A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading our little story!

I Keep on Loving You

Chapter 6

It almost overwhelmed Sara. When she was awake, she had to tamp down the urge to scream—or cry—at least once an hour, but she kept this to herself. Literally trapped by a metal frame across her abdomen and hips, by casts on her arm and leg that meant she could not move, she fought the pain that coursed and flowed throughout her body. Only when it became excruciating did she ask for medication. The situation was temporary, she told herself; she could push through it by being strong.

By the afternoon of the third day with Benita as her nurse, Sara's attempt at subterfuge lay in shatters. Grissom had left, promising to return with a 'surprise' while a team of two was going to wash Sara's hair.

What should have been a simple-hospital-style shampoo turned into an unbearable procedure; tears filled Sara's eyes as the two women worked their patient into position. Before she could blink away the tears, Benita, assisted by a nursing aide, saw the agonizing expression on Sara's face and stopped everything.

"Okay, honey," Benita said softly, "what's going on? You've been putting on a brave face and refusing pain meds except for late at night." The nurse stepped back, fists on her hips; a slight movement of her head sent the aide out the door.

The nurse, as she did several times during her shift, began a careful examination of Sara's skin. "No skin breakdowns and pressure wounds on my patients," she had said to Sara and Grissom as she sought out every bruise, every needle prick on Sara's body and marked each one on a silhouette on the tablet she used for patient care.

"Don't refuse the meds, Sara. This kind of pain can't be pushed aside."

Sara used her free hand to wipe her face; the IV at her clavicle, a respiration monitor, a blood pressure clip, and the catheter for urine were still attached giving one useful arm yet did little in providing independence. She could not do the most intimate daily activities—like wiping her bottom—which would have been embarrassing beyond belief if she had not had Benita doing it for her.

The giant of a woman had a voice that lulled one into a sense of childhood wellbeing—a feeling that Sara had not known on many occasions—Grissom had actually been the one who had named Benita's voice "the sound of security".

"I don't like to take any kind of medication," Sara replied.

Benita continued her careful examination of Sara's skin. "Is that so? Are you going to tell me with a straight face," a grin tilted her mouth, "that you never downed a quantity of brandy or wine late at night—or early morning?"

Easily, Sara laughed. In three days, she had learned Benita could get a grin and laugh in any situation and there was not much the two women had not talked about—mostly about work but Benita had surmised a great deal about her patient from her visitors. No parents, no siblings, only co-workers including two or three males who were very protective of Sara.

Benita's soft chuckle preceded her question, "Are you always so stubborn and hardheaded?"

"I've had a lot of practice."

"Take the pain meds, Sara. You have a long recovery and it will be much easier if pain is controlled."

Sara shook her head, "I don't want to get hooked—long family history."

Benita kept her eyes on Sara's foot; her fingers moved between toes in a gentle massage. She said, "We'll see that doesn't happen. You've got a small red abrasion on the top of your foot." Running her finger along the edge of the soft cast, she explained, "The cast has shifted—swelling is going down—so I need to pad this." Quickly, she folded a gauze pad around the edge of the cast and moved to Sara's hip and pelvic dressings.

"I'll be so glad when this—this stuff is removed." Sara said with a sigh as she placed fingers over her eyes in an attempt to push back pain and tears.

Benita's soft laugh elicited the same response from Sara who had decided long ago that a laugh could cover many emotions. The nurse said, "The docs use this to speed recovery—everyone says the same thing—but they think it shortens rehab by weeks. Of course, it's also mostly younger patients who get it!"

Sara felt the nurse's warm hands through the gloves she wore. "I'll have to leave you when I go to rehab?"

Nodding, Benita said, "It's all about therapists in rehab—nurses take a back seat over there—but I promise to drop by to visit you."

"Do you visit all your patients?"

"No—only special ones like you, Sara—and that husband of yours. He's okay, too." Benita's caring hands checked Sara's arm with the cast, humming as she inspected exposed skin. "Tell me how you two met." Her dark eyes met Sara's. "I know there is a story."

Sara's wish would have been for Benita to talk; the soothing sound of the nurse's voice talking about her kids or her work or her native Mexico would have lulled Sara into a settled ease better than any drug. But Benita was as gentle, as reassuring with her hands as she was with her voice so Sara answered her.

Of course, she made the story light-hearted and much shorter than it actually was, but she covered the first meeting, the romance as it blossomed while Gil Grissom was her supervisor. She laughed as she related the proposal including the bee sting.

"I think he felt bad—I hated bees—and I'd dressed up to watch. Then he talked me into taking off my glove and the bee stung my hand." Sara laughed, adding, "I think he proposed and freaked me out—certainly wasn't expecting that—and that bee knew how freaked out I was!"

Benita continued inspecting Sara's skin, across her chest, her arm; adding lotion to her palm and rubbing it on Sara's arm. She asked, "Then you got married?"

"No—it took a while but we finally got to the place where we knew it was right—it was time."

Sara paused and the nurse looked at her patient's eyes waiting a few seconds before encouraging, "And then?"

Attempting to disguise her thoughts, a smile appeared across Sara's face. "We've always had this bond, Gil and I. It's—it's not something I can explain."

"Ahhh," Benita's smile mirrored Sara's. "With my husband—same way. It's a love match—not everyone has that." She chuckled. "Some people have a lust match. Mine—he knows what I want before I do. He drove a truck across the country for years—I'd miss him so much! Finally, he came home one day, laid the keys on the table and said he was giving it up—he'd work in a warehouse or flip burgers before he'd be gone again."

"What does he do?"

Benita's usual soft laugh became boisterous. "He drives a truck!"

"So he didn't give it up?"

"No, not completely. Now, he drives to San Diego—for a medical supply company—up and back in ten hours, three times a week."

The two women laughed together as easily as long-time friends sharing a new-found solution to an old problem.

"What's all this laughter?" Grissom stood in the doorway, asking the question and holding two large white cups.

Benita replied, "Discussing our men!" She winked at Sara. "I'm going to get your wife a pain med—she can swallow it down with whatever it is you have in those cups."

He held up one of the cups, "Smoothie—with cherries!"

Sara grinned; he had not forgotten her favorite.

Benita gave Grissom a gentle tap on his shoulder as she headed out, saying, "And in twenty minutes, you and I are going to give her a real shampoo! She'll think she's in one of those high-priced spa places."

In less time than predicted, Sara had finished the fruit smoothie, swallowed the pain med, and had her head lifted so a shallow bowl could be placed underneath her head. When the first pitcher of warm water touched her hair, she shivered.

Benita reached for an extra blanket and snuggled it around Sara's shoulders. "A bit warmer," she instructed as Grissom filled the container again.

And so the process went—water washed over Sara's hair as the nurse's giant hands worked scented shampoo into a lather. Grissom emptied the bowl several times as more water was poured, rinsing the bubbles and froth out of her hair.

"This is the epitome of luxury," Sara sighed, feeling more relaxed than she had in days-floating in a cloud of pain reliever and clean hair.

Benita took the pitcher from Grissom's hand and nodded toward Sara. She walked away from the bedside for more water, hoping Sara's husband would take her subtle hint.

He did.

By the time the nurse returned with a filled container, his fingers were threading through Sara's hair. Gently, he kissed her forehead.

"Isn't she beautiful?" His voice was a whisper.

Benita poured water and handed Grissom a towel. "She is." Smiling, the nurse removed the bowl and Grissom wrapped the towel around Sara's wet hair.

Sara, lids heavy with sudden exhaustion, smiled, "Since when did you care about beauty?"

"Since I met you."

Softly, Benita chuckled. "There's a hair dryer in the bathroom—if you think you can use it, I'll be gone."

Neither answered, but she was certain Sara's hair would get dry sooner or later. Neither seemed to notice as she left because they were busy working on upside-down kissing of the other's face.

A/N: More to come...and thank you for taking time to read and review!