Title: In The Room

Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

Rating: PG

Pairing: Sara/Warrick

Feedback: Makes my day

Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

Notes: Sixth in the Familiar Places series, following On the Floor, In the Car, In the Living Room, On The Town and In the Hall

Summary: Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning

***

I shift again on the chair, which is only slightly more comfortable than the bench in the corridor. There is one advantage to it, which is that this chair is in Grams's hospital room, and from here, I can see her, can hold her by the hand, assure myself that she's there, that she's alive, that she's going to be all right.

The main disadvantage to it is that Sara's not here with me.

Not that she doesn't want to be, even if I'm not sure if the hospital would allow it. But she had to go to work, though she tried her hardest to convince me that she should stay. I told her to go though, reminding her that night shift were already going to be short-handed with me out, and that her absence would only lead to talk. She told me that she didn't care about talk, and to hear Sara Sidle, proud protector of her privacy, say those words would have made me laugh were I not so stunned.

There was nothing I wanted more than to take her up on that offer, but I knew I couldn't. So much as it pained me, and her, I made her leave. I swear, it's the only time she's ever had to be forced to go to work.

I missed her the instant she was gone, and I know it was my imagination, but time seemed to go twice as slowly without her there. It speeded up in a hurry when the doctor came towards me, asked for me by name. I was scared stiff about what he was going to tell me, but it was all good news. Grams had given them a bit of a scare, but she looked to be out of the woods, had been moved to a room of her own and was sleeping. He told me that I could go home, that they'd call me if there was any change, but there was no power on this earth that was going to get me out of this place before I saw Grams. The only thing I did do was call Sara, leaving a message on her voice mail, telling her that Grams was going to be ok. Then I went straight to the room, and I've been here ever since.

I've spent so long staring at Grams, waiting for her to wake up, that at the slightest flutter of her eyelids, I'm instantly attentive. There have been a couple of false alarms, when I thought she might wake up, but this time, she shifts slightly in bed, beginning to stir, and I lean forward, increasing the pressure on her hand ever so slightly. "Grams?" I say softly when I see the first hint of green peeking through her pale skin. She turns her head towards me, blinking as she tries to focus, and I feel a smile of pure relief breaking across my face. "It's ok," I continue. "You're gonna be fine…"

She nods, her tongue reaching out to trace a path along her lips. Taking the hint, I let go of her hand, reaching for the jug of water on the bedside locker. I pour a glass, help her to wet her lips with it, and when she lies back, she smiles at me. It's a tired smile, I can't deny that, but it's a Grams smile nonetheless, the one that banished the aches of a thousand skinned knees and a hundred broken hearts, and it does me a power of good now too. Her eyes focus on me, but then they look past me, to the window beyond and the inky black sky outside. "Baby, what are you doing here?" she asks me, her voice raspy. "Shouldn't you be working?"

I bite back a grin, because the last time we were here like this, she asked me that question too, except then it was about school rather than work. Then, as now, I reach out, taking one of her hands in both of mine, trying not to notice how frail it seems. "I told them I had to see the most beautiful lady in Vegas," I tell her, and she closes her eyes, chuckling at the line. "They understood."

She opens her eyes slowly, and gives me a look that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It's the look that she always used to give me when she thought I'd been up to some sort of mischief as a child, and she meant to find out just what it was. Of course, usually I had been up to some mischief, and that look always pricked my guilty conscience, which is the effect that it's having on me now, even though, as far as I know, I've done nothing to feel guilty about. This is Grams though, so she's not going to waste any time telling me. Nor does she, lifting one eyebrow. "That's why you're all dressed up then?"

Without thinking, I look down at my clothes, almost surprised to remember that I am more dressed up than I might usually be, the remnant of my interrupted date with Sara. Not that I'm extremely dressed up, though the shirt, brand new and pristine white is a bit of a give away. When I look back up at Grams again, she's still giving me that look, and I try to school my features into innocence, failing, I'm sure, as miserably as I did back when I was a kid. "I try to make an effort for you," I tell her. I know it's a lame retort the instant it's out there, and when a second raised eyebrow joins the first, I know she's going to call me on it.

"You gonna tell me this girl's name, or do I have to have another heart attack?" she asks, and I can't keep the shock off my face.

"That's not funny Grams," I tell her sharply, and the hand that's in the middle of mine squeezes gently, but her eyes still dance with wickedness.

"I know it's not, so you'd better tell me all about your girl."

"How do you even know I was on a date?" I ask her, giving her a look that's somewhere between hedging and exasperation. It's the kind of look that I've found myself giving Sara on more than one occasion, and once again I'm struck by the similarities between the two of them. It's quite a scary prospect.

"That panicked look on your face right now is a pretty good indication," Grams tells me, and I've got to give her that one. Knowing when I'm beaten, I shake my head and accept defeat gracefully.

"Her name is Sara," I say. "We work together, that's how we met. I've told you about her before."

Grams was nodding from the moment she heard the name. "You've told me about her," she says. "You never mentioned you two were keeping company."

The use of that particular phrase makes me smile. "That's new," I tell her, trying to keep back my laughter. "Very new."

"You gonna tell me anything about her?"

I shrug, not finding it any easier to describe Sara to Grams than I had to describe Grams to Sara. "You'd like her," I finally say. "She's tough… doesn't let me get away with anything."

Grams smiles, but her eyes close, and I know she's tiring again. "I like her already," she murmurs, her voice telling me that she's already halfway to sleep. "I want to meet her."

"Soon Grams," I whisper, pressing my hands harder against hers for a second. "Go to sleep."

Her eyes open, but not for long. "You should go home… you look tired…" By the time she reaches the last word, her eyes are shut, her voice all but trailing off to nothing, and I stand up, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

"In a little while," I lie, and for once in my life, I don't feel the slightest bit guilty about doing it. "Go to sleep."

By the time I sit back down in the chair, she's already asleep again. Her hand is still wrapped up in mine, and I leave it there, sitting back down in the chair, watching her sleep, counting every breath.

The next thing I know, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jolt awake, only to find myself looking into Sara's concerned face. I blink in surprise at the sight, blinking again when my brain registers that sunlight is streaming in through the windows. "What time is it?" I whisper, keeping my voice low, which isn't hard when you consider that it's still hoarse with sleep.

Sara, who I realise now is squatting beside my chair, keeping her balance thanks to one hand on my shoulder, the other on the arm of the chair, looks down at her watch. "Just after eight," she whispers. "How is she?"

I look over at Grams, whose eyes are still closed, lying in the same position she was in last night. Her breathing is deep and even, her face peaceful, and I feel myself smiling slightly. "She's gonna be fine," I say, the words sounding like a prayer of thanks in the early morning, and when I glance back at Sara, she's smiling too.

"How are you?" is her next question, emphasis on the last word accompanied by a squeeze of my shoulder. Her eyes are narrowed, lips pursed, brow furrowed, and it strikes me that she's spent the entire shift worrying about me and Grams.

Before I answer, I let go of Grams hand, which I've been holding on to all night, asleep or not, and take Sara's, bringing her fingers to my lips. The gesture makes her smile, and I take advantage of the moment of levity, pulling her up, indicating with a look that she should sit on the arm of the chair. Once she's balanced precariously there, her arm around my shoulders, face almost on a level with mine, I slide my arm around her waist, ostensibly to help her balance, in reality just because I want to touch her. Or maybe because I need to.

"I'm fine," I tell her, not taking my eyes off hers, and I know that I'm telling her the truth. Because I'm in a room with my two girls and right now, that's everything to me. Sara can't know how I'm feeling though, and I see her eyes narrow just a little bit more as she studies my features, trying to ascertain if I'm telling her the truth or if I'm just saying this to make her feel better. While I'm sure she won't start an argument here, I decide it's better to head her off, just to be on the safe side, so before she can say anything I jump in with, "How was work?"

She shrugs. "The usual. I told Grissom about your grandmother, he says to take all the time you need."

I nod, making a mental note to call Grissom when I get a chance. "He didn't ask you anything?" I wonder, looking her up and down, realising that she's changed from our date. She's wearing the same trousers and boots, but her shirt, which was red, short-sleeved and form fitting, is now one of those loose, flowing tye-dyed things that she favours for work.

She shakes her head. "Got there on time, had a change of shirt in my locker," she says, obviously having anticipated my thoughts. "Besides, we're working the same case, it makes sense you'd have called me."

I nod, that not having occurred to me. "Guess so," I say, closing my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose with my free hand. "My brain's still asleep." I feel her hand curl around my shoulder, fingers rubbing circles there, and when I manage to prise my eyes open, I see that hers are filled with worry. "Hey," I say, my free hand going up to her cheek. "I'm ok."

She doesn't look like she believes me, but when I trace a path along her cheek with my thumb, she closes her eyes, leaning into my touch. Her free hand reaches up, closes over mine, and she leans towards me, touching her forehead against mine. Her proximity acts like a magnet, drawing me towards her, and I brush my lips against hers, a kiss that, while brief, while chaste, nonetheless has my heart pounding in my chest, the blood rushing through my veins.

When we pull back, I know I'm smiling, and her eyes are sparkling, her cheeks flushed pink. She looks down, clearing her throat and shifting slightly on her perch. "We probably shouldn't…" she begins, and I'm about to agree, until a new voice makes us both jump.

"It's a little late for that my dear."

My head snaps around to see Grams staring at us, looking far more alert than she did when last I was talking to her, a smile hovering around her lips. I feel my jaw drop slightly with surprise, and I know that Sara's feeling the same; I've got a feeling that my arm around her is the only thing that's keeping her from falling off the arm of the chair.

Grams, with the advantage of surprise, continues talking. "Don't look so worried children, it does my heart good to see my baby happy." Sara and I glance at one another at the same time, then look back at Grams, neither of us knowing what to say. "Warrick Brown," Grams continues. "I didn't raise you to be rude."

I know a hint when I hear one. "Sara, this is my Grams," I say. "Grams, this is Sara."

I get one of those raised eyebrows in response. "Well, I guessed that much," she says archly, and I laugh out loud despite myself.

"You've got to be feeling better," I tell her, earning a grin for my troubles.

Beside me, Sara looks from me to Grams and back, repeats the manoeuvre several times. "It's nice to meet you Mrs Brown," she finally says, and I just about keep back a wince, knowing what's coming next.

"Sara, I hear Mrs Brown and I start looking behind me for my mother-in-law," Grams says flatly, but not unkindly, a phrase that I could have recited right along with her. "And she's been dead many a long year. I'm Grams."

Sara frowns, looking at me as if to find out if Grams is telling the truth, and I nod. "It's true," I tell her. "She's had every kid in the neighbourhood calling her that since I can remember… finally got so all the adults called her that too." Sara gives me a look that's frankly disbelieving, and I nod again.

"OK," Sara tries again. "It's nice to meet you… Grams." The name sounds uncomfortable on her tongue, but she grins immediately afterwards, and I'm surprised by the effect that the word has on me, at the rush of emotion in my chest. This is what I wanted so badly last night, the two of them meeting one another, but I was scared that it would never happen, didn't let myself think about how it would feel when it did.

It feels good.

Grams chuckles, her eyes going from me to Sara and back again. "Sara, I need for you to do something for me," she says, and Sara frowns, back straightening, confusion radiating from her.

"Me?" she asks, and Grams nods.

"I need for you to take this boy home and make sure he gets some rest," she commands, and when I open my mouth to protest, she cuts me off. "Don't you give me any back-talk Warrick Brown, you look worse than I do."

Again, I would protest, but Sara beats me to it this time. "She's right Warrick," she says, and my jaw drops again, as I look from one to the other.

"Are you two ganging up on me?" I ask in amazement, and in the bed, Grams chuckles.

"I knew I'd like this girl," she says, closing her eyes, smiling like the cat that got the cream, and I feel Sara's shoulders shake with laughter.

"I warned you," she says, just low enough so that I can hear it, and I remember last night in the hallway, and what she said to me there.

"OK, I'm not even going to try going up against the two of you," I decide, noting the two identical smiles of satisfaction on their faces. Sara stands first and I follow, going over to Grams and kissing her cheek. "You're sure you're going to be ok?" I ask, and she nods, patting my cheek.

"I'm fine," she tells me. "You go home, get some sleep."

I still don't want to leave her, settle for making her a promise. "I'll be back later, ok?"

"Take your time," Grams orders, glancing over my shoulder, and it's only when Sara takes my hand that I realise she's come over to stand beside the bed. "You take care of him, you understand?"

"Yes Grams," she says obediently, sounding as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. When I look down at her though, I see the steel resolve glinting in her eyes, feel it in the way her hand tightens on mine. Nor do I miss Grams's nod in her direction, and it comes to me once again that Sara was right, that they are going to get along well, and I wonder what the hell I've let myself in for.

Then I stop wondering, because I really wouldn't have it any other way.