A/N: Well, I'm finally back! I really didn't mean to be gone so long this time, but this last section ended up taking much longer than I thought it would. I know I had said there would be only one more chapter, but it ended up running on so long that I decided to cut it into two parts. The good news is that Part Two is done and in the hands of my wonderful beta, Grissom (thanks again for everything, Gris!), so it should be able to be posted very soon. (grin) I hope everyone enjoys the first part of the conclusion. A thank you goes out to MW for the Gatorade idea! And, of course, more thanks go out to everyone who has reviewed this story so far! All those reviews are what kept me going during this long dry spell between chapters. Now, onto the second-to-last (I promise) chapter of 'No Rest for the Weary.' Enjoy!
A/N, Part Two: When trying to upload this, I was unable to put in any kind of indication for a time lapse, so when it appears that some time has passed, just imagine a row of astrerisks there. (wink)
Chapter 20: Comfort, Part One
Sara pulled the Denali into a parking spot and turned off the engine, startling Grissom out of his light doze. He lifted his head from the window and looked blearily over at her.
"Sorry," she said, hating that she had to disturb him. "But you need some things at your place. I thought I'd just run in and pick them up."
He glanced out the window, finally registering that they were in front of a supermarket. He nodded at Sara, and then leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. She saw him shudder and pull his jacket more tightly around him, and that just reminded her that she needed to hurry. "Be right back," she promised.
When she returned ten minutes later, she found him shaking even more intensely as he sipped the cup of tea he held in his unsteady hands. She put the packages in back and then slipped behind the wheel. He placed the tea into one of the cupholders and tried to get comfortable in the seat. She turned toward him. "All right, let's get you home," she said, and then backed out of the space.
They got to Grissom's townhouse and made it up the stairs and inside. Sara dropped the two bags of groceries in the kitchen and helped Grissom into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed, and she went to the dresser and found him some clean sweats, which she placed next to him. "Grissom," she began. When she got no response, she put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down closer to him. "Grissom?" This time he looked up at her. "Why don't you get undressed while I unpack the groceries? It'll just take me a minute."
He stared at her blankly, and then nodded slowly. She watched him shrug out of his jacket and sweater, and then she headed for the kitchen. She found it disconcerting that he was being so quiet, even though she knew it was only because he was so incredibly tired and weak. She certainly didn't blame him for that at all; in fact, she was actually amazed he had made it this far without collapsing.
She gave him a few extra minutes to change before she went back into his bedroom. He was wearing the sweatshirt and sweatpants, but had gone back to sitting in the same position. In spite of how bad he was feeling, he had still made sure to fold his clothing and place it into a neat pile. Sara put down what she was holding, and lowered herself in front of Grissom again, placing a hand on his leg. "Is your migraine still really bad?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," he breathed.
She took his pills from the pocket of his windbreaker. She handed him one and opened the bottle of water she had brought in. "Here."
He swallowed the medicine with a gulp of water.
"Now drink this," she instructed gently, giving him the large glass of clear liquid she had also brought from the kitchen. "It's not water," she explained. "It's Gatorade, they call it Gatorade Ice. I thought you could use something to keep your electrolytes up. This kind is supposed to be orange-flavored, but I have no idea what it tastes like."
He sipped it tentatively. "Kind of salty," he commented, "but not bad." He lifted the glass to his lips again and started gulping it down in large swallows.
"Whoa, slow down," she said, touching his arm. "You don't want it coming right back up." He was obviously thirsty, and probably feeling the effects of dehydration, so of course he wanted to drink quickly. She felt bad slowing him down, but she definitely didn't want him to get sick again.
Grissom took her advice and drank the rest of the Gatorade in smaller mouthfuls.
"I'll get you some more," she offered. "Why don't you get under the covers?"
She came back with another glass of Gatorade, which he drank down slowly. Then he slid all the way under the covers and exhaled deeply. He moved around briefly, then closed his eyes.
"Time for you to get some sleep," she whispered. "Finally." She ran her fingers soothingly through his hair. "I'll be right here next to you," she promised.
He gave a tiny nod, and Sara watched his body relax as he headed quickly for deep, much-needed sleep.
She left his side just long enough to grab a chair and a couple of books and magazines from the other room. Positioning the chair near his bed, she settled in. The living room couch had been fine before, but now that he seemed even sicker, she really wanted to be closer to him.
Picking up one of the forensic journals, she started thumbing through it. She yawned almost immediately, and shook her head, trying to wake herself up a little. She was on the edge of exhaustion herself, and didn't think she could stay alert much longer, but she was not going to leave until she knew Grissom was feeling better.
Sara had made it halfway through one of the journals before she was certain that Grissom was soundly asleep. She stopped reading to check on him. His breathing was rhythmic, but heavy, the congestion in his nose and chest fairly noticeable. As she got up to step over to him, he suddenly began visibly shivering. She pulled the blanket all the way up to his chin, and tucked it in securely. Then she moved her palm over his burning forehead and down to his cheek, which confirmed that his fever was still very high. Sara frowned as she realized that she should have given him more medication before he had fallen asleep. She didn't want to disturb him, but she gave him a small shake just to check his level of consciousness. "Grissom?" she called quietly. If she had gotten any kind of response at all, she would have woken him all the way and given him some medicine; but he remained solidly asleep. She decided to just wait and see how he did, so she sat back down in the chair, glancing at him every few minutes as the time ticked by.
Sara vaguely felt herself falling forward. She snapped awake and put out her foot at the same time, barely preventing herself from tumbling out of the chair. She glanced around to get her bearings, and then rubbed her hands over her face. Once she realized that she was still in Grissom's bedroom and had fallen asleep in the chair, she checked her watch; she was surprised to find that more than two hours had passed.
After she felt fully awake again, she got up and stood by Grissom's bed. He had turned over onto his stomach now, his head tilted away from her, and the blankets tossed off his shoulders and twisted haphazardly around his waist. Concerned about his temperature, she lightly touched her fingers to the exposed skin on the back of his neck. He flinched, and a sound like a shaky moan escaped his lips; she knew her fingers must feel ice-cold against his torrid skin. "Gris?" she said. His neck was damp with sweat, and very hot beneath her touch.
She finally removed her fingers, shifted her hand, and began gently stroking the back of his head. "Gris, can you hear me?" She ran her fingers through the tangled mess of curls a few more times, but he didn't move or make any other sounds. His breathing remained clogged, but deep, and she knew he desperately needed the sleep, so she decided not to wake him yet.
As she moved her hand again, this time to his back, she sat down on the edge of his mattress. She ran her hand around his back in what she hoped was a soothing motion. She couldn't believe how hot he felt, even through the two layers of clothing he was wearing. He was so sick, and she was beginning to become seriously worried; she was afraid his temperature might be even higher than when it had registered one hundred three on the thermometer.
She continued to trace measured strokes on his back, up and down, over and over. "It'll be all right," she assured him softly. "You'll be fine. We just need this fever to break." She blew out a breath, then whispered, "You are starting to scare me, though. I wish I could do something to help." She sat there with him a little longer, then she went back to her chair.
Several hours later, Sara looked up from her reading again. She was amazed that she had managed to stay awake. Everything was now catching up with her, and she was starting to feel pretty bad herself. She was completely exhausted, her body craved a long, hot shower, and she was getting hungry. She glanced at Grissom, saw that he hadn't moved, and then walked into his kitchen to hunt down something to eat.
The leftover soup from the day before was sitting in the refrigerator, and she decided to reheat it. A small portion of the macaroni and cheese was also there, but she chose to save that for Grissom; he would most likely be hungry when he finally woke up. The soup was not quite enough for her, so she searched the cupboards and found the peanut butter, which she spread on a slice of bread.
She ate at the table while keeping an ear tuned for Grissom in the other room. When she was done, she cleaned up, and then returned to the bedroom. It still appeared that Grissom hadn't moved from his previous position; he remained there on his stomach, deeply asleep, managing to breathe through his blocked airways the best he could. Sara knew without even touching him that he was still burning up with fever, and she was becoming more and more worried.
She was about to sit back down in the chair, when Grissom's breathing suddenly changed, becoming shallow and uneven. He turned over as his body began to convulse with shivers. Sara immediately went to him and pulled the covers up over him. She also elected to take the opportunity to wake him up so she could give him some overdue medication. Since he had just rolled over, he probably wasn't completely asleep at this moment, so it should be easier to rouse him.
"Grissom?" she said, gripping his shoulder and shaking him. When she got no noticeable response, she shook him harder. "Grissom?" She heard him groan, but he didn't open his eyes. "Come on, Grissom, wake up." She felt bad that she was bothering him, but he really needed some medicine. She grasped his other shoulder. "Come on, Gris, wake up," she repeated, much more loudly. She moved a hand to the side of his head and ran it through his hair. "Please?"
His eyes finally fluttered open. He glanced around with glazed eyes until the situation registered. Then his head snapped up and he lifted himself onto his elbows. "Sara?" he croaked. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," she explained, trying to calm him. "Your temperature is through the roof, and I need to give you something to bring it down. I'm sorry I had to wake you. I know you're tired, but your temperature is way up there, Gris, and it's worrying me."
He nodded, and then dropped his head back onto the pillows, swiping roughly at his burning eyes. He felt awful—his head was clogged and throbbed with dull pain, his throat was dry and scratchy, and, although he was certain that you could fry an egg on his forehead, he was still freezing. He would have known without Sara telling him that he was running a very high fever.
He began coughing continually, so he pushed himself back onto his elbows, and then all the way to a sitting position. He reached for some tissues, sneezed, and then blew his nose; he repeated the sequence several more times.
Sara looked at him and shook her head—he still sounded so terrible. "I'll be right back," she told him, as she went to get something from the kitchen.
When she returned, he was still sitting up, but his head was back against the headboard and his eyes were closed. She put down what she was holding, and touched his shoulder. "Gris?" she said.
After a very brief pause, he opened his eyes and looked at her. He was obviously groggy and still not completely awake. "You can go back to sleep in a second, I promise," she said soothingly, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. She reached down and opened a couple of the bottles on the nightstand. Shaking four pills into her palm, she held them out towards him. "Will you take these for me first?" she asked
He nodded, and scooped them up. She handed him the glass she had just brought in. "I poured you some more Gatorade, or would you rather have water or juice?"
"This is fine," he replied, tossing the pills into his mouth and washing them down with the clear sports drink. As soon as he had drained the glass, he slid down beneath the covers again. "Thanks, Sara," he said, his voice rough, but faint. Once he was lying on his back, he fell back to sleep almost immediately.
He was still shivering slightly, so Sara made sure he was completely covered by the comforter. Even though she knew he was down for the count once again, she stayed there, gently running her hand up and down his blanket-clad arm.
She exhaled deeply, and then yawned; she was so tired. Looking at the empty side of Grissom's large bed, she was sorely tempted to lie down next to him. Of course, she didn't have a reason or excuse to 'sleep with him' again. He didn't seem to be having nightmares anymore. She knew that he was much too out of it to even notice if she were sleeping in the bed with him. But what if he woke up? How would I explain why I'm lying there next to him? she thought.
She recalled how comfortable his bed had been, and she had been so relaxed being physically close to him. She knew if she got into the bed with Grissom, she would sleep totally peacefully and restfully, and that was very appealing to her. But, finally and reluctantly, she decided against it—it just wouldn't seem right. She turned to go back to her small, uncomfortable chair, but then she thought better of it, and looked at Grissom one more time.
He had suddenly begun shivering again, much more strongly than before. Her brow furrowed as she stepped back to his side. She put a hand on the side of his face. His skin still felt as if it were on fire, but obviously he was almost impossibly cold. "Oh, Gris," she said worriedly.
She looked around the room, trying to figure out how to help him. He was already pretty well bundled up in the covers. Then she remembered the green fleece blanket, but for a second she couldn't remember what she had done with it. Then it clicked; she went out to the living room couch where she had left the blanket, brought it into the bedroom, and then spread it out over the sleeping Grissom. The extra layer of warmth seemed to help, and he stopped shivering after a few minutes.
"There you go," she whispered, giving the blanket one last tug into place. Then she went back to her chair.
She knew she would fall asleep, so she scrunched around, trying to find a position that was halfway comfortable. She stared at him for a while as her eyelids grew heavy, making sure he was all right. Then she finally drifted off to sleep.
The first thing Sara became aware of when she woke up was an incapacitating pain in her neck. She lifted her head and grimaced. Her hand automatically went to the back of her neck and tried to knead away the stiffness and pain. Once she could at least move her neck again, she sat up. When she became completely alert and regained her senses, she looked over at Grissom.
He had tossed some of the covers off himself, and he was dripping with sweat—even his hair was soaked. The top of his sweatshirt was wet to halfway down his chest.
Sara got up and quickly pulled more of the blankets off him. Duplicating what she had done the previous day, she went into the bathroom to wet a washcloth. She wiped the saturated towel thoroughly over his face and neck. She returned to the bathroom to rinse the cloth, and then repeated wiping down his face several more times.
At that moment, she realized that she was shaking and her heart was racing. Waking up slowly, all pained and twisted up like a pretzel, and then seeing Grissom's condition and jumping into action had physically affected her more than she would have believed. She looked down at his pale, sweat-drenched form. "God, Gris, you are freaking me out," she said quietly. She had thought she was at least halfway joking, but she was surprised to discover that she was deadly serious.
Do you know what you're doing to me here? she wondered silently. Of course you don't, she thought, responding to her own question. It wasn't like he planned or wanted to get sick—especially not this sick. She was glad his fever was finally breaking, and that he was still deeply asleep, but that didn't stop her from being concerned about him. He just looked so helpless and vulnerable laying there that she couldn't help but feel protective of him. She stepped next to him, reached down, and ran her fingers through his wet curls. "You'd better get well soon, pal," she said out loud, although she knew he couldn't hear her. "Because you're making me crazy. I don't know how much more of this I can take."
Sara closed her eyes for a few seconds, realizing how completely exhausted she was and feeling the stiff soreness in her muscles, but she still didn't feel right leaving him to go home. Opening her eyes again, she quickly made a decision. "The hell with it," she told the room at large, as she walked around to the other side of the bed and sat down on it, lifting her legs up in front of her. She reached over and grabbed the green blanket Grissom didn't need right now, then laid back and covered herself with it. Sinking into the soft mattress, she exhaled in contentment. Then she shut her eyes and slipped eagerly into sleep.
As Sara gradually awoke, she glanced around and stretched. She knew she hadn't slept that long, but she felt much more tranquil and refreshed than she had been before her little 'nap'.
She lay there a few more minutes, smiling as she listened to Grissom breathing next to her. His airways sounded much freer, and she mentally patted herself on the back for giving him two decongestants along with the ibuprofen he had taken earlier.
She got up carefully, trying very hard not to move the bed too much. The last thing she wanted to do was wake up Grissom. As she stood slowly, a recent, but vague, memory started to come back to her.
During the time they were 'sleeping together,' she thought she remembered sensing Grissom move around on the bed, which woke her up. Then he had woken up, too. She felt him pulling at the covers, and she realized he was probably cold again. She knew that they had both been woozy and only half-awake, but she thought Grissom had groaned softly and called her name. Sara recalled reassuring him and, in a half-stupor, slurring out something like, "It's okay, I'm right here, honey. Go back to sleep."
Embarrassment heated her cheeks as the realization hit. Oh, God, did I really say that? she thought, horrified. Did I really call him 'honey'? Out loud?
The only thing preventing her from running out of the room and hiding was that the memory was so hazy that she wasn't even sure if it had really happened or if she had just dreamed it. She realized that it probably didn't matter, since Grissom was so out of it that even if she had said it, he most likely hadn't heard or wouldn't even remember.
Still mulling over her possible slip of the tongue, she stepped around to Grissom's side of the bed. He was sleeping quite deeply, and there was no way of knowing just by looking at him if what she feared had happened had actually occurred. He gave no indication of whether he had awoken or changed positions or adjusted the blankets during the last couple of hours while Sara had shared the bed with him.
But Sara could tell that he was feeling better, just by looking at him. He seemed to be neither too warm nor too cold, he was breathing deeply and freely, and he was clearly resting much more comfortably than before. He looked so sweet lying there sleeping, that Sara smiled in spite of herself. She decided that she didn't care if a term of endearment for Grissom had slipped out. She really doubted he would remember, and, even if he did, she would just feign innocence and tell him that he must have been dreaming.
As she stood close to him, that almost-impossible-to-resist urge to touch him came back to her. She needed to check his temperature, which was a convenient, and even legitimate, excuse, so she tucked her hair behind her ears so she could lean down over him. Placing a hand on the top of his head, she lowered her face toward his. With extreme care, she gently touched her lips to his forehead, and then turned her face so that her cheek was against his skin. He was still feverish, but he felt cooler to her than he had earlier. His temperature had definitely gone down a couple of degrees, and Sara was relieved. Finally, she thought, a change for the better. She stood up, brushing her fingers through his somewhat disheveled curls.
"I'm glad you're finally feeling better," she whispered to him. "I'm going to leave for a little while, but I promise I'll be back." She stepped away from him and moved into the other room, opening her cell phone as she went. She pressed one button on her speed dial and waited.
"Hi, Catherine," she said when the other woman answered. "I hope I didn't wake you."
"No, I was up," Catherine replied. "What's going on? How's Grissom?"
"He's finally getting better," Sara told her. "His fever went down quite a bit."
"That's great. Glad to hear it. He looked pretty bad back in the break room. He was hurting."
"I know," Sara agreed. "But now he's showing signs of improvement." She paused, then added, "Listen, Catherine, can you do me a favor?"
"Sure, what do you need?"
"Would you be able to come over here and stay with Grissom for a while?"
"Of course I can come over, but why do you need me to? What's the matter? Aren't you staying?"
"Nothing's wrong," Sara explained. "I want to stay with him, but I really need to go home and grab a shower and some fresh clothes. I won't be gone that long."
Catherine hadn't realized how hard this whole thing must be on Sara. All this time she had been taking care of Grissom and neglecting her own needs. Catherine figured she must be totally exhausted by now. "Hey, don't worry about it," Catherine assured her. "Take your time. Do what you have to. Sleep for a few hours if you need it. I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Okay. Thanks, Catherine."
"No problem," she replied."
Sara hung up and went to stand in the doorway of Grissom's bedroom. Leaning against the doorjamb, she watched him sleep. He looked unexpectedly angelic as he lay there, deep in slumber, and Sara just smiled and stared as she waited for Catherine to arrive.
TO BE CONTINUED…JUST ONE MORE TIME…:-)