"I won't," Sara repeated to Brass. "You might as well give up."

"What, and send Grissom back in here to strangle you, instead?"

She gave him a bored look. "He's just cranky because he's gotten about four hours sleep in the last two days."

Brass blinked. "Why?"

"Apparently," she said loudly, looking toward the hall Grissom had disappeared into, "my bed isn't comfortable enough for him."

A door slammed somewhere in the apartment, but Brass was too busy gaping at her to notice it. "Your...bed? Your bed?"

"Stop it," she said, not amused by his implication. "Do I look like someone who could get herself into the bed right now, let alone share it with someone? I've been out here on the couch since I got home from the hospital; Grissom took over my bedroom. Which," she added, raising her voice again, "isn't good enough for him!"

Grissom, goaded beyond endurance, yanked open the bedroom door, stomped out of the room, and snapped, "Well maybe if I didn't keep waking up every time I hear you make that squeaky noise you make when it hurts and you think no one's watching, I'd be sleeping better!" By the time he got to the last word of his rant, he had crossed the room and was standing by the couch and glaring down at her.

"Squeaky noise?" Brass repeated. "Sara squeaks?"

"Well, it's more of a high-pitched gasp, I guess," Grissom said, momentarily distracted.

"A high-pitched gasp," Brass echoed.

"Except at the end it turns into a squeak when she runs out of breath," Grissom added.

"I don't squeak!" Sara said, shoving at his leg, which was the only part of him she could reach without shifting her position. "You're making that up as an excuse."

"You do it at least ten times a night, Sara - every time you move your leg." He looked down, eyebrows raised as her hand hit his thigh again. "And by the way, you're not going to be able to move enough to kill me unless you get your leg to stop hurting."

She considered that for a moment. He had a point, but still... "I know ways to kill you other than beating."

"No kidding," Brass muttered. Sara and Grissom just glared at each other, saying nothing.

"Fine. Fine!" Grissom said after a full minute of the silent duel. "Don't take the pills, stay in pain, knock yourself out. And since you're soo not in pain," he mocked, "then I'm sure you won't even need any aspirin or Tylenol." He strode to the kitchen and dug both bottles out of the cabinet, shoving them in his pockets, then returned to the couch.

"Gil," Brass said tentatively, "don't you think that's a little -"

"Fine," Sara interrupted him. "Take them, I don't care. I don't need them."

"Sara..." Brass tried, deciding Grissom was a lost cause.

"Leave, Jim," Grissom ordered, not moving his eyes away from Sara's face.

"Now wait just a minute! I'm not going to--"

"Leave," Sara echoed. "You can't change my mind anyway, and I can't deal with Grissom if you're here."

That sounded rather intriguing, Brass thought. "Dealing" with Grissom could be anything from killing him to getting him in b-... Whoa, now. Either way, that's not a mental image I need, he interruped himself. I might as well get out before she kills me too.

"Ok, then. I'm going. But," he added, shaking a warning finger at them, "one of you better call me tonight so I know everyone's in one piece and not bleeding."

"Go!" Grissom and Sara both shouted.

Shaking his head and wondering what the hell had just happened, Brass went.

They glared at each other silently for a few minutes after Brass shut the door behind him. Eventually, Sara set her jaw and turned away, sliding down on the couch and pretending to fall asleep.

"I know you're not asleep. Look at me," Grissom demanded.

"No."

"Yes." He sat down on the spot Brass had just vacated and took Sara's face between his hands, forcing her to turn her eyes toward him. "Look at me! I've been reduced to bribery: if you take the painkiller, you can pick any one thing you want me to do, and I'll do it." He thought about that for a second. "Unless it's illegal or immoral."

"If I take the painkiller," Sara reminded him, "what you'll be doing is cleaning up my puke." She sighed. "I'll take aspirin, how's that? Assuming you're willing to take the bottle out of your pants and hand it over."

He didn't like it, but he knew it was probably as much of a concession as he would get from her. "Ok, I'll settle for that. But reconsider the Vicodin in the meantime, ok? Please?"

Sara didn't respond to that, but she did turn onto her back so that Grissom no longer had to hold her head. She swallowed the aspirin Grissom handed her, then studied him for a moment as he bent over her. "Your hair is wet," she said, lifting one hand to touch it.

"I took a shower while you were arguing with Jim."

"Oh god, I would kill for a shower right now."

"As much as I'd like to accommodate you, there's just no way I can prop you up in the shower."

She ran a hand over her face, feeling the layer of sweat and grime that covered her skin. "I feel so disgusting. I must smell pretty rank too, since I haven't showered in, what...three days?"

"Nah, you don't smell that bad."

Giving him a yeah, right look, she pointedly sniffed under one arm. "Yes, I definitely do. Come on Grissom, there's got to be a way to work it!"

"You're the physicist, Sara. I don't do mechanics."

Totally frustrated, she let out a growl. "Ok, fine. A bath. You don't have to prop me up for a bath, I'd just have to figure out how to effectively wash myself while sitting in the water. Which I can do." She nodded firmly. "I want a bath."

"Are you using that as your request for my bribe?"

"Of course not! I'm going to save that for something good. Right now, I'm just asking you to give me a hand, since you have designated yourself my caregiver and all."

With an arm tightly around her waist, he helped her manage an awkward hop to the bathroom. As he sat her down on the closed toilet seat, they both regarded the bathtub cautiously. "How are we going to do this?" Grissom asked after a few seconds.

"Well, you could just put me in the tub like it is now. Then once I'm sitting I can get undressed and run the water and everything."

Relief, tinged with what might have been regret had he allowed himself to consider it, rushed through him. "I hadn't thought of that. You're right." Quickly, before either of them could react to it, he slipped one arm under her butt, the other around her back, and deposited her gently on the floor of the tub. "You need me to, uh, get you anything before I go?"

Sara thought about that. "I suppose a towel and washcloth would help. You know where those are. And, uh, something to change into when I come out. I have nightshirts in the second drawer of my dresser."

"Right!" he said brightly, not allowing himself to consider what else he might come across in Sara's drawers. "I'll be back in a minute with those."

He retrieved the towel and washcloth with little trouble, but in Sara's room found himself faced with a choice that strained his resistance. The second drawer in her dresser did, indeed, contain nightshirts; however, the selection ranged from a battered, frayed Harvard t-shirt in size XXL to a shiny, slinky nightdress that he couldn't help but run his fingers over. For a long moment, he considered indulging himself and taking her the sexy one, but then he decided that he wouldn't want to answer the questions that would go along with his bringing her that. He settled for the Harvard t-shirt, wondering as he unfolded it if it had once belonged to a boyfriend.

When he re-entered the bathroom, rather than seeing only the shower curtain he'd expected her to pull across the tub, he found Sara sitting, still fully-clothed, in an empty bath tub. As he laid the towel and nightgown on the toilet tank, he said, "Changed your mind?"

"Of course not!" she said, and he noted that her face was taking on a definite look of aggravation. "I need your help."

That caught him by surprise and his mind immediately jumped to all sorts of conclusions. Tuning out the clamoring voices in his head, he managed to give her a calm look and ask, "Help with what?"

"I, uh..." Her face started to turn red. "I can't get my pants off."

He stared at her, sure that she couldn't possibly be asking what he thought she was asking. "Oh."

"And," she managed through gritted teeth, "if I'm going to take a bath I need you to pull them off for me."

"Oh." He continued to look at her blankly for a second, and then her words penetrated his brain. "You want me to...undress you?"

"No!" She sighed. "Well, partially. I can manage my shirt and bra by myself. I just need you to get my pants and, uh...you know."

He closed his eyes for a second, wishing himself anywhere but here, with this woman.

"Grissom!" she said after a few seconds. "Stop looking like you want to run away. If anyone should want to be somewhere else at this moment, it's me. And believe me, I do. So just do it!"

Swallowing hard, he knelt by the side of the tub and reached toward for the drawstring of the pants Catherine had put on her during her first visit. "This could seen as sexual harassment. You could sue me."

She sighed. "I promise not to sue you, ok? Just close your eyes and get it over with."

Keeping his fingers are far from her skin as he could, he untied the knot in the drawstring. "How do I...what's the easiest way to..." He stopped, collecting himself, then managed, "I don't wear drawstring pants. How do I get them off you with a minimum of pain?"

"Here." She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the pants and pushed them down the few inches she could reach. "Now that they're past my hips, you can just pull from the bottom."

Grissom obeyed, neatly folding the pants and laying them alongside the t-shirt he'd brought her, then turned back to her, knowing that he had another layer to get through.

"Grissom," Sara said, meeting his eyes as he struggled not to look at her panties. "Would you close your eyes or look away or something while you do it?" When he obediently turned his head, she bit her lip and shoved the underwear down as far as she could, then moved his hands to them. "Pull."

He pulled, knowing that he'd be a lot less likely to do it wrong and hurt her if he could look, but aware of the fact that she would embarrassed if he did. Using both hands blindly, he inched the panties down her legs and past her feet, then pulled them away and dropped them on top of her folded pants, keeping his eyes on a spider web in the corner instead of on her.

"Thank you," Sara said quietly. "I'll call you when I'm dressed and need you to lift me back out."

"Ok." He stood, relaxing for the first time since he'd come into the room. He had let his guard down too soon, he realized a second later when he looked back to just give her a smile and momentarily forgot himself. Instead of giving her an innocent smile, he found himself ogling her long legs and the area between them.

He got lucky; Sara had turned her attention to unhooking her bra under her shirt and never noticed his wide eyes as he stared helplessly, then turned and nearly ran from the room.