A/N: I know some have expressed their dislike over the bolding being the signal for flashbacks. We sincerely apologize, we had a different system set up when we started writing, but fanfiction did not like our formatting. We chose to reserve italics of thoughts and bolding for flashbacks to distinguish the difference between the two.
Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of graphic torture scenes.
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Love is a mutual self-giving that ends in self-recovery.
Fulton J. Sheen
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Grissom tried to free himself from his chains.
Sara was screaming. He needed to help her.
Twisting his wrist, he could feel the skin breaking as the metal cut into him. He was oblivious to his own pain, as Sara's screams were increasing with intensity.
He watched in horror as the man brought the belt down again. The resounding CRACK echoed throughout the empty warehouse.
Grissom jumped as he suddenly woke up. His dreams had been all too vivid, to the point that he felt he relived their experience every night since they were rescued.
He rubbed his eyes as he struggled to push the scene from his head.
As he began to orient himself to his surroundings, he became aware of the weight still pressed against his side. Looking down, he was relieved that he hadn't woken Sara.
Studying her face, he was still amazed at what this petite brunette was able and willing to endure for him. He had no idea what he had said or done to deserve her, and now she opened herself up again by staying with him and allowing him to be near her. He understood that she felt guilty, hell, that was exactly what he felt when he looked into her eyes, and saw the pain carefully contained within them.
His session with Dr Muller was never intended for his recovery. He needed to help Sara, but had no way to do so.
He brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face and remembered the doctor's words. Sara was suffering from PTSD, and was experiencing the symptoms more intensely because of her past. Thinking of the possibilities of her past brought tears to his eyes. Her life had been marred with pain, and abuse at the hands of those she loved. He was now equally guilty of that crime in her life. In more ways then one.
Nick walked into Grissom's office; coffee in one hand, and wiping the sleep out of his eyes with the other.
Grissom looked up in confusion, "Nick, why are you here? You went home almost three hours ago."
"Two and half," he corrected. "Ecklie didn't tell you?" Nick was actually more surprised that Sara hadn't talked to Gil already.
"Tell me what?" His full attention was suddenly riveted on the younger man standing in his doorway.
"Sara's out sick for a few days. I guess the doctor called here himself. Ya know, she must be pretty sick to go to the doctor in the first place. I mean, remember last year when she had…"
Nick rambled on as Grissom processed the facts. Sara. Sick. Doctor called. Out for a few days. She looked fine when she left, aside from the extreme lack of sleep, and being far too involved in her latest case. Perhaps her current assignment had hit too close to home for her. Knowing why she took certain cases so personally only helped him to worry more about her.
He suddenly realized Nick was still talking, "…so yeah, Ecklie called me in. Said Sara was working on a high profile case with Greg."
"He's in trace. He'll get you up to speed." Nick turned to leave.
"Nick," his concern got the better of him. "Did Ecklie say what was wrong with her?"
He shook his head. "No, you know him-- he wasn't exactly cordial."
Grissom stared at his phone. His urge to call her was battling with his ignorance over what to say to her. If she was as sick as it sounded, and decided to take care of herself for once, he didn't want to make her feel guilty. Their personal relationship had been rocky at best, and he worried that any phone call would be taken as Supervisor Grissom wondering when she would be back to work.
His concern won out, and against his better judgment he picked up the phone, and dialed the familiar number.
Her answering machine picked up on the third ring, and he hung up the phone. She's sick and she's taking care of herself, he told himself.
Not for the first time, Grissom kicked himself for not trying harder to get a hold of her, or trying to find out the name of the doctor. He might have gone to her apartment sooner, and he would have had longer to put the pieces together.
He could have spared her a lot of pain.
"Story of my life," he whispered out loud.
He looked down at her again, and decided that she looked uncomfortable. He stood and picked her up in one fluid motion. Her face grimaced slightly, but she didn't wake. He shifted her and headed toward his bedroom.
Wishing he had thought through things before he picked her up, he tried to pull the blankets down without disturbing her. After some fancy moves, he had her in his bed, and tucked the blankets warmly around her.
He was painfully aware of every one of her injuries, and assumed her back was really the only position she was able to sleep in. He was amazed that she had slept through the movement at all.
Grissom opened the closet and pulled out some extra bedding, and looked down the hallway at the couch they were just sleeping on. He didn't want to be out of earshot from her, and opted for the floor next to the bed.
Once he settled, his mind wandered back to the warehouse. Sara had refused to talk to anyone about her ordeal, but as a member of law enforcement he knew she had been required to give a statement. Brass was kind enough to Grissom to look the other way, literally, when he took the tapes to listen to.
What he heard was heartbreaking.
Sweat was beginning to form on her forehead. The cell was stuffy, but the pain in her shoulder was the cause. She was unable to move as Wilson approached her.
"I was forced to pull that shoulder out of joint, we should set it," he explained with each step.
"Stay away from me," she commanded, with a confidence she didn't feel.
"Oh, Sara, you're going to need to trust me. This is going to feel so much better once it's set." He grabbed her wrist, and stroked it lightly.
Sara closed her eyes, and whispered one last plea. "Please don't touch me."
He ignored her. "I need you to help me out here. We need some traction."
If she didn't know that her shoulder would in fact feel better once the joint was placed back in its socket, she would have told him to go to hell. Instead, she lay down on her side, and allowed him to lift her injured arm in the air. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
Wilson stood slightly, and placed his foot on her side just under her armpit. "Brace yourself, this is going to hurt."
Before she could respond, the pain in her shoulder became a searing hot liquid that seemed to flow from her arm to her neck. Spots danced before her eyes, but she refused to let herself slip into the welcoming darkness of unconsciousness.
Coolness replaced the warmth of the doctor's hand around her wrist, and she realized he had chained that arm now as well.
"Sara!" His voice rose, making her jump, and she finally realized he had been speaking to her.
Her eyes tried to focus on the maniac standing in front of her.
"The next few days are going to be the hardest on both of us," he began to explain, toying with a small black box in his hand. "It's funny that it has to be that way, because I only have one question I need answered."
"I like cheese pizzas," she answered sarcastically.
He chuckled. "See, it's that attitude that is going to make this so difficult."
Glaring at him, he knelt down to be eye level with her. "Who do you love?"
Sara was taken aback by his question. Up until that point she had been so caught up in her situation, she hadn't considered the case and why Marni and Jerrod were tortured.
"Go to hell," she spoke with defiance.
"Hmm, no Sara, hell is where you're going to be until you answer me." He fumbled with the box.
Suddenly, a burst of electricity coursed through the chains and enveloped her entire body. She was unable to hold back her screams.
Grissom's thoughts were interrupted by Sara's whimpers. He was instantly at her side trying to comfort her. "Sara, you're safe. It's Gil, I'm right here."
Her eyes squeezed tighter. "No, you shouldn't be here. I didn't tell him. Why are you here?"
She was mumbling, and he had no idea if she was awake or dreaming. "Sara it's okay, it's over." He lightly touched her hand.
Her eyes shot open and she frantically tried to back away from him.
"Easy, take it easy Sara." He held his hand out to her, but didn't move, not wanting to upset her further.
Recognition finally appeared in her eyes, followed by tears that she didn't even try to hide. "I never told him, Grissom, I promise, I didn't say anything."
He nodded, and moved closer to her, "I know, it's okay now."
"No Gri—no, it'll never be ok."
His eyes narrowed as he picked up on her inability to say his name, along with the utter defeat he heard in her voice. "Come here." It was a question, just as much as it was plea. He needed to hold her.
Much to his surprise, she leaned into him, letting him wrap his arms gently around her.
"I wouldn't even let my mind think of your name for fear of saying it in a haze of pain," she confessed.
"It's not your fault, none of this is your fault," he encouraged.
"He kept shocking me, I don't even know how long," her voice faltered.
"Two days," he answered simply.
Sara's body quivered with residual pain. Her mind was foggy, and the only thing she could remember was what pain felt like. Her wrists stung, and she assumed they were covered with second-degree burns. Her main concern was nerve damage due to the prolonged exposure to Dr. Wilson's shock treatment.
The cell clanged, announcing his arrival. Sara refused to react.
"Sara." His tone was even, but she was learning that rage bubbled beneath his cool exterior.
"Who's Grissom?" he asked, sitting beside her.
Panic welled up within her. How did he know? Quickly, she composed herself; she had no idea what he knew, and it would be easy to betray him with just her body language. "My boss." She had no idea where her composure came from. "I thought you said you talked to him."
"The man who came into the interrogation room?"
No response.
"Well, he's called you three times today. I think he's worried about you." He was fishing and she knew it.
"I'm supposed to return to work soon, right? I was working on a huge case." She paused, hoping he was buying her nonchalant attitude. "Thanks to you."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Let's call him."
Confused, she quickly tried to formulate a way to tell Grissom where she was.
Wilson held up the black box she had grown to fear. "I've scripted your conversation for you, and if you slip up, I'll merely move you, and then punish you severely."
Sara knew her fear was evident in her eyes. He helped her sit, and placed a pad of paper in her hands. She watched as he dialed the number on her cell and pushed the speaker button. "If you even move during this conversation, you'll regret it."
"Grissom," the voice echoed in her prison cell, and she wanted to cry.
"Griss, it's Sara." She followed the text before her.
"Sara, how are you? I've been trying to get a hold of you." He sounded like he was edge.
"I turned my phone off." She was hoping that something in her voice would give away her situation, but the script was a series of short responses that the doctor would point to, and weren't long enough to betray her fear.
"Still sick?"
He's definitely worried, she thought. "Yes, very sick. I'm taking the rest of the week off."
"Anything I can do? Can I bring you anything-- soup, sprite, crackers?"
"No, I'm—" Sara was cut off as her captor muted the phone, and quickly activated the electrodes. She had no warning, and could feel the nauseousness begin. As she vomited he hit the mute button again, so Grissom could hear her getting sick. He then pointed to a line of writing. "I'm sorry, I can't keep anything down."
"God, Sara, do you need to go back to the doctor? I'll pick you up," he offered.
"No, he's called to check up on me." She glared at the man in front of her. "I just need the rest of the week."
"Okay, but don't hesitate to call." He sounded like he wanted to say more.
"Thanks, I need to go back to bed."
Before she heard an answer, the phone was closed. "Nice job, Sara." He studied her. "Grissom." He seemed to be testing the word. "He seems to care about you."
She closed her eyes. "He's a good boss; he cares about all his employees. Especially the ones that vomit mid-conversation with him," she added with distain.
"I needed it to be believable." He stood and leaned against the cell wall. "So, we have four more days…who do you love?"
Grissom rocked her, letting her cry in his arms. She had suppressed the pain and fear for so long, but Grissom knew her recovery had finally started.
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