Title: A Little Bit of…Comfort

Author: drakien

Rating: PG, for a few 'naughty' words.

Summary: Grissom gets a migraine and is in need of…comfort.

A/N: First fic I've decided to share with the world in ten years (if you look really hard, you might find some of my X-Files stuff from a million years ago) so please be gentle but prolific with the reviews! Props go out to my beta, Afissa Shah. She's the only on who puts up with me!

8:25 am

It had been a long night. Sara Sidle was on her way to the locker room, just about to pack it in and head home when she was stopped by someone calling her name. Oh hell, who was she kidding? She was stopped by him calling her name. 'Does it every time,' she thought wryly.

"What's up, Grissom?"

"Look, I know shift is over, but we just had a case come in, and I'll be damned if I'm turning it over to dayshift. I need you with me on this…feel like some overtime?"

Sara, sensing something was off, looked at him closely. Grissom was squinting slightly, even in the low lighting in the hall, and pain framed his eyes. Migraine, she thought, as she replied.

"Fine by me. Who needs to sleep anyhow?" She paused, then asked, "You okay, Griss?"

"Fine, Sara," he replied with a sigh. "Just a slight headache. Get your kit and meet me in the car, okay?"

"Right behind you, boss," she said, thinking 'slight headache, my ass'. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him once they got to the crime scene.

"Hey guys, glad you could make it," shouted Jim Brass as they approached. Sara noticed that Grissom winced.

"What have we got," Sara asked.

"Melissa Stewart…age 32…someone stabbed her and kidnapped the three-year-old son. No ransom note, so see if the kidnapper left any other clues."

Sara glanced around at the flashing lights and increasing sunlight. "Griss, I'll take the perimeter and meet you inside, okay?"

"Sure," he replied tiredly.

Later On…

Having found a small pile of cigarette butts at the base of a tree in the yard, Sara went into the house to help Grissom. Going from room to room, she saw no sign of him downstairs, so proceeded to the second level of the house. Noticing movement out of the corner of her eye, Sara turned just in time to see her boss's eyes roll up in his head as he fell to the ground.

"Grissom!" she yelled, rushing over to him. Crouching down, she frantically checked for a pulse. A hand reaching up to take hold of her wrist caused Sara's eyes to meet his, which were narrowed in pain and confusion.

"Sara?"

"Hey, Griss," Sara said softly.

"What happened," he asked as Sara helped him to sit up slowly.

"You collapsed. Must be one hell of a headache. Do you think you can walk?"

"Maybe," Grissom replied doubtfully. As she helped him to stand, Sara noticed him pale as his breath hitched. Reaching out behind her, Sara grabbed an empty evidence bag and shoved it near his face just as he was noisily sick.

"Lovely," Sara said. "Okay, so you are so not staying here."

"Can't drive," he mumbled.

"I know," Sara said. "I've got it under control…my place is five minutes from here." Sara eyed him appraisingly. "Besides, you wouldn't make it back to your place."

Sara helped him over to her car and leaned him against the door as she pulled out her cell phone and hit 2 on the speed-dial.

"Hey Nick…listen, could you do me a huge favor and get down to our scene and finish processing? Perimeter and downstairs are done, so just the second story…Nicky, you my hero…no, everything's…" Sara paused as Grissom threw up on her shoes. "Fine. I just got a little dizzy, and Griss is insisting on taking me home…yeah, I feel fine; probably just low blood sugar or something, but he won't listen…Yeah, Nick, thanks. I know, I owe you one!"

Sara closed her phone and eyed her boss, then looked down at her shoes. "Lovely. Get in the truck, Griss. I'll let Brass know what's going on, and we can go."

Grissom climbed inside, keeping his eyes closed. A few minutes later, Sara returned, climbing into the driver's seat. Looking over at Grissom, concerned, she carefully put the car in gear and pulled away slowly.

Sara's Apartment, 12:42pm

The five-minute drive had taken 15, as Sara had to stop twice for Grissom to be sick. The final time had hit the front of his shirt. With a sigh, Sara parked the vehicle, got out, and walked over to his side. She opened his door, and reached in to help him out of the car. Grissom groaned at the movement, not opening his eyes.

"I know, sweetie," Sara said. "We need to get you inside. C'mon."

Sara stepped up beside him, pulled his arm across her shoulders, and placed her hand on his back. Gentle pressure at his back urged him forward. Sara let him set their pace, and when they reached the stairs, she tapped his leg to get him to step up. They eventually reached her apartment, though by this time, Grissom was sweating and his greenish pallor had returned. Opening her door quickly, she guided him straight into the bathroom. They made it just in time. Lacking grace, he dropped to his knees in front of the bowl and was sick yet again. Every heave sent white-hot pain shooting through his skull. Grissom was feeling so wretched that he had forgotten he was in Sara's bathroom…with Sara…and he jumped when someone pressed a cool cloth against the back of his neck.

"Shh…better now?" Sara asked as she held the compress in place and rubbed his back. Grissom nodded weakly. "Okay," she said softly, "here's some water; rinse your mouth. Good. Now come with me…you're going to bed."

Grissom meekly followed Sara's lead as she helped him out to her couch. Sitting him down, she perched on the coffee table and reached out to unbutton his shirt. His eyes flew open in alarm, and then slammed shut in pain as he reached up to halt the movements of her hands. Sara chuckled softly.

"Relax, Griss. Your shirt is, shall we say, somewhat lacking in the cleanliness department. I'm just going to wash it for you."

Grissom's hands hesitated for a moment, and then dropped back to his sides. Now unhindered, she continued to divest him of his shirt. She helped him get his shoes off, and covered him with a blanket as he lay down on the couch. Sara reached over and moved the wastebasket from her desk to a more accessible place. She smiled slightly as she watched him drift off to sleep.

8:00 pm

Sara awoke slowly, wincing when she discovered her stiff neck. As she began to stretch, her movements were hindered by a heavy weight pinning her legs down. Still half-asleep, Sara reached out blindly to move 'it'. When her hand encountered a bare shoulder, her eyes flew open and the events of the last 12 hours came rushing back.

Grissom had been sick twice more after she left him on the couch, and she had been there each time to hold his head. After that last time, during which Sara was pretty sure he was throwing up his toenails, Grissom could hardly stand up, much less make it back to the couch. With a sigh, she led him to her bed, which was only a few steps away. She had sat down beside him on the bed, half-afraid to leave him again. All at once, the fact that she hadn't slept in nearly 20 hours caught up to her, and she drifted off to sleep.

Sara looked down at her sleeping boss, and couldn't help but smile. At some point during the night, Grissom had repositioned himself so that his head was resting in her lap. One of his hands had claimed hers, their fingers laced tightly, while the other…'where the Hell was his other hand?' Sara thought. Following the line of his arm, she saw that it was tucked under his head, which meant… 'Shit!' Sara thought. 'Danger, Will Robinson, Danger! Boss's hand in a very compromising place! Sara, move, or Grissom's going to have a cow when he wakes up!' As quickly as she could, Sara tried to gently disengage herself. At her movements, Grissom's hands unconsciously tightened, holding her in place. His fingers twitched involuntarily as he slept, causing Sara to inhale sharply. 'Shit, shit, shit!' she thought. 'Not fair! Okay, Sara, you need to get up now, and if you wake him up, well, that's just too bad!' Since movement wasn't an option, she cleared her throat.

"Grissom," she said, shaking his shoulder gently. "C'mon, Griss, time to wake up."

Grissom's eyes opened sleepily, his expression becoming confused as he saw her. "Huh?"

"Up, Grissom," Sara said firmly. "We've got to get ready for work." Sara tugged slightly on the hand that was still held captive in his. "And unless you plan on showering with me, I really need my hand back."

Grissom, looking slightly shocked, released her hand. As if that movement clarified his fuzzy thought process, his eyes widened and he sat up quickly. Sara raised her eyebrow at him as she got up. Grissom, flustered and blushing, tried to speak.

"Sara, I…uhh…"

Sara took pity on him, and interrupted.

"It's fine, Griss. Don't worry about it."

"Sara…"

She cut him off. "Look, I'm going to grab a shower. Your shirt's in the dryer and the keys are by the door, so just take my Tahoe. I'll, uh, just need a ride in tonight." As she spoke, she was backing into the bathroom, in full retreat mode. "Bye," she said, and she shut the door.

Grissom just sat on the edge of the bed, his brain still half-asleep and trying to catch up. Okay, he thought, look at the facts. He was not at his house. Sara was here, so they were likely at her apartment. Sara had been in bed with him. He had no shirt on. Bits and fragments of the previous hours came back to him as he concentrated. New case…migraine from hell…collapsing. He winced. Puking on Sara's shoes. And Sara…

She had taken care of him. Why would she do that? His recent behavior toward her certainly wouldn't have made her want to do anything nice for him.

As his mind pondered the events of the past day, his body went through the motions of straightening the bed. Walking into the other room, he located the dryer and pulled out his now vomit-free shirt. His eyes came to rest on the keys by the door, and at that moment, he made a decision. Turning around, he retraced his steps back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed to wait.

Sara walked out of the bathroom in a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, her hair still wet. She froze when she saw Grissom still there, sitting on her bed. He had put his shirt back on (she was of two minds about that) and had straightened the covers on the bed, but was otherwise right where she had left him. Concern quickly overrode her surprise.

"Griss? You okay?" she asked.

"You know," he began, looking down at his feet. "Not many people would take care of someone who puked on their shoes."

She was slightly taken aback by the direction the conversation had gone, but recovered quickly.

"Well," she replied, "Not many people are worth taking care of after they've puked on your shoes."