Chapter 60

I Need You

By the end of the shift, even though his vision had improved, the pain in his head – even with the help of his prescription medication – wasn't leaving him. Several factors such as bad lighting, too much work to sift through, and the after effects of coffee left him feeling rather frail by the end of the day.

He still had too much work to clear out of his office before the next shift would begin, and with Catherine and Greg's help – thanks to an hours overtime – he somehow managed to clear his desk of all the paperwork, which he felt was somewhat a miracle in itself. The worry that had been weighing him down lightened a little, although the migraine didn't.

"That's the last of it," Catherine dropped a folder into the out tray on Gil's desk and dusted her hands off as if the paper had tainted her with dirt. She glanced at her watch, "I have to rush and get Lindsay ready for school…" she sighed, noting it was past seven.

"Go," Gil forced a grateful smile, "thanks for your help, by the way."
"Don't let it pile up again," Catherine pulled her jacket on, "Greg, drive him home. Don't let him drive home himself," she warned.

Greg saluted her, he was pulling on his own jacket, he looked as tired as Gil felt.

Gil sighed, "I don't need a ride home," he assured, he pondered if maybe he should walk, the fresh air might be helpful. Then the thought of harsh sunlight even filtered through his sunglasses reminded him even that might be difficult.

"I'm not THAT bad a driver," Greg forced a smirk.

Gil couldn't find the strength in him to complain anymore.

The three left the building together, and the moment the sunlight hit Gil's face, the blinding pain returned with a vengeance, leaving him temporarily with blurred vision again.

Greg had a firm grip on his shoulder and led him to the car. Gil felt entirely humiliated, as if he were being chaperoned to a police car by an armed officer. "Watch your head," Greg said as he opened the door for Gil.

Gil got into the passengers seat, he slipped his sunglasses off, and rubbed his eyes, trying to desperately ignore the white flashing spots he was seeing on his eyelids.

He heard Catherine chanting a goodbye outside of the car before Greg had revved the engine. The sounds of the engine, of tires on the asphalt, and even the tiniest bump on the road, all contributed to make the migraine even worse than it had been.

After having to speak to confirm the address he had to drive to, Greg was silent for most of the ride, he never even turned the radio on, much to Gil's surprise. By now, Gil had expected he'd be listening to music for the tone deaf and psychotically disturbed while Greg banged his head in time to the faintest resemblance of a beat.

"So…how long have you suffered migraines?" Greg finally asked, he'd stopped a at a red light, he was tapping his hands on the wheel absently.

"Stop that," Gil winced at the noise, "and I'd rather not talk if I can help it…" he confessed, even the sound of his own voice felt like it was rattling his very brain inside his skull.

Greg ignored this, "why didn't you just tell us in the first place? Why has it got to be a secret?"

"Because it's no ones business," Gil uttered, "are we there yet?" he asked, his eyes still covered with his hands, trying to block out every single fraction of the harsh morning sunlight.

"Nearly," Greg assured, "you know…you probably shouldn't have overloaded on so much coffee today…probably what made it worse."

Gil felt like strangling him, why couldn't he just stay silent. "I'm aware of this, yes," he uttered under his breath.

The next few moments were quiet apart from the heavy sounds of the street, and the engine. Finally, the car died, and silence followed, Gil took his hands away from his eyes to see the familiar – albeit blurry – sight of his house.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. About me driving you home – or the migraine," Greg assured.

Gil nodded, and opened the passenger door, "it'd be wise to remain quiet," were his final words to the younger man. He waved, and then headed up the path to his townhouse. He heard Greg drive away just as he reached his front door, he fumbled with the keys for several moment, the key to his office at work and the key to the yale lock for his front door were extremely similar, and with his eyesight slightly blurred by the migraine, he wasn't able to make out which was which.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder and he spun around, letting out a cry of surprise, only to see the very fuzzy image of Sara standing there. His heart had almost leapt out of his chest, he leaned back against the door, "jesus…why'd you sneak up on me…?"

"Sorry," Sara was smiling, "why'd Greg drive you home?"

"I lost my car keys at work," Gil lied, he turned back to the door and stared down at the keys, "how long have you been waiting around here?" he asked tiredly.

"About half an hour…I was parked across the street waiting for you to get home, I figured it wouldn't be too much longer…" she was looking at him curiously, "something wrong?"

"No…" he trailed off, trying to distinguish the keys. He'd made the mistake of slipping his office key into the lock of his house door before, and ended up with it getting stuck, breaking the key, having to replace his house locks and the key to his office. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

"Why are you staring at the keys like you've never seen keys before?" Sara asked sounding slightly amused.

"Which one of these has 'yale' written on it?" he asked, "I'm sorry, my glasses…I left them at work," he confessed.

Sara picked the keys up from his hand, "yale," she held up one of the keys and slipped it into the lock for him, "You need new glasses?"

"No…just a new head," he mumbled almost incoherently, he let Sara be the first to enter into his house, and he followed her all the way inside, he slipped his jacket off and left it over the kitchen counter.

"Dark in here," Sara noted all the blinds were closed, the only slithers of light coming from the small gaps at either end between the windows. She dropped the house keys on the counter beside his jacket.

"Just the way I like it…please…don't open the blinds," he pleaded.

Sara turned to look at him, "why…? Is the light bothering you?"

I'm going to have to tell her sooner or later about the migraines. I don't want her sympathy, but…if I don't tell her, and she has to hear it from someone else, she might feel a little…upset. She wants to know me, that means ailments and all.

Gil sighed, "you might as well know right now," he felt his eyesight beginning to improve here in the darkness and comfort of his own home, "because if I don't tell you, Greg eventually will anyway," he added. "I have a blinding migraine right now," he leaned against the counter.

Sara stepped closer, "you've been this way all night?"

"Started yesterday afternoon, and hasn't stopped," he sighed.

"Do you get them often?"

"Every once in a while," he shrugged.

"What do you take for them?"

"Amerge," he answered quickly, "don't worry, I have it under control."

"You have a nerve telling me not to worry after yesterday," Sara retorted, but then her voice softened. "What was it you said…when you walk into a relationship, suddenly you just can't worry about yourself anymore…"

Gil felt defeat, she was right, he had said something along those lines, and had his mind not been under onslaught of pain, he might have been able to even remember his exact words. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain without much success.

"I guess I should be thankful you're at least telling me something about yourself," Sara slid her hands behind his neck, lowered his head a little, and lightly touched her lips to his forehead in a gentle kiss.

Gil gave a soft moan at the tiny comfort her kiss provided. He'd felt he'd unwelcome any sympathy she offered, but this was somewhat reassuring.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" Sara asked softly.

"I'm working on it."

"C'mon, lets get you to bed," she said softly.

Gil had no argument for this, and no strength to refuse her as she led him to his bedroom. She took care of him like she'd been doing it all her life, she undressed him slowly, carefully. Every now and then planting soft kisses on his forehead. She helped him into bed even though he was quite capable doing this himself, she spread the blankets over him tenderly, planting one last kiss on his forehead before moving away to get ready for bed too.

He watched her through his bleary eyes as she removed all of her clothes save her white cotton underwear – her back turned to him so that he could admire the curve of her spine and the freckles on the back of her shoulders. She slipped into the same t-shirt he'd been wearing only moments before she'd removed it from his body.

Even in his agony, he found himself absurdly realizing how much better it looked on her, as it drooped from her narrow shoulders, and hung from the gentle curve of her breasts, falling just above the top of her thighs.

She still doesn't like to sleep naked, he thought. Either that or she's accepting that I just can't make love right now in this condition.

She slid into the bed with him, and stared at him across the pillows, "why didn't you tell me about the migraines before?" she asked softly.

"It wasn't an issue," he responded softly, he closed his eyes, feeling the gentle tug of sleep beginning to pull at him, "it's like you and the birth control…its your business…and didn't have anything to do with me…" he explained, "you didn't think I needed to know…"

Sara slid closer to him, "not exactly the same thing."

"Close enough…" he murmured, his consciousness beginning to slide away as sleep grew nearer and nearer, he moved closer to her, sensing the heat of her body near him, he draped his arm over her, and let his head rest against her left breast, enjoying the comfort of being against her.

Sara smiled, and caressed his cheek lightly, "you remind me of a kid when you do that," she admitted.

"Hmm?" he asked, nearly drifting into sleep now.

"When you curl up against me like this," Sara answered, she stroked her fingers through his hair. "It's…nice…it feels like you need me."

"I do need you," he yawned, he pulled her into him closer as if she were a very large human pillow, "I need you…to shut up…and go to sleep…so I can sleep this migraine off."

Sara let out a soft chortle, the happiness in her voice made him temporarily forget about how empty she'd sounded the day before. And he was happy of it, to be momentarily fooled into thinking everything was fine. "Okay. Go to sleep."

Gil didn't even hear her words, he'd already drifted off.

Thanks to the following people for reviewing :)

jbr12476, CrysWimmer, CSI-phreak, csishewolf, Wishing on the Moon, LGraziano, anonymous, NimrodDuckie, Mystical Panther, Aidriana, kristy87, jtbwriter, sarahmakinson, csibugman,

CSI-phreak: Sara said the shot and the steak comment AFTER she would have become a vegetarian. She said she hadn't been able to eat meat since the incident with the pig in episode 10 of season 1. Table Stakes is listed as being episode 15 of season 1. Also, I've seen her wear suede in the show,so she might have been put off eating meat (which is possible this is to do more with the fact she was sickened by it rather than emotionally bothered by it) but apparently doesn't mind wearing animal hyde. In fact, if you want to be specific, if you look at the jacket she's wearing in Gil's house in episode 23 of season 1 (Strip Strangler) you can see she's wearing amedium-brown suede jacket. shrugs. It's only fanfic anyway.