Grissom had never been so tired in his life.
He knew that only a few hours ago he had been happily reviewing his meal with Sara, and his most pressing concern was how soon he could safely ask her out again.
Subjectively, though, a thousand years had passed since Sara had appeared in the doorway of the ballistics lab.
A thousand years of agony as he watched Sara suffer, as he was unable to do more than repeat endless platitudes.
It was ironic; Gil Grissom, the man with a quote for every occasion, couldn't think of one damn thing she might want to hear. He couldn't touch her, or hold her, or console her with his body. He couldn't heal her.
He couldn't save her baby.
He could only wait with her uselessly, wishing she would cry.
If anyone ever asked him to describe his concept of hell, he would think of this night.
Blinking wearily, he focused his eyes on the road. Sara was still far too quiet: she had responded only to direct questions during their hours in the hospital, and she hadn't cried since returning from the ultrasound. Now she was leaning her head against the side window of the car, staring blankly out the windshield. He reminded himself again to give her time, but her composure was making him very nervous. Surely someone as emotional as Sara should have let go by now?
She was still dry eyed and silent when they pulled into her parking lot.
He turned off the engine and unfastened his seatbelt. She didn't get out, didn't even move her head. She hasn't even noticed we're not moving, he realized. Grissom got out and walked to Sara's side of the car, then realized his mistake. He couldn't just open her door, she was leaning on it. He didn't want to tap on the glass, that would be too abrupt.
As he stood there hesitating, Sara blinked and shook her head a little, as if trying to wake herself. She looked to her left, and realized Grissom's seat was empty. She looked right, and jumped a little. Grissom gripped the door handle and stepped back as he opened it for her.
"Thanks," she said, and Grissom thought: flat affect. Not good.
Then: Gil, what do you expect? Of course she's not doing well. Give her time.
As they entered the building, she headed for the stairs. He took her arm and steered her to the elevator. She allowed his hand to rest on her upper arm as they rode up, but pulled away as the doors opened and strode away from him toward her apartment. He followed.
She fumbled with the lock, and he realized her hands were shaking. He took the key from her hand and unlocked the door. She entered first, flipping on the light switch and walking directly to her living room. She looked around, as if confused again, then turned and stared at him. Her face was white, and she had dark circles around her eyes.
Grissom leaned against her counter, still unsure of what she needed. Well, he could use a stiff drink. Sara probably could too, but it might not be a good idea. I'll make her some tea. He turned to go into the kitchen. In the living room, Sara sank into a chair. She looked exhausted. Empty. Broken. Don't think like that. She's strong. She'll be okay.
There was a book on the counter, next to the stove. He glanced at the title. Vegetarian Pregnancy: The Definitive Nutritional Guide to Having a Healthy Baby. Grissom lost all interest in the tea, but he didn't know what else to do, so he began to fill the kettle anyway.
Where can I put that bookso she won't have to see it?
He glanced back at the living room. Sara was still sitting in the chair. She was staring in his direction, but he was sure she wasn't really seeing him. Quickly, he shoved the book into the nearest drawer, resolving to retrieve it before he left and remove it from the apartment.
He set the kettle on the stove, and looked for the knob. Sara began to sob in the living room. It was a quiet sound, but piercing. He turned, the kettle forgotten. She was curled in the chair, as she had been the last time he had been with her in her apartment as she cried. The comparison didn't comfort him.
Suddenly, Grissom's precise mind threw out the memory of someone else sobbing, long ago. He was five years old, sitting on the stairs, and his mother was crying loudly, painfully. Gil had never heard an adult cry like that before in his life, right out loud where anyone could hear, and he didn't understand, didn't realize that his father was gone, that life would never be the same.
His motherwould haveheld her grief inif she had known he could hear her, cried silently to protect him, he knew that now, but she had never understood how well sound carried in their old uncarpeted house. Sara was restraining herself, probably because of him, but he felt five years old again and utterly helpless.
He was in the living room before he stopped to think, stooping to take Sara into his arms. For a moment he held her, and still he wasn't thinking about his actions, only the need to offer comfort, to ease her pain, and then the moment passed and he realized that Sara wasn't accepting his embrace, she was stiffening and pulling back.
She was angry.
She was pushing him away now, forcing him back as she stood. Time seemed to slow and he could see every eyelash wet with tears, the quick inhalation of breath, her pupils constricting and her lips thinning.
He took a step backwards, his arms slowly dropping back to his sides.
"I'd like you to leave." Her voice was quiet, deadly. Grissom felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"No, Sara."
"Please leave." Her voice was harder now.
"No." But he took another step backwards.
"What are you doing here? Why are you doing this?"
"I… want to help."
"I don't want your help. Go home, Grissom." She sounded cruel. Sara had never sounded cruel.
"I can't."
"And why not?" She was almost hissing at him now. Grissom was confused and off-balance. He gave the only answer he could think of.
"Because the only thing worse than knowing you're hurting is knowing that you're hurting and I'm not there."
Sara's eyes flashed.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Grissom? Why are you doing this now? I don't want you here. You can play your games some other time." Sara's voice was rising, hysteria creeping in.
Games? Her tears were flowing again, hot and angry, and she didn't seem to notice.
"Sara, I never meant to hurt you."
"Yeah, well you know, that's what Tim always said. And it's not good enough." She was yelling now. "Get. Out."
She took another step forward, eyes blazing with anger. Grissom stepped back.
"Sara…"
"Out, Grissom! Leave me alone!" She was breathing quickly now, crying, and Grissom hesitated for a moment, wanting to go to her, afraid to force her.
He turned and left the apartment.