A/N: Thank you to wp1fan and Marlou for your help with getting this long awaited chapter out. And three words to Wiccamage, "Here you go."
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The sound of a bolt of lightning hitting something within the city reverberated throughout the apartment. The sound scared a sleeping Sara into a sitting position, and a scream emanated from deep within. Two strong arms cradled her racking body as she sobbed uncontrollably. The fact that two male arms were around her somehow didn't frighten her.
"Shh. It's alright. I'm here. It was just a bad dream," Grissom soothed.
Darting her eyes toward the window as another flash of lightning filled the room, Sara could see the rain pouring down outside. They finally were getting some relief from the heat of the last several days. Her hand instinctively grasped Grissom's hand, and she leaned back into his comforting embrace. Her weight pushed him backward so that he was lying against the headboard, his back supported by her pillows.
They lay in this position for quite some time. Neither speaking, they just watched the rain pound on her window until falling asleep once again.
Sara shifted beneath his arms and tried to extricate herself from them without waking him. He mumbled something in his sleep, but didn't wake. Retrieving some clean clothes, she retreated into the bathroom. Turning the water on in the bathtub, she let it warm up before she flipped on the shower head, then proceeded to strip down and ease in. The spray of the water soothed her tired muscles but awakened her senses. Her hand pressed against the wall, and she leaned on her arm as the water cascaded down her back. Normally a shower would take her no more than five minutes, but she lingered within the calming spray.
Finally, her skin a bright pink from the hot water, she decided to get out, wasting no time drying off and getting dressed. There was a man in the other room, who she estimated wouldn't be sleeping long. It felt odd having him in her apartment. Except for the few times that Hank had been there, no other man had been, not since San Francisco. She wrapped her hair up in the towel then stepped out into the darkened room. Looking to the bed, she expected to see Grissom. She didn't but did catch a movement to her right near the window when she saw the curtain move. She gasped until his voice reassured her that it was Grissom. With a visible shake, she attempted to regain her composure.
Too many times, now, she'd given him evidence about her past. Having hoped he'd left, she'd come out of the bathroom half expecting that he had. But as he turned from staring out the window to face her, she knew he'd surely not be leaving her apartment any time soon. Not until he got the information he'd came for.
THEY REMAINED STARING at each other through the shadows. He sighed then leaned against the window and stared out at the pouring rain. The moment was finally broken as Grissom pushed forward with his questioning. "How did your blood get on that knife, Sara?"
He heard, rather than saw, her sit on the bed. She faced away from him now as he turned back. He wanted to go to her, comfort her and cradle her once again, but he knew that would get him no further to the knowledge he sought. He remained firm and stayed in his present position, not moving.
Waiting for several moments, a heartbeat away from asking again, he saw her shuffle, sitting on one leg and holding the other by the knee against her chest. Her head drooped and then she mumbled, "He stabbed me with it."
His heart lurched. He'd been expecting it, and yet it still came as a surprise. He licked his lips and ran the side of his index finger along his bottom lip, his eyes never straying from her. He formulated his next question carefully. Getting a direct answer wasn't as easy as it looked. And God knew, he wanted a direct answer. He needed it.
"Did he assault you sexually?" His voice quavered as he asked. Fearing her reply, he looked out the window again.
Again, he was startled by her answer; he thought he'd have to drag it out of her. Still, he might have to. It was short and to the point.
"Yes," she whispered.
His hands, at his side, clenched into fists. A shot of pain coursed through him, ending at his heart. Somehow, his strong-willed and stubborn Sara had let her guard down and been made a victim. He fought against his first inclination to go to her. He needed to understand and he couldn't do that if he couldn't get her to talk. He needed to know when it happened. When had this taken place? Where had it happened?
He thought of all the times they'd talked while she was in San Francisco, but he couldn't glean any information from those instances to indicate a timeline for him. And if it had occurred in Las Vegas, he was sure he'd have known it. He hated that he had to ask, had to be the one interrogating her like this. Instead, he wanted to be the one to sit next to her, holding her hand or holding her against his side, as she recalled her darkest fears.
He pushed away from the window only to face it directly and place his hands on the sill, propping himself up by his arms, his body no longer braced against the window. He took a deep breath.
"Whe…" He stumbled on his words. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Where did this happen, Sara?"
"In my apartment," was her quick reply.
He shook his head. He knew he hadn't asked it properly as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He bowed his head in frustration and sighed. "Sara, which apartment? Where?" His eyes closed as he listened intently to her answers.
"In San Francisco," she spit out hastily.
"When?" he fired back just quickly.
"Four years ago… yesterday." The words, strained and pinched, drained from her mouth as a slowly dying fountain.
Examining and calculating the evidence, it translated to a time when he'd needed her. And she'd been more than ready to come to his aid. He'd never asked her how she'd been able to drop everything and come to Las Vegas so quickly at his request. But she had. Now he knew why, but he still didn't know how.
He worked the information over and tried to formulate his own theory. It was impossible. If she'd been stabbed, she would've needed medical attention. When he'd taken his first glimpse of her as she arrived in Las Vegas, it wasn't as a woman who'd been ravaged and seriously hurt. She'd been a breath of fresh air. He looked back on it as if from a distance. She'd been smiling and carefree. But now, reflecting on that image when she first arrived in Las Vegas, he realized her body language was not as it first appeared. She was… holding herself. At the time, her arm, wrapped about her midsection, reminded him of someone trying to hold it all together. But he'd passed that off as just a relaxed stance. She had appeared relaxed, he told himself.
Shaking his head at the image, he opened his eyes and looked out at the rain crashing against the window. At that moment, he wished the rain could just wash all of this away. "It would've been only a week later that you arrived in Las Vegas. How could that be? You should've been mentally and physically drained."
In the minutes that he had been attempting to put the puzzle together, he'd missed a subtle change in her. It wasn't until his last words that he heard the soft sniffle. It drew him closer to her. He stepped cautiously, not wishing to destroy the trust she'd shown him within the last half hour. She cast a quick glance in his direction. Noting his approach, she attempted to mask her tears.
It was a heart wrenching sight for Grissom. He carefully sat next to her on the bed. The urge to protect her had grown to cosmic proportions and it took every ounce of strength he had to not crush her to him in a fierce hug. Instead, he gently touched her far shoulder and tugged her closer to him. At first she wasn't going to give way, but then she loosened up and relaxed against him. If he was patient, he knew he'd get the complete story.
