A/N: I appreciate everyone who has left me some feedback. This story is definitely a darker, angstier tale, but I hope folks will stick with it.

Blood poured down her foot from the wound on her ankle, and Grissom felt his stomach begin to heave. Knowing he would not be able to stop himself, he pushed away from Sara and the chair she was tied to and crawled out of her view before dry heaving into the floor. Too many hours had passed since their meal together the previous night, and the only stomach contents he brought up was acidic bile which stung his throat. And yet, his body still clenched and heaved painfully, the overwhelming scent of Sara's blood permeating his senses.

No stranger to either the smell or sight of blood, Grissom knew his reaction must be psychological rather than physical. It was Sara's blood, after all. Her skin and bones and flesh. This nightmare simply would not end, and her quiet suffering tormented him on levels he had never thought possible.

"Continue," the woman directed archly from her position behind Sara. Having apparently anticipated the hours of standing, she had already retrieved herself a chair and sat in it comfortably, the gun loosely trained at Sara's back.

Grissom gasped, "I can't."

He shook his head, both unwilling and unable to hurt Sara further. The last injury, literally skinning her alive, had depleted whatever reserves he had remaining.

"So, you're willing to see her die in front of you?" the woman asked in a cold, sadistic tone.

He swallowed hard before answering, trying to get the taste out of his mouth from his stomach's upheaval. "I can't keep hurting her."

"If you don't, you'll be responsible for her death…" The woman paused and he suspected she smiled sadistically under her mask. "And I'll even let you live. You'll get to live knowing she died because you were too cowardly to keep going. Of course, everyone will believe you did it..."

His strength left him then, and he nearly collapsed onto the garage floor under the weight of the choice she had given him. Sara meant everything to him - EVERYTHING. Looking over at her, he saw her face in profile, the muscles in her jaw still flexed tightly as she kept her teeth locked and her eyes squeezed shut. Her fingers gripped the arms of the chair so hard that her knuckles were white from the effort.

"Please just let her go," he begged their tormentor. "Kill me, torture me, but let her go. She's been through so much already. She doesn't deserve this."

The woman regarded him silently for a long moment, and he knew he had not gotten through to her. In one last desperate attempt, he sat up slightly on his knees and put his hands together, mimicking the image of a child in prayer.

"I beg you, please stop this. Please let her go."

She said nothing at first and the silence of the room was filled only by the faraway sound of the static coming from Sara's headphones. Then Sara groaned softly, breaking the spell, and Grissom noticed her eyes open. With him gone from her immediate line of sight, she tried to move her head, pulling hard against the bindings which kept her from looking too far left or right.

"Time to decide, Doctor Grissom."

With a soul-desiccating sigh, he took a shuddering breath and stood up again. Moving slowly back to the chair which held Sara captive, he crouched down to retie the rope keeping her leg bound to the chair. Without asking permission, he grabbed a small towel from the table and positioned it over her ankle to stem the bleeding there and gently used the rope to secure not only her leg to the chair but the towel as a temporary bandage.

When he looked up again, he saw Sara watching him closely. Once she had his attention, she deliberately closed her eyes in one long pause before opening them again. Grissom knew immediately what the signal meant, and it tore at his heart.

I forgive you.

"I can't do this."

He took several steps back, putting enough distance between them to be safe - for Sara to be safe from him.

She visibly deflated at his retreat, and Grissom chastised himself for causing her further pain. He intertwined his fingers together in front of himself as unobtrusively as possible. Finding the right words had always proved difficult for him, but he knew he needed to make the effort anyway.

"I can't… I don't know how to apologize to you. Sara, I don't know how to ask for your forgiveness for… something like this. I'm not sure I even should ask because what I did to you is just so far beyond the pale…"

Pushing herself up off the couch so she could look at him eye-to-eye, Sara said, "I don't want an apology from you."

"I know," he acknowledged, "and that makes it worse. Sara-"

"Do you love me?"

The question cut through everything around them like molten steel, through the turmoil of his emotions and his fumbling attempts to give voice to them. While the inquiry smacked of simplicity, he knew she would not have asked but to some greater purpose. Before his emotions could freeze his tongue and leave him speechless once more, Grissom confessed gruffly, "Yes."

"How much?" she pressed.

Pausing for only a breath, he supplied. "More than life itself."

"Then why don't you want to be with me?" she demanded, growing angry.

"I never said I didn't want to be with you. I said I can't."

The enigmatic response only seemed to frustrate Sara more and she absently swept her hands through her hair. In doing so, a number of strands caught in the splints of her broken fingers. With a growl of irritation, she began simply pulling at them, obviously not caring how many hairs she yanked from her scalp in the process.

"Stop," Grissom ordered, and without thinking, stepped forward. "Just let me…"

Gently, he disentangled the hairs from where they had caught in the splints. He worked for several moments, taking great care to hurt her as little as possible. Finally, when her injured hand was free, he held it gently with his own and looked down at it intently. Seeing her broken fingers up close again sent a jagged dagger through his heart as horrible memories of exactly how she had been hurt played through his mind.

Sara twitched ever so slightly, as though she felt the automatic urge to pull away from him but forced herself to ignore it. Immediately, he let her go and took a step back from her to his safe distance.

"I want you to be happy, Sara," Grissom shared softly, "That's all I've ever wanted. And… I don't think I'll ever be the one who can give you that, not after what happened."

"Gil, you didn't have a choice-"

"It's not just that," he interrupted, grimacing as she once again defended him.

Somehow, the way she dismissed her own suffering at his hands stung more than any recriminations she could have thrown his way. To his ears, her words sounded like the justifications of a woman so broken and brainwashed by an abusive partner that she actually believed she deserved to be harmed. Looking at her face and body, Sara certainly resembled many of the battered women he had met in his career. In addition to the visible cut on her face and her broken fingers, he also noticed that while she had no trouble walking, she had begun to favor one foot, taking her weight off the one with the burns which were likely still healing.

And yet, Sara's eyes were alive with fire and determination. How many times had he purposely dimmed that fire through his rejections and neglect? How many years of her life had he wasted, giving her enough crumbs of affection to convince her to stay at the lab?

"I know you love me, Sara. But I've never done anything to deserve those feelings. I haven't been good for you. For far too long, I kept you at arm's length because of my own doubts, years in which I refused to acknowledge what we both knew in our hearts. When I finally accepted what you were willing to give all along, we kept our relationship a secret for nearly two years to protect me and my career. And then when Natalie Davis kidnapped you…"

He paused, suddenly overwhelmed by the old memories of seeing her miniaturized body under that car, one hand reached out as though desperately seeking help. Tears came to his eyes unbidden, and he looked away from her, focusing his gaze at a point in space as he fought to control his emotions.

"She took you to get at me," Grissom finished, "and you almost died."

"But you saved me."

Her words were a benediction, but Grissom pushed it away. He had allowed himself that excuse once. Twice was too much.

"You would never have been out there if not for me. You wouldn't even be here in Vegas if not for me."

Pursing her lips, Sara demanded, "So you're ready to throw away everything I've accomplished over the last ten years just because crazy people target us for doing our jobs? You're ready to give up on what we have because of what others have done to hurt us?"

Closing his eyes, Grissom allowed her rage to wash over him, to saturate every crevice and wrinkle of his body. He deserved her anger and even welcomed it. For the first time in two weeks, he could finally feel something besides depression and despair. He was protecting Sara, and in doing so, he could finally find some penance for his sins.

"If you have a nightmare in the middle of the night and wake up to see me lying next to you, would that really be a comfort?" he asked. "Or would it only be a continuation of the nightmare? How many of your natural instincts would you have to suppress just to stay in bed at the sight of your torturer? How much of your spirit would you have to sacrifice to do that?"

Staring at him for a long moment before answering.

"You think I dream about you hurting me?" She gave a wry, sardonic laugh before shaking her head. "No, my nightmares are much worse. Because when I dream, I see you putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. I wake up screaming at the thought that you've killed yourself - because of me. That you would be willing to end your own life rather than continuing to give me a few papercuts-"

"Don't do that," he cut in. "Don't make light of your injuries, of what happened to you. You endured extreme trauma-"

"And so did you."

He froze at the tone of her voice, the pained expression on her face, and the obvious concern for him written in every line of her body.

"Gil…" After saying his name, she paused, clearly considering. Finally, she narrowed her eyes in that way she sometimes did when something new occurred to her. "If you're looking for absolution, I can't give it to you."

"I wouldn't ask-"

"Only you can do that," she interrupted him. "But if you want to know what I want, I want you. And I want to be with you. I want to with you while I recover. I want to be here for you while you get through this. And I want to be with you after that."

Her pointed statements felt like a bucket of cold water - shock followed by icy discomfort. Of course, he would do anything to help Sara, but this… Being near her terrified him. And it also terrified him how much he wanted her to stay with him. He had missed her during their separation, as much as he had refused to let himself admit it.

But none of that really mattered. All that mattered anymore was Sara and her needs. Her wants.

Finally, he asked, "Is that really what you want?"

"Yes."

He nodded slowly and with a sigh, he said, "Okay. I guess I'll… order us something to eat."

TBC