Apologies for the long, long, long hiatus.
Sara finished eating before he did, clearing her bowl of every last mouthful. Placing the now much lighter tray on the table, she shifted on the bed till she was lying on her side, looking up at Grissom as he chewed his eggs. He smiled at her lopsidedly, and finished his mouthful.
"Are you still hungry? I could make you something else…"
She smiled and shook her head. In truth she could eat a fair bit more, but she didn't want to be rude. He nodded, and then raised his fork to his mouth. Her eyes followed it steadily.
It stopped before it reached his lips. "Are you sure? I can easily get you something…" He cocked his head to the side, amused.
"I'm fine, really. Finish yours." She licked her lips subconsciously.
He dropped his fork to the plate, and left it there. "I don't really want any more. I made too much… Do you want to finish it?"
Sara frowned a little. "You should eat it. I haven't seen you eat anything in a while, and -"
" -they're good eggs…"
She paused for a minute. "Okay. I'll have a mouthful. Just a taste."
He scooped a little of the eggs onto a slice of toast and held it out to her. Instead of taking it, like he thought she would, she propped herself up on her elbow and bit into it, startling Grissom.
She chewed slowly, aware that he was studying her lips with something that she couldn't quite discern.
She swallowed. "They're good eggs."
He nodded. "Here." He handed her the fork. "You need it more than I do."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'll make something else later."
She sat up, and he placed the plate on her lap. She smiled at him, and he was momentarily stunned. There was that Sara Sidle smile - a little dented and tarnished - but it was there, visible under the surface.
Before he could think about what he was doing, he had leaned across and planted a light kiss on her forehead.
"I'm so glad you're okay."
She closed her eyes, her dark eyelashes resting lightly on her cheeks.
"Me too, Gris. Me too."
It didn't take her long to finish her eggs, and Grissom took the empty plates back to the kitchen.
She looked around the lamp-lit room, noticing for the first time that the bookcases in here held old, leather bound books. Getting to her feet, she padded across to the shelves and looked at their titles. There were copies of Dickens and Shakespeare, amongst many others that she couldn't quite read, their spines were so worn and faded. She ran her fingers along them, looking for nothing.
Grissom stepped inside the room behind her, silently. He watched as she studied his books with rapture, watched as her finger skimmed volumes of Shakespearian plays, lighted quickly over the Dickens and Tolstoy.
He was stunned, however, that her finger stopped it's trail on one of his most favourite novels.
"Jane Austen was a smart woman."
He saw her startle visibly, but not as badly as he thought she might.
"She was. One of my favourite books. May I?" She looked over her shoulder to where he stood, and he gestured for her to take it down.
She carried it over to the bed, the antique bindings feeling smooth in her hands, and placed it on her pillow. Turning to him, she raised an eyebrow.
"I never had you down as an Austen fan, Gris."
He winked at her. "You think you know someone…"
He knocked lightly on the bathroom door. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
Satisfied, Grissom started to return to the couch.
"Hey. Gris?"
He stopped, and called back to her. "Yeah?"
"Can you get my stuff that came back from the hotel? I think it's by the door..."
"Sure. Be right back."
He looked where she suggested, expecting to find the small duffel-bag Sara had borrowed from Vega to pack all their things in. It wasn't there. A quick search of the townhouse turned up no bag.
He called out to her. "Sara? The bag's not here. We must have left it in Vega's car."
Her response came floating through his lounge. "Oh crap. Well… Can you find me something to wear to bed? A shirt or something will do…"
He found out one of his old T-shirts, one that he frequently slept in himself, but was clean, and the least threadbare. It would swamp her, probably, but in his eyes, the more of her that was covered, the saner he could stay.
He returned to the bathroom door.
"I have something. You want me to leave it on your bed?"
"Uhh. Sure. I'll be out in a second…"
He went back to the couch, and flicked on the TV.
A couple of minutes later, Sara emerged into the lounge, Grissom's T-shirt barely reaching her mid thighs.
He flicked off the TV, and turned to look at her.
"Hey. Did you have a nice bath?" He fought to keep his focus on her face and not the long legs that happened to be in his eye line.
"Yes thanks. I'm kinda tired again now though. Going to turn in." She yawned a little.
He nodded his approval. "Okay. Do you want something to drink? Some tea, or hot chocolate or anything?"
She smiled at him. This was a side of Grissom she still wasn't used to. This openly caring, generous man sitting in front of her was the one she fell in love with all those years ago. God, she'd missed him.
"Thanks, Gris. I'll have some hot chocolate."
"Okay. I'll bring it in to you when it's done."
"I can wait here if you-"
He cut her off. "I'll bring it in. Go on…" He nodded emphatically towards the bedroom door.
As he stood and walked into the kitchen, Sara stared after him for a moment, then turned and headed to the bedroom.
When he came in to her room, Sara glanced up from the book she had pulled from the shelf earlier. She looked so comfortable, curled up under the duvet, eyes sparkling. That bruise was really fading, turning from deep purple to a rich pink tinted with yellow. It would be gone completely in a day or so, he hoped.
"How many times have you read that book, Sara?" He asked, as she closed up the book and placed it on the bed next to her.
"Too many." He handed her the mug when she'd sat up a little, and looked comfortable. "Thanks." She took a small sip, sighing heavily as she swallowed the hot liquid.
Grissom sat himself on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and looked Sara in the eye. "How're you feeling?"
The expression of concern on his face told her that he didn't want an answer about being tired, or being in pain. He wanted to know how she was feeling mentally. If she was suffering inside her head and not telling him.
She couldn't lie to him. Not after all this.
"I don't… I don't know. Sometimes it's okay. When the lights are on, and the sun is up, it's okay. But when it's dark… When I woke up in that warehouse and it was dark… I can't…" Her eyes were wide, and Grissom couldn't bring himself to force her on. Soon, she'd have to talk about it all… for tonight, for now, she could just let it be. At least outwardly.
"It's okay. We'll talk when you want to." He picked up the copy of 'Pride and Prejudice', and turned it in his hands. "My father left me these books… Well. He left them behind when he left us behind. Aren't they beautiful?"
Sara blinked in sudden stunned confusion. Grissom was sitting here in front of her, so desperate to change the subject, to ease her discomfort that he was talking about his family. He looked so vulnerable, so small. She couldn't believe this was the same Gil Grissom she'd worked with for four years, and known for many more years than that.
"Yes, they are." She reached over and placed her hand on top of his, both of them resting on the warm leather of the book.
To her surprise, he lifted their hands and kissed the back of hers, so gently she wasn't even sure it had happened. Then he touched her face, rubbed her cheek with the ball of his thumb. "You should get some sleep."
"Read to me, Grissom…"
