A/N: I know it's been a while but, unfortunately, real life and that whole nuisance of having to go to work in order to make money for food has gotten in the way of my writing! And, like most others out there, I was pretty disappointed about the recent firings. I did debate not writing any more on this story, but I decided that it made me feel better to write it. So, in your face, CBS! :)
Spoilers: "Invisible Evidence," "Strip Strangler," "Stalker"
Disclaimer: Are you kidding me? If these characters belonged to me, Nick and Sara would still be on the show. And Nick would probably be godfather to Dr. and Mrs. Grissom's children (Gil and Sara's, that is) by now. :) I also don't own Mr. Schwarzenegger or his gubernatorial abilities either. :)
Chapter 4: Victory in Battle
As Brass maneuvered the big Crown Vic back towards the interstate, he watched Sara out of the corner of his eye. On the surface, she seemed unaffected by the events of the evening, her gaze fixed on the road directly ahead. But the tension that seemed to roll off of her in waves betrayed the strong persona she was trying so hard to project.
Deciding to give her some space to cope with the current situation, he kept his own eyes fastened on the road as well, maintaining the uneasy silence between them. It was Sara who broke the peace as soon as they were at full speed on the expressway. "My place is at the next exit."
That surprised him, and he snapped his head around to face her. "What?" he asked incredulously. "I'm not taking you to your place." It came out more harshly than he'd intended, but he didn't amend his statement.
"Huh?" It was Sara's turn to be surprised. "Oh,... um,... I just thought,..." she stammered. Her mind wasn't really functioning at full capacity, and she was desperately trying to comprehend this unexpected turn of events. Slowly, she tried again. "Well, where to, then? The lab?"
Brass sighed tiredly. She just doesn't get it. Trying his best to keep the frustration out of his voice, he replied, "No, Sara. Look, whoever wrote that note obviously knows where you work. I can't take you to the lab. And I don't know if he knows where you live, but I'm not taking any chances."
"Fine." Her voice was laced with fatigue and a hint of annoyance. "Just take me to that Holiday Inn out on North Trop."
"Or not," he responded sarcastically. When she looked at him with confusion, he blew out a breath and spoke as patiently as he could. "Listen, I'm trying to protect you. Unfortunately, this wasn't really planned, and I don't have just anyone available at a moment's notice to stay with you. So,..." His voice trailed off. He was pretty sure how receptive she'd be to his idea for her accommodations for the rest of the day, and he preferred to postpone facing her wrath for as long as possible. He unconsciously pressed his foot a little more firmly onto the accelerator, trying to speed up their passage.
She narrowed her eyes at him then. A suspicion was beginning to form in the back of her mind, and each passing mile made it more likely. She pursed her lips as dread slowly gripped her, and she spoke in a clipped tone as he veered onto an exit ramp that further confirmed her fears. "Brass, where are you taking me?"
There was a conciliatory air to his response, but the words were unapologetic. "To Grissom's."
"What?!?" She gaped at him in disbelief. Sure, that might protect me physically, but what about my emotional well-being? There's no way I'll survive this.
"Sara," he spoke in a soft voice intended to calm her frazzled nerves. "Nick's at the lab, Cath and 'Rick are already at the scene, and I've got to go back down there. Gil has the night off. This is the best I can come up with."
She knew in her head that he was right, that she was being completely unreasonable, that this was the only logical solution. But her heart screamed otherwise and, at the moment, it was the much louder body part. She opened her mouth to protest, but his patience was at an end, and his tone this time broached no argument. "I'm doing what's best for your safety. This is not a negotiation."
The echo of her supervisor's words from a few months earlier, while not registering with Brass, was not lost on her, and she sat back in her seat. "Shouldn't you at least give him the courtesy of a phone call to let him know we're coming? I mean, it's 5:00 in the morning," she stated quietly.
"Too late. We're here."
Looking up to see a row of darkened townhouses, she sighed in resignation. When Brass brought the car to a stop, she picked up the duffel bag and reached for the door handle, only to have him grab her wrist. "Wait."
Coming around to the passenger side of the vehicle, he opened her door with caution, eyeing their surroundings warily. She rolled her eyes as she stepped out, carefully corralling the urge to tell him to stop acting like Schwarzenegger. The mental image of an overly muscular Brass in sunglasses saying, "I'll be baaack," nearly made her giggle, and she suddenly realized how very close to a mental precipice she was. That thought brought her back to reality quickly, and she sighed heavily as she adjusted the duffel bag's strap onto her right shoulder.
He lightly grasped her left elbow, steering her protectively toward the building directly in front of them. She climbed the stairs slowly, each step seeming to progressively drain her of precious energy until, just as she felt she could not go on, they at last reached the top and stood in front of Grissom's townhouse. Without releasing his hold on her arm, the detective raised his free hand and rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles.
Sara thought back to her only other visit to Grissom's home three years earlier. He'd lived in a different part of town then, but she had always figured that, while the outer location may change, what was inside would remain the same. She remembered his home being just like his office – filled with the things he loved and so distinctly Grissom. It was comforting in a strange way. Just knowing that he was so constant had made her – heck, still made her – feel steady and secure, as if he were her anchor. She'd often wondered what it would be like to return to his house in a personal capacity, rather than the professional one that had brought her there years ago. Uninvited and unannounced was certainly not how she'd envisioned her return visit, and she felt a wave of remorse wash over her.
Though she kept her eyes focused on a speck of dirt on the door in front of her, she could feel Brass' surreptitious glances in her direction. She knew he was concerned about her and, on some level, she was grateful. But his worry only served to highlight her lack of control over the current situation, a fact made all the more disconcerting by her own history of complete self-reliance, and she found herself fighting the petulant urge to bark at him to stop treating her like a child. Seemigly sensing her growing irritation, he refocused his attention on the door, rapping his knuckles against the wooden structure slightly louder this time.
That knock roused Grissom from his dreamless slumber. Opening his eyes in confusion, it took him a moment to realize what had wakened him. Still slightly disoriented, he picked the remote control up from the floor as he pushed himself off the sofa, flipping off the television before dropping the remote onto the coffee table and heading towards the front door. As he padded across the room, he glanced down at his watch, only to find his brain too sleep-addled to comprehend the meaning of the numbers on the digital display. Not awake enough to think about danger, he unlocked the deadbolt and removed the chain without a second thought, throwing the door open wide in an effort to solve the mystery of who was bothering him at this ungodly hour.
Sara jumped when the door sprang open suddenly. Her eyes flew to the culprit, and she involuntarily sucked in a breath at the sight of her disheveled supervisor. His normally conservative hair was an unruly mass of curls, his unbuttoned shirt did not match the shorts he wore, and his feet were bare. Only one word sprang to her mind at the sight of him: adorable. She was struck by how much he resembled a sleepy little boy, and a smile came to her face when he reinforced that thought by rubbing a fist over his right eye.
An increasingly uneasy Brass eyed Grissom inquiringly and, when the latter made no move to allow them into his home, decided to take the initiative himself. "Gil, can we come in?"
"Huh? Oh,... yeah, sure." Opening the door wider, he stepped to the side to allow them access, not really understanding why they were here and vaguely wondering if this was all a dream.
Brass almost smiled at the sight of an obviously bewildered Gil Grissom. Under different circumstances, he'd love to have this moment on video. It was rare to see the man confused.
Closing the door behind them, Grissom turned to face his visitors, a questioning look on his face. Sara had become fascinated with the strap on her bag, and he found himself fascinated with watching her.
Brass observed her with concern before turning to face his friend and getting right to the crux of the matter. "Gil, a threatening note was left at a crime scene. It mentioned Sara."
"What?!?" He snapped his eyes to Jim's before they returned involuntarily to Sara. Thanks to a sudden adrenaline rush, he was now fully awake.
"Yeah," the older man said, swiping a big mitt across his face tiredly. "We think the perp left it. Needless to say, I didn't really want to leave her alone, and I don't have many options here. Can she stay with you until I can arrange some police protection?" Once again, he got straight to the point.
"Of course," Grissom responded, his eyes still trained on Sara. He remembered only too vividly when Nick had been the target of one of the criminals they were chasing. The younger man almost hadn't survived. Grissom's heart pounded in his chest at the thought that something similar could happen to Sara. Over my dead body, he thought grimly.
"Good," Brass replied. "Hey, I've gotta get back to the scene. I'll give you a call when I've made some different arrangements." He turned his head toward Sara, speaking gently. "Take care, OK, Sara?"
She merely nodded without looking at him, keeping her attention locked on the duffel bag's strap. He sighed, turning towards the door. "Keep an eye on her, Gil."
Grissom nodded as he opened the door to let Brass out of his townhouse. Closing the door and sliding the deadbolt and chain home with his back toward his new houseguest, Grissom took a deep breath as he tried to calm his adrenaline-charged pulse and placed both hands against the door in a desperate bid to steady them. Slowly, he turned to face her, feeling suddenly unsure of how to handle the situation.
Sara kept her eyes carefully fixed on the floor as her hands worried with the strap from her duffel bag. The fear she had felt when she'd first seen the note had almost paralyzed her, and the thought that she could be crippled by her own fear scared her more than any criminal's deeds ever could. When they'd first entered Grissom's house, the fear had returned, only to be made stronger when she heard Brass' words to her boss. '...threatening note... didn't really want to leave her alone... police protection...' Even the rush of anger she felt at being discussed as if she weren't in the room wasn't a strong enough emotion to overcome the fear. Only the strap seemed to keep it at bay.
The strap was her Novocaine. If she focused on that, it made the pain of everything else lessen. All the rest was just... a drill. So she fretted with the nylon strap. Tightening it, then loosening it again. Running her fingers across the rough material. Using her fingernails to pick at some imaginary knot in the fabric. Need more Novocaine. More Novocaine. More Novocaine.
Grissom watched her, his dread growing with each passing moment that her hands remained steadfastly fastened on that strap. "Sara..." He spoke gently, like someone trying to calm an injured animal.
The tenderness in his voice was very nearly her undoing. She swallowed convulsively against the lump that formed in her throat. She felt the drill cut through the Novocaine, and her fingers worked harder on the imaginary knot. More Novocaine. Need more Novocaine. So intense was her concentration on both the strap and the mantra that she did not notice the solitary tear that slipped down her cheek.
But Grissom did. The lone droplet and her frantic fingers ripped into his heart as surely as any knife would, and he longed to wipe away that tear and shelter her with his body against whatever or whoever had caused it. But, just as he was about to give in to that longing, he found himself once again embroiled in the all-too-familiar battle between his dual roles toward Sara – the one he played in his dreams, where he was the one she loved and came home to at night, and the one he played in actuality, where he was an aloof superior forced to keep his distance from her for the sake of their careers.
Struggling to regain control over the situation when all he wanted was to hold her, he drew in a ragged breath. Even as her supervisor, he needed to help her get away from the demons she seemed to be facing. His own raw emotions barely controlled, he spoke again. "Sara, honey, look at me..."
Something in his voice compelled her to obey. Her fingers continued to play with the strap, but she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. When she did, he saw the one emotion he had never seen there, had never wanted to see there – fear. Grissom had thought he had read every possible emotion in Sara's eyes. Joy, anger, sorrow, excitement, passion, even love. But never fear. Never this... raw terror. Her eyes chilled him to the bone, and he involuntarily shuddered against the cold that gripped his heart. But, suddenly, the battle of wills that constantly raged inside him was stilled. He was torn no more.
Reaching toward the duffel bag with his left hand, he took it from her trembling fingers while wrapping his right arm around her back. Not caring where it fell, he dropped the bag next to them and brought his left hand up to smooth her hair, holding his chin up so that her head would fit securely underneath.
Sara closed her eyes tightly against his chest, her hands instinctively gripping handfuls of his shirt. Without the anesthetic provided by the strap, her thin veneer of control came crashing down around her, and she was barely even aware that she had started crying. All she could feel was the drill, and all it brought with it was pain and fear. And it all threatened to suffocate her.
Turning his head slightly so that he could rest his cheek against the crown of her head, he pulled her more tightly against him as he stroked her hair softly, whispering nonsensical words of comfort as his lips occasionally brushed against the soft strands.
Sara felt the hyperacuity of her senses, as in one who had lost sight or hearing. She casually wondered which of her senses she had lost, but was not surprised to realize she didn't much care. He smelled of soap and toothpaste and something that was uniquely him. His breathing next to her ear was rhythmic and steady, his heartbeat comforting in its even pulse. Her own tears on her tongue tasted of brine and reminded her vaguely of the ocean. His hands caressing her back and hair made her feel more grounded than he would ever know.
"Sara." He spoke her name with such reverence that she felt her eyes prick with tears again. His voice was gentle and laden with emotion. Pulling back slightly from her, he was surprised when she buried her head further into his chest and let go of his shirt to wrap her arms around him, unwilling to leave his sheltering embrace. Dropping a kiss onto the top of her head and doing his best to keep both arms around her, he turned and said gently, "Come on."
Not knowing where they were going, she contented herself with letting him lead her wherever he wished. The thought crossed her mind that she had always let him lead her wherever he wanted her to go, and she figured she always would. At the moment, she didn't care. Not having to think was good.
It wasn't until she felt gentle pressure on her back and a soft voice urging her to lie down that she realized her absent sense had been sight. She hadn't opened her eyes since Grissom had first touched her, not wanting to wake herself if it was some wonderful dream. But she did now that she felt his grip on her loosening. She lifted her eyes to his, unable to control the pleading expression on her face, needing his comfort like she needed her next breath.
Seeming to sense her fears, he held her a little tighter against his side before helping her onto the unmade bed. "Shhhh,..." he soothed. "It's OK. I'm not leaving you." He breathed a sigh of relief when she relaxed next to him and allowed him to push her down onto the sheets.
Some part of her foggy brain registered that this was his bedroom and not a guest room, that Grissom was putting her into his own bed, that he was getting into that bed with her, but there was no sexual connotation to be drawn, and she wanted none. All she wanted from him at the moment was for him to hold her, to make the real world go away.
Climbing into the bed, he pulled her gently against his right side, comforted by the feeling of her head against his shoulder and her right hand on his chest. Pulling the sheet and comforter over them both, he felt his heart swell in his chest at the thought that he was providing some stability for her. His only desire at the moment was to take care of this woman in his arms, and he stroked her hair softly until he heard the slow, rhythmic breathing that informed him that she was asleep.
He tried to extricate himself from her grasp twice, but a whimper and a tightened grip on his shirt caused him to cease his activity. He finally gave in, resigning himself to dealing with her anger when she realized the impropriety of their situation in the morning. Willing himself to stay awake to comfort her, he nevertheless felt the heaviness of his own eyelids pulling him towards sleep. After a valiant effort, he at last surrendered to his subconscious and, as the first rays of the morning sun peeked through the blinds, the two lay asleep, wrapped in each other's arms as though in a lovers' embrace.
TBC...
Spoilers: "Invisible Evidence," "Strip Strangler," "Stalker"
Disclaimer: Are you kidding me? If these characters belonged to me, Nick and Sara would still be on the show. And Nick would probably be godfather to Dr. and Mrs. Grissom's children (Gil and Sara's, that is) by now. :) I also don't own Mr. Schwarzenegger or his gubernatorial abilities either. :)
Chapter 4: Victory in Battle
As Brass maneuvered the big Crown Vic back towards the interstate, he watched Sara out of the corner of his eye. On the surface, she seemed unaffected by the events of the evening, her gaze fixed on the road directly ahead. But the tension that seemed to roll off of her in waves betrayed the strong persona she was trying so hard to project.
Deciding to give her some space to cope with the current situation, he kept his own eyes fastened on the road as well, maintaining the uneasy silence between them. It was Sara who broke the peace as soon as they were at full speed on the expressway. "My place is at the next exit."
That surprised him, and he snapped his head around to face her. "What?" he asked incredulously. "I'm not taking you to your place." It came out more harshly than he'd intended, but he didn't amend his statement.
"Huh?" It was Sara's turn to be surprised. "Oh,... um,... I just thought,..." she stammered. Her mind wasn't really functioning at full capacity, and she was desperately trying to comprehend this unexpected turn of events. Slowly, she tried again. "Well, where to, then? The lab?"
Brass sighed tiredly. She just doesn't get it. Trying his best to keep the frustration out of his voice, he replied, "No, Sara. Look, whoever wrote that note obviously knows where you work. I can't take you to the lab. And I don't know if he knows where you live, but I'm not taking any chances."
"Fine." Her voice was laced with fatigue and a hint of annoyance. "Just take me to that Holiday Inn out on North Trop."
"Or not," he responded sarcastically. When she looked at him with confusion, he blew out a breath and spoke as patiently as he could. "Listen, I'm trying to protect you. Unfortunately, this wasn't really planned, and I don't have just anyone available at a moment's notice to stay with you. So,..." His voice trailed off. He was pretty sure how receptive she'd be to his idea for her accommodations for the rest of the day, and he preferred to postpone facing her wrath for as long as possible. He unconsciously pressed his foot a little more firmly onto the accelerator, trying to speed up their passage.
She narrowed her eyes at him then. A suspicion was beginning to form in the back of her mind, and each passing mile made it more likely. She pursed her lips as dread slowly gripped her, and she spoke in a clipped tone as he veered onto an exit ramp that further confirmed her fears. "Brass, where are you taking me?"
There was a conciliatory air to his response, but the words were unapologetic. "To Grissom's."
"What?!?" She gaped at him in disbelief. Sure, that might protect me physically, but what about my emotional well-being? There's no way I'll survive this.
"Sara," he spoke in a soft voice intended to calm her frazzled nerves. "Nick's at the lab, Cath and 'Rick are already at the scene, and I've got to go back down there. Gil has the night off. This is the best I can come up with."
She knew in her head that he was right, that she was being completely unreasonable, that this was the only logical solution. But her heart screamed otherwise and, at the moment, it was the much louder body part. She opened her mouth to protest, but his patience was at an end, and his tone this time broached no argument. "I'm doing what's best for your safety. This is not a negotiation."
The echo of her supervisor's words from a few months earlier, while not registering with Brass, was not lost on her, and she sat back in her seat. "Shouldn't you at least give him the courtesy of a phone call to let him know we're coming? I mean, it's 5:00 in the morning," she stated quietly.
"Too late. We're here."
Looking up to see a row of darkened townhouses, she sighed in resignation. When Brass brought the car to a stop, she picked up the duffel bag and reached for the door handle, only to have him grab her wrist. "Wait."
Coming around to the passenger side of the vehicle, he opened her door with caution, eyeing their surroundings warily. She rolled her eyes as she stepped out, carefully corralling the urge to tell him to stop acting like Schwarzenegger. The mental image of an overly muscular Brass in sunglasses saying, "I'll be baaack," nearly made her giggle, and she suddenly realized how very close to a mental precipice she was. That thought brought her back to reality quickly, and she sighed heavily as she adjusted the duffel bag's strap onto her right shoulder.
He lightly grasped her left elbow, steering her protectively toward the building directly in front of them. She climbed the stairs slowly, each step seeming to progressively drain her of precious energy until, just as she felt she could not go on, they at last reached the top and stood in front of Grissom's townhouse. Without releasing his hold on her arm, the detective raised his free hand and rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles.
Sara thought back to her only other visit to Grissom's home three years earlier. He'd lived in a different part of town then, but she had always figured that, while the outer location may change, what was inside would remain the same. She remembered his home being just like his office – filled with the things he loved and so distinctly Grissom. It was comforting in a strange way. Just knowing that he was so constant had made her – heck, still made her – feel steady and secure, as if he were her anchor. She'd often wondered what it would be like to return to his house in a personal capacity, rather than the professional one that had brought her there years ago. Uninvited and unannounced was certainly not how she'd envisioned her return visit, and she felt a wave of remorse wash over her.
Though she kept her eyes focused on a speck of dirt on the door in front of her, she could feel Brass' surreptitious glances in her direction. She knew he was concerned about her and, on some level, she was grateful. But his worry only served to highlight her lack of control over the current situation, a fact made all the more disconcerting by her own history of complete self-reliance, and she found herself fighting the petulant urge to bark at him to stop treating her like a child. Seemigly sensing her growing irritation, he refocused his attention on the door, rapping his knuckles against the wooden structure slightly louder this time.
That knock roused Grissom from his dreamless slumber. Opening his eyes in confusion, it took him a moment to realize what had wakened him. Still slightly disoriented, he picked the remote control up from the floor as he pushed himself off the sofa, flipping off the television before dropping the remote onto the coffee table and heading towards the front door. As he padded across the room, he glanced down at his watch, only to find his brain too sleep-addled to comprehend the meaning of the numbers on the digital display. Not awake enough to think about danger, he unlocked the deadbolt and removed the chain without a second thought, throwing the door open wide in an effort to solve the mystery of who was bothering him at this ungodly hour.
Sara jumped when the door sprang open suddenly. Her eyes flew to the culprit, and she involuntarily sucked in a breath at the sight of her disheveled supervisor. His normally conservative hair was an unruly mass of curls, his unbuttoned shirt did not match the shorts he wore, and his feet were bare. Only one word sprang to her mind at the sight of him: adorable. She was struck by how much he resembled a sleepy little boy, and a smile came to her face when he reinforced that thought by rubbing a fist over his right eye.
An increasingly uneasy Brass eyed Grissom inquiringly and, when the latter made no move to allow them into his home, decided to take the initiative himself. "Gil, can we come in?"
"Huh? Oh,... yeah, sure." Opening the door wider, he stepped to the side to allow them access, not really understanding why they were here and vaguely wondering if this was all a dream.
Brass almost smiled at the sight of an obviously bewildered Gil Grissom. Under different circumstances, he'd love to have this moment on video. It was rare to see the man confused.
Closing the door behind them, Grissom turned to face his visitors, a questioning look on his face. Sara had become fascinated with the strap on her bag, and he found himself fascinated with watching her.
Brass observed her with concern before turning to face his friend and getting right to the crux of the matter. "Gil, a threatening note was left at a crime scene. It mentioned Sara."
"What?!?" He snapped his eyes to Jim's before they returned involuntarily to Sara. Thanks to a sudden adrenaline rush, he was now fully awake.
"Yeah," the older man said, swiping a big mitt across his face tiredly. "We think the perp left it. Needless to say, I didn't really want to leave her alone, and I don't have many options here. Can she stay with you until I can arrange some police protection?" Once again, he got straight to the point.
"Of course," Grissom responded, his eyes still trained on Sara. He remembered only too vividly when Nick had been the target of one of the criminals they were chasing. The younger man almost hadn't survived. Grissom's heart pounded in his chest at the thought that something similar could happen to Sara. Over my dead body, he thought grimly.
"Good," Brass replied. "Hey, I've gotta get back to the scene. I'll give you a call when I've made some different arrangements." He turned his head toward Sara, speaking gently. "Take care, OK, Sara?"
She merely nodded without looking at him, keeping her attention locked on the duffel bag's strap. He sighed, turning towards the door. "Keep an eye on her, Gil."
Grissom nodded as he opened the door to let Brass out of his townhouse. Closing the door and sliding the deadbolt and chain home with his back toward his new houseguest, Grissom took a deep breath as he tried to calm his adrenaline-charged pulse and placed both hands against the door in a desperate bid to steady them. Slowly, he turned to face her, feeling suddenly unsure of how to handle the situation.
Sara kept her eyes carefully fixed on the floor as her hands worried with the strap from her duffel bag. The fear she had felt when she'd first seen the note had almost paralyzed her, and the thought that she could be crippled by her own fear scared her more than any criminal's deeds ever could. When they'd first entered Grissom's house, the fear had returned, only to be made stronger when she heard Brass' words to her boss. '...threatening note... didn't really want to leave her alone... police protection...' Even the rush of anger she felt at being discussed as if she weren't in the room wasn't a strong enough emotion to overcome the fear. Only the strap seemed to keep it at bay.
The strap was her Novocaine. If she focused on that, it made the pain of everything else lessen. All the rest was just... a drill. So she fretted with the nylon strap. Tightening it, then loosening it again. Running her fingers across the rough material. Using her fingernails to pick at some imaginary knot in the fabric. Need more Novocaine. More Novocaine. More Novocaine.
Grissom watched her, his dread growing with each passing moment that her hands remained steadfastly fastened on that strap. "Sara..." He spoke gently, like someone trying to calm an injured animal.
The tenderness in his voice was very nearly her undoing. She swallowed convulsively against the lump that formed in her throat. She felt the drill cut through the Novocaine, and her fingers worked harder on the imaginary knot. More Novocaine. Need more Novocaine. So intense was her concentration on both the strap and the mantra that she did not notice the solitary tear that slipped down her cheek.
But Grissom did. The lone droplet and her frantic fingers ripped into his heart as surely as any knife would, and he longed to wipe away that tear and shelter her with his body against whatever or whoever had caused it. But, just as he was about to give in to that longing, he found himself once again embroiled in the all-too-familiar battle between his dual roles toward Sara – the one he played in his dreams, where he was the one she loved and came home to at night, and the one he played in actuality, where he was an aloof superior forced to keep his distance from her for the sake of their careers.
Struggling to regain control over the situation when all he wanted was to hold her, he drew in a ragged breath. Even as her supervisor, he needed to help her get away from the demons she seemed to be facing. His own raw emotions barely controlled, he spoke again. "Sara, honey, look at me..."
Something in his voice compelled her to obey. Her fingers continued to play with the strap, but she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. When she did, he saw the one emotion he had never seen there, had never wanted to see there – fear. Grissom had thought he had read every possible emotion in Sara's eyes. Joy, anger, sorrow, excitement, passion, even love. But never fear. Never this... raw terror. Her eyes chilled him to the bone, and he involuntarily shuddered against the cold that gripped his heart. But, suddenly, the battle of wills that constantly raged inside him was stilled. He was torn no more.
Reaching toward the duffel bag with his left hand, he took it from her trembling fingers while wrapping his right arm around her back. Not caring where it fell, he dropped the bag next to them and brought his left hand up to smooth her hair, holding his chin up so that her head would fit securely underneath.
Sara closed her eyes tightly against his chest, her hands instinctively gripping handfuls of his shirt. Without the anesthetic provided by the strap, her thin veneer of control came crashing down around her, and she was barely even aware that she had started crying. All she could feel was the drill, and all it brought with it was pain and fear. And it all threatened to suffocate her.
Turning his head slightly so that he could rest his cheek against the crown of her head, he pulled her more tightly against him as he stroked her hair softly, whispering nonsensical words of comfort as his lips occasionally brushed against the soft strands.
Sara felt the hyperacuity of her senses, as in one who had lost sight or hearing. She casually wondered which of her senses she had lost, but was not surprised to realize she didn't much care. He smelled of soap and toothpaste and something that was uniquely him. His breathing next to her ear was rhythmic and steady, his heartbeat comforting in its even pulse. Her own tears on her tongue tasted of brine and reminded her vaguely of the ocean. His hands caressing her back and hair made her feel more grounded than he would ever know.
"Sara." He spoke her name with such reverence that she felt her eyes prick with tears again. His voice was gentle and laden with emotion. Pulling back slightly from her, he was surprised when she buried her head further into his chest and let go of his shirt to wrap her arms around him, unwilling to leave his sheltering embrace. Dropping a kiss onto the top of her head and doing his best to keep both arms around her, he turned and said gently, "Come on."
Not knowing where they were going, she contented herself with letting him lead her wherever he wished. The thought crossed her mind that she had always let him lead her wherever he wanted her to go, and she figured she always would. At the moment, she didn't care. Not having to think was good.
It wasn't until she felt gentle pressure on her back and a soft voice urging her to lie down that she realized her absent sense had been sight. She hadn't opened her eyes since Grissom had first touched her, not wanting to wake herself if it was some wonderful dream. But she did now that she felt his grip on her loosening. She lifted her eyes to his, unable to control the pleading expression on her face, needing his comfort like she needed her next breath.
Seeming to sense her fears, he held her a little tighter against his side before helping her onto the unmade bed. "Shhhh,..." he soothed. "It's OK. I'm not leaving you." He breathed a sigh of relief when she relaxed next to him and allowed him to push her down onto the sheets.
Some part of her foggy brain registered that this was his bedroom and not a guest room, that Grissom was putting her into his own bed, that he was getting into that bed with her, but there was no sexual connotation to be drawn, and she wanted none. All she wanted from him at the moment was for him to hold her, to make the real world go away.
Climbing into the bed, he pulled her gently against his right side, comforted by the feeling of her head against his shoulder and her right hand on his chest. Pulling the sheet and comforter over them both, he felt his heart swell in his chest at the thought that he was providing some stability for her. His only desire at the moment was to take care of this woman in his arms, and he stroked her hair softly until he heard the slow, rhythmic breathing that informed him that she was asleep.
He tried to extricate himself from her grasp twice, but a whimper and a tightened grip on his shirt caused him to cease his activity. He finally gave in, resigning himself to dealing with her anger when she realized the impropriety of their situation in the morning. Willing himself to stay awake to comfort her, he nevertheless felt the heaviness of his own eyelids pulling him towards sleep. After a valiant effort, he at last surrendered to his subconscious and, as the first rays of the morning sun peeked through the blinds, the two lay asleep, wrapped in each other's arms as though in a lovers' embrace.
TBC...