"Hi." He whispered, looking at the forlorn shadow of a woman who used to be the vibrant ray in his daily existence. Now however, she was the shell of a person who used to joke around, adding an extra oomph into his day. Sara didn't respond. She just stood in the doorway staring at her hand in disbelief. Where had the blood come from? Uneasy seconds slipped by. "Uh, Sara, may I come in?" Sara started and fixed her gaze on him.
"What do you want Grissom? Why did you come?" 'Why do you always come when I'm ready to leave?'
"I uh, I just wanted to see you." he fumbled. Sara's anger began to slowly creep back into her body, weaving in and out of her veins like a slithering snake. So, now, she was invisible at work too.
"Well, you saw me. Goodbye. She raised her injured hand to slam the door shut when Grissom took a step forward, grabbing her bloody palm.
"No, Sara. I don't want to go." Grissom gingerly rubbed her lotioned hand with his thumb.
"Tough luck! I guess you'll just have to live with it like I've had to live with your crap for the last year." She spat out at him, trying to wring her hand away but in turn embedding the glass deeper than ever. Sara let out an anguished groan as her knees buckled under the excruciating pain. Grissom, the knight in shining armor, caught her by the arms before she had a chance to personalize with her carpeting. Stepping over the thresh hold, he was now in her personal space. "Let me help you Sara. I know that you're in pain. Just, please, I want to make it better." She smelled his intoxicating scent, letting it fog up her thoughts.
"Griss, it hurts." She stated succinctly, inches away from his face, hand long forgotten. Grissom carefully brought up her bleeding palm and pressed his lips to it in a slow kiss.
"I know. I promise, I'll fix it." He licked off the blood that was on his lips. "I'll take your pain away if you will just let me." Sara took a deep breath hoping it would cleanse her body and let her think a little straighter. The opposite happened however, and she just tried to determine what aftershave Grissom had used that morning.
"I, I don't know Griss. What if it's too late"" Her palm closed in on itself defensively in his own. Her eyes pleading with his own.
"It's not, Sara. It's not too late! Please Sara, I can help you. I want to help you. Please, I want to help..." he opened her fingers once more, "us. Please? It's not too late. Not unless you want it to be."
"I, I..." 'I love you.' Her last thought, before the dark oblivion overtook her withered body, fluttered like a lost butterfly in her head.