Summary: After viewing a horrific accident, Sara makes some hard decisions about her life. Obviously, a Sara-centered story, but with lots of friendship and a little bit of G/S at the end.
Rating: R for subject matter
A/N: No real spoilers. Thanks to Burked and all the others who previewed this for me.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to CSI. If I did, I'd be on a tropical beach right now.
Chapter 54
Sara's hopes for a good day's sleep ended a few hours later when the nightmare shattered the morning calm. What made it especially terrifying was the fact that it wasn't her own. Rolling over in the bed, she saw Grissom sitting upright, his breath coming in ragged gasps, a fine layer of sweat covering his body.
"Hey, it's okay," she said softly. Scooting up beside him, she began running her hand up and down his arm. "It's okay. You're fine. Just a bad dream."
After a few minutes, his breathing became more regular. Dropping his head into his hands, he suddenly jerked back upright and winced in pain. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he cradled his injured hand, flexing his fingers experimentally.
"Grissom?"
"I'm okay," he said, giving a brief look before shrugging and returning his attention back to his hand. The embarrassment showed as obviously as the pain. Getting out of bed, Sara walked around to kneel in front of him, smiling reassuringly when he finally met her eyes.
"Let me see that," she insisted, gingerly taking his injured hand in her own. A bit of blood had crusted over his knuckles, and there was some swelling and bruising, but overall, it didn't look too bad. She took the remains of the ice pack from the bucket, and wrapped it around his hand.
Sitting back on her heels, she watched him carefully. His head rested on his free hand. From what she could see of his expression, it was clear he was in more pain than he was admitting. "Do you want me to drive you to the hospital? You probably should get that X-rayed. Just to be safe."
"No," he said sullenly, running his hand over his temple.
Sara raised an eyebrow, but quickly dropped her head back down to inspect his hand. She managed to keep most of the smirk off of her face. Right now, Grissom probably wouldn't appreciate hearing how cute he was when he pouted.
"At least have Doc look at it when you go in tonight."
"Fine," he said curtly, ignoring her brief, impatient glare.
She stopped herself before she pointed out his misery was his own fault. Sara could understand his discomfort. Besides the pain in his hand, he acted liked he had a headache, making Sara wonder how much he had had to drink before coming over. That thought made her uneasy; if he had been driving drunk, they were going to have to have a long talk.
"Migraine?" she ventured.
"No."
"Do you want to take a shower?" she asked kindly.
"No," he muttered.
Sara raised her eyebrow again, her humor fading fast. She refrained from mentioning that he needed the shower. Not that it would help much at this point; his clothes were a mess, as well. What exactly did he do before heading up her room? "Do you want to go back to sleep?"
"No."
Rolling her eyes, Sara grabbed the glass off of the nightstand between the beds, and headed towards the bathroom. The pout had lost its cute quality after about the third or fourth time around. She was sympathetic, but he was pushing the limits of it.
She understood all too well dealing with the emotional aftermath of a nightmare. It was clear that last night's case bothered him deeply. He wasn't the type to be snippy, nor to barge into a motel room and break a headboard. Add in his embarrassment and physical pain, and she could appreciate why he was being so terse.
But she was close to losing her temper with him. Her nerves were still on edge, and it wasn't going to take much more for her to snap. After their earlier encounters, Sara thought he'd have learned his lesson about pushing her when she was in this type of mood. He should have respected her wishes to be alone. If he hadn't been so obviously upset when he showed up, Grissom would have borne the full brunt of her anger.
The last thing she wanted to do was add to his bad mood. Things between them were going well, but she didn't know if their relationship was steady enough to handle another one of her blow-ups. She needed some time alone to collect herself.
That desire was the only reason she ended up in this rundown motel. On the way to the bathroom, her face wrinkled in disgust as she examined the room. She hadn't inspected it closely when she checked in; at that point, she was too tired to care.
"I told you this place was a dump. You shouldn't have left."
Sara turned to give Grissom a pointed stare as he tried to find his clothes. He wasn't in any position to be gloating. A number of retorts ran through her mind, but she kept them to herself. After all the times she blew up at him, she would cut him slack for now.
Turning on the bathroom light, Sara jumped back in disgust when she saw the brightly colored cockroach scurrying across the floor. Bending down to pick up her shoe, she ended the bug's escape with a well-aimed throw.
"I didn't have one of that type," Grissom said petulantly.
"Squashed?" Sara snapped as she cleaned her shoe, turning to find him standing behind her, inspecting the remains of the roach.
Sensing he was on dangerous ground, Grissom shifted nervously, holding his boxer shorts in front of him in a belated display of modesty. It was his fault that they ended up here, he reminded himself. Sulking wasn't helping his position any.
Looking back on it, he had realized Sara hadn't left him; he'd driven her out. His behavior had been inexcusable, both before and after her leaving. Even now, he was being curt; he'd needed to try harder to keep his pain and ire from coloring his responses.
Cases with children always upset him, but he usually managed to control his rage until he was alone. That usually meant home. He hadn't been thinking clearly when he treated her so rudely. Grissom had planned to apologize to her, not only for his behavior but also for ruining their night out, only to find she had already gone.
That had made him upset. He'd be the first to admit his social skills were lacking, and he had a fear that one day Sara would get tired of dealing with him. Reading that passage in her journal had only added to his unease. He had had no idea Sara was worried about their future. He'd do whatever he could to reassure her, but he needed to know what concerned her. Hopefully, he could get her to talk once they were home.
He wasn't sure what her current mood was. She was fussing over his hand, plainly concerned about his injury, but she was also stressed. Overcoming his chagrin, he gave her an apologetic look. "Let me take you home," he softly pleaded as he slipped on his shorts.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Grissom," she admitted, taking some analgesics from her bag, and giving them to him.
"Why not?"
She smiled sadly at him after retrieving a glass of water for him. There had been a hint of fear in his voice.
"Neither of us is in a great mood. We both need to get ourselves together. Alone," she explained calmly.
"This place isn't safe. You are not going to stay here," he stated curtly, silently cursing himself the moment his harsh response was out.
"This is Vegas, Grissom. I think I can find another motel room," she said acidly, before closing her eyes. That hadn't taken long. "Look, I'll just head to the airport. I can probably trade the tickets in for an earlier flight back to California."
"What?" Grissom said suddenly, his expression becoming anxious.
"I'm sorry," she sighed softly. "This trip turned out badly. I don't want to hurt you any more. I need to go."
"Don't. Please," he whispered, pulling her gingerly into a hug. " I'm sorry, Sara. I'm not used to others being around when I decompress from a case. I didn't mean to make you angry."
"You didn't. Not earlier," she said, resisting the urge to lean into him.
"Then why are you mad at me?"
"I'm not angry with you. Not yet. But you're so damn close to pissing me off. I told you I needed some space, Grissom, and you practically forced your way into my room."
"I'm sorry. I was worried. This really is a dangerous place. Come back home, Sara. I won't bother you, I promise. I'll stay out of your way, whatever you want. Just don't go. Not like this."
Sara looked up, trying to gauge both of their moods. Her nerves were still frayed; it was taking all of her control not to bite his head off. Hanging around ran a risk, especially since he wasn't in a good state of mind either.
On the other hand, leaving now would be like kicking a puppy. He shouldn't be alone in his current condition. And Grissom rarely exposed himself emotionally. Going now would only make him hesitant to open up again. It seemed clear that he regretted his earlier behavior; Sara could only hope talking to her wasn't part of that regret.
"Please," he repeated. "This isn't a safe place. Come home with me."
Sara noticed his emphasis, again, that the motel wasn't safe. Her being here really was bothering him. His agitation showed, a telling sign from a man who usually kept his emotional state closely guarded. She let out a long sigh, prompting him to pull her in closer.
If she stayed, she might hurt him, but leaving now would definitely upset him. If things did get rough, she could still go later. Leaning against Grissom, she gave him a brief hug.
"Okay. You win. But I wasn't kidding. I am close to losing it. Go get dressed," she said before his bear hug squeezed the air out of her. Why was he so upset?
While he dressed, Sara went over to inspect the damage to the headboard. No wonder Grissom's injuries had been mild; the thing was cheaply made. "When you get the bill, let me know what they charge for that," he said sheepishly. "I'll pay for it."
Sara paused in her inspection. Standing upright, she turned to stare at Grissom, wrapping her arms around herself. He returned her look for a moment, but grew uncomfortable as she stared at him. Dropping onto the other bed to put on his shoes, he winced as he tried to tie the laces with his damaged hand. When he finished, Sara was still watching him, an odd expression on her face.
"I didn't charge the room. I paid cash," she said quietly. It looked to Grissom that she was trying to piece together a puzzle.
"Oh. Well, I'll go talk to the manager. I'm sure they're used to damages at this place. You go ahead home," he said.
"I'll meet you back at your townhouse. I'll pick up something for breakfast," she said distractedly, gathering her things, and leaving before he could think of a comment on her statement that it was his home.
Paying for the damages took longer than he expected. While the motel was used to the rooms getting trashed, the desk clerk wasn't used to people offering to pay for it. Grissom doubted the money would ever get back to the owner, and insisted on a receipt.
When he finally headed outside, he shielded his eyes against the bright sunlight, wishing he'd brought his sunglasses. His headache wasn't a migraine, but it wasn't far below the threshold. Grissom found his car and drove off, not noticing the detective watching him in shock from across the street.
Rating: R for subject matter
A/N: No real spoilers. Thanks to Burked and all the others who previewed this for me.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to CSI. If I did, I'd be on a tropical beach right now.
Chapter 54
Sara's hopes for a good day's sleep ended a few hours later when the nightmare shattered the morning calm. What made it especially terrifying was the fact that it wasn't her own. Rolling over in the bed, she saw Grissom sitting upright, his breath coming in ragged gasps, a fine layer of sweat covering his body.
"Hey, it's okay," she said softly. Scooting up beside him, she began running her hand up and down his arm. "It's okay. You're fine. Just a bad dream."
After a few minutes, his breathing became more regular. Dropping his head into his hands, he suddenly jerked back upright and winced in pain. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he cradled his injured hand, flexing his fingers experimentally.
"Grissom?"
"I'm okay," he said, giving a brief look before shrugging and returning his attention back to his hand. The embarrassment showed as obviously as the pain. Getting out of bed, Sara walked around to kneel in front of him, smiling reassuringly when he finally met her eyes.
"Let me see that," she insisted, gingerly taking his injured hand in her own. A bit of blood had crusted over his knuckles, and there was some swelling and bruising, but overall, it didn't look too bad. She took the remains of the ice pack from the bucket, and wrapped it around his hand.
Sitting back on her heels, she watched him carefully. His head rested on his free hand. From what she could see of his expression, it was clear he was in more pain than he was admitting. "Do you want me to drive you to the hospital? You probably should get that X-rayed. Just to be safe."
"No," he said sullenly, running his hand over his temple.
Sara raised an eyebrow, but quickly dropped her head back down to inspect his hand. She managed to keep most of the smirk off of her face. Right now, Grissom probably wouldn't appreciate hearing how cute he was when he pouted.
"At least have Doc look at it when you go in tonight."
"Fine," he said curtly, ignoring her brief, impatient glare.
She stopped herself before she pointed out his misery was his own fault. Sara could understand his discomfort. Besides the pain in his hand, he acted liked he had a headache, making Sara wonder how much he had had to drink before coming over. That thought made her uneasy; if he had been driving drunk, they were going to have to have a long talk.
"Migraine?" she ventured.
"No."
"Do you want to take a shower?" she asked kindly.
"No," he muttered.
Sara raised her eyebrow again, her humor fading fast. She refrained from mentioning that he needed the shower. Not that it would help much at this point; his clothes were a mess, as well. What exactly did he do before heading up her room? "Do you want to go back to sleep?"
"No."
Rolling her eyes, Sara grabbed the glass off of the nightstand between the beds, and headed towards the bathroom. The pout had lost its cute quality after about the third or fourth time around. She was sympathetic, but he was pushing the limits of it.
She understood all too well dealing with the emotional aftermath of a nightmare. It was clear that last night's case bothered him deeply. He wasn't the type to be snippy, nor to barge into a motel room and break a headboard. Add in his embarrassment and physical pain, and she could appreciate why he was being so terse.
But she was close to losing her temper with him. Her nerves were still on edge, and it wasn't going to take much more for her to snap. After their earlier encounters, Sara thought he'd have learned his lesson about pushing her when she was in this type of mood. He should have respected her wishes to be alone. If he hadn't been so obviously upset when he showed up, Grissom would have borne the full brunt of her anger.
The last thing she wanted to do was add to his bad mood. Things between them were going well, but she didn't know if their relationship was steady enough to handle another one of her blow-ups. She needed some time alone to collect herself.
That desire was the only reason she ended up in this rundown motel. On the way to the bathroom, her face wrinkled in disgust as she examined the room. She hadn't inspected it closely when she checked in; at that point, she was too tired to care.
"I told you this place was a dump. You shouldn't have left."
Sara turned to give Grissom a pointed stare as he tried to find his clothes. He wasn't in any position to be gloating. A number of retorts ran through her mind, but she kept them to herself. After all the times she blew up at him, she would cut him slack for now.
Turning on the bathroom light, Sara jumped back in disgust when she saw the brightly colored cockroach scurrying across the floor. Bending down to pick up her shoe, she ended the bug's escape with a well-aimed throw.
"I didn't have one of that type," Grissom said petulantly.
"Squashed?" Sara snapped as she cleaned her shoe, turning to find him standing behind her, inspecting the remains of the roach.
Sensing he was on dangerous ground, Grissom shifted nervously, holding his boxer shorts in front of him in a belated display of modesty. It was his fault that they ended up here, he reminded himself. Sulking wasn't helping his position any.
Looking back on it, he had realized Sara hadn't left him; he'd driven her out. His behavior had been inexcusable, both before and after her leaving. Even now, he was being curt; he'd needed to try harder to keep his pain and ire from coloring his responses.
Cases with children always upset him, but he usually managed to control his rage until he was alone. That usually meant home. He hadn't been thinking clearly when he treated her so rudely. Grissom had planned to apologize to her, not only for his behavior but also for ruining their night out, only to find she had already gone.
That had made him upset. He'd be the first to admit his social skills were lacking, and he had a fear that one day Sara would get tired of dealing with him. Reading that passage in her journal had only added to his unease. He had had no idea Sara was worried about their future. He'd do whatever he could to reassure her, but he needed to know what concerned her. Hopefully, he could get her to talk once they were home.
He wasn't sure what her current mood was. She was fussing over his hand, plainly concerned about his injury, but she was also stressed. Overcoming his chagrin, he gave her an apologetic look. "Let me take you home," he softly pleaded as he slipped on his shorts.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Grissom," she admitted, taking some analgesics from her bag, and giving them to him.
"Why not?"
She smiled sadly at him after retrieving a glass of water for him. There had been a hint of fear in his voice.
"Neither of us is in a great mood. We both need to get ourselves together. Alone," she explained calmly.
"This place isn't safe. You are not going to stay here," he stated curtly, silently cursing himself the moment his harsh response was out.
"This is Vegas, Grissom. I think I can find another motel room," she said acidly, before closing her eyes. That hadn't taken long. "Look, I'll just head to the airport. I can probably trade the tickets in for an earlier flight back to California."
"What?" Grissom said suddenly, his expression becoming anxious.
"I'm sorry," she sighed softly. "This trip turned out badly. I don't want to hurt you any more. I need to go."
"Don't. Please," he whispered, pulling her gingerly into a hug. " I'm sorry, Sara. I'm not used to others being around when I decompress from a case. I didn't mean to make you angry."
"You didn't. Not earlier," she said, resisting the urge to lean into him.
"Then why are you mad at me?"
"I'm not angry with you. Not yet. But you're so damn close to pissing me off. I told you I needed some space, Grissom, and you practically forced your way into my room."
"I'm sorry. I was worried. This really is a dangerous place. Come back home, Sara. I won't bother you, I promise. I'll stay out of your way, whatever you want. Just don't go. Not like this."
Sara looked up, trying to gauge both of their moods. Her nerves were still frayed; it was taking all of her control not to bite his head off. Hanging around ran a risk, especially since he wasn't in a good state of mind either.
On the other hand, leaving now would be like kicking a puppy. He shouldn't be alone in his current condition. And Grissom rarely exposed himself emotionally. Going now would only make him hesitant to open up again. It seemed clear that he regretted his earlier behavior; Sara could only hope talking to her wasn't part of that regret.
"Please," he repeated. "This isn't a safe place. Come home with me."
Sara noticed his emphasis, again, that the motel wasn't safe. Her being here really was bothering him. His agitation showed, a telling sign from a man who usually kept his emotional state closely guarded. She let out a long sigh, prompting him to pull her in closer.
If she stayed, she might hurt him, but leaving now would definitely upset him. If things did get rough, she could still go later. Leaning against Grissom, she gave him a brief hug.
"Okay. You win. But I wasn't kidding. I am close to losing it. Go get dressed," she said before his bear hug squeezed the air out of her. Why was he so upset?
While he dressed, Sara went over to inspect the damage to the headboard. No wonder Grissom's injuries had been mild; the thing was cheaply made. "When you get the bill, let me know what they charge for that," he said sheepishly. "I'll pay for it."
Sara paused in her inspection. Standing upright, she turned to stare at Grissom, wrapping her arms around herself. He returned her look for a moment, but grew uncomfortable as she stared at him. Dropping onto the other bed to put on his shoes, he winced as he tried to tie the laces with his damaged hand. When he finished, Sara was still watching him, an odd expression on her face.
"I didn't charge the room. I paid cash," she said quietly. It looked to Grissom that she was trying to piece together a puzzle.
"Oh. Well, I'll go talk to the manager. I'm sure they're used to damages at this place. You go ahead home," he said.
"I'll meet you back at your townhouse. I'll pick up something for breakfast," she said distractedly, gathering her things, and leaving before he could think of a comment on her statement that it was his home.
Paying for the damages took longer than he expected. While the motel was used to the rooms getting trashed, the desk clerk wasn't used to people offering to pay for it. Grissom doubted the money would ever get back to the owner, and insisted on a receipt.
When he finally headed outside, he shielded his eyes against the bright sunlight, wishing he'd brought his sunglasses. His headache wasn't a migraine, but it wasn't far below the threshold. Grissom found his car and drove off, not noticing the detective watching him in shock from across the street.