"Hey." Sara stuck her head into the bathroom, raising her voice slightly over the noise of the shower. "I'm going to head home. I'll see you at work."

For a minute, there was nothing but the sound of the water, and she wondered if he'd heard her.

"Stay," he said finally.

She was confused. "What?"

"Stay," he repeated. "Here. For the day. To sleep," he clarified. "You keep an extra set of clothes in your car, right?"

X-ray vision would have been useful as she tried to stare through the navy blue shower curtain. They'd fallen asleep together after sex – and once on the couch watching tv when they were both so tired they never even finished their breakfast – but only for an hour or two. They always went back to their own apartments for most of the day. They both liked their own space…and she'd have bet everything she owned that of the two of them, he wouldn't have been the one to change the status quo.

"You really want me to stay?" she asked, trying hard not to grin.

After a short pause:

"Yes," he said. "I really do." Even without x-ray vision, she could picture his expression, carefully unreadable except for the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Her own smile broke through. "Well, then," she said, her voice muffled as she pulled her shirt over her head. "I want to shower before we go to bed." Sara pushed open the curtain without giving him time to process her statement.

"Sar-" His surprised exclamation was cut off with a warm, wet kiss.

After that, they stayed together two or three nights a week, when they could. They slept sprawled across the bed, rolled to their respective sides, needing their space.

But the first thing they did when they woke up was curl together in the center of the bed.

He slept more deeply than she'd expected. He barely stirred when she got up to go to the bathroom, or to the kitchen for water.

He even slept through the first couple of nightmares. Sara woke up gasping, shaking, and crept out of bed, trying not to wake him. Sitting on the couch, she would take slow, careful breaths until the trembling slowed. When she was back in control, she slid quietly back into bed.

The second time, he rolled over when the mattress shifted, reaching out and draping an arm loosely across her waist, but he didn't wake up.

It was her problem, she told herself. It only happened after a really stressful case, or when she'd been working too hard. He didn't need to know. He didn't need to see her like that.

The third time, she wasn't so lucky.

"Sara!" She knew she'd been hearing his voice for a minute or two, but couldn't figure out how it had woven into her dream. All she knew right then was that someone was gripping her arm, tight, and that was not okay.

Sara shoved back at him, hard, and fled to the chair in the corner of her room, nearly tripping herself as her feet tangled in the sheets. Grissom followed, reaching out a hand to soothe her. She jerked away.

"Don't touch me!" Her voice was tense and desperate, and she had drawn her knees up to her chest and was pressed back in her chair.

She saw – the tiny part of her brain that was still thinking rationally saw – the split second of hurt in his eyes, and she knew he'd leave. Very few men had lasted through even one of her nightmares.

But he didn't leave.

He sat back on the corner of the bed, watching her closely. As her breathing slowed, he carefully reached out again, barely touching her arm. When she flinched, he pulled his hand back, but he still didn't leave. He tried again a moment later, and this time she let him touch her.

Grissom had been sleeping like the dead. They'd both worked doubles two days in a row and had fallen asleep in Sara's bed the second they'd hit the sheets. It was nearly five hours later that he'd half woken, his back killing him from being in the exact same position that long. He shifted, reaching out to pull Sara to him, and got a very sharp elbow in his bicep.

That was when he'd woken up, and seen her shaking and half-sobbing, still asleep and obviously in the throes of a nightmare. He'd tried to wake her up, first saying her name softly and then shaking her arm. It was then that she'd run from him. He'd seen Sara in several horrifying situations, but he'd never seen her look as terrified as she did in that moment.

"Sara…" His voice was low and gentle. "It's okay, honey. It's all right." Slowly, carefully he drew her out of the chair and over to the bed, pausing whenever she resisted, waiting, patient. "Lie back down…it's okay." He continued to make soothing noises, helping her lie back down, pulling the covers up to her shoulders. He lay down beside her, rubbing her back, talking to her quietly, soothingly.

Gradually, she calmed, her desperate sobs quieting to silent tears. Grissom left his hand lightly on her back, careful not to hold her too tight. "Shhh…" he murmured. "You're okay. I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you. I won't…" The words caught in his throat. He took a breath, steadied his voice. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

Even the tears stopped eventually. She was quiet so long he thought she'd fallen asleep, until he heard her voice, so soft he had to strain to hear it.

"They never should have gotten married," she said dully, as if the words didn't belong to her. "They were happy for a while, I guess. My brother said they hardly fought at all when he was little, when I was a baby. He remembered my mother pregnant with me, and them being happy and excited when I was born. But she had so many problems that she refused to deal with. Wouldn't get help, wouldn't try therapy or medication. And eventually my dad couldn't deal with it. He couldn't understand why she was so screwed up and it just made him angry and he would lash out and they would just go at it."

She laughed suddenly, the sound hollow. "These dreams – they're so stupid, because I dream that they're coming after me, and it wasn't like that. My brother and I, we were just…there. They hit us, but it was mostly just while they were trying to get at each other. We were like pieces of furniture that got in the way. We kept getting hurt until we learned to stay away. My brother learned first. He left the day he turned eighteen. I was only ten…he said he was sorry he couldn't take me." Shivering suddenly, she reached for his hand, pulling his arms close around her. "I remember their faces. When they were fighting. So angry and so much hate. That's what I dream about."

"Eventually I did learn," she said. "Except…" She held out her left arm and traced a long, thin scar from the side of her elbow halfway to her wrist. It had healed neatly, and her skin was white enough that it barely stood out, but he could still see it when she showed him. "The last time." Sara swallowed hard. "I tried to grab at her, to stop her…It wasn't too deep." She pressed closer to him, until he was holding her so tightly he was afraid she wouldn't be able to breathe.

"It could have been worse," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow. "We see worse. Kids whose parents actually go after them instead of one another, kids who are molested…It could have been worse. They really beat each other up. She had about three broken bones and ten bruises for every one of mine, and the only reason he didn't was because he was bigger, and stronger. I just kept getting in the way…I wanted them to stop fighting."

She shivered again, and he held her even tighter. "You couldn't have stopped them, sweetheart." He felt her curl her fingers around his.

"I know." The words were a whisper.

His thumb gently smoothed back and forth over her knuckles, and his kisses were soothing on her shoulder.

Gradually, her muscles relaxed. Their bodies melted into one another, their breathing slowed…and they slept. And that day, neither of them felt the need for any space.

FIN