A/N: A huge thank you to Rouch for the excellent emergency beta job!

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Grissom sat in his car outside Sara's apartment, paralyzed by doubt.

He'd driven back to her place in a maelstrom of emotion. Anger, worry, and guilt swirled in his head endlessly, and he knew he needed to see her, to talk to her, to hold her. But she kicked me out. In his self-righteous anger at Brass, he had not allowed himself to dwell on that little detail. About the moment she had compared him to her abuser, her rapist. The moment she had told him he was not good enough.

The engine ticked softly, cooling itself, and still Grissom sat, immobile.

How can she think I would ever hurt her? Why was she so angry? I was only trying to comfort her. How can she think I am anything like that scum?

I am nothing like him. Nothing. Grissom was indignant, offended.

I have never harmed a woman. I never will. How can she imply that I've hurt her? I've done everything I could to protect her, from the world and from me. Everything I have ever done to her has been to keep her from harm. Grissom was on a roll now, and it was easy to ignore the small mental voice which quietly pointed out that that was not entirely true.

I hold myself back all the time to protect her. I turned her down for dinner- does she know how hard that was? No. She doesn't know anything about me. I put my job on the line to protect her from Ecklie. I do everything I can to protect her reputation. Does she realize how quickly people would assume she'd slept her way to her job? Does she realize how often I've wanted to touch her? But no, I always hold back, because I am not an asshole and I don't want to hurt her. The tiny dissenting voice was completely silent now. Not good enough? And why was she so angry, anyway? What gives her the right? I have spent the whole night worrying about her, trying to be there for her, and that makes her angry?

The hell with this.

Grissom's anger broke through his indecision, and he stormed into Sara's building.

She didn't answer the door. He knocked again, louder. Still no response. Well, she can't just ignore me, he decided. He tried the knob. The door was unlocked. What? Is she stupid? How can she not lock her door? Does she pay any attention at all to the cases we see?

The living room was empty. Sara's bedroom door was closed. He opened it. She was curled into her pillow, crying.

She looked at him. "Grissom? How did you get in?"

"How did I get in? You left your door unlocked. What were you thinking? Don't you know how dangerous that is? Anyone could get in. That asshole ex of yours could walk right in."

"Brass… he told you?"

"You told me. What the hell were you thinking, Sara? I've never thought of you as a hypocrite before. And you lied to me. How could you just lie to me like that?" Grissom was shouting, his voice filling the dark, quiet apartment.

"Calm down." Sara's voice was hoarse from crying, and her eyes tracked his hands as he gestured.

"Calm down? I'm calm. Why wouldn't I be calm? I was completely calm the whole time you were seeing that guy. I was happy for you. And now I find out he was hurting you and you lied to me about it? Sara-"

"It's my life, Grissom. And it's none of your business," she said harshly.

"None of my business. Sara, I love you. It's my business." Did I just say that? Did I just say that? Is it even true? I don't even know if I meant that.

Sara was crying again, and her face was white. She spat, "What, were you going to rescue me? Be my knight in shining armor? Grow up, Grissom, I can take care of myself. You love me. What bullshit. What is wrong with you? I can't talk about this now. Why are you doing this to me?"

"Why am I doing this to you? I love you." I do. I really do. Grissom was awed to realize it was true. He had spoken in anger, without thought, but he had meant it.

"Is this fun for you? Do you like to torture me? You've been pushing me away and reeling me in for years, and now you decide you love me. Now? It's too late, Grissom. Your timing is horrible."

Too late. Her words shocked him. He looked at her. She was still curled on the bed, crying hard. Her face was pale and blotchy. He could see a bruise forming on her forearm from the IV. She looked tired. Grissom suddenly felt as though he was seeing Sara for the first time. Not the idealized Sara in his head, but this flesh and blood woman, sitting on her bed, hurting and defeated and strong and determined all at the same time.

He watched her for a moment in wonderment. She looked…nervous. She wasn't looking at his face, but at his hands. He realized he was standing over her on the bed. He realized Sara was afraid of him.

What am I doing? She's right. I couldn't have chosen a worse time. She lost a child tonight and I'm throwing a tantrum at her. What is wrong with me?

He sat on the bed opposite her, and was relieved to see her relax a little.

"Sara, I'm sorry."

"Please go," she said softly.

No. I can't leave it like this. She needs me, whether she admits it or not. And she's sick- someone should take care of her. I should take care of her.

"I can't." He kept his voice gentle, hoping to soothe her.

"Why not?" She sounded resigned.

Because I love you. "I won't say it again if you don't want me to. I'm going to stay for a while, and… make you some tea."

Sara didn't argue. It should have been a relief, but a compliant Sara was a frightening thing. She nodded. "There's some whiskey in the cabinet above the fridge. I'd rather have that."

"Is that a good idea?"

"Why not? It's not as if it will hurt the baby." Sara's voice was jagged.

"I didn't mean that. I don't know what drugs they gave you, or how much blood you've lost." He tried not to sound defensive.

"I need a drink."

Grissom nodded, resigned, and went to the kitchen. The whiskey bottle was a large one, but half empty and a little dusty. He found two glasses and poured a couple fingers into each of them, carrying them carefully back to the bedroom.

"You didn't want to bring the bottle?"

"Would you like me to go and get it?"

"Maybe later."

He handed her a glass, watched her shudder a little as she took the first sip. She lowered the glass, and he watched the liquid tremble. Her hands were shaking. She was sitting on top of the comforter, so he looked around the bedroom and spotted an afghan folded over a chair. He took it and wrapped it around her shoulders. She let him. She took another sip. He took one too, and sat down on the bed. They sat side by side, silently.

After a minute Grissom began to get nervous again. Should he be saying something? He didn't know what to say that wouldn't anger her. Should he hug her? But that had set her off before. You idiot, Gil. She's been through a lot tonight. She's entitled to be on edge. That realization didn't help. He was back to where he had been the last time he had been with Sara, wanting to help but not knowing how.

Well, some things are different. She isn't yelling at me. She knows I love her. I still can't believe I said that. She's giving me a chance, here. I'll just have to make sure and take it slow this time.

"Sara." She looked at him.

"Is there anything you need? Right now?"

She smiled sadly and shook her head no.

He reached out, slowly, and took her free hand. She didn't pull away. He was grateful.

She took a large gulp of the whiskey. He sipped his. Outside the window, a siren blared. Grissom hoped he wouldn't be called in. The siren faded away, and the morning was quiet again.

A tear rolled down slowly down Sara's cheek. She set her glass on the bedside table and wiped it away with the back of her hand. She tugged at the afghan, rearranging it.

Grissom leaned past her and set his own glass down. He pulled the blanket tighter around Sara's broad thin shoulders. She leaned into his chest, and he released her hand and wrapped his arms around her. He rested his chin on the top of her bowed head.

She spoke into his neck, "I'm calling in sick tonight."

He almost laughed. "You're calling in sick for a few nights, honey. The doctor said you shouldn't do anything strenuous."

"You could ground me in the lab."

"Do you want that?"

"No. I need some time off."

"Sara Sidle, admitting she needs time off? I thought I'd have to fight to keep you out of the field."

She pulled back, and Grissom's heart sank. Had he said something wrong? But she smiled a little, and sniffed, and picked up her glass.

"Not this time." She inched back, resting her head against the headboard of the bed. She drained the glass, and handed it to him. "Would you get me a refill?"

He took it and returned to the kitchen. He had left the bottle on the counter. He poured again, the same amount as before, and returned to the bedroom. Sara was still leaning back against the headboard, her knees up and together, and one hand on her stomach.

"Does it hurt?" He handed her the glass.

"Yes." The word spoke volumes. Grissom focused on her physical needs.

"Where do you keep your Advil?"

"I don't need any."

Sara was on the right hand side of the bed. Grissom removed his shoes and sat on the left, beside her. He wondered if she slept on the right, or if she just happened to be sitting there.

They sat and drank without speaking. Grissom felt his body begin to feel warm and relaxed. He hoped the second glass would relax Sara, too. She needed to sleep. Her sheets were soft and cool. A bird chirped outside. Grissom's eyes slowly drifted shut.