A Trial of the Heart: Chapter thirteen

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I reached for sleep and drew it round me like a blanket muffling pain and thought together in the merciful dark.
-- Mary Stewart

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Silence. Peaceful and unassuming. She felt enveloped by softness and quiet, and her aching muscles found some measure of temporary relief in oblivion.

When her eyes flickered languidly open, she was assaulted by the blinding, overwhelming whiteness of the room, and the pungent, antiseptic smell she had long associated with pain and death.

'Am I dead?'

Blurry shapes focused and unfocused in front of her weary eyes, and she squinted, struggling to distinguish between their distorted outlines.

Something weighty and warm trapped her fingers, pressing them to the bed, and she momentarily panicked, heart thundering painfully at their identify.

The dark shape hunched beside her bed finally came into view, and Sara recognised Grissom's taut, wan features, relaxing slightly. He was asleep, but his fingers remained threaded over hers, clutching their warmth tightly, protectively.

She blinked groggily, feeling her head sway dizzily, tempting her back into unconsciousness. She resisted it weakly, barely lifting her head as she studied him.

Bruises marred his face and neck, and her eyes trailed down to his tanned wrist, and the flesh that the cuff of his shirt had slid up to reveal on the white blanket. Raw, painful indents burnt into it, and she bit her lip, closing her eyes again and feeling her fingers slacken weakly under Grissom's grasp as she futilely tried to prise them apart.

'He can't be here. He can't.'

She slid away again, embracing the darkness with a heavy heart.

Warmth ticked her features, lulling her slowly awake. She blinked slightly, adjusting to the low amber glow of the room as she took in the fingers of orange flames coiling up in the fireplace. Her head was cushioned on the sofa, and a soft blanket draped over her shoulders. She realised she had fallen asleep again. Sara lifted her head, threading her fingers vaguely through her mussed locks as her eyes scanned the empty room.

"Grissom?" she called softly, hesitantly. His absence bothered her, and she wondered how she had managed without him so long. She glanced towards the entrance, realising that the door to the suite was open.

She rose to her feet, retrieving a cotton pullover from the top of her luggage and striding across the room towards it. She nudged through the screen door, shoes soundless on the floor as she walked out onto the small porch. Grissom sat on a chair poised on the end. His blue eyes were fixed distantly on the horizon.

Sara studied him for a moment, allowing her old and new selves to temporarily overlap and take pleasure in the fact that Grissom was voluntarily alone with her, hundreds of miles from Vegas.

"Hey", she said softly, closing the door carefully so as not to startle him. She strode onto the porch, leaning back against the pine railing to face him.

Grissom glanced up at her in mild surprise. "Hey".

His earlier enthusiasm appeared to have deflated in her absence, and he looked sad and contemplative. She wrapped her arms around her midsection, ignoring the brief flash of pain as she grazed a wound, studying him in concern.

"What are you doing out here? It's freezing, Griss".

He moved his shoulders in a vague shrug, smiling faintly. "Just thinking".

She frowned as she considered the implications of that. "That can be… a dangerous thing, lately".

He glanced at her. "That's not what I…" He paused, linking his hands together on his knees as he struggled to formulate the adequate words. "Am I… trying too hard, Sara? Is this all too much, too soon—after years of nothing? I don't want you to feel like you have to…"

Sara tilted her head, eyeing him uncertainly. Was he having second thoughts? "I told you I was fine with this before. Better than fine. This is… exactly what I need."

Grissom nodded, intently studying his hands as he exhaled. "Okay. Good".

She found this tentative side of him oddly endearing, and left her perch, stepping in front of him so her legs lightly brushed against his knees.

"Hey", she said softly, reaching out and brushing his hands with her palm. It gave her a strange thrill when she realised she could do that freely, without fearing the consequences of the simple intimacy of the motion. "What are you really thinking about?"

Grissom lifted his head, meeting her gaze reluctantly. He unconsciously threaded his fingers through hers, stroking her hand idly. "I was thinking about him", he admitted quietly. "About Wilson".

"Someone has to tell her".

"She's weak enough already. She doesn't need the stress".

Catherine folded her arms, staring at Grissom levelly.

"If we don't tell her, she'll hear it on the news, or from one of the nurses", she persisted impatiently. "I think that would be worse."

Grissom remained silent, staring moodily at the floor, from his position on the soft suede chair positioned in the corner of his hospital room. He refused the indignity of the bed when he was strong enough to sit, and Catherine suspected he would have pestered the hospital staff for an early discharge if it hadn't meant his separation from Sara.

She wasn't entirely sure exactly what had happened between the two of them, but she could guess. Grissom had held a grim vigil at Sara's bedside all through her unconsciousness, and then she had woken yesterday, and he had not so subtly extricated himself from her presence since. Catherine got the feeling it was too painful for Sara to see him after her ordeal, and had said something to that effect to Grissom, which the entomologist immediately misinterpreted.

'He can be so stupid sometimes.'

"I don't think it would be a good idea if I told her", Grissom muttered, looking into the bustling outer corridor as Catherine stared at him expectantly. "I can't".

She pursed her lips, looking down. He had to realise how much Sara really needed him right now. After everything they had been through, the only comfort she would find was with him. Even if she didn't think so right now. She fingered her handbag where she had placed it on the food stool at the end of Grissom's bed, hovering there uncertainly.

Her eyes slid up when she heard movement in the hallway, eyes widening when she spotted the spiky haired lab tech in the door.

Grissom followed her gaze, and she could tell he was following her line of thinking. She was hardly qualified to tell Sara herself when their relationship was civil at the best of times. It needed to come from someone she trusted. Someone who cared about her as much as Grissom did.

Greg blinked stupidly back at them. His features were drawn and he looked exhausted. She momentarily pitied him.

"What?"

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Greg hesitated outside the door, bracing himself inwardly. He slowly knocked, craning his head inside when there was no response.

Sara was on her back, hunched under the blankets of the stiff hospital bed with the delicacy of a child, staring mutely at the ceiling. Her normally slender frame looked thin and frail, and her deep brown eyes were vacant, dull of their normal animation.

Greg swallowed, heartbroken to see his friend so stripped of herself. He didn't think what he had to tell her would make it any better.

"Hey, Sar", he said gently, slowly approaching the side of the bed.

She turned her head, drawing her eyes away from some random spot on the ceiling to fix on him carefully. To his relief, she attempted a weak smile, though it barely reached her tired eyes.

"Hi, Greggo", she murmured, voice raspy.

He fidgeted, returning the smile nervously. He didn't like hospitals. His own brief period there in the wake of the lab explosion had been enough time for him.

He pulled the chair to the edge of the bed, forcing his expression to appear mildly cheerful. "So. How's the hospital food?" he started warmly.

Sara scoffed, and it was a sound so familiar it tore his heart. "They don't have… a proper vegetarian menu", she rasped slowly. "I had to have soup".

He didn't point out that that was probably all she could manage right now, and she didn't either. "Well, I'm sure I can smuggle in some contraband", he replied, winking lightly. "You'll just have to be extra nice to me".

Sara chuckled vaguely, which erupted into several lengthy, body wracking coughs.

Greg hastily retrieved the water from the side of the bed, holding it to her lips, which she sipped gratefully. After she had sagged back against her pillows, he cleared his throat, casting his eyes downward grimly. "Sara… I need to, uh… We need to talk about something for a sec".

If she observed the gravity of his tone, she didn't comment. "Okay", she murmured slowly. "Go ahead".

Greg bit his lip, studying the white of her blanket intently. "Okay. Well… uh, I don't know if you know… what happened after you lost consciousness…"

Sara closed her eyes. "No", she said quietly.

Greg faltered. "We thought… it would be better… if we waited a while until we told you…"

"What is it, Greg?" she said quietly, with infinite patience, like he was merely on another of his random evidence ramblings.

He swallowed, glancing at her face tensely. "Wilson… He isn't dead", he confessed unsteadily. "He survived Nick's shooting".

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"Grissom", Sara chided gently, staring at him with infinite gentleness and compassion. He blinked; surprised she was the one assured enough to do so, and that she hadn't reacted the way he had imagined when he admitted what he had been thinking. "Don't… Just don't think about it".

Grissom frowned, glancing down again sharply. "I can't help but think that… he's going to come back… and destroy what's happening between us".

Sara glanced at him carefully. "Is that why you brought us here?" she guessed softly, staring at him shrewdly. He met her gaze, still somewhat surprised by how well she knew him. "Is that why you wanted to escape Vegas?"

He didn't reply, allowing her to draw her own conclusions. He was inwardly amazed at how well she appeared to be adjusting to the seclusion, to the peace of their surroundings. It had been years since he himself had been on a holiday, and he knew the days of imposed 'leave' Sara had taken last year would not have qualified as much of a break. It amazed him that he had set up this very plan to relax them both… and he appeared to be the one unhinging.

"Come on", she said tenderly, suddenly breaking him from his thoughts, wrapping her fingers more tightly around his hand.

He frowned, allowing her to tug him to his feet, staring at her uncomprehendingly. "What…?"

"Come on", she repeated gently, leading him back into the warmth of the suite. The place had fond memories attached to it for him, despite the fact that he had never been there. Memories, which had been fabricated in his own imagination-- of his parent's love and undying devotion to one another. A visual he had rarely seen in his own childhood throughout their troubled marriage, and something that comforted him inwardly and made him glad he was sharing it with Sara. He was certain the intimacy of sharing such a location with her was not lost on her, and he glanced at her slightly flushed cheeks in the amber glow of the room, marvelling at her beauty.

When he realised where she led him, he lifted his brow, staring at her uncertainly. "Sara…"

She shook her head at him, and it amazed him that somehow in this journey she had ended up being the one to comfort him. She slid out of her shoes, pulling back the down comforter on the expansive bed. "Just sleep, Grissom", she said gently. "That's all".

He allowed himself to crawl beneath the covers, nestling into the soft curve of the mattress. Sara shifted so her head was next to his on the pillow, and the lavender scent of her shampoo briefly teased his nostrils. He closed his eyes, feeling her shift her back to face him, and snuggling against his warmth so his front was pressed against her, cocooning tightly around her.

She found his hands, wrapping them securely around her midsection, and he carefully avoided pressing himself against her injuries, allowing himself to take in the warmth, the scent and the comfort of Sara Sidle.

When sleep came, it was peaceful.

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