A/N: The song is 'I Am A Rock,' by Simon and Garfunkel. I don't own it. Oh, and thanks for all the reviews, guys:) Sorry for the long wait.

Chapter 4: Relief and Relapse

"Grissom. Grissom, can you hear me?" Grissom groaned asthe voice suddenly filtered into his safe haven, punching the comforting blackness full of holes until the darkened morgue slowly began to take shape under his half-closed eyes. He wondered vaguely who had turned off the overhead lights. "Grissom!"

He groaned again, involuntarily, and closed his eyes. He hurt all over. Then he suddenly remembered what had happened. His eyes snapped open, and he tried to push himself up off the floor but Sara was ready for him, and held him down firmly.

"Just relax," she said softly, and Grissom's heart started to pound as he wondered how he was going to explain this one away.

"Can I get up, please?" he said hoarsely, trying not to sound irritable.

Sara gave him a look, then glanced at Doc Robbins, who had just re-entered the morgue with a clean washcloth.

Sighing, the coroner nodded. "Just take it easy, Gil," he said, motioning to the chair that stood next to the table. "Go slowly. I want you sitting in this chair."

Following Robbins' direction, Grissom slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, and then with Sara's help he stood and let his body fold into the chair tiredly. Suddenly, the world was spinning around him and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard as his stomach protested again.

"You okay?" Sara asked softly, taking a step closer.

Grissom nodded curtly; he regretted it instantly, and his face blanched as pain shot through his skull. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he dropped his head to his hands.

The sound of water running as Robbins wet the cloth pounded into Grissom's brain, and he couldn't tell when it began or when it stopped.

He sighed raggedly in relief though when someone ran the dampened cloth over his face, soothing away some of the pain.

Then he realized who it was.

"Sara," he said hoarsely, pulling away from the kneeling figure. He didn't want her to stop. He wanted to sit there and let her take care of him, but he couldn't. He couldn't let anyone take care of him.

Hearing his soft protest, Sara backed off and stood in front of her injured supervisor, arms folded and a frown plastered across her face. Grissom, sensing her irritation, slumped even further down in his chair. "Well," Sara began. "You don't want me to help you. Can I at least take you to see a doctor?"

Grissom winced at her tone of voice. "I'm fine, Sara," he muttered.

"Grissom, you just passed out," she snapped, "You're not fine. You should go see a doctor. Just to make sure that you're going to be all right."

Grissom grimaced, and rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't need a doctor, Sara," he said hoarsely. He glared at the coroner as Robbins snorted, but quickly closed his eyes once again as the light from outside the morgue played across his face.

"Gil," Robbins began, noting the look of pain that crossed his friend's face suddenly, "I won't say you absolutely have to see a doctor, but it would be a good idea."

"I don't need a doctor," Grissom snapped again. He tried to stand, but the world immediately started to spin in circles around him again and he sat back down, hard.

There was a long silence for a moment, and Grissom could feel two sets of eyes burning into him. "I..."

"Listen, Grissom," Sara began, and Grissom was startled when she knelt down in front of him again and leaned against his knee so her face was close to his. "If you let me take you to the doctor, and then home for the rest of the night, I promise I won't tell Catherine about all this."

Grissom grimaced at the thought of what the blonde would do if she found out. "Sara..."

"Grissom..." Sara returned, giving him a look.

He glared at her. There was a long moment of silence, and then he sighed. "I'll go home," he muttered. "But no doctor. I don't need one."

Sara eyed him sternly.

It was Robbins who finally broke the silence. "Listen, Gil. Just let me do a quick check-up before you go." He caught Sara's gaze, and saw the hopeful look in her eye. Then he turned back to Grissom. "Nothing that happened in here leaves this room. I promise. Just let me make sure you're going to be all right."


Forty-five minutes later Sara pulled up in front of Grissom's townhouse. The radio played softly in the background, per Grissom's orders.

He had finally been coerced into telling them about the increased frequency of his migraines, despite his many evasion tactics, and Sara had been a bit surprised at his wish to have some music on.

Robbins had told her quietly before they left that the migraines were likely brought on by the extreme stress of what he had been through and, possibly, the irregular sleeping patterns that had obviously been exhausting him for a while. The coroner had also informed Sara that if something didn't change, Grissom's migraines would only continue to get worse until they were so debilitating he would be forced to miss work for days, or possibly even weeks at a time. The prospect was not pleasant, either for Grissom or Sara, and Sara prayed to God someone would find a way to get through to him and help him.

As things stood, she was willing to do anything to make that happen.


They had gotten out of the lab with little trouble, though they had been forced to take it slow so Grissom could keep his feet under him.

When Sara had told Catherine she was taking Grissom home, the blonde had stared at her in surprise for a moment before smiling. "Okay," she said. "I'll take over. You are coming back, right?"

Sara paused a moment before answering carefully. "I don't know."

Catherine shrugged. "Fair enough. Make sure he's all right, hey?"

"Yeah," Sara replied.

"I'll tell Nicky to keep working on that BE. I think he said he's got something really big on it. If you get back tonight you can keep working on Grissom's DB."

There was an awkward silence as Catherine's smile faded, and she looked down. "Listen, Sara. Will you... could you tell Grissom I'm sorry?"

Sara looked at her in surprise as the blonde continued.

"I should have tried to be more understanding... it's just... I'm not used to having to be careful with him when he screws up in the social department. Normally I can just tear into him and get my point across easily, but now... I just have a hard time believing that anything could mess him up this bad, he's so... sometimes it seems like nothing could ever get to him, you know?"

Sara met her gaze, and nodded. "Yeah," she replied softly, thinking of all the cases where she had nearly lost it, and Grissom had remained stoic and unresponsive. "Yeah, I know."

With a sigh, Catherine turned back to the bloody t-shirt she was inspecting. "None of us can ever understand what he's going through," she murmured, "but that doesn't mean we can't try and help him. We just have to make him understand it's ok to ask for help."


Sara glanced across at Grissom suddenly, wondering if he knew how much they all really cared about him. Grissom, sensing her gaze on him, looked out his window so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes. He heard her sigh.

"Thanks for the ride," he muttered. He was about to get out of the SUV when suddenly the song playing on the radio caught his ear. He paused. Sara looked at him curiously, studying his reactions, as they listened together.

A winter's day
In a deep and dark December
I am alone
Gazing from my window
To the streets below
On a freshly fallen
Silent shroud of snow
I am a rock
I am an island

I build walls
A fortress deep and mighty
That none may penetrate
I have no need of friendship
Friendship causes pain
It's laughter
And it's loving I disdain
I am a rock
I am an island

Grissom closed his eyes as the words washed over him, the bright sound of the song unable to overshadow the fresh wave of pain that he felt. This was hitting way too close to home.

Don't talk of love
Well I've heard the word before
It's sleeping in my memory
I won't disturb the slumber
Of feelings that have died
If I never loved I never would have cried
I am a rock
I am an island

Once again, he could feel Sara's gaze burning into him. I'm sorry, he thought silently, willing her to understand.

I have my books
And my poetry
To protect me
I am shielded in my armor
Hiding in my room
Safe within my womb
I touch no one and no one touches me
I am a rock
I am an island
And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries

"Nice song," Sara said softly, sensing his distress. As the words of the song repeated themselves in her head, she could understand why.

Grissom shoved open his door abruptly. "Sure," he muttered.

He was halfway up his front step when suddenly a wave of dizziness hit him and he put out a hand to steady himself; there was nothing there to grab, and he went to the ground, hard.

"Grissom!" Sara was there in an instant, checking him all over to make sure he wasn't hurt. It worried her that instead of appearing the least bit embarrassed he merely gazed at her with a dazed sort of look in his eyes. Gently, she took his hand and helped him regain his footing. His skin was hot to the touch, and she almost pulled away in surprise. She was beginning to have doubts about how 'ok' he was. Robbins had said he would be fine, but why did he feel as though he had a fever?

"Listen, I'm going to call Catherine, all right?" she said as she helped him up the rest of the steps to the door of his townhouse. If anyone knew what to do, it would be Catherine. Despite their argument earlier, her and Grissom were practically best friends. Sara felt a twinge of sadness and regret at the thought. Once Grissom and her had been that close, if not closer.

"No," Grissom told her, sounding like a petulant child as he pulled away unsteadily. "You said you wouldn't tell her."

"Hey, hey, all right," Sara grabbed his arm again as he nearly overbalanced off the side of the step. "I won't."

He seemed reassured by her words, and waited silently as she unlocked his door and led him in. She offered up a silent prayer of thanks that he was showing no inclination to tell her to get lost.

Once inside, she went to turn on a light but Grissom's hand stopped her. "Don't," he whispered hoarsely, and she immediately pulled her hand away, giving herself a mental kick for forgetting about his migraine already.

"You need to get some sleep," she informed him as he moved away from her.

He didn't answer her, and suddenly the room was illuminated slightly by the glow of a small lamp on the table next to his sofa. The light was soft, but Grissom still turned away from it as it stabbed at his eyes. "Just a second," he muttered as he stumbled to his kitchen and opened a cupboard.

Sara watched silently as he pulled out his bottle of migraine pills and opened it. His shaking hands dropped it, and he swore as the pills spilled all over the counter. For a moment he tried clumsily to pick them up himself, but he couldn't focus and his fingers couldn't seem to hold onto the tiny pills. He finally gave up with a defeated sigh.

"Sara..." he turned to her, his eyes pained and pleading at the same time.

The look was all she needed, and she was at his side instantly. "I've got it, Gris," she reassured him softly, quickly and efficiently cleaning up the spill. She was surprised at the way he was acting – it wasn't like him, whether he was in a bad mood or a good mood.

She handed two of the pills to Grissom, along with a glass of water. "Here you go," she said, watching as swallowed and downed the rest of the glass of water.

When he was finished, she filled the glass again, and he drank that as well before shaking his head as she went to take it again. He tried to set it down gently, but the sharp clink of it coming in contact with the counter still caused him to wince and put a hand to his head.

"You should really get some rest," Sara said again as he leaned against the counter and closed his eyes.

"Yeah," he responded hoarsely, his mind straying momentarily to the images that would most likely haunt his sleep.

He staggered into his bedroom, and Sara took the time to take in the living room without distraction. It wasn't so different from the last time she had been here, during the 'strip stranger' case, but it was all in the little details. The way it was a little less organized, with books strewn everywhere, opened to random pages; the way the blanket on the couch was rumpled, and the pillow under it still showed the indent of where his head had rested. There was a piece of toast and a picked-over bagel sitting on his kitchen table. They looked as though they had been there for days, and when she opened his fridge she noticed that there was plenty of food, but everything had already passed its expiration date.

Her mind was bombarded by a flurry of questions that she couldn't even begin to imagine the answers to.

Why was he sleeping on the couch? Why were all his books, normally so neat and organized, out of order? Why wasn't he eating?

Her question and answer session was cut short when he reappeared minutes later, having changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. "You don't have to stay," he said as he slumped down on the couch.

Sara followed, exasperated. "Yes. I think I should stay. I want to stay. And when I said you should get some sleep I meant you should get some sleep in a proper bed!"

He mumbled something unintelligible in reply as he stretched out on his stomach and rested his head on his arms. With his forehead creased with exhaustion and pain, Sara couldn't help but feel incredibly sorry for him, and she sat down next to him on the couch, hesitantly reaching out to touch his shoulder. He stiffened and breathed in sharply at the contact, but she didn't take her hand away, and proceeded to rub his back soothingly. Slowly, after what seemed like an eternity, his breathing became regulated, and he relaxed.

"Thanks," he finally said, his voice low and sleepy.

"Uh... you're welcome," Sara replied, trying to do what she was doing without really thinking about it. Suddenly, she remembered what Catherine had said to her.

"Uh, Grissom?"

"Mmmm?"

"I talked to Catherine before we left, and..."

Grissom turned his head slightly to look at her. "You said..."

"I know, Grissom," she interrupted. "I didn't tell her anything. We just talked for a bit, and she wanted me to tell you ... she wanted me to tell you she's sorry, for earlier."

With a sigh, Grissom turned his face away again. "She didn't have to apologize. I shouldn't have gotten so angry at Nick like that. He didn't deserve it."

Sara wanted to say something, but she forced herself to stay silent. That was between Grissom, Catherine and Nick, and she wasn't going to get into the middle of it.

There was another moment of silence, and Sara moved to his shoulders, working out the knots.

He groaned and tensed a little as she worked, but quickly relaxed again as he felt sleep coming over him. It was the first time in three weeks that he had been completely relaxed, and he thought that maybe he would actually be able to rest without any nightmares or screaming.

It was Sara, the source of his relief, who ruined it. "Grissom?" She leaned down closer to his ear and said his name again when he didn't answer. "Gris?"

"What?" he said tiredly, his eyes still closed.

She hesitated for a moment, and then phrased her question slowly and carefully.

"What happened in that grocery store?"

He stiffened once again and sat up, pulling away from her so they were at opposite ends of the couch. "Four people were murdered," he said curtly. "That's what happened."

Sara stared at him. There had only been three victims that were killed. Was he feeling guilty about killing the robber?

The press had labeled him a hero. He had 'brought a murderer to justice,' as one paper had put it. She didn't understand how he could feel guilty about killing the guy after what he had done to those other poor people, and what he had been about to do to Grissom.

"Grissom, you killed that man because you had to," she said softly. Slowly, she inched her way down the couch towards him as his knee began bouncing up and down forcefully. "You're not a murderer. You were as much a victim as..."

"I'm not a victim," he snapped angrily, keeping his gaze turned away.

"Grissom..." Sara berated herself for bringing this up, upsetting him, but it was too late to take it back now.

"Don't 'Grissom' me, Sara, I know what I did and who I am."

His words and the bitterness incorporated in them hit her hard, and she froze as he suddenly rose from the couch and made his way to the door unsteadily. "I think you should go," he said hoarsely. "Thanks for... everything. I'll see you tomorrow night at work."

Say something, Sara thought as she walked numbly to the door. Do something. But she couldn't get her body to listen to her, and she walked out silently. She had tried so hard to get him to talk to her; had tried so hard to see what was hidden behind his shield. As the door closed behind her, she felt tears start to run down her face. You failed him, she thought tiredly, just when he needed you the most.


When Grissom heard her SUV start up, he released the breath he had been holding and slid tiredly down to the floor where he sat, head in hands, and tried to control his trembling body. Why did you tell her to leave? hethought, hearing his own confusion and pain as clearly as if he had spoken aloud. He knew that she was only trying to help. So why did you have to push her away? he shouted at himself, feeling a wetness building behind his eyes as once again the overwhelming feeling of aloneness washed over him, and the room resounded with screams.

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he flinched and rubbed it away frantically. Blood. Their blood; on his face, his hands, his arms...

He curled into a tighter ball, welcoming the physical ache of his ribs as he buried his face in his arms.

The soft glow of the lamp flickered suddenly and went out, and he was left alone in the dark; he was completely immersed in the shadows, both real and imaginary, and as far as he could see, there was no way out.