A/N: Ok, this is my favourite chapter so far, so I hope you guys like it as much as I do... and no, Ehman, you can't laugh at me, or I will make you bleed. And thanks for all the reviews, everybody, I love them!

Chapter 13: Nightmares and Juries

He was standing in the middle of the grocery store, the cold breeze from the air conditioner causing him to shiver violently. Before him stood the robber, showing his teeth in a sick looking smile. A stab of fear raced through Grissom, and he swallowed hard. He was going to die.

But then he realized that there was no gun in the robber's hands. Kill him, the voice whispered in his ear. Kill the son of a bitch with your bare hands. And his fear was replaced as an awful rage stirred in his chest, and his hands clenched into fists.

You bastard, he hissed. I'll kill you.

But the robber only shook his head as though Grissom were a child, throwing a temper tantrum over some small thing. Like you killed those other poor people?

Grissom faltered slightly. I didn't kill them, he replied hoarsely, swaying unsteadily.

The robber shook his head, and his grin widened. You say you didn't, but you know the truth… we all know the truth.

Grissom's knees nearly buckled. No! he screamed in rage. I didn't kill them!

Of course you did, was the smug, whispered reply. Even if you didn't pull the trigger, you're still responsible.

No! For a long moment the only sound to be heard was Grissom's laboured breathing and then, slowly, people began appearing crowded around in a group behind the robber. The little boy was first, and then his mother, and the cashier - the faces that haunted Grissom, day and night, who lived in him, slowly tearing him apart.

Grissom felt his breath catch in his throat. No, he moaned.

But then his glance was caught as a row of seats appeared off to the side. As he watched, Greg appeared, followed by Warrick, Nick, Catherine, and Sara. Then Doc Robbins appeared, along with Brass, his mother, who had been dead for years, Phillip Kane, David, the assistant coroner, Ray O'Reilly and Detective Vega.

Now's your chance, the robber said conversationally, drawing Grissom's attention back to him. Save them. Prove you're not a killer. We have an audience of twelve; a jury, if you will.

Picking up the gun that had appeared on the counter, he took it and cocked the hammer.

No! Grissom screamed as he lunged forward, but something was holding him, pulling him down. No!

As though he were at a shooting range, merely practicing his shot, the robber gunned down the cashier. Aren't you going to save them? he taunted, but his words were drowned out by Grissom's screams of anguish as he fought against the thing that bound him.

His muscles were burning from the effort and he felt as though his lungs would burst, but still he fought, struggling violently as the woman was killed.

And then they were all gone except the little boy, the fear in his eyes unmistakable as he cowered under the sights of the robber's gun. Mommy! he called, whimpering.

No! Grissom screamed as he felt the warm blood spray over him and his bonds snapped. He stumbled, propelled forward by momentum, and fell to his knees next to the boy.

And we have a verdict, the robber cried with glee as he began to disappear. Guilty!

No! Grissom cried one last time, feeling something snap in his chest, but the boy was gone. And he looked up into twelve pairs of accusing, disgust filled eyes.

I didn't… I couldn't get to them, he gasped, pleading, begging them to understand, to make it all right. I tried, he cried, stumbling to his feet as they turned their backs on him. God, I didn't mean to! Sara!

Killer, she hissed.

"No!" Grissom woke with a scream as he lunged upwards from his bed. His body was soaked in sweat, and he was tangled hopelessly in the sheets as he continued to struggle, his chest heaving.

It was only seconds later that his door burst open, and the room was flooded with light as Sara came running into the room. She reached out to pull him into a hug, murmuring soothing words, but he jerked away from her, eyes wide as he stumbled out of bed. He couldn't stand, though and he fell to the floor with the sheets still twisted around his legs.

"Don't," he gasped, his whole body trembling as he kicked at the bonds, "Just… don't." It was light; he could see her eyes, and logically, he knew there was only worry for him there. But all he could see was the disgust; the accusations. And suddenly tears began rolling down his face. Images of those people, that young boy, lying dead on the floor assaulted his mind once again as he closed his eyes, and when he snapped them open in panic, Sara was there, wrapping him in a tight hug.

"Don't!" he cried again, struggling against her, but she held on tight, and finally he slumped into her embrace and let his head fall to her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I'm so sorry."

"Shhh," she whispered, rocking him a bit as she pulled him half onto her lap and leaned back against the wall, "Shhh, it's all right, Grissom. It's all right. Everything will be all right."

And they stayed there for ten minutes, Grissom's body heaving violently in her arms with each sob and ragged breath. It hurt, to hear the choking cries that came from him as he buried his head in her shoulder, but she swallowed her own pain as they sat together.

Finally, his sobs subsided, and he merely lay trembling against her. Every few seconds he would draw in a shuddering breath, and Sara continued to rub gentle circles on his back and rock him. It felt kind of weird; this was Grissom, after all. But at the same time it felt right. She, as well as the others on the team, tended to place Grissom on a pedestal above them, as though he were someone who wasn't quite human. To them, he was invincible. And now they had been forced to reconsider the way they perceived him. He was human; a human who made mistakes like the rest of them, and even felt pain like the rest of them. In the past few months, Sara had begun to understand just how much pain Grissom could feel, and did feel. It scared her to think about it.

Suddenly, she was jerked back from her thoughts as Grissom tentatively pulled away from her. This time she released him, and he leaned back against the bedroom wall beside her, his knees pulled up to his chest.

"Do you want…" she stopped herself immediately. Of course he didn't want to talk about it. But he was going to. She waited a moment longer, allowing the silence to stretch before she broke it. "Why don't you get yourself cleaned up a bit; I'll wait in the living room."

He didn't say anything, but she knew he had heard her by the way his eyes flickered to the other side of the room, and his jaw clenched. God, I wish this didn't hurt you so much, she thought sadly as she squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. As she left the room, she closed the door carefully behind her. Moving quickly, she put some water on to boil and then sat down at the table to wait. She glanced ruefully at the couch, where her blankets lay in a haphazard bundle. So much for sleep. But then, she had come back here to make sure he was ok.

As she sat there, waiting, her conversation with Catherine from earlier ran through her head, over and over again, her own words at the forefront of her mind.

It's just one thing after another… there's time to recover in between but never enough… I'm worried… one of these days he's gonna lose it… he'll fall and keep falling…it has to stop. It had to stop. She had to make it stop before Grissom was hurt even more than he already was.

Ten minutes later, Grissom still hadn't come out, and Sara began to get worried. She didn't want another episode like the one the other night; as much as she enjoyed spending time with Grissom, she didn't enjoy spending that time with him at the hospital waiting for x-rays.

"Grissom?" As before, she knocked softly, and then pushed open the door. She was mildly surprised to see him sitting quietly on the edge of his bed in the cool darkness of the room. It appeared that he had cleaned up, and put on a fresh pair of clothes.

"Hey," she said, sitting down beside him, "You gonna come out?"

Once again he didn't reply, and looked away. A red tinge shaded his cheeks as he swallowed hard. His shame was obvious, and Sara took a deep breath to calm herself before she spoke. "Gris, you know, you don't have… you don't have anything to be ashamed about. It's just… it's natural, to feel the way you're feeling. It's…"

"Sara…" There was a pleading note in his voice. It was the first he had spoken since his gasping, desperate apologies right after the nightmares, and she was silent immediately. If he was finally going to talk, she would listen. But he didn't continue, and she looked down in an effort to hide her disappointment. As she did so, she caught sight of his hands, clenched into fists. They always were these days. And gently, slowly, she reached down and placed her hand over his. The move must have shocked him, because his gaze snapped back to her, and then to their hands. The look in his eyes was mixed surprise, panic, and relief.

"It's all right," she murmured. "Honestly." A few more seconds passed before, tentatively, he uncurled his fist, and turned his hand so he could twine his fingers with hers. His grip was tight, and Sara got the feeling he was afraid she would pull back as he took a deep breath.

"Come on," she coaxed, standing. He tightened his grip on her hand, and she pulled him up, though he still seemed reluctant and continued to avoid her gaze. "I made you some hot chocolate."

That caused a small smile to lift his lips, and she gave him a light shove with her hip as she grinned. "I can even get some marshmallows, if you want."

"Sure," he murmured. They walked out together, their fingers still entwined. Sitting him down at the kitchen table, she went and got his drink, which had cooled off considerably in the time since it had been made but was still warm enough. In doing so she was forced to pull her hand from his, and she noticed that as soon as she did he flexed it experimentally, studying it as though in wonder that he had actually held her hand. She smiled to herself momentarily before becoming serious again.

"Here you go." She sat down across the table from him, and studied him. It was slightly amusing to watch, as he ate the marshmallows before sipping at the drink.

He appeared to be lost in thought as he drank the hot liquid, so Sara stayed silent until he had finished, and placed the mug back on the table. He was calm now; he showed no signs of the nightmare he had just endured. Clearing her throat, Sara leaned forward a bit, willing him to look up. He did, only to look away again.

"Will you talk to me?" she asked softly. "Please?" She was aware that if she told him he had to talk to her he would probably become angry, so she phrased it as a question. She was surprised when he looked down, and hesitantly reached out a hand to twine his fingers through hers again. She squeezed reassuringly.

"I'm scared," he admitted, his voice small and trembling. Actually, he was terrified. And so tired of hiding, from Sara, even from himself. Maybe it was time to just let go. He had thought about it, before… but he had been lost, and alone, and he was afraid that if he let go he would fall. It wasn't until now that he realized he had been falling anyways. He needed someone to catch him, and Sara was here now. She was the strongest person he knew.

"It's all right," she murmured. Then she reached out her free hand and rubbed her thumb gently over his cheek. He leaned into her touch, his eyes closed, and Sara could see the tears starting to leak out again, darkening his eyelashes.

"I froze up," he began, haltingly. "I just sat there, and stared while he shot them. I only stopped him when he… threatened me. I was just looking out for myself."

"Oh, Grissom," she began, but he cut her off.

"Please, Sara, don't. I don't think I can… I don't think I can do this, if I have to stop." He took another deep breath, and began to speak again. "I saw what he was doing. I could have stopped him. But I didn't. I screwed up… I should have saved them. I could have saved them."

"Grissom, it wasn't your fault!" Sara cried, completely forgetting what he had said about not being able to continue if she interrupted, "You're only human, you couldn't have…"

"I know!" he responded, equally agitated, "But I… every night… I see them, I watch them die. And all of you, twelve of you, are watching… a jury, he said. But I still can't save them, and you… you look at me, with… disgust, and hate, and accusations in your eyes. And I just know I've screwed up again. Only this time I've screwed up so bad, there's no fixing it, because four people are dead because of me. I'm guilty, God damn it!" He was crying hard again, his body shaking as the tears ran down his face, but he made no sound this time. It hurt Sara, to know that she and the team were a part of his nightmares, torturing him whenever he slept, but she forced herself to remember that they were merely dreams – figments of an imagination that had been fed by an injured body and soul. Still clutching his hand, she got up from her seat and went to him, hugging him tightly. With the tears still streaming down his face, he pulled a shocked Sara onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Sara," he mumbled, and she allowed him to hold her and hide his face in her neck once again.

"I would never, ever hate you for what happened, Grissom," she whispered fiercely in his ear as she stroked his cheek. "You were not responsible for it, and you couldn't have stopped it. You're only human; it wasn't your fault that you froze. It was purely instinct, Grissom, completely out of your hands."

"God, I know that," he groaned, holding her tighter as his tears soaked her shirt, "Really, I do. But I don't understand it. Why can't I understand it? Why couldn't I do something? That little boy… I just looked out for myself. I always, always just look out for myself."

"Grissom…" He was contradicting himself at every turn, and she wondered how he had ended up so lost and confused.

"I've always been afraid," he mumbled, ignoring her soft protest. It appeared that his worries of being unable to keep going were unfounded; now that he had gotten started, he couldn't seem to stop, and the words just kept pouring out. "Afraid of being hurt," he rambled, "afraid of being abandoned. And I can't even blame it on my dad, because millions of dads everywhere leave before their kids are grown up, and those kids get over it just fine. I don't even remember him… but I remember what it felt like to know that someone who was supposed to love you hated you; couldn't even stand to be around you. I ruined my mother's life."

Sara swallowed hard as he spoke of his childhood, something he rarely if ever did, and wondered how someone lived through fifty years of their life with that kind of guilt hanging over them, albeit undeserved guilt. And she wondered how this tied in with the robbery. As he continued, she got her answer, and it hit her hard. "I always… always protected myself after that. And I hurt so many people, because I was only worried about protecting myself. I didn't care what happened to others, I just never wanted to feel so… useless, and small, and pathetic ever again; never wanted to feel so lost. So I made sure I didn't. I was in control. But now I feel like that everyday and it just won't stop, and all I can think is that I deserve it. I deserve this, and anything else that happened to me." He broke off then, his body shaking violently.

"It's all right, Grissom," she said for probably the fifteenth time that night, and she hated how suddenly, she herself felt so useless. Do something! Her mind screamed. But what? What could she do for him? She didn't know, so she merely murmured nonsensical, soothing words to him and gently wiped away the tears that still stained his cheeks. And in the end, she thought, as she sat there holding him tightly and being held by him, that was probably the best thing for both of them.

"I'm sorry, that I hurt you," he finally whispered, after the tears had subsided somewhat. "I never wanted to… I just… I wanted things to be safe, and you weren't… safe. You were an uncontrollable variable in an experiment that would have risked everything I've ever worked for in my life. I… I guess I just… I was afraid." He gave a bitter, choking laugh. "As usual."

"'I was afraid'," she repeated softly. "That's past tense."

"Oh, I'm still afraid," he informed her, just as softly, "I just… I think I'm starting to realize it's not all pain. And that what is pain can be taken care of by… certain people."

Sara swallowed, leaning forward a bit. "Well, that's good." Slowly, giving him time to say stop if he wanted to, she brushed her lips over his. It sent an electric shock through his body that paralyzed him for a moment; then she did it again, and he realized he should probably kiss her back. Her lips twitched up in a smile as he reciprocated, a strange look in his eyes, and she wondered vaguely whether he thought this was a dream or not. Don't flatter yourself, Sidle, she admonished, but that just caused her to smile wider, and Grissom pulled back and studied her for a moment.

"What's so amusing?" he asked.

"You," she responded. "And me."

"Mmmm," he replied, and he suddenly looked incredibly tired, as though he had just considered something he hadn't thought of before. "I hear their voices, you know," he said, staring at her with weary eyes. "When everything is quiet… when I'm alone… I can hear them screaming. They scream for me to help them; to save them."

Sara leaned her forehead against his, her hands touching his face, gently sliding over his nose; his cheeks; his lips. Maybe, she thought, if I show him it doesn't matter, that I still care for him, it'll be ok.

"Sometimes I see their faces," he continued hoarsely, his warm breath caressing her fingertips. "Sometimes I think I'm going crazy."

"You're not going crazy, Grissom," she told him firmly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "and if you ever do – go crazy, that is – I'll still be right here."

Logically, he knew he wasn't going to go crazy. It was an implausible idea, so why was he even considering it? But he couldn't help himself. "Will you?" he questioned doubtfully. "Why would you…"

This time, she kissed him on the lips, successfully silencing him. "I'll be here," she assured him. "Promise."

For a moment he only stared at her in wonder, trying to comprehend what exactly had just happened. Then he seemed to shake himself, and kissed her hesitantly, tentatively, suddenly unsure of his right to do so. They stayed there for a while, kissing like a couple of teenagers, until Grissom pulled back. Sara froze, afraid that he was about to panic in true Grissom fashion. Her fears were laid to rest though when he merely wrapped his arms more tightly around her and rested his head on her shoulder.

"I think I'm dreaming," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

She smiled. "Is it a good dream?"

"It's… indescribably 'good.' Indescribably wonderful."

"I'm glad," she whispered in reply, running her fingers through his curls and kissing his jaw. "You deserve to be happy, Grissom." He sighed at that, and she frowned a bit. "Why do you always deny yourself anything that could bring you happiness?"

He shifted under her uncomfortably, and sighed again. "I told you, Sara… I was afraid. Nothing's free. Even happiness only comes at a price."

"That's not…"

"I was terrified, Sara. Terrified that the price would be too much. And I thought I didn't deserve it, anyways."

"Well, I say you do," Sara stated, kissing him firmly. "And I'm always right," she added, smiling as he 'mmmed' in response, causing his lips to vibrate on hers.

"All I have to do is stick with you then, hmmm?" he said, kissing her neck. "Nothing will ever go wrong, because you're always right… and I'll always be happy."

Sara grinned, shivering with happiness. "Yep, that's about right." It felt so good, to be able to say that in response to his statement and know for sure that it was true.

"Sounds like a plan," he murmured, and Sara suddenly realized that his eyes were drooping shut.

"Come on," she told him, "You have a lot of sleep to catch up on."

"'M not tired," he mumbled in protest as she stood and pulled him up with her.

"Liar."

"I'm not," he said again. "I just slept for…" he frowned, trying to figure it out, and then shrugged. "A long time."

"Not long enough," she assured him, and he pulled her warm body against his, drowsily kissing her neck. "And besides, half of that time wasn't really sleep. You were passed out drunk."

Grissom winced at that. "I guess I let things get away from me. I just… I couldn't handle… things, anymore."

"Well," she responded softly, "That's understandable. But next time, would you just… tell me? I promise I'll listen for as long as you need to talk."

"Mmmm."

"Come on," she repeated then, smiling as he kept a tight hold on her all the way back to his room.

When they got there, she caught sight of his sheets, still twisted into a bundle on the floor, and she sighed. Pulling out of his grasp, she sat him down on the chair in the corner of the room.

"Stay here," she told him, and he complied without question, watching as she began to remake the bed with clean blankets.

Sara was right, he was tired. And not just physically; he was emotionally drained as well. Maybe it would be good to get some more sleep. So you can have another nightmare, he thought, and swallowed hard. Then he caught Sara's eye as she pulled back the covers. It's ok. Sara's here. She'll catch you. Even to him the thought sounded stupid, and he pushed it away as he stood and walked over to stand beside her. I can't do this again.

As he stood there, rocking back and forth on his heels, Sara noticed the apprehension on his face, and took his hand. "You want me to sleep with you?"

Grissom whipped around to stare at her, and Sara thought for sure he was going to blurt out 'no,' but then he swallowed, and looked down.

"Did you just say what I think you said?" he replied, a weak smile lifting his lips.

Sara couldn't help but return the look when she realized he was repeating what he had said so many months ago when she had asked him to sleep with her – for exactly the same purpose; to chase away the nightmares. It hadn't been a pleasant moment between them, and the fact that he was able to joke about it now made her suddenly feel incredibly light.

Grissom took a deep breath, the smile disappearing as he sat down on the bed. "Yes, please," he whispered.

Sara nodded. "All right," she responded, "Just give me a second, and I'll be right there." She disappeared out the door and Grissom lay down and rolled over onto his back, studying the ceiling and the shadows that were cast over it by the light seeping in from under the blinds. Every once in a while they would flicker, as a soft breeze shifted the window covering, and he shuddered. Even though she was only just in the other room, he still felt fear race through him at the thought of being alone. It angered him that he felt this way now. He was a grown man, for God's sake, he shouldn't be afraid of such things as shadows, and being alone. Before, he had always been alone, and it had never bothered him. Why was it that when he was alone these days, he found himself hearing dead people screaming and seeing dead people's faces?

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing," he replied, watching as Sara re-entered the room, taking note of the look she gave him at his answer. Maybe I'll tell her later, he thought. Now that was a funny thought. Of course he wasn't going to tell her. But why not? he argued with himself. You've already spilled your guts… why not go the rest of the way and be completely honest with her for once in your life? Why not…

As Sara crawled under the sheets and lay down beside Grissom, she realized he was already half-asleep. "Good night, Grissom," she whispered, kissing him.

With a sigh, he moved closer, so their noses were almost touching, and took her hand in his. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was that he really, really liked being able to hold Sara Sidle's hand.

There were no more nightmares that day.