Chapter 20

Sara stood at the counter, her hands still pressed hard against the marble. She heard Grissom leave but didn't turn her head. Silent tears leaking out her eyes. It was such a simple thing. Such an innocuous thing, that broke the damn she had been holding firmly in place since she had first seen him in her hospital room.

Tea?

Please

It was so normal. So… them. It was what they did. Their tradition. Dating back from the beginning. After a long day, they would walk through the door, Sara would make them a drink. Tea, or something stronger, depending on the day. Hank would bound in. Bum wagging, tongue lolling out. Grissom would feed the dog, then they would sit on the sofa. Reading, doing a crossword puzzle, watching TV.

For a moment, she thought it was happening. That Hank would start jumping up at them. Grissom would sit on their sofa. Calling out questions with his pen poised to the paper. Baseball game playing quietly in the background.

But there was no Hank, they had lost the faithful pooch a few years ago now. It wasn't their sofa he would be sitting on. No crossword puzzles. No snuggling. No…

It was those moments. The small, insignificant moments that she missed the most. Sitting and watching a baseball game. Reading Moby Dick for the one hundredth time. Grissom cooking a meal while Sara set the table. She hadn't done any of those things in two years. No crosswords. No baseball. No Moby Dick. And the only time she set the table, was when the guys came over. Which wasn't often.

Tea?

Please.

The memory of all she had lost, hit her in those two simple words and Sara couldn't stop the tears that fell.

Raising shaking hands, she pressed her fingers to her trembling lips. Trying to keep the sounds inside. He couldn't see her like this. Betty couldn't see her like this. She needed to be strong. Needed to keep it together, at least until she was alone. But no matter how hard she tried, the tears wouldn't cease. Falling fast and heavy down her cheeks.

Sobs building up in her throat, trying to claw their way out. Her lips pressed together, nostrils flaring. Tremors raking her body.

She didn't know how long she stood there. The kettle had finished boiling, but Sara made no move to make the tea. Still trying to take control of her body.

Do you love him?

I do

She wanted to talk to him. To shout at him... To kiss him… To slap him... To demand the answers she had been torturing herself with for the last two years. Yet, as angry as she was with him, Sara couldn't stop herself from remembering the way in which he looked at her. How he spoke to her. How, every time he saw her, Grissom instantly went to her side.

How his ring still shone in the light. How he touched her.

How she wanted him to touch her. Feel his skin on hers. His hands on her body. His lips. His tongue. Him. On her. In her.

But she can't. Not now. Not yet. They needed to talk. Really talk. In a way they hadn't done since before the divorce.

Sara looked up at the clock over the back door. 12:25am.

It was too late now, they both needed sleep. But Sara promised herself, before they returned to the lab, she would have some answers.

Wiping a hand across her cheek, Sara picked the tea bags out of the mugs and put them away. Sleep taking precedence over caffeine right then.

"Did you not want tea?" Grissom's voice sounded from behind her. Sara stilled in her movements, not having heard him approach. She placed the mug in the cabinet and shut the door before turning to him. Hoping her eyes were not a red as they felt.

"Sara?" Grissom's brows furrowed in concern, and he walked up to her.

"I'm fine," she said, backing up. "It's late, and I'm just tired. It's been a long day," she finished lamely. Grissom chewed on his cheek. He didn't believe her, but Sara prayed he wouldn't push the subject. She wasn't ready for that yet. Tiredness fogging her mind. If he pressed her, she wasn't sure she wouldn't say something she'd regret.

"Yeah," he said, finally. "I suppose it has." The was a faint look of disappointment on his face.

"You can take the spare room at the top of the stairs, there's bedding and everything up there already," Sara said as she walked around him, towards the bathroom at the bottom of the stairs. In the closet, she found some more bedding. Blankets, sheets, and a pillow. She started as she turned and saw Grissom framed behind her in the doorway.

He was tapping his fists together, watching her. Her bag hanging off his arm.

"Where do you want it?" He asked, raising his arm a little, making the bag swing.

"Just dump it in the living room," she said as she walked towards him. Grissom backed up a little to let her pass, but a frown creased his forehead.

"I can take it up for you," he offered.

"No need," Sara said, as she deposited the bedding on the sofa.

"You're sleeping down here?" He asked.

"Well," Sara hesitated. "The only other bedroom up there is Catherine's. I'd feel a little awkward sleeping in there. Especially if she came home in the middle of the night." She gave him what she hoped was a cheeky smile.

"You shouldn't sleep down here, Sara," Grissom said, not falling for her attempt at humour.

"And why not?" Sara huffed out.

"You only left the hospital this morning, were almost blown up, and have been working nonstop all day."

"And you've got off a plan from God knows where, found out your friend was a suspected murdered, thought she had died, only to find out she was alive."

"Still…"

"Plus, I'll fit on the sofa much better than you would," she continued, flipping the sheet out over the furniture. Fitting it into the crevasses.

Sara…"

"God, Gil." Sara straightened, rounding on him. Her tiredness enhancing her frustration. "Will you just take the room? I'll be fine down here."

"There's no need to be a martyr, Sara," Grissom shot back. Exasperated.

"I'm not being a martyr, Grissom.".

"What do you call this then?"

"Being hospitable," Sara said, matter-of-factly. Grissom pursed his lips together, his eyebrows quirked. A small laugh escaped her lips. She walked up to him and took her bag. "Take the room, Gil. I'll be fine." Before she could turn, Grissom hand shot to her arm. He raised it, pulling down the sleeve as he did.

All humour drained from his face and what was left was a cold mask of fury. The bruising on her wrists was now more distinct than it had been before. Black and purple colouring clashing with the pale skin of her forearm. Grissom's face was pale. His breathing heavy, shuddering.

The anger emanating from Grissom was far more pronounced than anything she felt with Jimmy, yet this time she wasn't sacred. Not of him. Never of him. Even in his darkest moments, when his anger blinded him, he never scared her. Never took it out on her. Never hurt her.

Even when he was shaking with rage, and broke anything he touched, he was gentle with her. Reverent.

No, Sara didn't fear him.

"Who did this?" He asked, his voice surprisingly calm. Belying the wrath radiating off him.

"It's nothing," Sara said, pulling her arm from his grip. Grissom allowed it to slip through his fingers, but his gaze never left her face. His eyes had gone so dark, they were almost black, and his jaw was clenched so hard it was a miracle he was even able to speak.

"Who?"

"No one, it doesn't matter." She made to turn away, but Grissom's hand came up to capture her upper arm. His grip gentle, but firm. Giving her no choice but to stay.

"Who, Sara?" He asked again, leaving no room for argument. He wasn't going to let her go until she told him.

"Jimmy," she said, quietly. Grissom's free hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles whitening with the strain.

"When?" She could tell he was using every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep his voice even, but even that did nothing to hide the tremor that flew through the word.

"Just before I came to the station."

Grissom closed his eyes. His hand tightening its grip on her arm, as if he was afraid someone might come and snatch her away.

"What happened?"

"Gil…"

"What happened, Sara?" He opened his eyes, they were filled with anger, pain. Determination. He would find out what happened, no matter what. Even if it meant confronting the doctor himself. Anxiety shivered down her spin at that thought.

"He heard about the explosion, at Heathers, and wanted to see if I was ok. He saw my ring, and… he got angry. He pushed me against the car and…" she hesitated, not wanting to go into the details. Not wanting to make the pain on his face worse than it was.

"What?" He asked, his voice softening at her hesitation. She could almost hear him counting his breaths, trying to calm himself down.

"He kissed me. I bit him and kneed him in the groin. He fell over. Then Greg turned up, with the security officers. They arrested him."

"You made a statement at the station," Grissom surmised, correctly assessing where she had gone after the interview with Heather. Sara nodded. He wanted to hold her; she could see it in his face. He was looking at her the same way he had after she told him about her parents, after she had been rescued in the desert. After he had found her in the rainforest.

He needed to hold her, to reassure himself that she was there. That she was safe. But he didn't dare to. Not unless…

"Sara," he said, his voice cracking a little. "Can I… will you… I need… please," he finished, almost desperately, and Sara closed the distance between them.

Grissom buried his head in the crook of her neck, his arms encircling her. Holding her tight against his chest. One hand rested at her waist, gripping it, while the other stroked her hair. Sara brought her own up to clutch the fabric at his back. Tears started to prick at her eyes again as she nestled into his neck, breathing him in.

"Are you ok?" He whispered, voice heavy. Body trembling.

"I am now." For the first time since the fire, Sara felt truly safe. Holding onto the man she loved with all the strength she possessed. Encircled in his arms. Protected. Secure. The weight of everything that had happened, lifting off her as Grissom's thumb traced circles on her back. The heat of his body flooding hers.

They stood there for a while, just taking comfort in the others presence. Sara could feel Grissom shaking. She pulled back a little. Not enough to break contact, but enough to look at his face.

"We should get some sleep," she said, softly. Grissom nodded.

"Please, take the room," he asked.

"Gil," Sara started, but Grissom lent his forehead against hers, eyes closed. His breath tickling her skin.

"Please, humour me," he said, quietly. Sara nodded. He needed this, regardless of how irrational. He needed to do something.

"Will you be alright down here?" She asked, not at all convinced he would be as comfortable on the sofa as she would.

"I'll be alright," he assured her. He made to move away, but Sara tightened her hold on him. Not yet ready to leave the security he was projecting. Grissom's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her to him. The only part of their bodies what wasn't touching was the space between their foreheads and chests. Sara closed her eyes, revelling in his warmth.

Though she was still shaken by about what happened at the lab, still processing the interview with Lady Heather, Sara was finally feeling calm. A calmness she knew would leave her the moment he let go.

"It a double bed," Sara said. "Upstairs. We could… I mean, uh, to sleep… if you wanted…" She could feel his stare. Sara opened her eyes and saw the longing, the uncertainty reflected back at her. She gave him a small half smile.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"We have shared a bed before, Gil," Sara said.

"I know, I just don't want you to feel…"

"I know. I just… don't feel like being alone right now." She highly doubted either of them would get any sleep if he stayed down here. Sara would toss and turn, and Grissom would worry.

Grissom was watching her, carefully. He wanted too. Wanted to stay with her, to hold her. But he was wating. Waiting for her lead.

Sara pulled back and took Grissom's hand, hoisting the strap from her bag on her shoulder.

"Come on," she said, and lead Grissom up the stairs.