Chapter 6: Progress?
Lying there beside Sara, Grissom slept for five solid, uninterrupted hours. It was the best rest he had had in three long weeks, but it didn't last.
It seemed like merely minutes to him before the comforting blackness was obliterated by a cloud of red blood. It ran down his skin, the coppery taste filling his mouth and nose, suffocating him, weakening him, and he could only watch in horror as three innocent people were murdered before him. Over and over again their blood sprayed across his face, and he cried out in anguish as he struggled against the fear that paralyzed him.
Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. He woke on the couch next to Sara, soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. Remembering where he was and who he was with, he froze momentarily. But she remained lost in sleep, and he eased his still trembling body off the couch and stumbled away across the room. He rubbed frantically at his arms, trying desperately to scrub away the blood that seemed to cling to him, searing his skin like flames. His body was racked with dry, gasping sobs, and all he could think was that he needed to wash off the blood; he needed to be clean. Lunging to his feet once again he made his way to his bathroom and turned on the shower.
The water was icy cold and he plunged into it without even taking off his clothes, allowing the blood to wash away. He swore he could see it as he watched, a red, swirling vortex disappearing into the black hole of the drain. It was like an eye, he thought as he bowed his head under the stream of water. An eye that always watched; its cold gaze condemned him, as he condemned himself.
"Stop it!" he screamed, but his words were drowned out by the rushing water and he pounded his fist against the wall of the shower until it was horribly bruised, and blood ran down his arm.
When Sara finally woke up, she froze; where Grissom should have been there was only cold emptiness.
"Grissom!" she called out as she sat bolt upright. Then the sound of his shower running broke through her momentary panic, and she heaved a sigh of relief. "Give me a heart attack, why don't you," she muttered. She wasn't really mad at him though. Just worried out of her mind. It had nearly killed her earlier when she had opened her eyes to find him asleep, his face still wet with tears. And there had been nothing she could do for him. Now, she wondered how he would act around her; she didn't think falling asleep with his arms wrapped around her had really been part of his plan for the night. But she had to admit she wasn't upset about it. She had liked falling asleep next to him, and waking up with his arms around her...
She shook her head at the thought, pushing it away. Forget it, Sara, she told herself, just forget it.
Stretching a bit, she made her way to the kitchen to see if she could find any good food. No such luck, though, and she went back to sit on the couch and idly flip through the channels as she waited for Grissom.
Half an hour later, with the shower running and Grissom still not making an appearance, she began to get worried. Pushing herself up off the couch, she made her way down the hall to his room and the closed door of his on-suite.
Grissom's whole body was numb. He could no longer feel the cold as the water pounded down on him or the pain in his right fist, and he gave a shuddering sigh as he leaned wearily against the wall of the shower.
He hadn't even realized how much time had gone by until he heard Sara banging on his bathroom door.
"Grissom! You all right in there?"
He tried to yell back, but he couldn't seem to get his vocal cords to work.
"Grissom!" she called again, and the pounding became louder.
"Yeah!" he finally managed to call hoarsely, hating the tremor in his voice. "I'll be out in a sec!"
"All right, Gris. Just wanted to make sure you were all right."
At her words, Grissom remained silent. Then, after a few more seconds, he heard her close his bedroom door as she returned to the living room. Turning off the shower he stepped out, his wet clothes creating a sizeable puddle on the bathroom floor.
It was only when he was out of the cold stream of water that the numbness faded and the chill began to set in. He shivered uncontrollably as he pulled off his shirt one-handed and dropped it in an unceremonious heap on the floor. His trembling fingers were just fumbling with his belt when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. For a minute he could only stare. God, he was different.
Catherine was right; he had lost weight. And now, after his ice cold shower, his body was ghostly pale, the horrible bruise still fading slowly from his chest. Against the white of his skin the scar from the bullet-wound barely stood out, but it was still there, a constant reminder.
The blue eyes that stared back at him from the mirror were dark and haunted, filled with fear and pain. Hesitantly, he reached a hand up to his face. Those weren't his eyes. They couldn't be his eyes. But they were, and as that thought sunk in his whole body tensed and he ripped his gaze from the mirror. The cold wasn't the only thing causing him to shiver anymore. "No," he mumbled as he slumped against the wall and slid to the floor weakly.
Fifteen minutes later Sara heard Grissom come out of his room. She kept her eyes on the forensic journal she was reading and smiled, tilting her head slightly to acknowledge his presence. "Hey," she said warmly. "How did you sleep?"
He didn't answer for a moment as he stared at her intensely. If she knew he had slept beside her, she was either very good at hiding it, or really didn't care.
"Ok, I guess," he finally replied, and the tight, rough quality of his voice caused her to glance up in consternation.
He was unprepared for her sudden, intense gaze, and for a fleeting second before he masked it she caught a glimpse of the pain in his eyes.
"You all right?" she asked cautiously.
Grissom nodded curtly before turning away and glancing at the clock. Letting out a sigh of frustration when he saw they still had two hours before shift started, he began pacing around the apartment.
He could sense her eyes on him, and he kept a tight rein on his physical reactions to the cold and pain he had inflicted on himself. His injured hand was cradled carefully in his pocket; the action was to reduce jarring but as he hadn't yet noticed the prominent bruising, or allowed himself to really assess the damage, keeping it hidden also unintentionally saved him from Sara's inevitable scrutiny. Momentarily, at least...
After a few minutes, as he stood staring blankly out the window Sara spoke.
"You hungry?"
Grissom glanced at her and focused on keeping his voice level. "Not especially," he murmured, shrugging indifferently. What he really wanted was some coffee – hot coffee.
It appeared, however, that Sara either hadn't heard or wasn't listening as she stood and began fishing around in her bag for her keys. "We can either go out somewhere, or I can run out and grab some groceries and make something. You don't have anything in your fridge. Where's the closest grocery store..." She trailed off suddenly as Grissom's eyes widened and his whole body stiffened.
Mentally, she swore. "Grissom," she whispered, walking over to him slowly. "Grissom, I'm sorry, I didn't..."
"It doesn't matter," he answered harshly, his voice trembling slightly as he shook his head to clear it of the images. Abruptly, he turned away.
"Listen," Sara said, trying to amend her mistake, "let's just get out of here. We can stop at the diner down the street from the lab and maybe head in early."
"I'm not hungry, Sara," he growled, his jaw clenching as he stubbornly kept his gaze fixed on the opposite wall.
Sara bit back a sigh of frustration and reached out her hand to grab his chin and make him look at her.
"Sara..." Grissom jerked back from her touch at the same instant Sara herself pulled away.
"Grissom!" she cried, her hand returning to touch his face as the shock wore off. "You're freezing!"
"No," he mumbled, "I'm fine."
But now that she studied him closely Sara could see the slight trembling of his body; the way his shoulders hunched; the way his hands pushed deep into his pockets; the way his arms pressed tightly against his sides to conserve heat. He was wearing a black sweater zipped all the way with the collar turned up, but he still appeared to be cold.
"Hey, Grissom, look at me," she said firmly.
He refused, and once again she took his face in her hands and forced him to look. "Grissom..."
He tried to jerk away but her hand was firm, and the anger in his eyes was suddenly overshadowed with fear as his heart started to race. "Don't, Sara!" he gasped hoarsely.
Without thinking he reached up and pushed at her hand.
He realized his mistake instantly as pain shot through his own hand, and he was powerless to stop her as she caught sight of the bruising and cuts and grabbed his wrist. The colour drained from her face; he winced as she touched his knuckles gently.
"Grissom, what the hell happened? You're whole body is like an ice cube, and your knuckles look like you punched a wall!"
"Nothing happened," he said softly, his eyes pleading with her to leave it alone.
"This isn't nothing," she snapped, ignoring his look. "It looks like it might be broken." She kept a tight hold on his wrist as she dragged him over to the couch and sat him down.
"Stay here," she growled.
"Sara!" he called as she disappeared into his kitchen.
But she wasn't listening. He came to his feet in anger as she called over her shoulder, "I'm getting you some ice, and then I'm going to take you to the hospital to get that x-rayed."
"God damn it, Sara," he snapped, and followed her into the kitchen. When she opened his freezer and started rummaging through it for some ice he reached up and slammed it closed with his good hand. "Sara..."
"What the hell, Grissom?" she cried, turning on him. "You need to put some ice on that. You need to get it looked at!"
"No," he replied, his voice trembling, "I don't."
They stood there for the longest time, eyeing each other, one wary, the other confused. Grissom was the first to look away, and he didn't know why but it sent another surge of anger through him. "Get out," he whispered hoarsely.
"What?" Sara questioned, her voice soft.
"I said get out. You know where the door is."
The words hit her like a slap in the face, and she felt her insides go cold. No, she told herself firmly, pushing away the fear that was building in her. Don't let him do this.
"I'm not going, Grissom," she informed him calmly.
For a moment he only stared at her disbelievingly, and then his face reddened and his jaw clenched. "Get the hell out, Sara!" he yelled, leaning closer so his face was right in hers. "This is my place, my rules, and I want you gone!"
Sara stood her ground. "I'm sorry, Grissom, but no."
Grissom swore, feeling panic pushing its way past his anger. "Fine then," he snarled. "I'll leave. You stay here. Go ahead, make yourself at home."
Shoving past her, he was striding towards the door when she grabbed his arm. "Grissom," she began, but he whirled on her, fury growing inside him.
"Don't touch me!" he shouted. "Leave me the hell alone!"
She didn't say anything; she merely stood there, regarding him calmly, hiding her fear as he threw his hands up in the air. He won't hurt you, she told herself.
And then all his anger drained from him and he slumped against the wall. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, and he felt shame rush through him as he realized he had been going to hit her.
"Sara," he said, his voice broken as he looked away. She cut him off, forcing herself to keep going.
"Just let me take you to get it looked at, Grissom," she said softly, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. She was relieved when he didn't pull away. "You should get it looked at."
"Sara, shift starts in an hour and a half."
Sara grimaced at the thought. She wanted him to stay home, but she knew that there was no way that was going to happen; she decided the best thing to do would be to just let him do what he wanted in that regard. "If we go now we'll probably have time to get some dinner before we have to be there."
"Sara, I can't..."
"Humour me, Grissom," she pleaded.
Half-an hour later Grissom found himself sitting on a bench in Doctor Henderson's office, waiting for the results from his x-rays. Sara sat beside him and when he glanced around the room he caught her watching him. It made him nervous, and he looked away. Unconsciously, his leg started moving, bouncing up and down rapidly. It was a few minutes before Sara reached over and put a hand on his knee, stopping him.
He glanced up in surprise, and she raised her eyebrows at him.
"You're shaking the whole bench, Gris," she said amusedly.
"Sorry," he murmured, looking down. He heard her sigh, and then she took her hand away. God damn it, he thought. Way to go. He didn't even notice when his knee started bouncing again automatically, and this time Sara didn't stop him.
Is he trying to be funny? she thought as the bench started to shake again. But then she looked over at him and saw the blank look in his eyes as he stared at the wall. He wasn't even aware that he was doing it.
She started to say something, then decided against it. Maybe it was just a nervous reaction. He never did it before, she thought, frowning, trying to remember if he had. Then she sighed again. Before... what was he like before? Before the robbery... she hated that she could barely remember what he had been like then. Had he been this closed off? This unsure of himself? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. He sure as hell hadn't been this scared of the world.
It hadn't even been that long, and already she was becoming resigned to the fact that he was too fearful to ever ask for help.
She glanced over at him again, and saw him rub his side absently with his good hand. She swallowed the lump in her throat when she remembered; that was where he had been shot. Did it still hurt him? She knew his ribs must; nobody who hurt their ribs that badly healed perfectly in three and a half weeks. If there was any pain, though, he didn't show it. Probably afraid we'll think he's weak, she told herself bitterly. Then she cringed at her own thoughts. Who the hell was she to be angry with him? She had no right.
Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly as the door to the office opened, and Doctor Henderson came in.
He smiled at them. "Well, good news Mr. Grissom. You haven't broken anything."
Grissom nodded.
"So he won't need a cast?" Sara broke in.
"Not a plaster one," the doctor replied, "but he has sprained his wrist so I'll wrap it just the same. You should probably put some antiseptic on those knuckles, as well. Keep the cuts clean."
It took only moments to get Grissom's hand bandaged and wrapped up, and they thanked the doctor and were out the door. They still had an hour before shift started.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Sara said teasingly as they got into her SUV. Grissom merely grunted in reply. Sara threw up a prayer and pressed on.
"You want to take the night off?" she asked, as though it wasn't a big deal at all.
He didn't even look at her as she started the vehicle. "No."
She let out a breath; waited a beat. "Ok. You want to talk about what happened?"
"No," he said again.
Sara heard the note of anxiety in his tone, and moved on. "Where do you want to eat?"
"I don't," he replied.
Let it go, she told herself firmly. Let him be. "Ok," she said again. "Can we stop somewhere anyways, though? I'm pretty hungry."
"Whatever."
Sara didn't reply as they exited the hospital parking lot. She couldn't think of anything to say.
Grissom was surprised when they pulled up in front of the restaurant down the street from the lab and Sara parked and got out. "You're going in?" he asked. He had thought she would use the drive-through.
Sara glanced at him. "Yeah," she said. "You coming?"
"Sara, I told you, I'm not hungry," he reminded her irritably.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "I know. You don't have to have anything, but I actually want to sit down to eat. If you want you can wait in the car."
With that, she closed the door and headed towards the restaurant. She didn't want to just leave him there, but she couldn't stay and baby him. Her face split in a grin when she heard a car door slam behind her, and footsteps rushing to catch up.
"Fine," he grumbled as he fell into step beside her. "I'll come in. But I'm not eating anything."
Sara shrugged. "Suit yourself."
The place wasn't very full; there were only a handful of people scattered throughout, some at booths and others at the front counter. The soft mumble of voices that filled the room and the warmth that surrounded them as they walked in made Grissom feel safe. Sara watched as he visibly relaxed and led the way to a corner booth, a sense of satisfaction filling her.
Automatically, Grissom took the seat from which he could see the door and the rest of the room. It wasn't until Sara's order arrived and the smell of her vegetarian burger drifted across the table to him that he realized he really was hungry.
Sara saw the look on his face as she began to eat, and she hid her smile. "What is it?"
"Pardon?" He glanced up at her.
"What is it? You're looking at me funny."
"I am? Sorry."
There was a moment of silence as Sara continued eating. Then Grissom's stomach growled, and Sara couldn't hide her grin this time. "You sure you don't want something?" she asked.
Grissom shook his head. "I said I don't want anything, Sara."
"Come on, Grissom, I'll buy you hamburger or something. Vegetarian, mind you, I refuse to sit her and watch you eat a regular burger. Then I won't be able to eat."
"Sara, I'm not..." his protest was interrupted as his stomach growled again, and this time he sighed and looked down. "Ok," he mumbled sheepishly, "Thanks."
Sara shrugged and smiled. "Anytime." She congratulated herself as she waved over a waiter; it seemed she was making progress.
