Grissom was careful not to wake Sara when he got up in the morning. He was thirsty though, not ready to leave the warm bed, and so he shivered in boxer shorts while he waited for the coffee to percolate.
"How is she?" Laura asked, eating a piece of toast, wearing a dressing gown and concerned expression.
Grissom eyed her curiously. "I don't know," he confessed. "She didn't get into bed, so when I woke up in the early hours of the morning, I managed to get her into bed." Grissom winced at his phrasing of what had happened, and Laura let out a light laugh.
"I know what you mean," she said, appeasing his sense of sexual morality. "So you haven't spoken to her since last night?" she pressed.
"No," he answered, shaking his head. "I was waiting until now," he said, pouring coffee for him and Sara. "I'm gonna see if she wants to talk," he told Laura, taking the cups and himself back to the bedroom.
"Griss, is that you?" Sara blinked several times, her voice coated with several layers of sleep.
He stuck the mugs down on the beside table, and got back under the covers, snuggling up to her. "No, it's the Easter bunny," he replied.
"How'd I end up in bed? I went to sleep on the floor." She shifted, and turned to face him, feeling slightly shocked at the proximity of their bodies.
"I said you didn't have to worry about waking me," he chided. "You know I wouldn't allow you to sleep on the floor." He blinked, the blue of his eyes shimmering gently. "Your mom said you spoke last night," he said, sitting up and passing Sara a cup.
"We did," she said simply. "Thanks," she added, accepting the cup. She sat up properly, edging closer to Grissom, sharing his body heat. Noting her desire to be near to him, he moved, putting an arm around her. The soft skin of his upper arms comforted Sara.
"So what did you learn? Or do you need time to think it over?" He pulled slightly her nearer to him, savouring her vulnerability and the fact that it made Sara want to seek solace in him, of all people.
Sara took a deep breath. "My father used to beat my mom and me," she said, her voice remaining flat and unemotional. Grissom could sense either rationalisation or a desire to burst into tears, and prepared himself mentally for either eventuality. "He only did to me because he said I was rude. But mom said one of the mitigating circumstances the courts had to take into account was that he had abused me sexually." Her eyes focused on one particular point in the middle of the dressing table opposite the bed. Her eyes clouded over.
"Do you remember it happening?" Grissom pressed gently, scared to do so in case he triggered memories too painful to even contemplate. He could remember fighting back tears so hard when she had told him Laura had killed her father, could plain as day recall the trite words of 'well, the mind has its filters,' words that replaced other, more loving sympathetic ones. Well, it was too late to be cautious about what he chose to say. He was involved far too much in this now to even consider walking away, or appeasing her with words that didn't mean anything.
"No. At least, I don't think so," Sara answered, her voice coming from a distant place. "I remember dark rooms, and him coming in to tuck me in at night. I remember saying things to him, and the next minute I knew I'd be in hospital, wondering how the hell I got there, not understanding why there was blood all over me, or why my face or stomach hurt." Grissom let out an odd sound. "Griss, what is it?" She felt his arm shaking.
Gil couldn't hold it in any longer. All the pain, all the fear that had been stored up since he had found out about her past came flooding to the surface. His face screwed up, he looked as though he was in excrutiating pain. It hurt so much, it hurt him to know that all this time ... he had done nothing to comfort Sara, nothing to ensure that she was safe or had a person whom she could confide him. Putting a hand up to his face to shield it from Sara, he fought the angry sobs that were vying to wrack his massive frame.
It was Sara's turn to comfort. Knowing that it caused him this much pain and upset was almost worth it - after all, he showed that no matter what he might have said in the past, he felt something. She slipped her arm across his back, rubbing her hand on his spine in soothing patterns. "Gil, shh, it's okay."
"Ah, damn it," he groaned, his bottom lip wobbling, his eyes closed, his face red and wet with tears. "I am so sorry," he repeated over and over again, as if in the vice of some hypnotic, dreadfully frightening trance. It couldn't even be described as pain, it was far too intense, far too ... painful to be called pain. He tilted his head back, trying so damned hard to regain his composure. Every time he attempted to control his breathing, he would be wracked with another sob, another shudder, and Sara began to wonder at what damage he could inflict upon someone. He wasn't light, and guy like him, who thrived on being in control, must have been in a pretty desolate place for such an effect to inhabit his body.
She continued rubbing and soothing him, pressing one or two kisses to his curly, greying temple. "Honey, calm down, okay?"
Grissom finally managed to gain control of his emotions, wiping a hand over his face. Clearing his throat, he smiled sheepishly, completely surprising Sara. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. I guess all that stuff's kind of been building up for a while. Better out than in, huh?" He picked up her hand in one of his, squeezing it gently. Sara looked at the chiseled muscles in his forearms. "I should be comforting you, not the other way around," he told her, self-loathing dominating his voice.
"It's not nice, what happened," Sara told Grissom matter-of-factly. "But at least I know what happened. I feel guilty that it ever came to the lengths it did. My dad shouldn't have been killed over an argument," she said, feeling slightly confused.
"That bastard had to pay for what he did to you," Grissom said bitterly. "And I swear to God if you're mother hadn't have done something, I would have hunted the fucker down myself and enjoyed putting him through for several hours of torture."
His tone scared Sara slightly. She had never heard that tone before, not even when he had been really angry. He sounded almost psychotic. "That would have made you as bad as him," Sara said, instantly regretting it.
But Grissom shot her a glance, almost forgiving her faux-pas. "Honey, I would never treat a woman in the way he treated you. Nor a child. In fact, I could never hurt a person. But when you tell me about what he did, I can't help it. If the fucker wasn't dead already, he would be after I finished with him." Something in his voice told Sara that this was no usual display of masculinity - Grissom may have been a man, but he was definitely an untraditional alpha male. He would have challenged a guy to cockroach racing, not threaten to kill him. "And I wouldn't do it for anyone else but you," Grissom admitted in a small voice.