Ever After
Summary:
Life isn't a fairy tale, and happily isn't guaranteed.
A/N: I didn't want to wait until the next episode aired to finish this, but I had no idea what was going to happen. I ended up making up my own plot. Just before I went to post this last chapter, I saw the actual promo on CBS. Let's just say my conclusion was a bit different than what they showed. I'm in the process of rewriting this last chapter, but here's the first half.
Rating: This is probably PG-13. If you want something higher, insert the appropriate parts (pun intended) with whatever floats your boat.
Disclaimer: Uhm, I currently have no beta, so some typos probably slipped by me.


Part III – a

"Griss, I want to go out," Sara said, giving him a broad grin. The action covered the laugh that threatened to erupt when he looked up from the assignment slips with a fleeting nervous expression. Her request was unusual enough, but their current location made his reaction especially comical.

"We can go out for breakfast," he replied, waving to the assembled team before heading quickly to the door.

"What about going out in the field?"

"You can't eat breakfast in the field," his voice carried from the hallway.

Sara let out a loud huff, giving her colleagues a mock-scowl when they started to chuckle. "This is all your fault," she said to Nick, but her smile let him know she was joking. He felt bad enough about the accident, even if he wasn't responsible.

"Don't blame him," Greg replied boisterously as he started to push her chair towards the break room door. "He doesn't understand what it means to 'nail the girl'. Figures of speech are beyond him."

Before Nick had time to defend himself, Sara grabbed the edge of the table, and Greg bent over double as he ran into the back of the now immobile chair.

"Just because it has wheels, doesn't mean it's a wheelchair. I'm fine," she said, silently willing her body to behave as she stood up. When the guys immediately moved to her side as a precaution, she growled.

"You jinx yourself every time you say that," Catherine pointed out in amusement.

"I know, I know," she groused, cautiously shifting her weight and relaxing when her leg remained steady. "Can't you talk to him?"

"Sorry, kiddo. Assignments are his call."

Rolling her eyes, Sara walked slowly towards the exam room. She knew Grissom had evidence waiting there, and they needed to talk – privately. She understood that her accident upset him, but he was taking things too far.

She missed only one day of work, mainly because she ached too much to get out of bed the day after the accident. The next evening she hobbled into the lab on crutches, Grissom hovering around nervously the entire time. He had kept her confined inside the building, not even allowing her to be near chemicals until the stitches came out.

Not wanting to make a scene – and still aching – she acquiesced quietly and spent the days sorting through photographic evidence, doing paperwork and other mundane tasks. Despite its ugly appearance, the puncture wound on her leg healed quickly without any complications.

Her ankle, though, was another story.

It refused to mend in what she considered a timely manner. Even after the swelling went down, it was tender and had a tendency to give out if she walked more than a short distance on it. Her doctor insisted it was just a bad sprain that was healing slowly, telling her to be patient and to take it easy. After a prolonged grilling by Grissom, the doctor finally sent her to an orthopedic surgeon, who reached the same conclusion.

Already overprotective, Grissom responded by refusing to let her do anything that he thought would put any stress on her ankle. Unfortunately, his definition of stress turned out to be extensive. At work, she sat at a workstation, and he unobtrusively arranged for lab techs to bring evidence to her.

At home, his attention was more direct; he shadowed her every move. Anything she could possibly want was always within arm's reach. He was extra considerate, doting, and Sara was ready to scream after a very short time. Inaction wasn't in her nature, and her frustration rose as her body failed to cooperate. While he sensed her irritation and reined in his fussing at home, he remained overly cautious at work.

She made things worse by trying to show him that her ankle was fine, hopping around the break room in demonstration. All she accomplished was twisting it again and fueling his concern. For the last two weeks she'd been able to get around without any trouble, but he still refused to let her out in the field.

He knows I'm better, but he's being too cautious. So, what am I going to do? I can't really argue with him. That's the one real compromise I had to make – he runs the show at work. We can't do anything that causes ethical problems. I can't ask him for recommendations for a promotion, and I won't ask for any special consideration.

But this isn't special. There's no reason for him to keep me in the lab. He wouldn't treat one of the guys this way.

Well, he isn't sleeping with any of the guys. That complicates things. I can't push this, but maybe he'll listen to me. I hope so. I'm about ready to go stir-crazy.

"Hey," she said as entered the room, quickly scanning it to make sure they were alone.

"Hey." He voice was soft, and he gave her a tender look before returning his attention to the stained material on the table before him. After finishing his photographs, he noted her questioning look and held up the sleep shorts with a singed crotch.

"A hunk, a hunk of burning love?" She grinned as he peered over the top of his glasses, his eyebrows moving towards his hairline. "Do you prefer Jerry Lee Lewis? That seemed too obvious."

"I never was a fan," he said evenly, shooting her another look. "And you're scary."

Standing close enough that their arms brushed, she bent forward to look at the material. "So, what's the story?"

"Mrs. Patel claims her husband fell asleep while smoking and drinking. Mr. Patel says his wife tried to flambé him with red wine."

"Either would explain the red stains," she said.

Grissom nodded. "But wine doesn't have enough alcohol to burn well, and the material is fire retardant. All it managed to do was scare him."

"Which explains the other stains," she said, her face screwing up as she leaned back from the shorts.

"Presumably. You can find out," he said.

"Gee, thanks." As she prepared the evidence, she steeled herself and spoke softly. "I never figured that you'd take advantage of me."

Her lips twitched as his head snapped up, turning to her in confusion. His mouth opened and closed, but Grissom never spoke.

"You know that I'm not going to challenge you at work," she continued, giving him a gentle smile. "You're taking advantage of that. I'm ready to go back into the field. You know that, too."

"No, I don't," he said, dropping his eyes to his evidence.

"I'm fine. Trust me."

"I'd rather keep you in the lab until I know you're ankle is completely healed. I don't want you injuring it again."

I guess kicking his ass wouldn't help me make my case. It's a tempting idea. He knows he doesn't have a legitimate reason for keeping me in the lab.

Look at him – he's still worried. It's sweet. He really did go out of his way to take care of me. Okay, he almost drove me batty, but he was just looking out for me.

But I still want to kick his ass.

"You just like to coddle me," she said, nudging him playfully.

Grissom gave her a quick smile. "No, I like to cuddle you."

"Coddle."

"You say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to."

Sara turned to him, resting her hip on the bench top. "Griss, we both say po-tay-to. And you're coddling me."

His shoulders moved in an ambiguous way, and she waited a moment longer before she returned to collecting stain samples from the shorts.

He's considering what I said. I guess that's something.

I'm glad the doctor didn't send me for any physiotherapy. I'd never get back into the field if that happened. Hell, Grissom would have made Ronnie and Hodges carry me around on one of those lounge chair things.

That visual prompted her to chuckle out loud, causing Grissom to give her a quizzical look.

"I'm not laughing about this," she said, nodding to the shorts. "Did Mr. Patel say why his wife would want to, uh, roast his chestnuts over an open fire?"

"You are very scary," he said in a tongue in cheek manner. "He said it was because he never told her he loved her."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Well, her reaction was a bit, uhm, counterproductive? Not exactly the right way to kindle the flames of desire," she said as she reached for a bindle. The corner of Sara's lips curled as he shook his head. "Sorry. That was the last one. But I can see where it's frustrating for a wife."

"It's not an easy thing to say," Grissom said in a quite voice.

"Yes, it is. It's three monosyllabic words." She turned to face him, almost smiling at his edgy expression. Taking pity on him, she caught his eye and continued. "Maybe it's too easy. People say it all the time when it isn't really true. What really matters is how someone acts."

She heard him let out a relieved huff, and she turned her head in time to see his nervous look morph into a contented air. He'd never actually said the word to her, but he had also done nothing to make her doubt his feelings.

"Of course," she added with a wicked grin, "it's still nice to hear."

Cocking his head in her direction, he raised an eyebrow and stared silently. She smiled when he leaned slightly so that his arm pressed gently into her side. Returning the pressure, she shared a long, affectionate look with him.

This isn't easy for him. Remember that. For all his intelligence, he doesn't get relationships, but he's trying. And there's no question that he cares. He can show me, but for some reason he's not good at vocalizing it.

It doesn't help that I work for him. He has to balance that with everything he does. But it's not like Ecklie would think Grissom was giving out love tokens if he let a subordinate get hurt on the job.

Unless he was with Heather.

Whoa.

Where did that come from? That was years ago, and Griss swears nothing happened. Not that it matters; I was with Hank then. Yeah, well, he was scum, but he didn't make money by degrading people. Huh. Guess everyone does have a jealousy gene, even me.

But I can keep mine under control.

"So, are you worried about my ankle, or that I'll run into another paramedic?" she asked, giving him a small grin.

"I think I'll plead the Fifth on that one."

His deliberately frightened tone caused her to laugh; she had already let him know his jealousy was both unnecessary and slightly insulting. It still lingered, but he made an effort to keep it in check.

Finishing with her evidence, she gathered it up and paused at the door. "Griss?"

After a long moment he sighed. "If something comes up that's not going to be too strenuous, I'll let you know."

"Sounds fair," she said, giving him a warm wink before exiting the room.

At the end of shift, he startled her by driving her to Lake Mead. They shared a luxurious breakfast at a dockside restaurant before heading home. There, he made love with her slowly and tenderly. The way he whispered her name over and over again reminded her of a lustful prayer.

Before she headed for the shower, he captured her body and drew her down beside him. He ran his hands around her foot gingerly, and she found his examination improbably arousing. Straddling his waist she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Did I pass inspection?" she asked between nibbling his earlobe.

"You can go to a scene if it's not too rough," he promised before rolling them over.

Her relief was short-lived. For the rest of the week he deemed all the new cases off-limits, noting they involved climbing outside for evidence collection or some other excuse. She didn't confront him at work, but she made it a point to start jogging again.

He said nothing.

That made her question his motives, wondering if his concern was about her getting hurt in general. It hadn't been a serious injury, nor was it her first, but it had been his first scare since they got together. Keeping that in mind, she tried to remain patient, but her independent nature bridled under his zealous protectiveness.

"You have a dead body. Suspicious circs," she said without preamble as she sidled into his office. She added pointedly, "In a casino. With flat floors."

"Catherine and I are handling it," he said, holding up his hand. "It's backstage at Cirque du Soleil. That place is a maze, cables all over the place, moving platforms. There are too many things that can screw up your ankle."

She bobbed her head silently, fighting back her irritation. "Fine."

"But you have your own dead body," he added, smiling at her happy expression. "Work with Warrick. Possible suicide at the Rampart demo."

"Sweet!"

As they headed to the Denali, Warrick grinned openly at her excitement. "It's not a major case," he teased her. "You're worse than Greg."

"Hey, you haven't been stuck in the lab for half of the summer."

Once at the scene, she quickly noted how he tried to handle all of the equipment. Taking her hit from his hand, she paused and gave him a sharp look. "Did Grissom tell you to watch out for me?"

"Only that I'll work every decomp for the next five years if I let you run off and get yourself hurt again."

"I did not get myself hurt," she countered irately.

He gave her an incredulous stare. "Girl, you climbed on top of a debilitated building and fell through a roof."

"Technically, a small portion of the roof that I was standing on collapsed. Only my leg went through it."

"Well, I don't like decomps, so you're not getting on any roofs today," he said, taking the case from her. Lifting it over his head, he waved it out of her reach mischievously. She rolled her eyes at him and grabbed the kit when he lowered it. Once on the scene, he only kept a cautious watch, letting her work her part of the scene without interference.

It was odd not being with Grissom after they had worked together so often, but she was happy enough to be on an actual case. When he brought her lunch, she was pleasantly surprised and shared her french fries with Warrick.

If he found Grissom's behavior odd, he never let on. Once again, Sara wondered if their friends were totally clueless about their relationship, or, if after years of conflicting evidence, they finally gave up trying to figure it out. It amused her to think of their reactions if the others ever did learn that they were together.

When she wrapped up her case, Grissom surprised her again by calling her to his latest crime scene. The media attention and the large crowd clued her in that this was something big, but she didn't recognize the dead man slumped over the table. When he quipped that Izzy was before her time, she hoped his humor was real, knowing that their age difference had been a concern for him.

She wasn't able to stay long, a frantic and mysterious call from Catherine sending her to a motel on the other side of town. That investigation folded quickly when someone kidnapped Lindsey. By the time she returned to help Grissom with his case he had run out of suspects.

The miniature crime scene was terrifying, clearly indicating that the murder spent considerable time recreating the dead rock star's kitchen, down to the drawer holding the rolling pin. The reason for leaving it behind wasn't as clear. Was the killer taunting them, giving them a hint about another crime, or leaving a message for the surviving family? Or was there no reason; maybe the killer was insane.

The unanswered questions plagued both of them, and she wasn't surprised when Grissom remained at the lab to examine the diorama further. Her comments earlier about his obsessive nature were a joke, but there was an element of truth to them. This case piqued his curiosity, and he wanted answers. Recognizing his mood, she asked if he wanted her to bring him something to eat and then left.

When she woke that night, he was sleeping soundly beside her, and she rolled over to rest her head on his chest. Listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat, she lazily traced patterns on his pajama top. She'd never been one to stay in bed, but these stolen moments were a private indulgence.

I used to make fun of people who talked about doing stuff like this. Romance was something my mom read about in books, not something that I thought was real. But this is …unbelievable. I can't get over how nice it is just to be here with him. A couple of years ago I would have just showered and gone to work if I woke up early. Now I play with his clothes. It's weird.

Maybe this is normal. It's not like I had any realistic role models growing up. I don't know. It's not like I felt anything like this with the other guys I've been with. Yeah, well, none of them were Grissom. It feels right with him. I can't see myself acting this way with anyone else.

Not that I plan to find out.

I never thought I'd ever feel so … settled down. Me. The science nerd who never was asked to a dance, the workaholic who thought she didn't need anyone in her life. It's not like I'd spend the rest of my life pining for him if this didn't work out, but I don't even want to think about losing him.

I wonder if he thought about that. Is that why he was afraid to be with me? Did he understand how much it would hurt if something happened? Has he gone through this before?

It's hard to say. If so, he's never mentioned it. He obviously wasn't a virgin, but he acts like someone who never was in a relationship before. That's not surprising.

Griss really is a great guy, and I can't think what would make me happier. But he's also someone who doesn't have any problems putting dead rodents in the fridge for an experiment or not coming home for two days straight because there's a corpse that caught his attention. Stuff like that can turn someone off pretty quickly.

I spend a fortune on nonoxynol-nine, but he's worth it. Probably a good time to let him know that.

She stayed by his side as he began to stir. When he finally opened his eyes, his clothes were undone and Sara was leaning naked over him. In the dim light, he just made out her loving look before she kissed his chest and slowly moved her lips down his body.

After her shower, she followed the sound of his humming to find him dishing up their dinner. Walking up to him, she went to kiss his cheek, but he pulled her into a bear hug.

"Someone's in a good mood today," she laughed as he nuzzled her neck.

"I can't imagine why."

The lighthearted mood lasted through dinner, and Grissom offered to do the dishes while she went to the lab. It was part of their routine; if they both had to go to work in the evening, they made a point of showing up at different times. She hated the waste of both of them driving, but that was also part of their attempts to be discreet.

"Have you debriefed Warrick yet?" she asked him with an amused tone as she packed her bag.

"No. Why?"

"To see how I did. I know you had him babysitting me. 'So I wouldn't run off and get myself hurt again' if I remember correctly."

"Those were not my words," he corrected rapidly. When she held his gaze, he finally let out a small huff. "You tend to, uh, overestimate your ankle's ability. It's gone out on you before."

"That was weeks ago. Really, I'm fine. I didn't have trouble. At any of the scenes."

"I'm glad to hear it." His look was so tender that she relented, shaking her head before kissing him goodbye.

"See you later," she said.

That night he assigned her to his case again, and she felt him watching her closely as she gathered evidence. The pattern repeated over the next few days. He didn't openly question her performance, but she knew he was making sure she didn't overextend herself. He even reacted nervously when she picked up a chainsaw to 'attack' him in a reconstruction. She teased him about it the next morning until he corralled her in the bedroom, effectively silencing her jokes with his kisses.

She resisted the urge to complain when he insisted that she only collect evidence from the victim of a horrible beating. He was still overprotective, a fact that she appreciated, but she made a point of demonstrating how well she had healed by energetically kicking the dummies while comparing shoe patterns. She even mock-challenged him when he commented on her behavior, hoping to make it clear that she was physically fine. There hadn't been time to see if her message got through to him, though.

When she learned about Greg's attack, she left to be by his side immediately. He was more than a friend, even if never quite reaching the level of a romantic interest. They had a closeness that went beyond mentoring; he was almost a brother to her. Seeing him lying there, Sara found herself unable to control her tears.

More than anyone else on the team, she understood how much pain he had to be in, but nothing she suffered as a child compared to the savagery of his attack. He had to be in physical agony. Worse, she feared what it would do to his soul.

This was normal for me. I can't even remember the first time I was beaten. It was a part of our life; I thought it happened to everyone.

Greg knows better. God, he's such a gentle spirit. He didn't deserve this. No one does but especially him. He's never hurt anyone before. This is so foreign to him.

Unwilling to leave him alone, she knelt by his side until the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance. She followed them to the hospital, staying with him until the doctor shooed her out of the examining room. Even then she remained at the hospital, waiting for the surgeons to finish with his attacker.

Gathering the evidence, she felt little sympathy for the young man's condition. Not that she thought he deserved his fate, but he had instigated the situation; he had the power to diffuse it. Instead, he chose to escalate matters. His actions resulted in his own injuries, not to mention contributing to the death of a poor father and leaving three others with scarred psyches.

She wondered if her perceived harshness was a residual element from her childhood, but she found herself strangely not too concerned. Rounding a corner, the matter faded from her mind as she caught sight of Grissom.

He silently brushed hands with her as she showed him the contact lenses, offering her a private comfort. They talked about the case for a moment before he asked if she was all right. After a brief conversation, he gave her a wan smile and told her to take her time visiting Greg.

Her stop was short. He was fighting the medications to stay awake, and she knew he needed the rest. She offered what solace she had, and then dove into finding the gang responsible for the attacks with an intensity she hadn't felt in a long time.

Catching them left her unsettled. The casualness with which they carried out their attacks disgusted her, and she dismissed the excuses the others offered in the locker room. At least Grissom understood. She was glad when he joined them on the Mexican food run the next day. He was the first one to head for the door, and a subtle nod at the bed conveyed his message.

"Guys, Greg's probably tired," she said, and his weak nod confirmed it. She promised to visit again later, and kissed his forehead before leaving.

Back at his townhouse, Grissom silently hugged her when she let herself in. Not trusting her voice, she didn't try to start a conversation, settling for the security of his embrace. For a long time they just stood there, and Sara blinked back the moisture in her eyes.

"You don't have to hold it in. I know the two of you are close," he whispered into her hair.

"Griss," she responded weakly, unable to find the words to express her pain. Shaking her head, she pulled away and took his hand. Leading him to the couch, they sat close together, and he ran his hand soothingly over her back.

"Your visit meant a lot to him," she finally said. "He told me all about it. How you were the first person he ever told about his folks."

"I didn't know what to say."

"Sometimes it's not what you say. Just being there is enough. He knows you care," she said, a yawn suddenly escaping her lips.

"Come on," Grissom said. She didn't resist as he led her to the bedroom. She was emotionally drained and physically exhausted. Changing into their pajamas, they snuggled close together in the bed, and she fell asleep listening to his heartbeat.

Sara woke up in an empty bed. Heading into the living room, she found him on the couch. The tightness around his mouth and eyes was the only physical indication of his distress, but a half-empty tumbler of bourbon in his hand made her wary. He almost never drank alone. Standing by the edge of the couch, she waited for him to react, but he seemed oblivious to her presence.

This got to him. He really cares about Greg. I guess the whole team. It's probably the closest he had to a family.

He's probably upset that he sent him out alone. It was a freak occurrence. What were the odds that Greg would drive by one of the beatings?

"It wasn't your fault," she eventually said in a soft voice, tilting her head at his confused expression.

Okay, that wasn't what was bothering him.

She waited for him to say something, but he just took another drink. She looked over her shoulder to the bedroom and debated what to do. As much as she'd rather be with him, she knew there were times he needed his space.

"Would you rather be alone?" she asked kindly. "I can change and go to my place. It's not a problem."

"What? No," he said. "No. Come here."

Slipping under his proffered arm, she ran her fingers over his jaw. When he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, she snuggled closer against him.

"You okay?" she asked.

Opening his eyes, he let out a small sigh and moved his head slightly from side to side. Taking another sip of bourbon, he resumed staring into space.

At least he didn't deny it this time. I'm not sure that's a good sign – how bad does it have to be if he's acknowledging it? Something is up. He's not going to talk about it. Well, not to me.

Is there anyone he talks to? I know sometimes he and Brass share drinks after bad cases, but I don't know if they actually discuss things. He's not as close to Catherine as he used to be, so I doubt if they talk.

I wish he would open up somehow. I know it's not easy, but all that stress can't be good for him.

"Anything I can do to help?" she asked hopefully.

For some reason, her question triggered a response in him. He set the glass down and drew her into his lap. Kissing her forehead, he leaned back and pursed his lips uncertainly.

"How are you? This had to bring up bad memories," he said tactfully. She must have given him a surprised look because he went on in a gentle tone. "What you were saying in the locker room about bad parents not being an excuse for their behavior."

"That was common sense. I don't think I'm any kind of a role model." Her response came out almost as a snort, and he cocked his head as he gazed at her.

"You made a lot out of your life, especially considering your childhood."

She didn't say anything, just shrugged and stared at her fingers as they fiddled with the collar of his pajamas.

"Do you miss them?"

Damn, he went for a couple of years without ever asking about them. Why now?

Guess Griss doesn't have the monopoly on being close-lipped. I can't complain that he doesn't share when I haven't said a word about my parents since that day he came to my apartment.

Oh, hell.

"Yeah," she answered truthfully, clearing her throat quickly. "Sometimes. Other times? I wish I had gotten the hell away from them sooner."

"That's understandable," he said, capturing her hand in his own and squeezing it reassuringly.

"I, uh, I think it would have been easier if they had been monsters all the time," she said, the weakness of her voice surprising her. Talking a deep breath, she continued. "There were times when they were actually good parents. Not often," she added.

"I suppose that's to be expected."

"I remember having a bad stomach virus when I was about six, I guess. My mom never left my side. Every time I woke up she was there, changing my pajamas or the sheets, giving me something cold to drink. She sang to me."

Grissom wrapped his arm tighter around her shoulders, but she refused to let the tears start, afraid that she'd be unable to control the onslaught. She'd never admitted these feelings to anyone; not the school psychologists or her PEAP counselor.

"I wasn't always a good student," she said, his stunned look prompting a smile despite her unease. "I just did enough to get by."

"The material was probably too easy for you. You got bored," he offered, his honest faith earning him a brief hug.

"More likely that my parents didn't put much value on an education. Then my brother really screwed up, and his teacher showed up at the house. My mom had a black eye, and my arm was in a cast. I didn't understand it at the time, but she obviously realized something was wrong at our house."

"Was your father there?"

"Yeah," she whispered harshly, her eyes closing at the memory. "He beat my brother bad – worse than anything I had seen up to that point. It scared me, so I started studying harder. And then my parents got a letter from my school saying they wanted to talk to them."

"That must have frightened you," he said sadly, kissing the top of her head when an involuntary shudder wracked her body.

"Hell, yeah. I was petrified. I sat in the front seat and didn't move a muscle. Mom didn't go; she was too bruised. My dad just glared at me the whole drive, and I knew I was going to get into so much trouble when we got home. Then the teacher showed him the results from the standardized tests we had just taken the week before. They moved me into a more advanced class."

"What did he do?"

"He drove me to the bar where his friends hung out, and he bragged to all his friends that his daughter was a genius," she said, rubbing her eyes impatiently. "Then he took me out for ice cream. It was great. I had never seen him so happy, and he was kinder that night than he had ever been.

"After that I thought, maybe, if I studied hard enough, things at home would be better. That I could keep making Dad happy enough not to argue with Mom. That if I tried hard enough I could make things better at home." Sara let out a short, humorless laugh. "It didn't work."

"It was a normal reaction," Grissom whispered. "Abused children often blame themselves. You know that it wasn't you fault. You did nothing to deserve what happened to you."

"Yeah," she said, finally wiping at the tears forcing their way from her eyes. "I always wondered what screwed me up more: That I loved people I had every reason to hate, or that I hated the two people I should have loved unconditionally."

"Oh, Sara," he moaned heartbreakingly as he drew her closer. "Don't do this to yourself, honey. You're amazing. Don't ever doubt that."

Years of repressed emotion mixed with anguish over Greg's injuries. She buried her face in his neck, his loving words and gentle caresses easing her embarrassment and pain.

"I'm so glad you're here," she whispered into his skin.

TBC


A/N II: If anyone is curious as to what I intended first, I'll post a mini-summary at my website and in my profile later. Be aware that it'll be spoilerish.