A/N: Here's a new chapter—only one more left! I'm sorry it's so short, but the next and final chapter will be longer. I just want to thank everyone again for their continued support where this, my first CSI fan fiction, is concerned. All the reviews are truly appreciated! Enjoy!
Chapter 10: After Effects, Part One
When they arrived at Grissom's townhouse, the women got him through the door and took him directly into the bedroom. After they eased him down, Catherine went to get him some water, leaving Sara to help him take off his jacket and shoes. When Catherine returned, she shook one of the painkillers out of the prescription bottle on Grissom's nightstand. She handed it to him with the water and he gulped it down. Then he attempted to get settled in the bed. He grimaced as he lay down and shifted around. With his entire left side on fire with searing pain, it was difficult to get comfortable. He finally gave up and just remained still on his back.
"Do you need anything else?" Catherine asked.
He shook his head.
"Try to sleep, Gil," she soothed. "We'll be right outside. Just call if you need us."
"Thanks," he whispered, and then closed his eyes.
The women went back into the kitchen area and began raiding Grissom's refrigerator and cabinets. They were planning on making something to eat and settling in for a while. They had decided that, after what had happened earlier, they didn't want Grissom to wake up alone again. And now that he was in even worse physical shape, he would need someone there to help take care of him—at least until he was back on his feet.
Catherine began preparing the food, and they made quiet small talk, but Sara's attention kept wandering back to the half-closed door leading to Grissom's bedroom. They hadn't heard any sound from inside, so they both hoped he was sleeping. For Sara, though, just hoping wasn't enough—she had to see him for herself.
She drifted over to the door and slipped inside. She was disturbed when she saw that Grissom did not appear to be resting peacefully. He wasn't relaxed at all; his eyes were closed, but he face was still completely tense and his brow furrowed. His head was rocking back and forth on the pillow, and his breathing was uneven and labored.
Sara stepped back into the main part of the house. Her whole body had become taut as she chewed nervously on her thumbnail.
Catherine noticed right away. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Is Gil okay?"
"He's kind of…thrashing around in there. He can't seem to really rest. Maybe we should call that doctor who took care of him at the hospital. What was his name? Dr. Wright?"
"Is it that bad?"
"He looks like he's…in pain."
"I'm sure he is, Sara, but the medication will help," Catherine began. "He pushed himself way too hard. He was supposed to be on bed rest, and he was all over the place, working on the case, interrogating the suspect. He's just so stubborn. I mean the man was walking around with two broken ribs. And did you hear his voice? I don't know how he kept talking—it must have been excruciating." She took a calming breath. "But the case is over now. It'll just take a little time and a lot of rest, but I know he'll start feeling better."
Sara didn't look convinced, and Catherine was now worried, too, so they both went in to check on him again. Catherine watched him for a moment. His head jerked on the pillow as if he were in the grips of an intense nightmare. Sara was right—he looked almost as agonized as he had earlier, when he had pushed himself so far beyond his body's limits that he had been on the edge of collapse. Catherine wasn't even sure he was actually asleep, even though his eyes were shut and the powerful painkiller, by all rights, should have knocked him completely out. If he was sleeping, his slumber was terribly troubled and not at all soothing to his tortured body and mind. Catherine sat beside him on the bed and touched his arm. "Gil, it's Catherine. Can you hear me?"
He didn't respond, but he quieted considerably at the physical contact. His stricken movements stopped, and he lay still as his body visibly calmed.
Then Catherine ran a hand through his hair several times, trying to soothe away the creases of pain still apparent on his face. "Shh, it's all right now," she promised. "It's all right. We're right here, Gil. We're with you. Just relax. Everything will be fine." Her soft touch seemed to work, making all his anxiety and anguish melt away like a single snowflake landing on warm skin.
As Catherine carefully got up off the bed, she and Sara studied him again. He looked like a different person now—relaxed, sleeping deeply and comfortably—and they left his room, happy that he could get the rest he needed and begin to recover from this arduous ordeal.
* * * * * * *
Hours passed, and Grissom slept on. Catherine and Sara spent the time doing a variety of things, making sure to keep any noise down so they wouldn't wake him. Ultimately, several hours before the official start of the night shift, Catherine's pager went off. She had put it in silent mode, so she felt it rather than heard it. It was from Brass—a body had been discovered in the parking lot of a restaurant near the Strip, and Catherine had to go to the scene.
As she gathered her things, she asked Sara, "You'll stay with him until the end of shift, right?"
It had already been decided, but Sara nodded in response to reassure Catherine.
"Then I'll come back here, or I'll send one of the guys over. That way Grissom can be filled in on what the team is doing, and someone will be here with him. I'm sure Nick and Warrick won't mind helping us keep an eye on him."
"They'd love it," Sara said with a smile. "They'd eat up the one-on-one attention from Gris—especially Nick."
Catherine grinned back at her, and headed out the door. "Call me if anything happens with Gil," she said.
"I will."
The first thing that Sara did after the door shut behind her Catherine was go peek through Grissom's bedroom door. She knew he was sleeping and that he was fine, but she still felt an urge to be physically close to him. She stood in the doorway and watched him sleep for a long time, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light.
He was sprawled out above the covers, fully clothed except for his socks and shoes. His right arm, complete with cast-encased hand, lay across his chest, which rose and fell along with his rhythmic breathing. His head was tilted to the left, toward Sara. With his curly hair tousled and his face relaxed in deep slumber, he seemed even younger than his boyish handsomeness usually made him appear. He looked so open and vulnerable—a contrast to his common serious and focused work demeanor—that it made Sara feel overwhelmingly protective of him. She didn't like that someone had hurt him, and she was very happy to be there to watch over him, even though he would never confess to needing any assistance.
She finally pulled herself away from his bedside when she started feeling her own exhaustion creeping up on her. She had not gotten much sleep since this case had begun either, although she was used to getting by on very little rest. She went into the living room, curled up on Grissom's small leather couch, and promptly fell asleep.
* * * * * *