A/N: IT WASN'T UNTIL I HAD WRITTEN THE LAST COUPLE OF SCENES OUT THAT ONE BIT WAS LIKE THE 'IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT' SCENE FROM 'GOOD WILL HUNTING' AND I KIND OF FELT BAD ABOUT THAT, BUT I THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD SCENE. ENJOY. OH, AND NO OFFENCE MEANT IN REGARDS TO THE 'TURIN SHROUD' PHRASE - I WAS JUST USING IT AS AN ANALOGY, IT'S NOT MEANT TO OFFEND ANYONE OF RELIGIOUS PERSUASION.

Grissom excused himself from the bed, squeezing Sara's knee. "I don't want you to think I'm bailing on you, but I need some time to think, okay? Give me half an hour, maybe an hour, and I should be ready to face things again." He pulled a t-shirt over his head and slipped into his jeans.

"Leave your cell here," Sara told him quietly. "If you need time to think, you don't wanna be interrupted." She couldn't make out how she felt. It was strange ... sort of ... she didn't know. He had been there, he had lost control, he had pledged his protection, and now it was like he was fucking off again. "Just ...".

"Sara, honey, I'm not leaving leaving," he said desperately. "I just need time to clear my head, get back some control," he admitted. He approached the bed and knelt beside it, scooping up Sara's hands. He nailed her into position with those piercing eyes, still bloodshot and watery. "I promise you that I am not leaving," he said. "I always keep my promises. But you have to understand that I rarely lose control. Something like this, for me, well it's just too much to handle. I need my own space for half an hour so that I can re-evaluate and calm down." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "I'll leave my wallet here, 'cause then there's no way I can go anywhere. No money for a cab, no phone, nothing. Happy?" he inquired, smiling despite himself.

Sara nodded unhappily. "Sure," she croaked.

"Look, I wanna go and sit and space out without scaring you. Me spaced out with blank eyes is not a nice sight."

"Griss, you doing that is just part of you. I'm not scared of you, I'm scared for you." She was close to throwing herself to her knees and hold on to his legs.

"And I can't change that, honey. That's just who I am. But I don't want you to ever feel that I'm burdening you."

"Sweetheart, I'm not asking you to change. I love you for who you are, not what you could be."

Grissom nodded, and, with a heavy heart, left the bedroom.

"Laura?"

"Hmm? Gil, that you?" Laura turned around on the couch, seeing Grissom standing by the door. "What happened?"

"She told me. Everything that she knows, she told me." He took a deep breath, wholly unprepared for the wave of fresh sorrow that swept over his body. "I need to go out, get some air. Think things through."

Laura's brow took on the appearance of a thunder storm. "You're not leaving are you?"

Grissom sighed ironically. "No, and I told Sara that too. I promised her I wouldn't, and I mean it. It was bad enough having to hear what she's been through without having someone to talk to. I couldn't walk away now, even if I wanted to. Which I don't. I just have one favour."

"Yes?"

"Do you have a cigarette?"

Laura looked at him in disbelief. "I didn't know you smoked."

"I don't," Grissom replied, equally disbelieving. "But I need a nicotine fix just this once."

"You want me to come with you?"

"I really think you should stay with Sara."

"She can look after herself." Laura watched Grissom hesitate. "I'll go and tell her. Besides, it may comfort her if she knows someone's got an eye on you," she added with a grin.

"Why the fuck does everyone think I'm going to bail on her?" Grissom asked, raising his head to the ceiling, asking a question to a God whose existence he wasn't sure of.

Grissom and Laura walked in silence along the sidewalk, Grissom puffing uncertainly on the cigarette Laura had given him. He hadn't smoked in almost twenty years, and din't know why he was doing so now - altjough he did guess it could have been a diversionary tactic.

After ten minutes, they came to a grassy park, and both sat down at opposite ends of the bench. "When I went to let Sara know where we were going, she told me what happened. You take it hard, huh?" Laura's tone was inquiring, decisive, but her eyes soft. "Hey, I'm not judging. But it's not a bad sign when a grown man, especially a grown man like you can cry."

Grissom's jaw tightened, and he blew smoke through his nostrils. "The worst thing is knowing how you've acted towards a person, and all the time there was this sort of cloud over their head." He looked at his hands and sighed heavily.

"Hey, I'm not judging you. Shit, I'm the last person who has any right to point fingers. Don't forget, I killed my husband."

Grissom looked at her. "You did it for your family," he replied huskily.

"No matter how many times you try and justify it like that, no matter how many times you say 'I saw what he did to her, I know how he treated us,' you can never fully justify your actions."

"Hey, you can't say that! What you did was commendable ...".

"Dr Grissom," Laura cut in, the first time in his stay that she'd ever been formal, "I took a human life."

"You protected your daughter," Gil argued. "I know I would have done the same if I were in your position. And I abhor violence." He stubbed out the cigarette and dropped into a bin next to his end of the bench. "You can't beat yourself up over it."

"But Sara does. That's what is so painful. She beats herself up over it because she thinks it's her fault."

Grissom closed his eyes. "Please, don't. I can't hear this. It was bad enough before. I have done nothing to help her so far, and having to sit through what she told me nearly killed me. I don't ... want her to think that it's her fault." He stood up. "This has, uh, this has helped me get my priorities straight. Fuck me needing to sit and get my head sorted out. Sara needs me." He looked over his shoulder. "Would you mind giving me a while?"

Laura smiled slightly and shrugged. "I had to go grocery shopping anyway."

"Call me if you need picking up," he called over his shoulder.

"Sara?" Grissom almost knocked a hole through the apartment door.

"Griss? Is that you?" Sara was sitting on the couch, reading a book. "Where's mom?"

"She went to do some shopping. Talking to her made me realise something." Grissom practically ran over to the couch and jumped on it, taking Sara's hand immediately. "Honey, what happened the night your father died, it's not your fault."

"Gil, damnit, she killed him because he got mad at me. That wouldn't have happened if I hadn't have grassed on my brother." The tears were coming thick and fast.

"Sara, you can't blame yourself. He beat your mother for no reason, he abused you for no reason. If you hadn't have grassed on your brother, and he and his friends hadn't have done what they did, and your parents hadn't have gotten into your argument, something else would have. That was just the catalyst. How can you blame yourself for something you didn't even do? Do you blame yourself for him sexually abusing you?" he pleaded, hoping like hell that she wouldn't say yes.

She nodded and his heart plummeted. "I sometimes think it was my fault for being pretty, or for looking at him in a certain way, or sometimes for just existing. You don't know how many times I wanted to die. I'd lie in bed after he'd gone, and I used to wish and hope and pray that I wouldn't wake up in the morning." She broke down completely, shaking, dissolving - it was like nothing she'd ever felt.

"Goddamn it! It's not your fault!" Grissom yelled in desperation. "You didn't ask for him to do it. You just wanted to be a child. And you can't blame yourself for your mother killing your father. She was following the maternal instinct, she was protecting you. If you want to blae something, blame the environment of evolutionary adaptiveness. None. Of. This. Is. Your. Fault," he ennunciated, pulling her to his body.

There was something about his big frame that was all-consuming, a protective shroud, more definite and real than the Turin Shroud could ever be. She allowed him to absorb all of her anger and her pain and her guilt. He was making her clean again, restoring life to her, an emotional defibrilator pad. "God, Griss, I can't tell you how much I love you right now," she sobbed.

"Then don't, sweetheart. Don't say anything. Just let me be here for you. Because I love you so damn much that it hurts. But it's worth it, because I know how much more you could be if you let go and forgave yourself for that night. And you're already so much." He rested his head on top of hers, feeling relieved at this catharsis. He did love her, but it was more that love, or lust. He couldn't explain what it was, and neither would he try - but that was the thing about Sara - she knew that he wouldn't be able to say anything, and that was okay with her. She accepted him just as he was.

Sara pulled away and eyed Grissom carefully. His expression held none of the angst she had seen there previously, almost as if he'd reached a spiritual epiphany His eyes were still and calm, his mouth gentle and relaxed, his cleft chin free of all tension. Suddenly, and impulsively, she pressed her lips to the cleft. "Gil Grissom, I love you," she whispered."I really fucking love you," she repeated emphatically.

Grissom tilted her chin and brushed his lips against his cheek. "And God knows how much I love you. You've got my heart well and truly swen up and framed alongside your diploma," he joked gently. His phone trilled, and he pulled a face. "Sure, Laura," he said, answering it. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes." He held his hand out for Sara and pulled her up. "Come on, your mom's ready to be retrieved."

Sara took hold of his hand, refusing to relinquish it. "Okay," she replied quietly.