A/N: Someday, I am going to write a fic longer then one chapter that doesn't involve hospital visits. I swear! It's just that they're such a perfect breeding ground for angst.

Thanks for the continued beta'ing, Sprogy. You rock.

Chapter 4

Grissom wasn't surprised when Sara and Maggie showed up at the hospital. He was just glad that they had waited until Brass had finished his interview. Debra had confirmed that it was her ex-husband who had assaulted her, and Brass was already on his way back to the station to fill out an arrest warrant. Grissom had stayed behind, knowing that it was only a matter of time before Sara came.

"Mommy!" Maggie bounced into the hospital room, skipping across the cold tile floor until she reached the bed.

"Hey, pumpkin. I missed you." Debra raised the head of the bed so that she was sitting up. "Come sit with me," she said as she patted the mattress beside her.

Maggie climbed into the bed with a little help from Grissom who was seated in the chair closest to the bed. "Can I press that button too?" she asked her mom, pointing to the lever that raised and lowered the bed.

"No, sweetie. It's not a toy." Debra stroked her daughter's hair with her uninjured arm. "You can sign my cast with your markers when we get home though."

"Oh! Can I use pink and purple and blue?" Maggie asked, already distracted from the forbidden button.

"You can use any colors you want."

"How are you feeling, Debra?" Sara spoke for the first time. She still stood in the doorway, as if she was preparing for a quick escape if it became necessary.

"Not bad, considering. Knowing that you're watching Maggie takes a load off my mind."

Sara cautiously stepped into the room. Hospitals. She hated hospitals. They never signified anything good. Grissom rose from his chair, offering it to Sara. Reluctantly she sat down.

"I'm going to go find some coffee. Do you want some?" Grissom asked. Sara shook her head. "Come on, Cricket. Maybe we can find you a candy bar." He waited for Maggie to climb down the bed before leaving the room, pausing to squeeze Sara's shoulder in reassurance.

"How are you really?" Sara asked again once they were alone.

"Not bad, right now. They gave me some pretty good drugs, so I'm not feeling much of anything bad."

"Do you know who did this to you?" she hated to ask, but felt that she had to.

"Yeah." Debra looked away from Sara, a flush of embarrassment flooding her cheeks. "His name's Wes. Wesley O' Shannon. Maggie's father and my ex-husband. I didn't know that he'd been paroled."

Sara listened silently as Debra spoke. So Brass had been right.

"He got put away when Maggie was just a couple of months old. Wes and I went to high school together. We got married when we were both eighteen. He was always a little wild. I think that's what drew me to him at first. You know, bad boy with a motorcycle and a leather jacket. Hard not to be flattered when he turned his attention my way. After we got married, though, he got worse. Before, he would yell sometimes, but after..." Debra pursed her lips in memory. "This is not the first time he's sent me to the hospital. It was a relief, really, when he and a couple of buddies failed at their attempt to rob a casino."

Debra's eyes were drooping, a combination of the medicines she was taking and the trauma of the day. Sara bit her tongue to keep from saying anything. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, none of them appropriate. Why did you stay? Why didn't you ask for help? Why didn't you fight back? Debra was not the right person to ask. Really, she wanted to ask her mother.

"Get some sleep, Debra. We'll come pick you up tomorrow."

Grissom had only just managed to fall asleep after coming home from work when the sound of shouting filling the room woke him up.

"No... no... NO!" Sara was thrashing on the bed, kicking her legs until the blankets were all on the floor.

"Sara." He shook her gently in a failed attempt to wake her. All it earned him was a swift kick in the shin. "Sara." he repeated, louder this time. He didn't dare shake her again, didn't feel the need to repeat that experiment. She didn't respond.

"Don't. Please... don't." The volume of her voice was lower now. It should have been a good sign, but the softening of her voice allowed the pain behind the words come through. She sounded, not like a strong thirty-four year old woman, but a frightened child. The mournful tone made him cringe. Why wasn't she safe and protected as a child? His own childhood had been far from perfect, raised by a single parent who happened to be deaf. But he never doubted for a moment that his mother loved him.

Risking another bruised shin, or worse, he pulled Sara into him. She fought against him for a moment, but then calmed down. Still asleep, she tugged at the arm wrapped around her, pulling him even closer.

"Thank you," Sara muttered.

"Always." Grissom didn't know if she was awake or not. Wasn't sure if she was thanking him in particular or just whatever made the nightmares go away.

He had always known that she had nightmares. She had mentioned them once, a few months after she had started working at the lab. In the past few months he had witnessed a few first hand, heard the low moans or felt her get up from the bed in the middle of the day. He himself had experienced more then a few nightmares. It was a side effect of their job. Sara's nightmares went beyond that.

"I promise you, Sara Sidle, I'll do everything I can to make the nightmares go away." The sleeping woman in his arms didn't stir.

"Do you want a grilled cheese sandwich?" Sara was standing in front of the stove, spatula in hand, when Grissom entered the kitchen. He had just woken up, catching all of five hours of sleep. It was now a little after noon, which meant lunch for most people. Not for him.

"No, thanks. I'll have cereal." After so many years on the grave shift, meals were generally composed of whatever he craved. Today, it was breakfast.

"I'm helping Sara make lunch," Maggie piped up from atop the counter, where she was seated.

"I can see that. Good job." Grissom stepped up behind Sara. He wrapped his arms around her, mimicking in the vertical the same comforting pose he had held her in earlier this morning.

"Hey." Sara leaned back into him, turning her head to place a quick kiss on the underside of his chin. "Good afternoon, sleepyhead," she joked. Either she didn't remember the night before, or she was avoiding it.

"Don't you look all domesticated, with your apron, spatula, and even a sou chef. Someone might think that you can do more in the kitchen then make cheese sandwiches and reheat leftovers." If she wanted lighthearted banter and flirting this morning, he was happy to oblige. Releasing his hold on her, he turned her around and gave her a proper good morning kiss. Sara sunk into the warmth, letting herself forget everything else until she became aware of the giggling behind her.

"Uh, Gil. Don't forget we have an audience." Reluctantly Grissom ended the kiss.

"Eww. Doesn't he have cooties, Sara?" Maggie scrunched up her face. "All the boys in my class have cooties, and during recess they chase the girls and try to give them cooties too."

Grissom didn't know what to say to that, but Sara did. "When little boys grow up, they loose their cooties. Grissom's safe." She explained this patiently to Maggie, as if it made perfect sense. Grissom looked at her, single eyebrow raised in question. Cooties?

"You never told a little girl she had cooties when you were in elementary school?" Sara questioned Grissom later, as they were cleaning the dishes. Maggie was in the other room, watching TV.

"Can't say I did. I tried to show Sally Jane my African hissing cockroach once. Does that count?"

"I bet she loved that. What were you doing with a roach at school?" She could almost see a miniature Grissom, curly brown hair and too-large glasses, holding up a mayonnaise jar to proudly display his pet.

"Science fair. First place, too."

"Don't tell me. You raced them, right?" Grissom shrugged, as if to say 'It's what I do.' Sara rolled her eyes.

"How was work last night?" she questioned.

Damn. There goes the relaxed mood of the morning.

"Fine," he answered evasively.

"Did the cops pick up Wes?"

"No." Grissom braced himself for her reaction.

"What? Why not? We know he's in Vegas." She was clearly agitated, and decided to take it out on the dishes in the sink. Plates and frying pan met in a crash. Amazingly, nothing broke.

Grissom grasped both of Sara's hands in his own, before she could cause any actual damage.

"Brass has guys out looking for him as we speak. We'll find him," he reassured.

"I want to be there when he's interviewed." She was griping his hands tightly, her own knuckles turning white.

"I don't think that's a good idea. You're too close to the case." He rubbed the back of her hands with his thumbs as if the motion alone could calm her.

"I didn't say I wanted to conduct the interview. I just want to be there, see it for myself."

Grissom sighed. It was a bad idea, but he knew there was no way he was going to be able to talk her out of it.

"You can watch from the observation room."

"But Grissom..." she protested.

"Observation room or nothing, Sara. That's my deal."

"Fine."

It was as if the entire justice system was waiting for her agreement. At that exact moment Grissom's cell phone rang. He answered it, and after listening briefly hung up. "That was Brass. They have Wes O' Shannon in custody."