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Grissom had several reasons for volunteering. Apart from his fondness for Sara, and a certain discomfort about Nick's apparent eagerness to volunteer, he also felt it was the right thing to do. The responsible thing. Now that the decision had been made he hatched a quick plan in his head for how to best go about it, but he had not factored in Sara's reaction.

It turned out that she had an opinion. A hostile one.

She piped up quickly.

"Don't I get a say in this?" she asked, brash.

Grissom looked to her. The tent was quite dark, given it was only faintly lit by the thin beam of his flashlight, yet even so he could make out the grumpy tightness on her face.

She lay on her side, half covered by the blanket, her clothes still patched with mud, and she closed her eyes almost immediately after the statement, evidently still in pain.

"Sara, you're freezing," he pointed out.

"Your temperature's dropping," Nick added. "You may just need a little help, stabilise it a little."

"By stripping naked?"

Grissom hesitated. Nick sat back a little, affronted.

"We're not asking you to parade around the campsite," Catherine said, her tone firm, and a little frustrated. "And you don't even have to be naked. Just take off a layer, get in the sleeping bag – your clothes are covered in mud anyway. We can dry them by the fire for you."

Sara hesitated.

"If this gets around the lab –"

"It won't get around the lab," Catherine said, determined.

"No one will ever know except us, okay?" Nick said.

"We can keep it discreet," Grissom said.

"I'll have a word with the detectives," Catherine offered. "Make sure they don't say anything."

Grissom had faith they wouldn't – largely because he had such a positive relationship with both Sofia and Vartann, and he was confident they would be able to sway the other two juniors they had brought with them. It was the least of his concerns.

But seeing Sara still hesitate, he saw Catherine motion with a tip of her head to Nick, indicating for him to leave. Nick soon slipped out the tent, zipping it closed behind him, and closing it off to the few curious onlookers who had gathered around the entrance, concerned.

Now they had privacy, and the wind blocked their colleagues nearby from hearing anything.

"We'll keep it discreet," he repeated, softly and gently. "I won't even see anything. You can take your clothes off in the dark, I won't look."

"I trust you Gil," she said, tone gentle again now. "It's just –"

"- A lot to ask?" he guessed. "We're just trying to get you through to morning safely, that's all. I won't look. No one will ever hear of it."

Sara sighed, daunted. She covered her eyes for a moment, stressed.

After another moment, Catherine sighed – deeply.

"Look, Sara," she said, and she heaved a breath, mustering something from within, "If it's awkward with Gil, then I'm happy to do it. If it makes you more comfortable. It's not a big deal, okay? It's only a big deal if we all make it one."

Grissom looked to her, and felt a surge of gratitude – for Catherine's presence, for her utter professionalism and determined friendship. He would have gambled that Catherine would not indeed find it a big deal; she was a former dancer, after all, and he was sure that she had done naughtier and more risqué things in her day than hug a person with hypothermia. But he was grateful for the fact that she had offered, when he sensed that deep within, she would rathered not have been the first choice.

This thought seemed to have occurred to Sara, too. She looked up at Catherine for a moment, and her brown eyes sank from anger into compassion.

"Thanks for offering," she said. "I really do appreciate that. But if we have to, then –"

She looked to Grissom, and he understood.

She wanted him.

"Okay," he said.

"Let's get on with it, then," Catherine said.

Funnily enough, Catherine's offer seemed to have spurred Sara to get on with it, and Grissom sensed after a while that perhaps Catherine had even made it with that intention in mind. She certainly seemed to rally her confidence, and it was moments later that Grissom found himself sitting with his back turned, staring at the shadowy wall of the tent, offering privacy while Sara struggled to undress behind him. It was inevitable that Catherine ended up helping her – Sara's body was too battered for her to even sit up comfortably, let alone work her own pants off while balancing her bad leg and dizziness, and he listened as Sara made a few noises of shame and embarrassment, until she eventually rallied her bravado.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she mused, as if in a state of stunned shock.

"Hey, it's no big deal," Catherine offered, behind him.

Grissom heard the sound of a piece of cotton shirt being tossed aside, landing with a light thump on someone's pack.

"I don't even know why I'm embarrassed …" Sara went on.

"Don't be," Catherine said, airily. "You know how many women I've seen naked? You know I used to dance, right?"

"Yeah."

"There's no one within ten miles that we can't trust," Catherine said, firmly.

"The detectives are out there …"

"And they'll stay out there. Don't sweat it."

He heard the sounds of more struggling, of buttons being undone and pants unzipped, until they were then tossed aside, and he heard Catherine urge Sara down into the sleeping bag. She must have been okay, then, as Sara's grimaces and winces had eased, and he heard Catherine sit up, job done.

"I'll give you some space," she said.

"Thanks," Sara offered.

He heard her make her way to the door.

"You're good to go," she told him.

He turned, freeing himself from his stare at the wall, and caught her with his eyes just as her hand reached for the tent zip.

"Catherine?"

She waited, blue eyes fixed on him.

"I don't want anyone else in here," he said.

She nodded.

"And get them out of the wind," he added, nodding in the direction of where he could hear the detectives and Nick and Warrick. "Let's restrict the cases of hypothermia to just one."

"You got it."

She left. She discreetly slipped out, and closed the tent behind her. Now he was in the dark, only a thin flashlight beam lighting the way, and he glanced at Sara, tucked up in the sleeping bag, the slightest hint of only two bra straps gracing the little he could see of her shoulders and clavicle.

He reached for his shirt. Sara's brown eyes were on him. He hesitated.

"I'll close my eyes," she said.

And somehow, despite all her previous nerves and the reassurances it had taken to get her to agree, she now seemed to faintly tease him, the slightest hint of a smile on her lips.

But she did close her eyes, and was equally professional as she gave him plenty of privacy to undress.

Grissom wasn't as shy about it as she was – but then, he thought, women probably had more to be shy about – and he peeled off his clothes with indifference, folding them and putting them aside, before edging toward the sleeping bag in his underwear.

"I'm getting in," he said.

It seemed best to warn her, to be polite.

"Okay," she said.

He lifted the edge of the sleeping bag, which had been left unzipped, and squeezed himself in with difficulty. Somehow it seemed that the sleeping bag was not big enough, and was smaller than it had ever been and definitely not designed for two people. But, he thought, the lack of cold air in between them would only hasten her recovery. Nevertheless, it was somewhat humorous as he tried to shuffle and tuck himself in, trying to twist and tug the sleeping bag zip up behind him, and after a moment Sara giggled.

"This is smoother in the movies," he joked.

"Everything is smoother in the movies," she joked back.

He finally tugged it up, though, and with more awkwardness, tried to shuffle down into the incredibly narrow space of the sleeping bag, suddenly very aware of not rubbing up against Sara's behind, while trying not to touch anything at all that was private.

For some reason, despite his hugging her earlier, he was now more aware than ever of her bare skin, even though her bra and panties remained on, and was very conscious of the relative position of her body.

He finally slipped down, though, and hesitated for a moment while he debated the safest place to put his hands.

"It's okay," she said, gently. "If this is going to work, you probably shouldn't be shy. It might take a bear hug."

He wriggled closer. Suddenly his hairy chest was flush against her smooth back, and he could feel the outline of her sports bra against his skin. He tucked his legs against hers, and drew her to him.

"Is this okay?" he asked, gently.

"It's good."

It was dark, but he heard her sigh, heard a ripple of faint nervousness leave her lips, and he tightened his hand on her waist.

"It's okay," he breathed.

He rubbed her arm a little, reassuring. He never would have imagined that the bull-headed, determined Sara he knew in the lab would be so shy in private. But that was probably due to the fact that they had all coerced her into taking off her clothes. Yet it was endearing, and somehow feminine.

"Gil?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I'm terrified."

He knew, instinctively, that she was not talking about him, or the cuddle. She was terrified of the prolonged nature of the night, of her injuries, the uncertainty of the outcome, and the sheer isolation of their location. Her nerves were thoroughly worn.

There was little he could do. But he could reassure her.

"It's okay," he said. "We'll get through it together. I won't leave."

"Thank you."

And she wriggled back into him, until her panty-clad behind was flush against him, and he held her, sharing his warmth, feeling the coolness of her skin. He held her tight, and offered her all his strength.

Somehow, together, they would make it.

There was no choice.