In a surge of adrenaline, Sara ran to Grissom and pulled him back
with a strength that could only come from fear, out of harms way. The
ambulance swerved as Sara pulled him, and they fell onto the
pavement, Grissom landing on top of Sara. Grissom felt dizzy, the
street around them spinning as he tried to gather his bearings from
the shock of the moment.
He was jolted into reality as Sara began to cough, her face
red. "Oh, god, Sara-are you OK?" He rolled off of her and pulled her
gently up to a sitting position, as he realized that the force of the
fall had knocked the wind out of her. He placed one hand on her
stomach and with the other rubbed her back, patting gently. "It's OK,
honey, breathe..god, I'm so sorry." He didn't know what to say,
didn't feel like himself. How had this thing just happened? He was
full of concern for Sara, fearful of what he'd done-and in the back
of his mind, realized that his secret was no longer his alone. She'd
want an explanation.
Chest heaving, Sara took shaky breathes as she felt her lungs
starting to again work the way they where supposed to. "I'm fine,"
she gasped, "are you OK? Oh, god, Grissom, your knee." she touched it
gently, and he realized for the first time he was in pain. He hadn't
been able to focus on anything but Sara, now that he saw she would be
fine, he felt a burning pain on his knee. The knee of his khakis was
stained with blood. He grimaced. "It's probably just a scrape, but
there goes any hope of wearing these pants tomorrow night." He looked
at her again, gently touching her face. "God, Sara, I'm so sorry.If
anything happened to you.God."
Her heart beat quickened as they sat on the side of the street in
this strange town, stars twinkling above them, the fading siren shrilly
announcing someone else's pain somewhere in the city. Her breathe was
still shaky, and her back felt bruised; both she and Grissom looked
like hell, covered in dirt and grime from the pavement, but all that
mattered was Grissom's eyes digging into hers, his irises full of
pain at having caused her pain, his hand stroking her cheek as if she
were a fragile child. She was frozen, wanting to remember his look
forever. Finally, she found her voice. "Yes, I, I'm fine.We should
get off the street." He refused to break the spell for a moment more,
then realized, as Sara had, that they where sitting on the side of a
road, bruised and bloodied, and looked like crap. "Can you get up?"
he asked. Sara was touched; his knee was bleeding profusely, and all
he cared about was her. "Yes, Grissom, really, I'm OK. I promise."
His hand was still lingered around her face, she reached up and took
it. Reluctantly, Grissom forced himself into a standing position,
wincing. He reached down and pulled Sara to her feet. She was
surprised (and impressed) by his strength. "You didn't need to pull
me up..." she smiled. He led her to the sidewalk, and stepping behind
her gently pulled down her windbreaker. Her heart fluttered as he
carefully examined her back, pulling down her shirt. Her heart felt
as if it would beat clear out of her chest when she felt him gently
pull her bra strap aside and lightly finger a bruise. "You're pretty
banged up...god, Sara..." She'd never seen him like this. "Grissom...well, so are you. Let's get back to the hotel." He nodded. "I have a first aid kit in my room." Silently they made their way back, both still a little dazed from the event, neither one able to say anything. Grissom walked hovering protectively close to Sara,
his arm gravitating around her back, barely touching, as if she where
a china doll he'd injured, and he feared her breaking completely if
he touched the cracked area. He limped a little as he walked, but
ignored his own pain, overwhelmed by guilt and shame. Gil also
couldn't ignore the voice in his head that reminded him, sometime
that evening, Sara was going to want answers.
Once inside Grissom's hotel room, he retrieved the small travel
first aid kit from his bag and without even looking at his knee, led
Sara to his bed, where he gently forced her to sit down, and removed
her windbreaker. Wordlessly, he sat behind her, opening the kit and
retrieving the antiseptic. "Sara, would you pull your shirt over your
head, please?" Because she trusted him completely, and sensed that he
needed to take care of her first, to relieve his guilt, she did as he
asked. Sara couldn't ignore the effect his words, in a different
context, had on her insides. She held her shirt against her front,
hands trembling. Fire coursed inside her when Grissom carefully undid
her bra band; she could feel him tenderly cleaning her
wounds. "Ouch!" she winced as the antiseptic stung a deeper cut. "I'm
sorry..." With his free hand, he squeezed her bare shoulder,
caressing her with his thumb. Sara squeezed her eyes shut tight. This
was torture. If he only knew the effect he was having on her body...
Grissom finished. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he quickly clasped
her bra, and helped pull her shirt back on. "No, I don't think
so." "Thank God you didn't hit your head when you fell. At least-are
you sure you didn't? Let me see your eyes. Come here." She turned to
face him on the bed, and he took her face in his hands. "Open your
eyes wide and look right at me." She did as instructed, staring into
his pupils, nose inches away from his own. He studied her own pupils
carefully. "Now look up." She did. "OK, it doesn't look like you've
got a concussion." He reached gently behind her head, feeling the
back of her head. His hand traveled down her neck. She could barely
breathe; all the while his eyes were trained on her face, his eyes
full of concern and...something else. "Really, I think I'm OK. Now
it's your turn. God, Grissom, look at your knee." In the light of the
hotel room it was clear that the pants had ripped, and a meaty scrape
full of road gravel was surrounded by torn khaki, plastered against
his kneecap with dried blood. "You'd better go take off those pants
and wash that out in the sink before I can do anything with it."
Grissom didn't argue, remembering that his knee did indeed hurt like
hell. He shuffled to the bathroom.
Listening to the water run, and Grissom's groan of pain as he
removed his khakis, Sara rubbed her forehead. What an odd turn the
evening had taken; Grissom taking her shirt off, ordering him to
remove his pants. In any other scenario, she mused, this would be an
evening straight out of her wildest dreams. But instead, this had
happened. What had happened to Grissom in those few moments? He'd
been like a deaf person, blindly crossing the street. She wasn't sure
what to feel, and she wanted to know the rest of the story. But now, Grissom emerged from the bathroom in black sweatpants, left leg rolled up to accommodate his injured knee. He looked extremely annoyed to be the one needing
help. "Shit, that hurt." Sara couldn't help but smile. "I know. It's
your turn for first aid; come on." He reluctantly joined her on the
bed, laying his knee in front of her. "I think I got all of the dirt
out in there." "Let me see." Instinctively, Sara reached beside her,
to grab her mini Maglite out of her pocket-until she realized it
wasn't there. Grissom realized what she was doing, and they both
laughed. Both knew what it felt like to always be on the job-and to
be totally out of their element when they weren't on the job.
Smiling, Sara made do by pulling the lamp shade over to shed light on
her work area. "Oh-you missed some." "What?!" he exclaimed. "You're
kidding!" "Nope." She pulled on a pair of latex gloves from the kit
and took to his knee with tweezers. "Ouch!" he yelped. "Sorry." She
tried not to smile. "I'm not used to pulling evidence out of wounds
on live victims." "I'm not used to being a crime scene." He said sarcastically. Grissom bit his lip as Sara worked, breathing a sigh of relief when she finished
with the bandage. "OK. Now, make sure you can bend easily. Don't want
it to tight." He obediently lifted his leg and bent it several times.
He nodded in approval. "Nice. You do good work, Sidle." "I know," she
said calmly, cleaning up the mess. "OK," she said, sitting down with
a sigh. "Are we both fine, now?" He nodded, slowly. "I am if you
are." "Good." Sara crawled towards him, and leaned back on the pillow
beside him. "Then, Gil...we need to talk." He looked at the other
side of the room, taking a deep breath. "I know."
with a strength that could only come from fear, out of harms way. The
ambulance swerved as Sara pulled him, and they fell onto the
pavement, Grissom landing on top of Sara. Grissom felt dizzy, the
street around them spinning as he tried to gather his bearings from
the shock of the moment.
He was jolted into reality as Sara began to cough, her face
red. "Oh, god, Sara-are you OK?" He rolled off of her and pulled her
gently up to a sitting position, as he realized that the force of the
fall had knocked the wind out of her. He placed one hand on her
stomach and with the other rubbed her back, patting gently. "It's OK,
honey, breathe..god, I'm so sorry." He didn't know what to say,
didn't feel like himself. How had this thing just happened? He was
full of concern for Sara, fearful of what he'd done-and in the back
of his mind, realized that his secret was no longer his alone. She'd
want an explanation.
Chest heaving, Sara took shaky breathes as she felt her lungs
starting to again work the way they where supposed to. "I'm fine,"
she gasped, "are you OK? Oh, god, Grissom, your knee." she touched it
gently, and he realized for the first time he was in pain. He hadn't
been able to focus on anything but Sara, now that he saw she would be
fine, he felt a burning pain on his knee. The knee of his khakis was
stained with blood. He grimaced. "It's probably just a scrape, but
there goes any hope of wearing these pants tomorrow night." He looked
at her again, gently touching her face. "God, Sara, I'm so sorry.If
anything happened to you.God."
Her heart beat quickened as they sat on the side of the street in
this strange town, stars twinkling above them, the fading siren shrilly
announcing someone else's pain somewhere in the city. Her breathe was
still shaky, and her back felt bruised; both she and Grissom looked
like hell, covered in dirt and grime from the pavement, but all that
mattered was Grissom's eyes digging into hers, his irises full of
pain at having caused her pain, his hand stroking her cheek as if she
were a fragile child. She was frozen, wanting to remember his look
forever. Finally, she found her voice. "Yes, I, I'm fine.We should
get off the street." He refused to break the spell for a moment more,
then realized, as Sara had, that they where sitting on the side of a
road, bruised and bloodied, and looked like crap. "Can you get up?"
he asked. Sara was touched; his knee was bleeding profusely, and all
he cared about was her. "Yes, Grissom, really, I'm OK. I promise."
His hand was still lingered around her face, she reached up and took
it. Reluctantly, Grissom forced himself into a standing position,
wincing. He reached down and pulled Sara to her feet. She was
surprised (and impressed) by his strength. "You didn't need to pull
me up..." she smiled. He led her to the sidewalk, and stepping behind
her gently pulled down her windbreaker. Her heart fluttered as he
carefully examined her back, pulling down her shirt. Her heart felt
as if it would beat clear out of her chest when she felt him gently
pull her bra strap aside and lightly finger a bruise. "You're pretty
banged up...god, Sara..." She'd never seen him like this. "Grissom...well, so are you. Let's get back to the hotel." He nodded. "I have a first aid kit in my room." Silently they made their way back, both still a little dazed from the event, neither one able to say anything. Grissom walked hovering protectively close to Sara,
his arm gravitating around her back, barely touching, as if she where
a china doll he'd injured, and he feared her breaking completely if
he touched the cracked area. He limped a little as he walked, but
ignored his own pain, overwhelmed by guilt and shame. Gil also
couldn't ignore the voice in his head that reminded him, sometime
that evening, Sara was going to want answers.
Once inside Grissom's hotel room, he retrieved the small travel
first aid kit from his bag and without even looking at his knee, led
Sara to his bed, where he gently forced her to sit down, and removed
her windbreaker. Wordlessly, he sat behind her, opening the kit and
retrieving the antiseptic. "Sara, would you pull your shirt over your
head, please?" Because she trusted him completely, and sensed that he
needed to take care of her first, to relieve his guilt, she did as he
asked. Sara couldn't ignore the effect his words, in a different
context, had on her insides. She held her shirt against her front,
hands trembling. Fire coursed inside her when Grissom carefully undid
her bra band; she could feel him tenderly cleaning her
wounds. "Ouch!" she winced as the antiseptic stung a deeper cut. "I'm
sorry..." With his free hand, he squeezed her bare shoulder,
caressing her with his thumb. Sara squeezed her eyes shut tight. This
was torture. If he only knew the effect he was having on her body...
Grissom finished. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he quickly clasped
her bra, and helped pull her shirt back on. "No, I don't think
so." "Thank God you didn't hit your head when you fell. At least-are
you sure you didn't? Let me see your eyes. Come here." She turned to
face him on the bed, and he took her face in his hands. "Open your
eyes wide and look right at me." She did as instructed, staring into
his pupils, nose inches away from his own. He studied her own pupils
carefully. "Now look up." She did. "OK, it doesn't look like you've
got a concussion." He reached gently behind her head, feeling the
back of her head. His hand traveled down her neck. She could barely
breathe; all the while his eyes were trained on her face, his eyes
full of concern and...something else. "Really, I think I'm OK. Now
it's your turn. God, Grissom, look at your knee." In the light of the
hotel room it was clear that the pants had ripped, and a meaty scrape
full of road gravel was surrounded by torn khaki, plastered against
his kneecap with dried blood. "You'd better go take off those pants
and wash that out in the sink before I can do anything with it."
Grissom didn't argue, remembering that his knee did indeed hurt like
hell. He shuffled to the bathroom.
Listening to the water run, and Grissom's groan of pain as he
removed his khakis, Sara rubbed her forehead. What an odd turn the
evening had taken; Grissom taking her shirt off, ordering him to
remove his pants. In any other scenario, she mused, this would be an
evening straight out of her wildest dreams. But instead, this had
happened. What had happened to Grissom in those few moments? He'd
been like a deaf person, blindly crossing the street. She wasn't sure
what to feel, and she wanted to know the rest of the story. But now, Grissom emerged from the bathroom in black sweatpants, left leg rolled up to accommodate his injured knee. He looked extremely annoyed to be the one needing
help. "Shit, that hurt." Sara couldn't help but smile. "I know. It's
your turn for first aid; come on." He reluctantly joined her on the
bed, laying his knee in front of her. "I think I got all of the dirt
out in there." "Let me see." Instinctively, Sara reached beside her,
to grab her mini Maglite out of her pocket-until she realized it
wasn't there. Grissom realized what she was doing, and they both
laughed. Both knew what it felt like to always be on the job-and to
be totally out of their element when they weren't on the job.
Smiling, Sara made do by pulling the lamp shade over to shed light on
her work area. "Oh-you missed some." "What?!" he exclaimed. "You're
kidding!" "Nope." She pulled on a pair of latex gloves from the kit
and took to his knee with tweezers. "Ouch!" he yelped. "Sorry." She
tried not to smile. "I'm not used to pulling evidence out of wounds
on live victims." "I'm not used to being a crime scene." He said sarcastically. Grissom bit his lip as Sara worked, breathing a sigh of relief when she finished
with the bandage. "OK. Now, make sure you can bend easily. Don't want
it to tight." He obediently lifted his leg and bent it several times.
He nodded in approval. "Nice. You do good work, Sidle." "I know," she
said calmly, cleaning up the mess. "OK," she said, sitting down with
a sigh. "Are we both fine, now?" He nodded, slowly. "I am if you
are." "Good." Sara crawled towards him, and leaned back on the pillow
beside him. "Then, Gil...we need to talk." He looked at the other
side of the room, taking a deep breath. "I know."