A/N: Hi, no copyright infringment intented for 'Woman in the Dunes.' Which I don't own. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------

"It's about damn time," she muttered as he wheeled her to the curb, where an airport shuttle's engine purred in time to the blinking hazard lights. He looked down at her questioningly. "I missed being outside," she explained.

After he put her bag into the van, Grissom handed her the crutches she'd received only two days ago and helped her up. She stood propped while he cleared a seat, then he reached for her and she gladly accepted his help into the van. This simple action had worn her out; she couldn't imagine what the flight to Vegas would do. She closed her eyes as Grissom settled in next to her, and did not open them until they'd reached the airport.

He had made arrangements for them to board first, and when she attempted to go towards coach, he smiled and turned her to the first row of first class. She glanced back at him. "You didn't. . ."

"Yep. Bought the first three seats in the first row." He grinned at her.

"Grissom, that must have cost a fortune!"

He shrugged. "Taxpayer's money, not mine. Besides, I wanted you to be comfortable, have room to lay down."

"You're crazy!" But her grin belied her tone, she was pleased he had thought of all of this. "Who's got window?"

"You do. I wasn't going to let you get bumped by a flight attendant with a food cart."

She fell asleep almost immediately after takeoff, and he manipulated her prone form so she wasn't sitting straight in her seat but stretched out over the two seats he purchased for her. He kept her legs on his lap, elevated so they wouldn't swell and cause her pain. The increase in pressure would cause her enough pain, and she'd popped a Vicodin before the plane left the ground.

The flight was uneventful, he'd woken her up right before they landed, had the flight attendant get a chair ready for her. He wheeled her groggy frame into the glaring McCarran International Airport, where she gestured for him to lean down. "All these lights are going to give me a seizure, Gris. I knew I didn't miss this place," she whispered in his ear.

He chuckled, about to reply when a familiar male voice cut through the air. "Sara Sidle, this is no way to treat your friends when we come and visit!"

Ari Bishop was bearing down on them, a huge grin stretched across his face, followed by Kate Lamont and the rest of the crew.

"Seriously, Miss Sidle, we expect to be shown a better time next time we come," the bearded redhead said as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"Sorry, Are-man. Next time I'll show you Vegas, ok? Promise," she groggily grinned. "Hey, Kate."

"Sara, hon, you should smack that man for not getting you far enough away. How are you?"

"Tired," she answered truthfully.

Grissom immediately was down at her level, locking eyes, asking "You ok?" in a voice heavy with concern.

Sara reached up and touched his cheek, grinning slightly. "I'm fine, just tired."

"Nothing hurts?"

"The pills are still working, Gris." He nodded, accepting it for now, and rose.

"He's so whipped," Nick whispered to Warrick.

"Oh, yeah," Warrick whispered back.

"Warrick!" Sara cried. "Crime Stopper!"

Nick smiled down at his co-worker. "You're drugged, and you still won't let up. That's just like you, Sara."

"Get down here, you guys, you're too tall." They knelt by her chair. "Of course he's whipped," she murmured, out of Grissom's hearing.

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"Bathroom's down the hall, kitchen's right here, bedroom's that way," he gestured towards a closed door. "The floor's not going to be a problem, is it?"

Sara looked down at the wood, took a cautious step forward on the crutches. When she didn't slip, she shrugged. The action made her grimace with discomfort, and she said, "I think it's fine." Sara glanced over the apartment. "It's neat," she said. "I'm not going to trip on anything but my own feet. That's good."

"Yeah, I went over to your apartment, and it's pretty messy."

"When were you at my place?"

"I stopped on the way here; you were sleeping. I collected some of your things, pillows, books, clothes, blankets."

Her lips quirked slightly. "You sound like you're making up an evidence list."

"Sorry," he apologized.

"Don't apologize," she said. "It's your nature, I'll forgive you."

"I thought we could share the bedroom, unless. . .I can always sleep on the couch."

She looked at his couch with a grimace. "I wouldn't want you to break your back on that thing," Sara said, and with a shrug, added, "Besides, I kinda like you fully functional. . .just in case you have to save me from anything else soon. And you're warm."

"Using me for warmth, is that all this relationship's come down to?"

"Oh, so we're in a relationship, are we?" She was so pleased that he had defined it, it was her rule that the most emotionally closed-off person in a relationship had to be the one to say what it was.

Grissom looked confused and a little panicked. "I was under the impression we are, am I wrong?"

"No," she snorted, giving him a huge grin. "Gris, I'm just messing with you."

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"Grissom?" Her voice cut through the dark as she lay next to him that night.

"Hmm?"

"I can't sleep." It was matter-of-fact, a little apologetic, and a little apprehensive.

He reached up and turned on the lamp by his bed, illuminating her face. "Need a pill?"

"I took one an hour ago, it's not that." She looked like she wanted to ask him something but wasn't sure how.

"What is it?"

"Uh, I think it's the bed." She shot him a smile. "I'm not used to it."

Sara's eyes were telling a different story. "What can I do?"

"Promise not to laugh at me?" she asked. "It's kinda childish."

"Promise I won't laugh."

"Could you read to me?" Her voice was hopeful. "I know it sounds a little strange, but it really helps me sleep."

"So, you're telling me that my voice puts you to sleep."

"No!" she exclaimed. "Of course not. There's just something about the rhythm of someone reading to me that knocks me out. I have a ton of books on tape at home just to sleep."

"Okay," he said, reaching for his copy of The Woman in The Dunes. "It's about an entomologist in Japan who gets trapped in a sand dune," he introduced. "It's boring as hell, so it'll put you right out, promise."

"Great," she said, giving him a half-smile.

"Part One, chapter one. 'One day in August a man disappeared. . .'"