A/N: Here we go again! Sorry this chapter is kind of short, but it is definitely another G/S 'friendly' part, so I hope that makes those who read this happy *shippy grin* I'm so grateful for all of the reviews so far, and I hope this story continues to be one you will enjoy. So please, read on!
Chapter 10: Sanctuary
They were in Sara's SUV, nearly at Grissom's townhouse, when he finally spoke, "You know, I was waiting for some important results from Greg."
"I'll call Catherine," she replied logically, "and have her call us the minute Greg's results come in." She didn't want him to have any excuses—real or imagined—for having to go back to the lab.
She glanced over at him. He was still shivering slightly, even though she had the heat blasting, and he had resumed his previous position of facing forward with his eyes tightly closed, moving his fingertips over his forehead and temples.
They pulled up in front of Grissom's townhouse, and Sara shut off the car. She noticed that his eyes were now wide open and one of his hands had shifted to his stomach. He seemed to be intently focused as he took slow, deep breaths. Sara thought she knew what might be wrong. "Are you okay?" she asked him.
"Just give me a minute," he said tightly, continuing to concentrate on his breathing.
"Look, Grissom," she began, her tone light, "if you're going to throw up again, I'd just like a little more warning this time."
He threw her a pathetic attempt at a glare, his exasperation being overshadowed by his discomfort. "You'll be the first to know."
They sat there a little while longer, until Grissom got temporary control over his jumpy stomach. "I think it's passing," he told her.
She climbed out and came around to his side, where he joined her on the pavement. As soon as they got inside the house and he tossed down his keys, she said, "All right, go get undressed and into bed."
He stood there for a few seconds, dazed, until she repeated, "Go," and waved him in the direction of his bedroom.
After he walked off, Sara set down what she had been holding and began to look through his kitchen. She had wanted to suggest food, but after realizing how queasy his stomach still was, she had thought better of it. Instead, she was searching the cabinets to see what kind of teas Grissom had, if any. She was surprised when she found a box of herbal teas, but she chose two packets of chamomile. She put water on the stove to boil and then also found mugs and even a bear-shaped container of honey.
Once everything was prepared, Sara made her way to Grissom's bedroom. Holding the cup of tea in one hand, and a bottle of water under her arm, she knocked on the door. "Can I come in?" she asked.
"Sure," came his response from inside.
As she pushed the door open, she found him sitting in the bed, propped up by pillows. He had changed into a faded blue sweatshirt, and the blankets were gathered around his waist. When she noticed that he was still shivering, she was glad she had brought the hot tea, which she put down on his nightstand with the water. "Here you go," she said. "It's chamomile, and I put a little honey in it for your throat."
"Thanks," he replied, taking a small sip of the tea, and then just holding the heated mug in his hands.
Sara glanced around, noting that he had folded his clothes neatly and placed them on his desk chair. His "FORENSICS" windbreaker wasn't immediately visible, and she supposed he had hung it up in the closet. She disappeared briefly into the other room to gather up all the different pills and tablets she had purchased at the drugstore. Then she lined them up on his nightstand next to the bottle of water, and checked to make sure he had an adequate supply of tissues nearby as well. "Do you have a thermometer?" she asked him. "I don't trust that strip thing."
"In the medicine cabinet," he told her, motioning with his head toward the bathroom.
She walked in, trying not to snoop too much as she searched the contents of his medicine cabinet. There actually wasn't that much to see—just the usual over-the-counter products, band-aids, a razor, what looked like a prescription for migraines, and about six of those little plastic things of floss. Way to focus on the dental hygiene, Gris, Sara thought, smiling to herself. When she found the thermometer, she rinsed it off and then shook it down.
"Here we go," she said, walking back over to him. She placed the thermometer carefully under his tongue. "Three minutes, no talking."
While she waited for his temperature to register, Sara stepped into the living room to call Catherine and check on any developments in the case. Everything was still the same as when they had left. Greg hadn't finished the blood samples yet, and Catherine and Warrick were waiting for those results before they went back to the crime scene. Catherine said she was heading down to interrogation to wait for the arrival of Mrs. Winston. Sara told her to make sure to call if anything new came up.
Folding up her phone, Sara returned to Grissom's bedroom. She pulled out the thermometer and read the scale out loud, "One-oh-three-point-four. I guess the strip wasn't too far off after all. We need to get this fever down, Grissom." She glanced at her watch. "It's too early to give you more medicine. Why don't you lie down and try to get some sleep? Hopefully, that'll help."
He took one last sip of the tea and nodded. Placing the mug on his nightstand, he moved down under the covers.
"Are you feeling hot or cold right now?" she asked.
"To be honest, still a little cold," he admitted, as a small shudder coursed through him.
She pulled the blankets up over his shoulders as he turned onto his side and closed his eyes.
"Thanks, Sara," he said softly.
"Sure." She was leaning over him, with her hands still on the top edge of his comforter. She wanted to touch him, to offer him comfort through a physical connection, but she didn't know if she should. How would he react if she stroked the side of his face or ran her fingers through his hair? Maybe he was so delirious from the fever that he wouldn't even realize what had happened… She pushed that amusing, but highly unlikely, thought from her head as her left hand hovered inches above his cheek.
Making the decision, she gently touched her fingertips to his overly warm skin. Starting at his temple, she moved her fingers down his face to his chin, then back up again. Tracing around his ear, she brushed her hands through his hair several times, her fingertips disappearing into the soft salt-and-pepper waves.
She saw a hint of a smile form on his lips, and although he was probably already half-asleep, she knew he felt her touches and didn't seem to mind them. "Get some sleep. I'll be right outside," she promised quietly. "Just call if you need me."
He nodded, beginning to increase the depth of his breathing, urging his body to give into the overpowering exhaustion.
Sara clicked off the light and moved out of the room, leaving the door halfway open.
Back in the kitchen, she opened the other chamomile tea bag and fixed herself a cup. Sipping the soothing drink, she began walking slowly around Grissom's living room. She heard him cough and sneeze a couple of times from the other room, and looked toward his bedroom door. I hope he's able to fall asleep, she thought with concern.
She kept moving along the perimeter of the room, looking at the assortment of objects on his shelves, tables and walls. She liked the feeling of being in Grissom's place, his home, his sanctuary. His possessions were like him, somehow both neat and cluttered at the same time. All his varied interests were represented—books on entomology and forensics commingling with the collected works of Shakespeare, classical music CDs stored next to Pink Floyd, beautiful mounted butterflies hanging near the remains of gruesome experiments probably involving blood and maggots.
This room was full of contradictions, sort of like its owner. But Sara felt safe here, surrounded by Grissom's things, just like she always felt in the presence of the man himself.
She paused in front of the CD player, cocking an ear toward the bedroom. She heard only silence now, hoping that meant he was asleep. Looking through Grissom's collection of discs, she chose a selection by Mozart. She plugged in the expensive-looking cushioned earphones she had found, and then popped in the CD. Getting comfortable on the couch, she propped her feet on the coffee table, and then hit "play" on the stereo remote. She adjusted the earphones, covering just one ear and leaving the other one free so she could hear Grissom if she needed to.
She took another swallow of the tea and leaned back. Chamomile was known for its calming properties and she hoped it was true. She closed her eyes and thought about the case. She was tired—and she knew Catherine, Warrick, and Greg were, too. She knew they could use her help at the lab and at the crime scene. But there was no way she was going to leave Grissom alone. She vividly remembered the look on his face when he had woken from the nightmare in Brass's office. What if it happened again? She couldn't imagine him waking up like that and finding no one there with him. Making sure her pager and cell phone were clipped to her belt and set in the 'silent' mode, Sara drifted off to sleep.
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