A week later, and Grissom lay awake in bed, mulling things over. It had been a busy week, more busy than he would have expected, given none of them were working. Sara had been responsible for most of it, having such a determined loyalty to their friends that she had spent the better part of the week dashing around Las Vegas, trying to support their mental health. First on the list had been Nick, whom Grissom knew hated to sit still, and so Sara had accompanied him to the gym several times, getting up early in the morning to beat the crowds. It was a bad idea, at this stage, to let anyone venture too far into society alone, as their faces were still recognisable and the questions relentless, but they had to balance that with resisting the urge to cower and hide permanently.

In addition to the gym trips, there was a breakfast with the old lab crew, where Nick, Sara and Warrick had disappeared one morning, although Grissom himself had found, to his surprise, that he did not feel ready to accompany them. Instead he volunteered to keep Catherine company at home, along with Sofia, who as a detective did not have such strong relationships with the lab as they did, and certainly not enough to venture into the questions and interrogations which awaited them.

Sofia did however have a follow-up appointment at the hospital, relating to her head injury, and with Dianne Curtis back at work and Nick on edge around crowds, it was Sara who made the self-sacrifice in accompanying her. Part of him suspected it was a matter of repaying Sofia for her loyalty the week prior, but part also a dogged determination to be there for the people she loved. Sofia had a rough day, and had slept over at their house that night, needing the company, but any expectation Grissom had had of a relaxing day the following day had been obliterated by a sudden trip that Sara and Warrick had made to buy new firearms for the house. This, at least, was a need which Grissom reluctantly understood; they still needed to ensure the group's safety, and he already knew that both he and Sara would not stay on with the lab, and would need to surrender their handguns. But the desperation with which Sara dashed around Vegas was dizzying to watch, and made Grissom feel inadequate.

Catherine was the only one who had seemed content to relax, but even there Sara had exhausted herself, getting up several times in the night when she heard Catherine awake and alone, and sitting with her until whatever detected nightmarish memory had passed. Grissom did not begrudge Catherine the support – he was worried about her – but that did not stop him from also being concerned for Sara. She had been so busy being strong for everyone else that he wondered if she had given any thought to her own mental health, and realised as he observed her that she hadn't.

The fact was, Grissom was aware that Sara's mother had called her cell phone regularly, and although Sara answered her responses were evasive and unrealistically upbeat, considering their situation. She offered little of the truth, and Grissom had the suspicion that Sara's mother was instead getting all her information from Dianne Curtis. Sara was certainly never on the phone for long.

He considered this as he lay awake, debating the best approach or whether to intervene at all, when as usual these days, fate took the matter out of his hands. He was just pondering the beauty of the moonlight streaming in through the window, when he heard a whimper beside him, and looked over to see Sara squirm in her sleep, her face turning in distress to her right.

Not wanting to wake her, he put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, rubbing softly, trying to penetrate gently through the nightmare.

"It's all right …" he said, softly.

Sara calmed, a little, but he then noticed that her forehead was covered in a damp perspiration. Whatever the dream had been about, it hadn't been welcome.

Abruptly her eyes popped open. She froze, disoriented for a moment.

"It's okay," he said. "It's all right."

He clutched her shoulder, squeezing, rubbing a little. She took a second to right herself, breathing raggedly.

"It was just a dream," he ventured.

She sat up slowly. Grissom straightened too, from where he had been slumped against his pillows. His arm drifted to her back. She rested her forehead against her hand for a moment, seeming to need a second, before lifting her head again.

"That was horrible," she said, shaking her head in a stunned manner.

"A nightmare?" Grissom concluded.

"It was so real."

She remained in shock for a moment, her brain having fully immersed her in whatever horror she had witnessed, and he spent the time gently stroking her bare back, reassuring her with his presence.

One of the perks of having Catherine in the house was how her clothing habits had inadvertently rubbed off on Sara. Grissom had been glad, as a rule, to see the three women form such a close bond, but was intrigued and fascinated when Catherine's habit of wearing so little to bed began to be absorbed by Sara. Traditionally, she had always worn conservative but nice sleepwear, and yet now, she was next to him in nothing but a pair of black cotton panties. Her chest was bare, and it took him some effort to ignore her beauty and focus on the issue at hand.

"Do you need a drink?" he offered.

"Yeah," she said.

She seized on the idea, and shoved back the covers, swinging her legs to the floor. She picked up an old t-shirt and threw it on over her nakedness, and Grissom did the same, covering his bare chest, before they left the bedroom and padded down the hallway to the kitchen.

A minimum amount of respectable clothing, even just underwear, was one of Grissom's few house rules, especially when so many of them were often sharing the house together. Seeing Sara naked, and walk around like that as she used to do in the old days, was one of life's joys, but he did not need to see the others. He was glad as they reached the kitchen to find that Catherine and Warrick had finally gone to bed – the two had taken to staying up late, often cosied on the couch– and it meant he could have some quiet time in the kitchen with Sara, without the crowd.

He poured her some water, and she thanked him as she downed it, almost in one gulp. She sighed, still reeling.

"That was bad, huh?" he asked, conversationally.

"It was horrifying," she admitted.

She had one hand braced on either side of the sink, leaning over slightly, and he gave her space, for a moment.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

She shook her head, quickly.

"Not in a million."

He could have seen that coming. The past few months had taught him that Sara generally did not like to open up, often until it was too late. The things that had struck her down had nearly all been physical, and despite her initial faintness and illness upon their return, she had handled the past four weeks almost better than any of them. Nevertheless, he wondered what was going on in her mind, and how far that resolve would last.

"Take a deep breath," he guided.

She did. She took a few, and then at last she turned, and faced him. The remnants of trauma were still in her eyes, and without a word, she stepped into his arms.

He embraced her.

He held her flush against him, holding her form to his, and she leaned against his shoulder, needing his comfort. He rubbed her back, still hoping she might talk, but realised as the seconds ticked on that it was going to be an uphill battle.

He stroked her hair.

"You wanna clue me in?" he pleaded, gently.

"Just a memory," she said, dismissive.

She pulled back, and he saw that her brown eyes were a little more steady. She put a hand to his chest, stroking down in one movement, a gesture of gratitude.

"We're all here if you need to talk," he said.

"I know," she replied. "Thank you."

She considered him a moment before leaning up and pecking him on the lips. Then she pulled away, with a sigh.

"I need some air."

Grissom glanced at the clock. It was the middle of the night, just after two in the morning.

"It's late," he said.

But Sara had already grabbed her shoes.

"You don't have to come," she said, politely. "Go get some rest."

He stared after her. There was no way he was leaving her to flee the house on her own, especially in the state that he now suspected she was in. Alarmed, he had already noticed that she was heading for the front door, and not the back. For a split second, he had briefly imagined she might sit on the back steps of their house, perhaps watch the stars for a few minutes. But that was apparently not the case.

"May I suggest some pants?" he said pointedly.

She glanced down, apparently not even realising that her legs were bare, and that she was also barefoot. She paused with her shoes in her hands. In the old days, during their ordeal, it would not have been a big deal to wander around outside in their underwear. Now, however, they were back, and society had rules which had to be followed.

She sighed, and darted around him to their bedroom, snatching up a pair of old jeans in record time before returning to jam her feet bare into the shoes. He only had a quick moment to snatch up some pants for himself from a nearby clothes airer before he had to dart after her to the door, and only just managed to snatch up his wallet in time.

Then they were in the car.

XXX