A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the reviews. I treasure each one and look forward to your reactions to this chapter as well.

Sara looked down at the knife before turning it over in her hand to examine her own cuts - now scabbed and healing. Then she drug her eyes up to look across the couch at Grissom. He wanted her to cut him. Perhaps so he could feel some part of what she had felt? Perhaps because he wanted her to receive some revenge?

Compelled by some strange inner voice which told her to trust Grissom, Sara reached for his hand. He gave it to her willingly, although his eyes closed immediately at her touch. His skin felt warm and alive against hers, and Sara turned his hand over to look at the back. A scattering of light colored hairs dotted his wrist, spacing out to smooth skin midway to his knuckles. She noticed a few freckles and age spots, but otherwise, the back of his hand was clean and unblemished.

It was the first time they had touched since that night, and she could tell that the contact, as little as it was, had a highly emotional effect on Grissom. His body seemed taut like a wire, his muscles ready to flex in an instant, as though he were on the precipice of a fight or flight response. And his hand felt unsteady, as though if she were not holding it in her own it would shake violently.

Sara moved as though in slow motion, as though someone else were controlling her body, placing the knife against his skin. And then her fingers froze. Even as she did her best to force them, she could not continue.

"This knife is a little dull," Grissom said quietly, his tone encouraging. "I haven't gotten around to sharpening it recently. The ones from my kitchen were much sharper."

Her heart had already begun beating faster, Sara realized, even as she noticed that she had been holding her breath. The back of her neck felt unusually hot, and an uncomfortable wave of nausea was growing in the pit of her stomach.

When she still did not move, Grissom went on, "My skin is also older, thinner. Yours was…"

His statement tapered off, and Sara realized he was breathing unevenly as well. A glance up at him confirmed that he seemed just as on edge as she, but his eyes were transfixed - not on the knife she held, but on his hand and hers which held it steady.

As though a spell had been broken, she let go of his hand.

His eyes snapped up to hers, confused. "Sara…?"

Trembling slightly, she folded the knife back into the multi-tool and set it down on the couch between them.

"When you have a gun to your head, I'll do as you ask, but not before then."

"I'm sorry," he said while averting his eyes in embarrassment. Picking up the tool and returning it to his pocket, he went on, "I was just trying to-"

"I know what you were trying to do," Sara stated archly. "But it isn't the same. You didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

"Let me die?" she challenged. "Let Brenda Waters blow my brains out and then turn the gun on you? How is that better?"

"Sara, you know as well as I do that motive doesn't matter. It's about the actions we take."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she threw back, "And just as you know, intent is an element of almost every crime. You never intended to cause me harm. You were under extreme duress."

Her voice sliced through the tension in the room, and for one long moment, she thought he might actually shatter right in front of her. When he spoke again, he sounded utterly lost, like a child.

"I could have fought her," he offered softly. "I should have. I could have called 911 when I found you gone. But I didn't. I walked right into her trap."

Lowering her voice to match his, she soothed, "Gil, you couldn't possibly have known what was going to happen..."

He started to respond, but Sara scooted closer to him, halting whatever he was going to say. This time, when she took his hand, she smiled.

"I know you feel guilty. Of course you do. You wouldn't be the Gil Grissom I know and love if you didn't. But what you did - what she made you do - does not reflect on you, on your worth as a person."

She tried to put as much love into her expression as possible, and she gently squeezed his hand to emphasize the point. But she could still feel the tension present in his body relax, and his eyes still held that mournful glimmer she had come to hate.

"Doesn't it?" he asked, the question genuine and distressed. Gone was the self-assured supervisor who taught through rhetorical questions and vague quips. The man before her was broken, a shell of his former self. "I've always despised anyone who would harm their loved ones. Men who beat their wives, parents who abuse their children. But now I have to count myself as one of them."

Sara shook her head. "You didn't beat me, Gil. You have never touched me in anger. You did exactly what you had to do to keep me alive."

"The result is still the same."

His other hand, the one she wasn't holding, reached up to touch the side of her face, his thumb caressing the skin next to the stitches. While his willingness to reach out to her gave her some hope of convincing him that he was not to blame, the look of anguish in his eyes told her differently.

"Only if you let her win. Only if you let her destroy what we have. And you can't. You can't..."

He suddenly seemed mesmerized by her lips, and Sara thought she recognized a chink in his armor, in the heavy mantle of guilt and recrimination he now wore.

"Because, the thing is, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to go on without you in my life," Sara said, speaking slowly to be understood despite the knot of unshed tears developing in the back of her throat. "I know I don't want to, but if I thought you didn't want me, I would find a way... to go on alone. But if it's because you have this belief that I don't still want you because of what happened… that simply isn't true."

His face softened at her words, and Sara knew she had managed to get through his defenses, at least a little. When he did not speak, she went on, "I'm not saying it's going to be easy, for either of us. We already had enough baggage before all this. But I think it's worth it to try."

Grissom took a long breath before responding. "And if you find that having me in your life is… too much? What if you can't bear to have me... touch you... without remembering?"

Sara understood his concern, although she did not share it. He feared committing to her now only to have his heart broken later through rejection or revulsion. In his eyes, they would always be covered in her blood.

"Then we keep trying," Sara assured him.

But the answer was not what he wanted to hear, and she watched as Grissom's walls came back up again. "I don't want you to ignore your trauma just to supplicate me."

Sara knew she had to say or do something to assure him or she would lose what little ground she had gained. On impulse, she moved even closer and folded her arms around him, bringing his body into contact with hers. She tilted her head to the side and put her lips against his even as he froze at her touch.

She kissed him gently but insistently, ignoring the fact that he had not enclosed his arms around her in return. His resistance felt passive, as though he were willing himself not to react rather than wishing she would stop. But after a moment, she did pause, letting her lips trail to a spot of skin just beneath his ear.

"Please hold me, Gil," she begged.

The request caused a shiver to run through his body, but he complied, slowly bringing his arms around to encircle her in their shared embrace. As both thanks and assurance, Sara hugged him a little tighter.

"I love you," she whispered. The words were far from a revelation, but she did not say them often as she knew he had trouble saying them at all.

They sat that way for a long time, and slowly, slowly, his body relaxed against hers. She reveled in the heat he radiated, the strength in his arms and chest. The only times in her adult life that Sara had ever felt safe were when she was with him, and in that moment, she felt no different. Despite his closeness and the memories of what he had done, she felt no traumatic flashbacks, no uneasiness or uncertainty. His scent reminded her of the last time they had made love, the evening before Brenda Waters had upended their lives.

But then, just as Sara thought they might finally be on a road to healing, Grissom pulled away from her sharply. Shadows had fallen across his eyes again, and she could tell by the set of his jaw that while she was perfectly comfortable with him, he did not feel the same.

He is recovering from trauma as well, Sara reminded herself. Whether he is willing to believe it or not.

"Gil…"

The sound of his name startled him further and he retreated from the couch entirely.

"No, I can't… I can't do this."

TBC