Grissom was driving Sara home. Correction, I'm driving her to my home. In any normal circumstance he would be thrilled at the idea. But this wasn't any normal circumstance, and he certainly wasn't thrilled at her state of mind right now.

Sara stared absent mindedly out of the window and it took a lot of gripping the steering wheel of the Denali to stop him from reaching over to take her hand in his. This was all becoming too real for Sara, he knew, and the only way she would feel she could cope with it would be to shut down to the world. Which she was already in the process of doing. He wasn't going to have any of it – if it took a lassoe and a herd of wild horses than so be it, Grissom would pull Sara out of the cruel ditch she had been forced so unceremoniously into and he would save her from herself.

But for now, he had no strategy as to how to execute his plan, and therefore could only feel his heart break and he watched her reclude from the people who loved her and cared about her. Gil was first on that list.

What she did next surprised him no end. Grissom pulled up to his apartment, turned the keys in the ignition and sat back, unbuckling his seat belt, when Sara unbuckled her own and in a split second had leant across to his own seat, straddled him and fixed her mouth on his. Alarms began in his head. What the hell is happening? It took him quite a few moments to realise she was kissing him, deep and hard, and he wasn't kissing back. He knew what was happening, and whilst his body pleaded with him to give in and let his desires run their true course, he felt his hands betray him. Gently he placed his hands on Sara's shoulders and pushed her back, and when he did both their breathing was shallow. There were tears in Sara's eyes.

"Sara…what…?"

Several emotions played over her beautiful features. Confusion, humiliation, despair, frustration. "Isn't that what you've always wanted? You don't want me for me, you just want my BODY like fucking Lady Heather! So here, Griss, have it!" Sara tore at her shirt, picked up his hand and shoved it inside, clamping it hard against her breast. "Adam Trent got EXACTLY what he wanted so why can't you! It's what you want, isn't it!" He grabbed her wrists.

"No!" Grissom stopped her. "No, Sara…no." He swallowed, almost distrusting himself to speak for he felt more like crying. "Not like this. I want you in your own time. Adam Trent got what he wanted at your expense. I would never do that, you hear?"

Sara sat back at his raised voice, still breathing shallowly. His hand was still in contact with the tender skin on her abdomen. Looking down, she saw peeks of bruises in the torn opening in her shirt. A sob rose from her throat and wracked her body, and Grissom quickly withdrew his hand and enveloped her in a warm embrace. "God, Sara…I-…I love you enough not to do that to you." He breathed into her hair. "You have got to trust me on that." Sara listened and cried for feeling so lost and seeing what was happening to her.

After a while her breathing calmed and the tears began to dry, and so Grissom opened the car door and carried her into his apartment, laying her down on the sofa and leaving to go and make a cup of coffee for both of them.

Five minutes later he sat on an armchair facing the couch, and placed to mugs of black coffee on coasters on the coffee table separating them. Sara sat up to pick up the coffee but avoided eye contact.

"Sara."

Grissom's voice was gentle, and Sara wanted so badly to just lie on his chest and hear that voice saying her name over and over, to get lost in the soft and the kind and the compassion because that was the only place she could ever feel safe again, she knew.

"Sara." The voice was firm but kind. "You know what I'm going to say." His hands made an apologetic shrug-like gesture. She sighed.

"You want me to talk about what happened." Sara's voice was resigned and tired, but he could tell it was merely a flat statement. Grissom nodded, and took a sip of his coffee. "I-…I can't."

"Why not?" Gil searched her downturned face, trying to decipher what was written on it in so much indecipherable code that was the wall Sara had always worn, protecting her from vulnerability, always. What could he see there? Remorse? Anger? Hate? Confusion? And then he saw it. Plain and clear on her cheeks that were burning up. Shame.

Dear god, He thought. Why is she ashamed? How can she be ashamed? This wasn't her fault…"I just can't." Was the only answer she gave. Her hands were shaking, and she placed the mug on the table.

Grissom stood, coffee forgotten, and sat next to her on the sofa. Slowly he took both of her hands in his own to calm the shaking, because it broke his heart seeing them do so, and he sighed. "Sara please don't go down the road of self-blame. You did nothing wrong."

"No, Grissom, you're wrong. I didn't do nothing wrong. I did nothing."

"He had a weapon! He was stronger than you and bigger than you. Trying to do anything would have gotten you killed. Did you want that to happen?"

Sara's voice was almost inaudible but Grissom heard it loud and clear in the silence of his living area. "Yes."

"No. No you don't Sara."

For the first time since inside the SUV she looked in his eyes, and the honesty of her words shone through the empty gaze she now possessed. Unsure of what to say, unsure of whether his voice would permit him to say it, he kept his gaze on her and felt his heart break for the umpteenth time since this all began. Sara looked about her, uneasy.

"I…uh, I need a bath or a-a-a shower or something." She spoke quietly, her voice pleading as she rubbed her wrists fervently.

Grissom broke his gaze and nodded, looking into his coffee and then standing. "It's just down here, down the hallway. I'll get some…some towels."

The coffee went cold, forgotten on the coffee table.

Gil was beginning to worry. Sara had been in the bath 17 minutes. He had timed it, pacing outside the door. Five more minutes and I'm going in there.But each time he made to enter the bathroom, hestopped, and rationalized – Sara definitely wouldn't appreciate being barged in on. But he also knew the ritualistic cleansing rape victims subjected themselves to after an assualt, and she couldn't afford to worry her stitches. Stitches. God, he roughed her up, the bastard.

Grissom had decided that running a bath for her would be more gentle on her wounds than pressure from the shower, and he had also decided that without the sound of running water hitting the tiles, he'd be able to hear what was going on better inside the bathroom. He didn't want to take any chances with damaging her health be it self-inflicted or accidental. No, Sara would never hurt herself. Would she?

A sob permeated the oak door to his bathroom and immediately Grissom stopped pacing, his hearing alert. "Sara?" Another, quieter, but just as audible.

Gil opened the door and he felt his heart stop. Sara was hugging her knees in the tub, full of blood red liquid. "Sara!"

Sara was crying, her body wracking with sobs, her hands covering her face. Grissom ran to the tub and rolled up his sleeves, reaching into the liquid and pulling out the plug. "Sara, god, don't look at it. It's okay, you're okay." Frantically he tried to tell himself the same thing. Her stitches must have leaked. That's okay. The blood must have just mixed well with the water. That's also okay. The rational side of his brain tried to tell him. What if she's haemorrhaging again? What am I meant to do!

He reached over to her, put his arms under her shoulders and gently hoisted her up out of the tub, grabbing a white towel from the railing on the way. Grissom wrapped her in it to keep her warm and sat her on the side of the bath, turning the taps back on to wash away the remnants of the bloody water. Suddenly the thought of Sara's blood running down his drains sickened him. Just like Debbie Marlin.

"Griss-" Sara's voice was hurried and scared, and her face had gone pale. "Grissom…"

"Honey what is it?" He said, instantly looking up into her face noting the fear in her voice.

"I'm still bleeding!" Her voice was tiny and high pitched. "Why am I bleeding?"

Gil stood and wrung his hands. "Is it…" He made a wide gesture to her bottom half and Sara swallowed and nodded. He tried to force the analytical side of his brain to whirr into action but all he could hear was his emotions screaming blue murder at him. Didn't the doctor say it would? Shit, what did she say?

Sara shivered, and then he saw it. The delicate crimson trail running down the inside of her calf from under the towel. "Uh…it's okay…the doctor said that might happen…we've just got to, to, uh, wash you down and dress it alright?" Sara nodded, the tears slowing on her cheeks now. He ran the bath to a shallow level so he could use the shower head and picked up a sponge. "Should I…I mean do you want me to leave…or…"

"No." Sara's voice was frantic, and still scared. "Please don't leave. Please…"

Grissom nodded. "It's okay, I won't. Just if you're uncomfortable, tell me, right?"

Sara nodded and he slowly pulled the towel off her body and threw it into the laundry basket, now pink from the watery blood soaking into it. She averted her eyes as he saw the first true extent of her injuries. There was a lattice of bruises, some finger shaped contusions on her breasts, spreading all the way down to between her thighs. The black stitches pulled the skin on her hip together roughly, and he resisted the urge to run his fingertips across the raised scar, wishing he could make all the pain go away. There would be a scar there, he knew. How would she live with a reminder like that, always there? How would she explain it to future lovers? No, she won't have any, the self-indulgent side of him told himself. Surges of rage coursed along his veins at the sight of what that monster had done to her body, a temple at which he had dreamed of worshipping. What right had that bastard to scar her in such a way, not only physically…but emotionally?

But the rage was swallowed, as he gathered strength from god knows where and helped her back into the tub. Even with the bruises, she's beautiful, Gil noted. Gently he began to wash her back, taking great care with something so fragile as her body. Gradually he did her back and her shoulders, then her upper arms, but hesitated on her chest - Sara saw his hesitation and reached for the sponge, and began to scrub her front rigorously, so hard the skin became raw, an angry red. "Sara, no…" Grissom reached for her hand to take away the sponge but she withdrew the hand and kept on scrubbing. He now knew why she had started to bleed before.

"It won't get off me." Sara's teeth were gritted as she ground out the short sentence.

"Sara…it's okay…just don't-"

"No! I need to get him off of me..." Her voice was pleading, her mission clear. But he would not let her scrub her skin raw, ritualistic or not. Grissom grabbed for her hand and retrieved the sponge, and her hand reached up to snatch it, but he had it. Sara cried. "No, no, no…you don't understand…"

"I do. I know you feel like you can't be rid of the memory until you clean yourself of it." He said, his voice compassionate much like he dealt when he showed victims and murderers that he knew, at least in reason, why they did what they did and why they felt like they felt. "But it doesn't work like that. You and I have worked with enough people who have been through this to understand it takes a lot of time…" He began to wash her front, softly, carefully. "…And a lot of love."

Sara's cries quieted and she looked up at him on his last said line, wondering what he had meant. Grissom finished washing her and sprayed her over lightly with the shower head, the grime and sweat cleaned off her body leaving just white and bruised skin. "He made me ugly. That will never change."

"No, he didn't. No man could ever change how beautiful you are."

FINALLY! lol sorry for the huge delay my computer has been uber-obstreperous this last week. The french exam is over (yay!) but now the big exams are looming...(eek!). An ulter-huge thank you to the lovely people who have reviewed, you are all truly awesome, I will thank you next chapter but right now it's midnight and I still have work to do. Argh.

Hope you all like this chapter...it's a bit uninspired, I'm sorry if it's a bit flat. I probably should have finished at least three chapters before posting it, but it's up here now and so I can't give up unless you guys tell me to or not! it's all up to you! love, hugs and funkadelic jellyfish - keep writing! - Mochaccino Girl. xx