Trauma
Disclaimers: you know the routine
Rating: R
Chapter 11
"Dr. Grissom. Please, have a seat."
As he lowered himself into the overstuffed, well-worn leather chair, Gil Grissom took in his surroundings, and the man ruffling through the stacks of paper on the desk, with a trained eye.
Dr. Ari Hademenos was a short man with shoulder-length black hair that was racing to see what would win; the gray at the fringes or baldness. A walrus mustache and thick glasses seemed to take over his face, his clothes looked to be in a constant state of rumple. Just like his office. The room had a strange sense of ordered chaos. The kind of chaos that, to an outsider, might appear as though the good doctor's filing cabinet had exploded, but amazingly, Ari could walk to any pile, reach about half-way in, and his hand would emerge with the exact file or document he needed.
It reminded Grissom of his own office. As a result, he automatically liked Dr. Hademenos. The paper chaos gave him the feeling that the psychologist cared more for the patient than the paper.
"Dr. Grissom, since this is our first meeting, I will need to get a brief background from you. You understand, it is just to give me a reference point, and to give us both some insight to your actions and reactions in our sessions."
Grissom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This wasn't going to be easy.
"O.K. here goes… but, please, drop the 'Dr.' call me Gil or just Grissom." Another breath. "I was raised by my mother in a single-parent household in California…"
Grissom was surprised when, what seemed like just a few minutes later, Dr. Hademenos announced that his hour was up.
"Dr... Gil, I know that this is not easy for you, and I will warn you, it is only going to get harder. However, just by being here, you are admitting to yourself that you are willing to accept help through this. You and I both know that therapy will take a while, but I think that you are up to the challenge." Ari shook his hand and smiled at him. "See you tomorrow, Gil."
Grissom was exhausted when he finally got home. After a long shift, he had stayed late to do some paperwork and gone straight to his Dr. appointment. Only stopping long enough to call Sara on his way. His still healing body protested as he climbed out of his Denali and made his way slowly up the walk to his door. Tiredly, he twisted the key in the lock and turned the knob. As the door swung silently open, he heard Sara's voice coming from the direction of his bedroom.
"Stop it, that hurts! I said NO!"
He heard the low rumble of a man's voice, but couldn't make out the words .A loud crash followed by the sound of breaking glass assaulted his ears just as he crossed the threshold of his bedroom door. He saw Sara backing out of his bathroom with her hands in front of her as if to ward off something evil. There was blood smeared on the front of her shirt, and it was dripping from her left hand.
"Don't you come near me again, I'm warning you!" The squeak in her voice took away any authority she might have been striving for.
Sara had not seen Grissom. Neither had the man who was coming out of the bathroom reaching for her. As a result, they also had not seen the fist headed for the man's jaw that sent him flying into the wall. Before either of them could react, Warrick Brown was pinned to the wall with Grissom's powerful forearm pushing at his throat. With his hands up, palms out, in the universal 'I surrender', green eyes locked with blue.
"She's mine!" was ground out through gritted teeth. So quiet that Sara hadn't heard it.
"I know." was whispered back.
"GRISSOM! Let him go! What do you think you are doing?" Sara was tugging on his arm, yelling at him.
Suddenly recognizing the face he was glaring at, he immediately dropped his arm and stepped back. His eyes apologizing more than his words ever could.
"Griss, Warrick knew that you had a doctor appointment today, so he came over to keep me company until you got home." She told him in a soft voice.
"What about the blood?" he asked, raising her hand to inspect it.
Sara ducked her head and grinned sheepishly." I was slicing a tomato for a salad and the knife slipped. You have very sharp knives, Grissom. Warrick was trying to clean and bandage it when you came in."
"But…. You said he was hurting you!"
"Yeah, he poured peroxide mixed with alcohol on it, and it stung like hell!"
"Oh, damn," Grissom muttered under his breath. "I'm sorry, Rick," he said, turning to his long-time friend. "I …I thought…"
" Hey, don't worry 'bout it, Griss. I understand how it must've sounded. Especially after… everything." Instantly, Grissom knew that their private exchange from earlier would remain just that. Private.
"Uh, Griss, you should know that Sara broke your bathroom mirror."
"I did not!"
"Well, it wasn't my hand jerking away to smash into it."
"Hey, that concoction of yours hurt!"
"Don't be such a baby!"
"ENOUGH!" Grissom had had all he could take of this conversation.
"Warrick, thank you for taking care of Sara. I'm sorry about hitting you, but please, go home. I am going to bed." His body ached even more after the adrenaline rush, and he needed sleep.
After Warrick finished bandaging her hand and left, Sara cleaned up the mess in the bathroom while Grissom changed clothes. He closed the heavy blinds and flopped onto the bed. When Sara emerged into the darkened room just minutes later, it was to the sound of soft snores. She smiled to herself and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.
An hour later, Sara climbed into bed behind him. Careful not to wake him, she didn't even touch him; she scooted close enough to feel his heat. She loved him so much, sometimes it actually physically hurt. But, he didn't want her before, so why should he want her now that she was 'damaged goods'? He was only being a friend or just feeling guilty.
She curled on her side facing away from him, and cried herself to sleep.
