AN: So I recently decided to rewatch CSI, and after "Living Doll" and "Dead Doll", this little thing wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is. It's been a couple of years since I wrote anything at all, and, oh, over fifteen years since I wrote any GSR/CSI, so please be gentle!

Title is from "The Pilgrimage" by Paulo Coelho, the whole quote is "If only we could be enlightened enough to be able to listen in the silence".

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not beta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine

To listen in the silence

The smell of mud is overwhelming, the water too cold against her skin, soaking through her clothes and making her shiver. The coyotes were scared off by the thunder, but she can still hear them in the distance.

"You have to get out of here." The voice in her head isn't her own and she clings to the familiar cadence. "Think, Sara."

But her brain is still fuzzy from whatever Natalie drugged her with, the pain from her pinned arm making it worse, and she can't quite focus.

Another bolt of lightning flashes much too close, making her hand convulse automatically, sticky mud seeping through her fingers.

Only it's not mud, it's soft fabric, and she isn't holding her head up to get away from the rising water, it's resting against something soft and warm and familiar, fingers slowly carding through her hair.

A dream, her still fuzzy mind supplies. You're not stuck under that car anymore, you got out. He found you.

She lets out a sigh and lets her mind pull her further down, away from the nightmare, anchored to the world by his presence.

For a moment, he thinks she's about to wake up, unintelligible mumbling and restless shifting replacing the stillness of the last hour or so. But then her injured hand closes around his sweatshirt, worrying him for a moment that she'll hurt herself further, but she just sighs deeply before settling back down.

He continues running his fingers slowly through her hair, knowing that she loves the feeling of his blunt nails scratching against her scalp, and tries to focus on the forensic journal in his other hand, pushing away all thought of the events of the previous days.

It doesn't matter. They got to her in time, and she's going to be fine.

He's just managed to actually get interested in an article by one of the leading experts on blood spatter in the field when there's a buzzing sound next to him, and he curses quietly as he drops the magazine and reaches for the phone, glancing down at Sara to see if the sound woke her. He remembered to turn off the ringer when they got home, but the buzzing is normally enough to wake her.

This time, though, her only reaction is turning her head slightly to bury her face against his stomach, and he can't help the smile on his face as he clicks to answer the call.

"Grissom."

"You know you've got a lot of explaining to do, right?" comes Catherine's voice over the line.

He sighs. Of course he knows that – they've been talking about it over the last few months, both of them getting tired of the sneaking around, of carefully minding what they say so nobody will suspect anything, of not giving anything away by a look, a touch, a smile. In fact, the only reason that discussion wasn't resolved before the cat jumped out of the bag all on its own was that they knew how many questions there would be, how many people would be hurt by their evasion.

Case in point.

"We're well aware of that, thanks, Catherine," he replies drily. "Is that the reason you called?"

She snorts. "Of course not, but come on, I had to rib you a little. Everyone wants to know how Sara's doing, be glad that I managed to convince them that one phone call was enough, or you'd be answering the same questions all day."

He has to smile at the image her words evoke, can just see the breakroom in front of him – Greg's overenthusiastic concern, Nick's overprotective big brother insistence, Warrick's quiet worry, and Catherine taking control of the situation. He's not sure what time it is, exactly, but it's early morning so they probably just got off shift and he's sure nobody would voluntarily leave the lab without at least an update.

"She's sleeping," he reports, again looking down at the sleeping form half on top of him, the weight of her a constant and calming reminder that she's here, that he didn't lose her. "The doctor gave her some pretty powerful painkillers and I managed to convince her to take something to sleep as well, hopefully she'll be out for at least a few more hours."

"And how are you doing?"

From anyone else – except, maybe, Jim – he would brush the question off with a quick 'fine'. But Catherine knows him too well and will push if he doesn't offer more.

"I think my heart rate has finally returned to normal," he starts, "and my hands have stopped shaking. I'm anticipating plenty of nightmares in the next few weeks and I'll probably have a hard time letting her out of my sight for a while, but all things considered, it could be so much worse."

He's sure Catherine has no problem envisioning all the things he himself saw in front of him during the terrifying search, and the possibilities hang heavy between them for a long moment.

"Try to focus on the positive," she finally says. "There's no point in dwelling on what could have been, you got her back. We got her back. That's all that matters."

He sighs. "I know, and I'm trying. But you know there's only so much one can do to control one's subconscious."

"Trust me, I know." There are voices in the background, and Catherine responds, her answers muffled, probably by her hand covering the phone. He waits for a couple of minutes for her to finish. "Sorry, just reporting back on the situation," she says, voice slightly annoyed, when she's back. "I think I've managed to convince the horde that Sara needs rest, so I don't think they'll come banging on the door, but maybe make sure it's locked anyway."

He has to laugh quietly at that. "Thank you for keeping them at bay."

"No problem." She pauses for a moment. "You need anything? Practically, I mean."

He's about to decline when he remembers that he was supposed to stop by the store on his way home yesterday. Doing a mental tally of the fridge and cupboards downstairs, he concludes that they'll be able to survive on what they have for the next few days, but there's not much actual food in the house. And Sara needs proper food with real nutrition.

"Actually, if you could go to the store and grab some food, that would be great. If you don't mind."

"No problem," Catherine agrees immediately. "That's why I asked. You should focus on Sara, not have to worry about grocery shopping."

That's exactly what he intends to do – they're both off the rest of the week, to start with, Sara to recover and he himself, he assumes, while Ecklie decides what to do about their relationship. It worried him, in the beginning, and was, in fact, one of the reasons it took him so long to actually do something about it, the fear that one of them would have to leave, of not working together anymore, because God, he loves working with her.

But now, years into the relationship, on stable ground… it wouldn't be the end of the world, if one of them had to change shifts or leave the lab altogether. They both have options, if it comes to that.

"Thanks, Cath."

"Sure. So, what do you need me to pick up?"

He rattles off the obvious first, then a few of Sara's favorites, including a couple of different ice cream flavors. He can hear the scratch against paper over the line, Catherine writing down the list.

"I think that should be enough," he says when he can't think of anything else.

"You know you can call anytime if you think of something else," she assures him. "Or if you need help with… whatever. If I can't get away, I'll delegate. I'm heading out now, so I should be there in an hour or so." There's a brief pause. "Where am I delivering, by the way?"

He has to roll his eyes at the pointed note in her voice. "You know where I live, Catherine."

"Considering what you've apparently been hiding from me, I didn't want to assume," she replies tartly. "Besides, you could be at Sara's place. Or maybe you moved completely."

He considers for a brief moment, but it's not like there's any point in keeping any part of his and Sara's relationship a secret anymore. "Well, I haven't moved," he says, carefully stressing the pronoun, and just like he thought, Catherine picks up on it.

"So much explaining to do."

"You still have the spare key?" he asks, ignoring the slight threat in her voice for the moment. It's not a conversation to be had over the phone, anyway.

"Of course I do, what exactly did you think I would have done with it?"

"Use it, I don't want to wake her up if I can avoid it."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll use the spare key you gave me for emergencies to avoid waking up your secretgirlfriend."

The call ends, and he has to chuckle at the annoyance in Catherine's voice. He knows there will be more questions, and he knows that it must have hurt her that he hadn't confided in her, but he's also pretty sure that, on some level, she understands and won't give him too much grief.

Which doesn't mean there won't be plenty of grief from other directions.

He glances at the abandoned magazine on the bed, but the article barely held his attention to begin with, so instead, he grabs the remote to turn on the television, quickly muting the sound. Flipping through a couple of channels, he finds a baseball game that will do. Careful not to disturb Sara, he scoots down a little to be able to lean his head back more comfortably. She does stir a little, but only to adjust her position a little, one leg coming to rest across his, and sighs in her sleep.

He doesn't fall asleep, waiting for Catherine, but he definitely closes his eyes and dozes a little. It's been over thirty-six hours since he last slept, after all, and now that the adrenaline is finally wearing off, exhaustion is creeping up on him. She must be very quiet coming in, though, because it's a gentle knock on the open bedroom door that alerts him to her presence.

"Hey," he greets her, keeping his voice down and glancing at Sara, but she's still fast asleep.

"Hey," Catherine replies, a soft smile on her face that he doesn't see very often. "I put away everything that needed to go in the fridge or freezer, so no need to get up on my account. I also got a couple of subs from Capriotti's, but they'll keep for a while, I just thought it was weirder to just leave than letting you know I was here."

"Thanks." He offers her a smile, not actually planning on getting up, but the mention of food makes his stomach rumble loudly, and Catherine raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

"When was the last time you actually ate something?" she asks pointedly.

He has to think about it for much longer than he should, and finally comes up with the protein bar someone – probably Catherine that time too, but he can't actually remember – forced into his hand before they left the lab to head out into the desert. He practically force-fed Sara some fruit and yoghurt when they got home from the hospital, not only so she could take her painkillers, but apparently somehow forgot to eat himself.

"That's what I thought," Catherine continues at his lack of response. "Come on, you need to eat. You know she'd say the same thing."

He narrows his eyes at her. "That's low."

She just shrugs. "I use what I can. Come on, you can't take care of her if you don't take care of yourself."

There's definitely truth in that, but he still hesitates. "I don't want her to wake up alone." It's one of the flashes that have already settled in his mind – Sara waking up under the car, alone and not knowing where she is or how she ended up there. The blood work they'd done at the hospital told them she had been drugged, probably because Natalie realized there was no other way to get her under there, and he can't even imagine what it must have been like.

Catherine's eyes soften a little. "I get that, I do, but even if she does wake up while we're downstairs, we'll hear her. You won't be far away if she needs you."

He knows she's right, but it still doesn't feel right.

As if on cue, Hank comes trotting in through the door, bumping into Catherine, who jumps slightly. "You have a dog?"

The look on her face almost makes him laugh out loud, but he holds it back. As carefully as possible, he shifts to move out from under Sara, who mumbles something in her sleep but doesn't stir apart from that. He arranges a pillow under her injured arm, scribbles a short note on the notepad on the bedside table and puts it where she'll see it as soon as she opens her eyes before actually getting off the bed. At his nod, Hank jumps up into the spot he just vacated, turns twice, and then settles down, large head on his front paws and eyes intent on Sara. Ever the watchdog.

"Good boy," Grissom praises him quietly, patting him once on the head, and follows Catherine through the door.

To her credit, she waits until they're seated in the kitchen, her with a large mug of coffee in front of her and him with the promised sub and a beer. He's earned a beer.

"So, how long?" she asks, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

"About two years," he replies, not even pretending to not understand what she's asking.

"Two years? Seriously? I was thinking it had to at least be pretty recent, but… two years?"

"I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish by repeating it," he says amusedly. "It's not going to become any less true."

She glares at him and he takes a bite of the sub to hide his smile.

"And what was it?"

He finishes chewing and swallows before answering. "What do you mean?"

"What made you finally pull your head out of your ass?" she elaborates. "Because everyone knew there was something between the two of you, that much was obvious as soon as she got here, but most of us agreed that nothing had actually happened and that you were the one holding back."

"As much as I hate to admit it, you were right," he admits with a sigh, remembering all the excuses he'd made to himself back then. "But speaking from experience – you can't actually run away from your feelings forever. Remember the Robbie Garson case?"

Her brows furrow for a moment as she thinks back. She didn't work the case herself, after all, so it's no wonder it's not on the tip of her tongue. "The one in the lunatic asylum?"

"I believe the preferred term is psychiatric hospital," he corrects her drily.

"I call 'em like I see 'em." Catherine shrugs. "I remember that you refused to talk about the case at all, which I did wonder about at the time, and Sara was a little jumpy on the next case we worked together. I think Nick said something about one of the inmates threatening her and that it rattled her, but I'm not sure."

He can still remember the feeling of seeing her on the other side of that locked door, Adam's arm around her shoulders, the home-made shiv against her throat. The terror and fury in her eyes when they met his through the glass. His own terror as the orderly fumbled with the keys. The certainty, in that moment, that he was going to lose her without even knowing what it was like to actually have her.

"We were examining one of the offices," he starts, to shake the feelings off. "I left to find someone who could unlock a couple of drawers, and while I was gone, one of the patients went into the office and locked the door. He had a piece of sharpened ceramic, and when I got back with an orderly, he had it against her throat."

Catherine curses under her breath. "I can't even imagine what that must have been like."

"Definitely the worst experience of my life," he says, frowning. "At least until now."

She reaches out to take one of his hands, squeezing lightly in quiet support, and he offers a smile in return.

"So I showed up on her doorstep after shift that morning, and she of course bit my head off for trying to check on her," he continues, the memory bringing a smile to his face. "And I somehow managed to explain that I wasn't there for her, I was there for me, because I couldn't get that image out of my mind and I needed to know, for my own sanity, that she was OK. I think I actually left her speechless, which is some feat… anyway, she let me in, and…"

"Stop," Catherine interrupts. "I do not need to know what happened after that."

"… and the rest is history," he continues, shaking his head at her. "Give me some credit."

"You get no credit, you've kept all of us in the dark for two freaking years," she snaps back. "Why? I mean, I get not wanting to get the higher ups involved, but did you really think any of us would rat you out? Come on, you know us better than that."

Grissom takes another bite of his sandwich to get a moment to collect his thoughts. He does understand where Catherine is coming from, and she does deserve an explanation. He's not sure the one he can offer will do, but it's all he has.

"At first, it was simple practicality," he then starts. "We had no idea what would happen, if it would even lead anywhere. It seemed pointless to tell everyone if it just fizzled out after a few weeks. And if it went sour, we wanted to limit the fallout to just the two of us, not drag the whole lab into it. By the time we got to a point where we felt comfortable telling people, it felt like…"

"You had waited too long?" she fills in when he trails off. "I guess I do get that. So nobody knew? That must have been fun."

"Jim knew," he corrects, hating the way Catherine's face falls slightly, the disappointment that he would tell Jim and not her. "He figured it out," he hurries to add. "We didn't tell him, we were just… not careful enough."

"When?"

"After he got shot. He was supposed to be asleep, but apparently wasn't."

It had been both amusing and slightly frightening at the time, being the focus of Jim's suspicion and fatherly protectiveness, but after a year they can both laugh at the memory.

"How's he doing?"

Sara's voice made him look up from the crossword puzzle he'd been staring at for the past half hour or so. He'd only filled in one word so far.

"I think I put him to sleep talking about the life span of cockroaches," he admitted and she laughed quietly, one of his favorite sounds in the world, as she sat down next to him.

"That would put anyone to sleep," she teased, giving him a crooked smile that turned into that scrutinizing look that always made him feel like she could see straight through him and right into his soul. It used to terrify him, before they got together, but now he loved it, loved that she could just look at him and know what he was thinking, how he was feeling. "And how are you?"

He folded up the paper before answering. The crossword puzzle wasn't going to get solved at the moment anyway. "I'm fine."

She tilted her head to the side and reached out to run her thumb lightly across the skin under his eye, no doubt darkened by the worry and lack of sleep lately. "You look tired."

"It's been a long couple of days," he replied, glancing out the windows behind them to make sure they didn't have an audience beyond the hospital staff before reaching up to take her hand. He pressed a kiss to her palm before bringing it down and interlacing their fingers, seeking comfort as much as providing it.

"And you're not even the one who got shot," came a rough voice from his left, making him freeze. Sara's eyes widened and they turned as one to look at the man in the hospital bed.

"You're awake!" she exclaimed after what was probably just a few seconds of tense silence, jumping to her feet and going over to the bed to squeeze his hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot," he replied grumpily, but then he smiled up at her and patted her hand. "He treating you right, doll?"

Grissom couldn't see it, but he was sure she rolled her eyes at the question. "Of course."

Jim scrutinized her for another moment and then looked away to fix his gaze on Grissom instead. "About damn time," he said, the smile giving way to a grim look. "But you hurt her, you answer to me, got it?"

Before he had a chance to respond to that, Sara snorted. "I think he would answer to me, actually, but thank you for that misguided attempt at very manly intimidation."

"So that's what he was talking about!" Catherine's exclamation brings him back to the present and he frowns at her.

"What?"

"Jim!" she says, continuing at his raised eyebrows. "The other day, when we were working the Lady Heather case, I asked him if he had any dirt on the two of you, and he said that he had something much juicier."

Grissom snorts, remembering the discussion he had with Jim about that very conversation.

"To be honest, I'm surprised that's all he said," he admits. "Jim's been trying to get us to come clean for a while now. He never actually threatened to do it himself, but I figured it was just a matter of time before he lost his patience."

It had been one of the things he and Sara discussed, when talking about telling their friends, to ask Jim to 'let something slip', but in the end, they had agreed that it would be too cowardly – though Jim had assured them he would be more than happy to help.

"Yeah, I probably wouldn't trust him if I were in your situation," Catherine agrees. She takes a long sip of her coffee and puts the mug down, then slaps a hand over her mouth. "Shit!"

"What?" he asks, frowning at her.

"Jim's not the only one I talked about Heather with during that case," she admits, wrinkling her nose. "Sara asked me what she was like and I might have gone off on a bit of a rant about her and you and… that whole thing."

Grissom feels his heartbeat pick up a little at the idea – he hasn't heard about that conversation at all, and Sara usually loves telling him about Catherine's little 'comments'. "What exactly did you tell her?" he asks, voice harder than he intended, and Catherine's eyes flash dangerously.

"Nothing she probably hadn't figured out by herself," she says. "She's been here for the cases involving Heather, even if she didn't work them herself. I'm sure she drew the same conclusions I did."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

He and Sara didn't talk much about Heather during the last case. He told her he was going over there, of course, and she didn't argue with him, didn't ask why, even claimed that she understood, but he'd seen the look in her eyes, even though she tried to hide it, both then and the day after.

She's never asked about his past with Heather either, and he wonders if she's afraid of the answer. If she doesn't really want to know if anything happened between him and the other woman. He remembers his own jealousy back when she'd had that paramedic boyfriend… He wishes now that he hadn't accepted her quick "it's fine", that he'd put everything out there, assured her that she's never had anything to worry about. Not from Heather, and not from anyone else, not since the day he met her.

"I'd appreciate if you would refrain from spreading unconfirmed rumors in the future," he says finally, looking up to meet Catherine's eyes. "Especially about my personal life."

She rolls her eyes. "Please, it's not like you never gossip. And if you just told me the truth, I wouldn't have to."

"Would you believe me, if I did tell you the truth?" he asks curiously. "If I told you that nothing physical ever happened between me and Heather? Not back when we investigated her business, not when she lost her daughter, and certainly not when she was almost killed. She's a friend, that's all there is, all there ever has been, and all there ever will be. Or would that ruin the little narrative you've made up?"

She scrutinizes him for a long moment before responding. "If you tell me that, then yes, I believe you. But I do think you need to talk this through with Sara, I don't think she knows what to think either."

He had been thinking the same thing during the case, as a matter of fact, but then work had gotten in the way, and then Sara had been taken and everything else had flown out of his mind completley.

No time like the present, though – he makes a mental note to bring it up in the next few days, whether Sara wants to discuss it or not. He doesn't want there to be anything unresolved between them, and he definitely doesn't want her to ever so much as entertain the idea that he might be thinking about someone else.

Catherine seems to be satisfied with their more serious conversation, because she changes the subject to Lindsey's latest rebellion – getting her bellybutton pierced without her mother's permission. He finishes his sandwich and interjects when he thinks it needed.

She's finished her story and the coffee and is putting the mug in the dishwasher when he hears a sound behind him and turns to find Sara at the bottom of the stairs, blinking against the lights. She's pulled on one of his sweatshirts over her tank top, her injured arm peeking out at the hem.

"Honey, what are you doing up?" he asks, jumping to his feet. "I thought you'd sleep longer."

"Woke up," she replies simply, leaning against him when he reaches her, looking barely awake.

"Are you hungry? Catherine picked up food from Capriotti's."

She just shakes her head, smiling faintly at Catherine. "Hey, Cath."

"Hey," the older woman replies with a smile of her own. "I'll get out of your hair, you clearly still need sleep – both of you."

Grissom nods to her over Sara's head, already gently turning her back towards the way she came a moment ago. "Thanks for the help."

She waves it off. "I'll see myself out."

He turns his attention back to Sara, who's leaning heavily on him, eyes closed. "Can you make it back upstairs or do you need me to carry you?"

She pulls away a little to look up at him at that, an amused half-smile on her face. "Can you?" she asks, sounding more curious than doubtful.

He considers it for a moment. "Probably not too far, but I think I can make it up the stairs, if you're too tired."

"As much as I would love to test your theory, I think we've had enough injuries for at least a couple of weeks," she says, and he tries to hide his wince without success. "Stop it," she admonishes, nudging him with her hip. "The sooner we can joke about it, the sooner we can put it behind us."

"While I do agree with the general idea behind that, I think less than twelve hours after I got you back is too soon."

She only hums in reply, and they climb the stairs in silence.

Hank is still on the bed when they get there, but jumps off and resettles in his own doggy bed in the corner when Sara whistles at him. She stops next to the bed and holds the arm she managed to get into the sleeve of the sweatshirt up with a helpless smile. "Help?"

He gently lifts the sweatshirt up, careful not to jostle her injured arm, and deposits the piece of clothing on the chair behind him. "Need help with anything else?"

She shakes her head, untying the string in her sweatpants and letting them drop to the floor before moving the comforter aside and sliding into bed. "Are you joining me for real this time?" she asks after getting situated. "I'm pretty sure you got even less sleep than I did in the last few days, considering I was at least unconscious for a while."

He narrows his eyes in response to her second joke, but can't keep it up when she gives him an impish grin. "I am, let me just clean up a little."

"OK."

He doesn't take long in the bathroom, just brushes his teeth and splashes some water on his face, but when he gets back to the bedroom a few minutes later, she's already asleep. He pulls off his own clothes before climbing in next to her, and she shifts into the same position she was in earlier, injured arm splayed out over his chest, one leg over his.

Grissom pulls up the comforter to cover both of them and turns off the lights.