decide what to do." He glanced at Warrick. "I was never one to make quick decisions. When she came here, I was in love with her, but somehow, other things got in the way; she became part of my work instead of part of my life."

The two men were again quiet. Warrick had worked for Grissom for years, never seeking a promotion that would mean another supervisor, getting Catherine by default for a few months. He always wanted to work for this quiet man who gave orders and made decisions with intelligence and concern for everyone involved. He knew there was apprehension in the sound of his voice, yet not in the words he spoke.

"Things have a way of working out," Warrick said.

The older man moved his head in a barely noticeable nod. "I want her to be happy. This—this is my fault."

"No, don't even go there, man. Sara doesn't think that way. Who could have known what that crazy woman would do?"

Grissom tried to smile. "She's strong."

Warrick silently agreed saying "I'll leave. Tell her I was here." He stood, uneasy about his friend and supervisor, concerned about what was not spoken as well as what was said. He had no answers, certain in his own way that none were expected. He closed the door as he left the two in the darken room.