A/N: Thank you as always to my lovely reviewers. You keep my muse alive and talkative. :)

Trigger warning for elements of self harm.

Catherine arrived at the jail just as Grissom was let out onto the street. A deputy sheriff had escorted him outside, shaken his hand, and then gone back in to the main booking area. Grissom looked into the sky and squinted at the harshness of the bright sun beaming back at him. The jail had obviously given him clothing as he wore non-descript sweatpants and a cheap, button-up shirt which was easily a two sizes too large.

"I figured you could use a ride," she offered, taking in his person.

He seemed smaller somehow. Not only had he obviously lost weight during his days in lock-up, but his overall physical presence seemed diminished somehow. As well, in the uncompromising harshness of daylight, she could see not only dark circles beneath his eyes but also bruising around his neck. She hadn't noticed the markings before in the hospital, Catherine realized with a start. Perhaps the redness had been hidden by the stubble of his unshaven beard, or she had simply been too distracted by the reality of what Grissom had attempted. But now the darker purple hues of the injury were much more obvious.

Carefully, Catherine set that last observation aside, afraid that if she allowed herself to consider Grissom's recent attempt at suicide too freely, it might further shatter her worldview.

"They gave me bus fare."

The statement made her smile as it sounded so much like Grissom, matter-of-fact and yet also quietly mindful of the world at large.

"And where do you intend to go?" Catherine asked. "Your house is still an active crime scene."

He shrugged. "My mother's house, I supposed. Probably a good time to get it ready to sell."

His mother had died nearly six months earlier, she recalled, but Grissom had been too busy at the lab to deal with her personal effects, so the house had been left fully furnished but unoccupied.

"You can stay with me and Lindsay," she offered.

But even as she said the words, he was shaking his head and looking down at the concrete sidewalk. "Thank you, but no. I don't really think it's a good idea for me to be around people right now."

"At least let me give you a ride."

He sighed, glanced at the bus stop a block down the road, and then nodded in acquiescence.

They spoke little during the drive, although Catherine knew he had questions. When they arrived at his mother's address, a dated ranch-style house in an older neighborhood, Catherine pulled up to the curb but left the car running.

For a long moment, she wondered if he planned to ever speak again, so lost in thought he was sitting in her passenger seat simply staring at the dashboard. Finally, he addressed her without moving to look in her direction.

"How did you do it?"

She noticed that Grissom spoke quietly, even more quietly than usual, and Catherine wondered if it had to do with the dark bruises on his neck or the even greater damage to his psyche.

Feigning ignorance, she responded, "Do what?"

"Convince them to let me out."

Catherine shrugged. "It wasn't me."

"Ecklie?"

She let out a dismissive snort, and Grissom closed his eyes as he took in one long, painful-sounding breath.

"Sara."

He spoke her name reverently, almost delicately. But the effort clearly hurt him, and Catherine wondered about the unspoken emotions hidden within his usually reserved manner.

"She called the sheriff. I'm not privy to all the details, but I think the gist is that she threatened to go to the news networks and tell them you were being held unjustly for political reasons if they didn't at least let you out on bond." Taking a breath, she went on, "Between Sara's statement, the attack on her and Greg, and the footprint at the crime scene, I guess he caved. The DA hasn't dropped the charges against you - yet - but they changed your bail to ROR. So you're free, for now."

"She's still at the hospital?" he murmured, still unable to look at Catherine.

"Yeah, at least another couple of weeks." Before he could ask, she volunteered, "After that, I think she plans on staying with Greg, for the time being. Full recovery should take several months."

"And what about Brenda Waters?"

"There's an APB out on her, and they've staked out her house in case she returns home. Not much else we can do while she's in the wind."

Silence fell between then, and Catherine could tell he had many more questions, about the case and about Sara, but he seemed reticent to pose them.

Finally, in a gruff voice, he questioned, "They're protecting Sara?"

Catherine smiled knowingly at his concern. "There's a deputy on her door at the hospital at all times. She wanted us to assign one to you…"

Grissom simply shook his head in silent refusal.

"...but I told her that you'd likely refuse."

"I'm not the one at risk."

They both knew that his statement ignored the obvious truth that he could be targeted by Brenda Waters just as easily as Sara could be, but Catherine suspected that he really did not care. So long as Sara was safe, he no longer seemed to have much concern for himself. Having known him so many years, Catherine recognized his unerring devotion to his work. Now, that single-mindedness applied only to Sara. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter. And yet...

"Are you planning on going to visit Sara at the hospital? I know she wants to see you." Catherine did not elaborate on the severe understatement of her last comment.

Grissom seemed startled by the suggestion. "I don't think that's a good idea," he muttered. He still had not spared her more than a couple sideways glanced, and she could tell that his spirits were beyond low. They practically seemed not existent. New worry blossomed within her even though she knew he would keep the promise he had made to her in the hospital.

"You shouldn't be alone, Gris."

Perhaps it was the worry in her voice, but he finally turned to look at her. "I'll be fine, Catherine."

As he assured her, he even attempted a small smile. But it did not reach his eyes and the effect left her more concerned than ever about his mental state.

"I think you should talk to someone," she advised. "Someone… a professional. What you've been through is just too much to deal with by yourself."

He said nothing to that, but rather looked back at the windshield of the car. Finally, he managed, "Thank you for the ride, Catherine."

Without further discussion, Grissom stepped out of the car and shut the door behind him. As he walked to the front door of his mother's house, he did not look back.

His mother's house was old and outdated but comfortable. While it was not the home he had grown up in, he felt well at ease there. His mother's presence followed him from room to room, silently reassuring him. But perhaps more importantly, this house had almost no memories of Sara. Or, at least not bad ones. He had brought her to dinner here to meet his mother for the first time. And then, months later, after the funeral, Sara had come by to check on him.

"What can I do to help?" she asked.

But he shook his head. "Nothing right now. I've taken care of all the immediate things. We should get back to the lab."

Sara's expression morphed into one full of care and compassion. "Gil," she said gently, "your mother just died. The lab can wait."

Then she had enveloped him in a hug, her arms around him tender and soft. She smelled fresh and clean, a contrast to the antiseptic odor at the hospital which had permeated his mother's final hours.

Even now, Grisson felt as if he could still make out Sara's scent. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, hoping to find it. But whatever part of herself Sara had left behind, the intervening six months had carried it away.

And now… he would never get to smell her again.

Grissom lowered himself onto the worn couch his mother had always loved and thought for a long time about the future. For the last week, he had done nothing but reflect on the past, on moments he would rather forget entirely. But now that he had accepted that his life must go on, he needed to focus on what that would entail.

Work? The lab?

Grissom dismissed that question out of hand. His job was gone. Even if they dropped the charges against him and reinstated his position, he could never go back there. While he fully deserved to suffer the sidelong looks of doubt and suspicion from coworkers and subordinates, it would only harm the lab's reputation to have him there. Besides, more importantly, Sara would be there, once she recovered from her injuries. And he could no longer be in the same places as her.

Just the thought of Sara filled him with dread. From what Catherine told him, she did not blame him for what had happened, for what he had done, but that would only make things worse.

No, it was over. Their beautiful, cherished relationship, one which he had stopped from blooming for so long, had proved far more disastrous than he could have ever imagined. Once, he had worried it would mean the end of his professional career, dating one of his subordinates, a woman clearly 15 years his junior. But now, his career was the furthest thing from his mind. No, Sara had been right all those years before. Now that he had finally figured it out, it was too late.

How would Sara ever be able to look at him again, let alone accept him into her bed? That thought filled him with both horror and disgust. His hands had no business ever touching her again.

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed with emotion, Grissom stood up and walked into the kitchen. An ancient knife block sat on the counter and he grabbed a handle at random.

The blade hissed as he pulled it out of the block and then Grissom simply stared at the unblemished steel. The weight of it in his hand, the way it reflected the incandescent light of the kitchen, sent a cold finger up his spine and he nearly dropped it entirely. But then he closed his eyes, focusing.

The pain within him felt so strong, the only logical thought he could find in the maelstrom of his emotions was to match that ache on the outside. Perhaps then, he reasoned, he would find some respite from it all. He wouldn't be breaking his promise to Catherine, he reasoned, not if he just did something small.

Summoning his courage, Grissom placed his left hand flat on the counter before positioning the knife as though he would cut into the skin.

How many times had he done this to Sara? He knew the number, but it was inadequate. The memories flooded back to him, and for once, he did not push them away.

I deserve to remember, he reminded himself. I deserve to suffer.

He swallowed hard as he looked down at the knife and prepared to drag the blade across the back of his hand. Sara had endured it, all those times he had sliced her skin apart. Why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't he feel every single scratch and burn and ache he had inflicted on her? Even if it did not take away her pain, it would let him know how she felt.

She wouldn't want that, a voice inside him insisted urgently. It would break her heart if she ever learned you had harmed yourself.

He closed his eyes tightly but knew the voice was right. And anything which might hurt Sara must be avoided at all costs. He owed her that much.

Slowly, feeling inexplicably like a coward and a failure, he returned the knife to the block before leaving the kitchen.

TBC