Disclaimer: The characters of CSI:LV belong to their creators, not me. I'm just borrowing them so they can have more ... fun ... than they do on the show. At least, unless they prove me wrong. That would be very cool.

Spoilers: through Season 4

I've modified the environment (her apartment/his townhouse) to fit my story. Thanks to everyone for their kind words – they mean a lot to me.

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Grissom unlocked the door leading to the kitchen and slid the armful of items he held onto the counter. Heading back to the garage, he found that Sara had managed to get herself out of the cab and was holding onto the open door.

"Let's get you inside and your foot elevated." Grissom approached Sara tentatively and reached around her waist again. "Is that it from the car?" he asked.

"Yeah", Sara exhaled. Feeling Sara's muscles move beneath his hand as they headed to the kitchen chair, Grissom marveled at the deceptive latent strength her lanky exterior hid. He smiled inwardly, thinking that a nice analogy for Sara herself: beautiful, strong, self-confident...Sara's weight shifted and Grissom adjusted accordingly as she eased herself down.

Pulling the other kitchen chair closer, Grissom sat facing her then reached for her injured foot. "Grissom, I can do that. These are my running shoes." Sara protested meaningfully.

"Don't worry, Sara," he replied, steadily untying the laces, "my olfactory senses have endured much worse." He glanced up at Sara to find her staring back at him in amazement and he couldn't resist shooting her a quick wink.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. This actually felt ... nice, she thought. Like how we used to be. Even though Grissom had eased her shoe off as carefully as he could, Sara had to work hard to suppress a yelp of pain. They stared in surprise at her foot in Griss' lap, the toe end covered with blood.

"Damn it!" At his oath Sara assured, "Griss, it doesn't hurt that much."

"Sara are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" Grissom questioned, already knowing the answer.

"Look, it's stopped bleeding, let's just see what the damage is first okay?" Sara gestured towards her foot. "I can wiggle my toes, so nothing's broken...ouch!" She winced, "Okay, let's just get the sock off."

Seeing her determination, Grissom got out the first aid kit and an empty grocery bag from under the kitchen counter then handed her the bowl of water and cloth square. He pulled out the scissors then maneuvered the chair perpendicular to Sara's. She smirked at the gloves he had automatically donned. "Habit," he replied wiggling his fingers at her.

Placing her ankle on his knee, he slid his fingers into his sock then carefully cut down towards her toes. Once he got to the distal metatarsal he stopped and looked up at Sara. "Ready?" he questioned. She grasped the edges of the bowl and nodded.

Delicately he peeled the sock away, pausing when Sara indrawn breath coincided with resistance. She wet a corner of the cloth then passed it to Grissom, who gently rubbed as much of the dried blood he could from her toes trying to free the sock. "It looks like you've removed the majority of your toenail." He pronounced, looking up at Sara. "I don't think I can get the sock off without pulling it completely off." He looked at her skeptically, "I don't think I..."

Sara lay the bowl on the table, then in a swift lunge pulled the sock and consequentially her nail off in one fell swoop. "Fuck!" She swore, then dropped the sock into the waiting bag and sat back. Grissom was so shocked by her speed that he had barely flinched.

She met Grissom's eyes then had to smile at his open-mouthed expression. "I'm a rip-the-bandage-off kinda person Griss." He closed his mouth, then tipped his head in acknowledgement.

He mused about that revelation as he proceeded to finish cleaning off the blood on her foot. That sums her up, he thought, straight-forward and fearless. His internal warning system cautioned him and he backed away from following that potentially dangerous train of thought. Focus on the situation Gil. He peered down at her big toe and had her wiggle them. Surprisingly not much fresh blood had welled up and her ease of movement meant no broken bones. At least, it meant that to Sara.

After a brief argument about x-rays, and settling once Sara to agree to go to her regular doctor later, Grissom applied anti-bacterial ointment to the bandage and finished bandaging her up. Propping her foot on the chair he had been sitting on, Grissom cleaned up while they talked easily about the BE case she had worked on last night.

They agreed that an easy dinner should be next on the agenda, so Grissom started pulling out eggs and various items from the fridge. Sara complimented him on her spinach and portabello mushroom omelet. "I'm just glad you're not a vegan," he replied, "I don't think I'd have anything to serve if you were." Sara smiled, happy that he actually remembered on his own and didn't have to be reminded with a brick.

Grissom watched Sara smile down at her plate and wondered why. Munching on a cookie, he was inwardly grateful that things seemed to be going well for a change. But the reality of Sara sitting in his kitchen, barefoot and wearing that tiny pair of shorts that exposed too much of her lovely legs was beginning to affect him. Sara on the other hand, abruptly realized that she was still grimy from her run and dearly hoped her deodorant was working as advertised.

"Could I use your shower Grissom?" she asked. She knew he was starting to feel awkward with her in his personal space. She hadn't thought beyond getting her foot taken care of and now the implications of their decision set in.

"Uh, yeah, let me check the bathroom." Relieved at her suggestion that would let him gather his composure, Grissom stepped into the guest bathroom to check for towels. He stood in the doorway, evaluating the small shower. There was no way that Sara would be able to keep her injured toe dry.

Lips pursed, Grissom headed to his bedroom and the master bath and checked supplies there. Well, as long as Sara keeps this to herself I don't mind sharing this with her, he thought, faintly embarrassed. Not even Catherine knows I have one of these.

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