A/N: Hey guys. Here we go with the next chapter. I thought very long and hard about this one and whether to split it into two or not. Again, it's another long chapter but I have decided not to split it (aren't you all lucky?). As we have a very special guest on this chapter and it was written by my awesome beta and friend SSC, it was meant to be all as one, so it shall remain so. Hun, you have supported me so much with this story and your input just makes me feel so good inside. You are an amazing writer and it is an absolute delight to have you on board with me, to know you and to be able to call you my friend. Putting our heads together is just…ugh…EVIL HAT TIME! Lol.
So who is ready for GSR? Oh, let's just hope she makes it…
Chapter 86
Grissom's lips curled the rim of the coffee cup as he took in the strong black liquid. He enjoyed a cup of coffee most every night, but a splash of milk had tamed the bitterness enough so that the coffee actually felt good on his tender throat.
He had been met with unbelievable fortune. The hurricane had held it's fury until the moment where he, David and Michael had successfully boarded up the windows and put away anything that could be picked up by the fierce winds. Grissom had determined that the worst of the storm would hit a couple of hundred miles to the northeast, sparing his home and stables from sure destruction. Unfortunately, the direction of the storm would strike Maryland with the same intensity that it would Alexandria County.
He wondered if the Grove had taken proper provisions. He knew that it would be up to the workers because the captain, as he recalled, was in no fit state to do anything except retire to bed. Grissom couldn't blame the man his drunkenness, to do so would have been insensitive and hypocritical on his part.
The mansion at the Grove was well built and partially situated on a hill, surely sparing it from flooding but Grissom feared that the winds might cause the magnificent home some damage. He thought of Sara, injured and weak in her bedroom and wished for the thousandth time that he could be there. Even if he couldn't be in her bedchamber, he wished he could somewhere on the property….able to be with her in a moment's notice.
But there was a satisfaction in knowing that he had most likely saved his home and animals. He would have a home to bring Sara to. It was hopelessly small and not what she was used to but it was a home and it would be theirs.
A small part of him though, still fretted at the thought that Sara was an heiress, accustomed to the absolute finest money could buy. He could only give her a small cabin and all his love; he hoped it would be enough.
He was sore but he felt better. His voice was weak but returning. His muscles ached but nothing that a few days of rest wouldn't cure.
The captain would have several workers to secure his buildings. Grissom had only himself and two other men and David still had to go make sure his mother was okay. Michael had accompanied him, so he could stop at Taylor's on the way.
Grissom sipped the coffee again and stared at the paper before him. He had done a rough sketch of the cabin, using a ruler, a straight edge and a pencil. His eyes moved to the back wall of the cabin. He tapped his jaw for a minute while he thought. He could remove the entire back wall, easily expand the kitchen and add a real bedroom. He'd make the bedroom large enough to support Sara's dressing table and if necessary a crib.
He sighed as he began sketching the proper dimensions of the expansion of the cabin. When he had originally built the cabin, it was only supposed to be a place to eat and sleep. Never before had he pictured the simple building as a home. And while Sara probably wouldn't complain, he well realized that it was too small for two people.
He had a few luxuries. He had always bought good beddings and he had built his furniture himself. While it did not have the intricate carvings of the Grove's furnishings, it was solidly built and perfectly stained.
Tomorrow, he would go to the bank for a loan. If the bank wouldn't give it to him, then he would talk to Taylor. Grissom had a good reputation but he had never before borrowed money. After he obtained the necessary funds, he would sell Duchess, his least reliable horse. With that money, he would go to the jewelers to buy a proper wedding ring for Sara.
And then the day after that, he would saddle up and return to the Grove.
Whether Thomas Sidle liked it or not.
Gil Grissom was going to marry Sara Sidle, with or without a blessing from the captain. As long as Sara wanted him, then he was willing to fight for her. It was his mistake before, to simply walk away from the Grove without confronting Sara or the captain. But now things were different. He knew Sara's feelings and as long as they hadn't changed, then her father would just have to deal with him.
Grissom's attention turned to the rain. A clasp of thunder echoed through the night and Grissom was relieved that his well constructed cabin had not leaked a single drop in spite of the storm.
He thought of Sara. He hoped that she was all right.
The sound of a loud whinny interrupted his reverie. He heard it again and listened to ascertain the source. The windows were boarded, so he cracked the front door. The silhouette of Dante caught his eye; his prized horse was raring up on his hind legs, then kicking with them, snorting and grunting before taking off into a gallop around the front of the cabin.
Grissom's eyebrow rose. Dante was out? Had something happened to the stable? Grissom knew his horses, all of them, but he knew Dante the best. Dante was clearly trying to get his masters attention.
Quickly, he pulled on his heavy boots, the ones he only used to deal with the muddy conditions that such weather would undoubtedly create. After donning his coat, hat, and gloves, he opened the front door and walked into the rain.
Dante reared up again as soon as he saw his master. Grissom stood in front of the agitated horse, a quick look to the left confirmed that the stables were still standing and not in immediate jeopardy.
His hand shot out, stroking the edge of Dante's mane. "What is it, boy?" he asked loudly to be heard through the weather. "What is it?"
Dante calmed but shot Grissom a fearful look.
"Okay," Grissom said as he easily launched himself onto Dante's back. It would be easier to ride him, since Grissom had no idea what had agitated his horse so badly. Dante wasn't saddled but Grissom could ride just as well without one.
"Yah," Grissom commanded, grabbing Dante's mane as a makeshift rein.
And Dante was off.
It was a short trip, as Dante ran back to the stables.
Grissom noticed the opened door, which didn't immediately cause concern as he knew Dante would have had to have kicked it open to obtain egress from the stable.
Dante stopped just in the threshold of the stable. Grissom slid from his back, at first annoyed by the interruption in his cabin expansion plans for something so seemingly unimportant. However, he had learned to trust in the instincts of his animals. If they sensed something, then it was almost always in his best interests to interpret their unspoken signals.
And so he would check everything out just to be sure.
His hands instinctively reached for the lantern that he kept on a nail. As his gloved hands closed around the lantern, the warmth of it caused him to jump back.
It was very warm, almost hot. Someone had been here. Very recently.
His senses heightened, he lit the lantern effortlessly and looked around the stable. A mouse scurried to safety and Grissom remembered an earlier notion to obtain a few good cats. He ignored this however and continued his silent surveillance.
The stable appeared to be in pristine condition, not any different than what they were the last time he was in here, only hours before. It wouldn't be unusual for a weary traveler, caught in the storm, to find temporary shelter in a stable. Grissom wouldn't have minded this, for most people in this situation would have only good intentions but there were the few who might have more malevolent ideas in mind.
And then he saw her, standing towards the rear of a stall, tired and giving him a sleepy look.
"Pandora?" Grissom spoke aloud.
It was her and she was still very damp from the rain. Grissom silently studied the horse, almost transfixed by her. He noted the stable blankets, the trough still half full of food and the larger one to the side full of water. But the greater concern was that Pandora was exhausted, more fatigued than what was good for a horse. He knew her condition was caused by hard riding in unfavorable conditions. Like tonight.
"Oh God," he said. "Sara?"
Surely, she wouldn't have come. She wasn't able to make a journey such as this. Grissom thought of Gregory again, but he was also recovering so he couldn't imagine…
His heart rate sped up. The captain was drunk the last time they had spoken….oh surely not….
He turned to Dante. "Who's here?"
In his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that Dante had never entered the warmth of the stable. His horse was still outside, oddly standing behind the partially opened door.
Immediately, he approached Dante. It was only then he noticed that Dante's head was down, his teeth tugging at the tail of a dress.
"Sara!" Grissom screamed.
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
He thought, at first, that she was dead.
His heart was ripping out of his chest as he leaned to lift her from the ground. She had sunk in the mud enough that it required a few good tugs to loosen the earth's grip on her. Finally, she was in his arms and he immediately retreated to the security of the stable.
Dante followed silently.
Grissom closed the door with his free hand, carrying Sara to some stacked straw bales. He deposited her upon these, pulling the loosened bonnet from her neck. She was alive but her lungs wheezed every time she exhaled.
And her skin was icy cold.
She was also practically caked in thick mud. Her dress was hopelessly soiled; it would probably never come clean again. One shoe was missing from her stocking clad foot. He pulled the remaining shoe away.
Grissom paused for a second, thinking about his next move. Sara was trembling, her eyes closed, lips parted and chest heaving. The unwritten rules of propriety dictated that he should bundle her up, soiled clothing and all and find some women to undress and bathe her. But Grissom wasn't exactly in a position to find such help and Sara needed help sooner rather than later.
Holding his breath, he reached beneath Sara's dress, fingers searching for the tops of the stockings. After finding them, he pulled the silk garments from her legs. Next he tackled the tiny buttons on her dress, unfastening each one until the dress opened and he had pulled it from her body. Her petticoat and chemise were not in any better condition so they too joined the dirtied dress on the hay covered floor.
The clothes were more dangerous than warm and Grissom didn't stop the flurry of activity until she was stripped bare of clothing. He noted a full bucket of water in the corner. Grabbing it and some old rags he began washing the mud from her body. His movements were quick and brisk; the water was cold but he hoped it would help revive her.
She shivered from the cold, her lips almost blue now. Her breaths were shaky and labored but she never once opened her eyes.
"Please don't," she begged and he startled at her voice.
"It's okay, Sara," he soothed. "I'll get you warm in a minute."
Why was she here? Why on earth had she made this journey in such less than favorable conditions? Grissom reached for the last of his stable blankets and wrapped Sara's now devoid of mud body into it. He knew the captain was angry, furiously so but Grissom knew that even on Thomas Sidle's worst day…would he send his daughter away to certain death?
But the Captain was drunk the last time Grissom saw him and overindulgence in alcohol has caused many a harsh word and death. If the captain had confronted Sara during that time…
But surely Sara would have realized that her father was intoxicated and his words more a result of the alcohol and his anger than his true feelings.
Thomas Sidle had a temper, although Grissom had always known, that when push came to shove, Laura could best him in that regard. Laura would have never allowed her husband to banish Sara and if he did, Laura would have ensured that Sara made the journey to Grissom safely.
Something…..something had happened at the Grove after he had left for home.
"What happened, Sara?" he asked her. "Why didn't you just come to the cabin when you arrived? I would have taken care of Pandora. You should have never made this trip. I was coming back for you."
But silence was his only answer.
Still there was no time to concentrate on that. He glanced over to Dante, who had reentered his stall and was looking forlornly down at Pandora, who was lying down and sleeping heavily. Grissom latched the stall before checking Pandora's condition. Horses normally slept standing up and a lying horse could indicate illness.
Grissom knelt next to the tired horse, letting his hands smooth over her still damp hair. "She's fine," he reassured Dante. "She'll be okay, boy. She's just exhausted and needs lots of rest. Her hooves are a little bruised but I'll fix her up tomorrow, okay?"
Dante gave Grissom a more assured look before his characteristic snort.
Grissom patted the sleeping Pandora. "Great job, girl. You rest now. I promise you that I will tend to you in the morning and give you some supplements so you don't get sick." Repositioning the blankets around the horse, he quickly left her alone.
Pandora would be fine. Grissom knew this as well as he knew his own name. Horses were easy for him; he could sense most anything within them. If Pandora was seriously ill, Grissom would have instinctively known it.
Sara, however, was a different matter entirely.
She was quaking from beneath the blanket; her closed lids now squeezed shut as she coarsely trembled. Her teeth chattered almost rhythmically
Chills.
"Great," Grissom said in annoyance. Not annoyance at her, but that his action had caused a unfavorable side effect. She now required immediate warmth and he was determined to make her more comfortable.
The solitary wooden box caught his attention, sitting alone on a bale of hay. He vaguely remembered the box; it was a gift that he had helped the captain make, years ago, to give to Sara. A strange feeling filled his heart as he slid the box and key into the largest pocket on his barn coat.
Reaching now for Sara, he startled at the sound of her voice.
"Please please," she mumbled.
He stopped, carefully positioning her head on his shoulder. "Please what, Sara?" he asked as he moved his hands strategically beneath her form.
"I'm going to church," she whispered. "To the one on Anderson Road."
Grissom smiled. "Honey, that church has been abandoned for years. You don't need to go there. The building doesn't even have a roof anymore." He answered her comment before he thought better of it.
"Sara," he said against her temple as she was now securely in his arms again. "You weren't coming here to stay? You came…..to simply leave Pandora? Honey, that's insanity. Why would you do that?"
She shook so violently now that he feared he might lose his grip on her. Sara was lighter though, now even more so than just days before when he carried her back to the house when she was having her miscarriage.
"I don't know if I want God to forgive me," she wheezed.
Grissom raised an eyebrow. He moved Sara exclusively to his left arm so he could close the door with his right. The wind howled making any more conversation impossible so Grissom simply carried her back to the safety of the cabin.
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
The fire blazed in the fireplace, the black cast iron kettle sitting over the fire gave an occasional clink, just so one knew it was indeed active. Grissom set Sara down into the chair before pumping some water into a basin.
Robbins had taught Grissom many important things in his youth. Grissom had held on to every nugget of information, soon realizing the validity in the man's advice. Robbins always had a kettle of water on to boil, even in the hottest of weather.
"Never know when you'll need hot water," he had told Grissom.
"Indeed." Grissom used a glove to grab the hot handle of the kettle before pouring the contents into a clean bucket. The water was much too hot to use on a person so he used the cold water from the pump to cool the temperature just a touch.
He didn't have Sara's sweetly scented soaps or the lavender drops she loved so much. His simple lye soap would have to do for now. Lathering up a thick lather in a washcloth, he then removed the stable blanket from Sara's body.
"Get away from me," she said hoarsely.
He stumbled backwards, shocked by her words. He stood there agape for a few minutes while Sara shivered and shook in the chair.
Grissom noted the flush creeping upon her ashen cheeks. She was coughing, wheezy and hoarse and he was beginning to suspect that she might be feverish as well.
"Sara?" he questioned, unsure of what to do.
"Get….get…away from me. I don't want you! You can just kill me…..I don't care….I don't care, I don't…..care," she spoke the words in a hurried whisper, so rapidly that they seemed to run together.
He felt his heart accelerate. "Sara? I don't understand."
"I'm not yours, Hank. I won't be yours."
Grissom smiled sadly and approached her again. "Sara….I think…you're sicker than either of us realized. It's me….Grissom."
"No," she protested. "Nonononononono!"
"Sara, shush," he said firmly, gripping her face in his hands. He forced her face to meet his. "Sara, open your eyes and look at me."
Her eyes opened obediently but they were glazed and unable to focus. They rolled around, looking in all directions but unable to concentrate on anything. It was then that Grissom felt the first signs of her increased body temperature.
"Who am I?" he asked her.
She focused for the briefest of moments before breaking down into tears again. "I'm sorry," she murmured.
"Who am I, Sara?" he repeated. "Tell me."
"I don't know," she finally said. "Did you pay me?"
She was running a fever, he surmised. She had to be, to account for this level of disorientation. Either that or she had been exposed to the elements far longer than he thought. Something was terribly wrong.
He picked up the cloth again. "I'm just going to help you, Sara. Try to relax."
She trembled even harder but Grissom was quick to use the hot water to alleviate the cold. The better lighting of the cabin allowed him to see, for the first time, the hand shaped bruises on Sara's thin shoulders. Her upper arms also sported the residual effects of unnecessary roughness. Grissom dealt gently with the battered flesh, only using whatever force was absolutely necessary to wash her.
She shivered and shook. Her hands attempted to cover her breasts, as if she knew they were exposed. Grissom pushed her hands away gently. "It's just me," he reassured her. "You know I won't hurt you, Sara."
Her response was a whimper but she tried to push him away.
Her breasts were untouched, though they appeared rounder and fuller than he remembered. The probable side effect of her pregnancy, no doubt. He rubbed them quickly with the soap encased cloth, unable to stop the look of admiration that crossed his face.
It was short lived as another bruise on the left side of her lower ribcage came into view. A large purplish black almost circular bruise was directly on her abdomen. This one bruise gave him a moment of sadness as he remembered Hank hitting Sara on top of the cliff, the look of pain on her face as his fist was buried deep in her flesh.
That strike robbed him and Sara of their child and left Sara with a painful angry remnant of that encounter.
He moved to her back, washing and noting an assortment of scratches, abrasions and deep tissue injuries that now decorated her once smooth skin.
She moaned softly and he tried to soothe her.
"Please, please don't touch me. Just leave me alone." She tried weakly to cover herself again, to try to push him away again, but she was so frail that her attempts were easily thwarted by him.
"Sara, please, just let me finish and I'll get you warm. You can rest."
"No," she protested. "No warmth, no rest, no anything. I'm not worthy."
He stopped for a moment, attempting to hold her but she panicked and he continued with his task.
But he gasped at what he found next and no words could ease the ache.
He knew that Hank had forced himself upon Sara. Hank had confessed; Laura had confirmed it. But there was no warning that could have prepared him for the devastation that had resulted from that attack.
Sara's inner thighs were so purple they were almost black. The bruise seemed to go to the bone and Grissom knew without looking that it would take weeks for these to heal. Silently he followed the bruises path to her center, where even there she was purple and the delicate fragile tissues almost grotesquely swollen from insult.
An anger, white hot and consuming, filled him to the point that he could almost feel his blood boiling with it. What had that bastard done? What amount of force did Hank have to use to cause such disfiguring injuries such as these? And as horrible as the outside of her body appeared, there had to be equally as much injury on the inside of her body.
How on earth had she even managed to ride Pandora with such awful bruising?
He washed her legs first, frowning at the deep scratches and bruising on both her knees. There was even a yellowish bruise on the bottom of her right foot and Grissom had to wonder how she managed to get bruised even there. He decided next to tackle her hair, washing it until it was free of debris and until it shone like he remembered. He towel dried, combed and braided it before tackling the last task.
She yelped with pain the minute he touched her there with the cloth. Her thighs clenched shut and she trembled except it was not from her chills this time, but rather from a memory that he knew she could never ever completely escape.
But when she started begging Hank to stop with the pain was the moment that Grissom thought that his heart would surely rip from his chest.
He wouldn't have put her though it at all but the dried blood also present made it necessary. So he soothed her the best he could while he finished the task of washing her body. She stopped begging but her residual tears didn't help Grissom feel any better.
She was still crying when he finished, not stopping until he dressed her in one of his old shirts and a leftover pair of Hodges long johns. Unable to stand the emotion brewing inside him any longer, he pulled her into his arms, apologizing over and over for hurting her.
She recoiled from him, screaming now for him to simply go away and leave her alone.
In alarm, he released his grip on her. Her skin was warming, warming too much so that the fever that he suspected was now becoming obvious. With a sudden burst of energy, she flung herself out of the chair, knocking both it and herself to the wooden floor.
"Sara!" Grissom cried, rushing to her. "Are you alright?"
She lay prone on the floor, her eyes dazedly looking to the window. Grissom didn't touch her, afraid of her reaction. Instead, he dropped a blanket over her body and waited for her to stop crying.
"I deserved it," she finally said, her voice with an unbelievable amount of sadness. "Everyone says so, and I say so too."
Grissom studied her face. It was delirium from the temperature that was making her speak. Her face was slightly reddened; her eyes puffy and half-closed. The heat from the fever was coming off of her in waves. He doubted that she even realized where she was or that he was here with her. Still, he tried to converse with her, to gleam some meaning from her words.
"Honey, you don't deserve that," he whispered. "Why do you think that?"
"Because I'm nothing but a whore," she sobbed. She wept furiously for several minutes until breathlessness once again took over and she coughed several times, her face turning red from the effort and more pronounced wheezes exited her lungs.
Grissom felt the anger rising again. "Who called you a whore?"
She finally stopped coughing. "Everyone did…..because I am…..I did too. My father, Hank and Grissom."
"Sara, I have never called you a whore. I wouldn't call you that. Not on my worst day."
She started coughing again. Grissom sighed and stood up to retrieve one of Robbins sure fire remedies for congestion and fever. The years of assisting at the gentle man's side had given Grissom the basis of a little medical knowledge. Robbins has always been interested in that.
Sara's symptoms suggested pneumonia, possibly a double pneumonia. Typhoid fever was also a possibility and Grissom trembled at the thought. Either could kill Sara but typhoid fever was the worst of the two.
Although, pneumonia was considerable to threat. Tomorrow, Grissom would send for the town doctor, a man who employed Grissom several times to break in his new horses. Grissom never accepted payment for these services though and another one of the Doc's suggestions were to entrust yourself to the lawyer and the banker because you never knew when you would need their expertise.
Sara was crying again. "I acted like one. I lied to my parents and pursued a man….and I was intimate with him and I…..got pregnant…..and I….oh I loved him but I didn't act like…" she started coughing again, her voice weakening with every word.
Grissom gave her an odd expression. "Sara, Sara. Shush now. You're too weak for this. You are here with me. It's me. Grissom. I already know what you did. Let me put you to bed." He knelt beside her, moving his hands beneath her body, hoping she wouldn't protest.
It was the wrong words for she almost collapsed in tears. She was so hot now that the heat rolled off her in waves but yet she was trembling again.
"Don't you touch me," she now screamed.
"Honey, stop now. Please. Just rest. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Yes, yes….I've done everything wrong," she wept.
Talking to her was fruitless right now, so he lifted her off the floor and quickly deposited her on the bed. She rolled to her side and curled into a fetal position, burying her head into her knees.
A spoonful of honey and a shot of whisky gently heated for a few seconds, enough to promote mixing of the two but yet not enough to lessen the alcohol's intensity. Grissom prepared the concoction but it took several minutes for him to reposition her and almost force the liquid down her throat. She struggled with him for several minutes before finally collapsing against his shoulder.
"Just do what you want;" she said tearfully, "I can't fight you."
He released her. Once again, she rolled to a fetal position in the center of the bed, crying now.
"Don't you dare touch me again," she warned through her tears.
Sighing with tears pricking his own eyes he watched her. Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, he thought for several minutes.
Slowly, he lay down and moved directly behind her, careful not to touch her.
"Sara," he said softly. "Sara, can you hear me? Can you do something for me?"
Her crying lessened and he took it that she was indeed somewhat listening. His hand slowly, ever so slowly, reached to push a tendril of hair away from her face.
"Listen Sara," he moved closer, not close enough to where their bodies were touching but close enough that she would feel the closeness of his presence. "Close your eyes and listen to the rain outside, just listen to the sounds of the raindrops hitting the roof."
He quieted then, lying silently beside her. Together they lie there, listening to the tempo of the falling rain as it stuck the roof of the cabin. A low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance and with the combination of wind and rain made a natural soothing sort of symphony. Grissom exhaled the breath that he had been holding in his lungs before reaching to touch her hair again. He was careful, so careful not to allow her to feel his touch but unable to stop himself from needing to feel her, even if it was only the softness of her still damp hair.
He picked up a curl, letting it intertwine around his index finger. Bringing his finger to his lips, he kissed the strand of hair around his finger.
She seemed to relax then, her body slackening before another chill shook her.
He reached for the blanket, covering them both, tucking it around her body, but without touching her. She trembled again as his hands moved close to her only to relax again when they moved away.
"You….." her voice was so weak now, "…are very nice. I appreciate the kindness. I must go now."
Grissom almost laughed at her but relief filled him that she no longer saw him as a threat. "I don't think you'd last very long."
"But that….is….okay. I've done….all I can…to make amends….Nothing left."
"Sara," he inched closer to her, so close now that the barest of movements would enable touching. "What do you mean?"
"I helped my friend. My only friend," she said hoarsely, her voice fading.
"Who's that?"
"My horse, Pandora. I left her…with the one she loves. I lost my other horse…she died just like my baby."
Grissom thought back to the night that the stables burned at the Grove. He remembered Sara's devastation at Melissa's death. Melissa had been pregnant as well, only a few weeks from foaling. Grissom studied Sara for a moment, her face was incredibly sad.
"What's your name?" Sara whispered then.
A pang went through his heart. "Oh Sara," he said. "Honey, you are….so…so…sick right now." He thought for a minute before an idea suddenly came to him. He sat up and looked over her, his hands daring not to touch her even though his arms ached for her to be in them.
"What's your name?" Grissom asked sweetly.
A brief smile crossed her lips. "Sara," she replied.
Grissom smiled. "Sara what?"
The smile evaporated and a frown crossed her face. "Just Sara," she said as another tear coursed down her cheek.
"Oh Sara, I'm so sorry," he whispered. He understood then and fresh anger filled him. He closed his eyes against the fury. The captain had disowned her. It was the only thing that made any sense. Grissom watched her face and she tried to sob but it only came out as a weak wheeze. It was no wonder that she was so hurt, so devastated.
The new knowledge answered some questions but left others notwithstanding. Her banishment from the Grove may have explained her journey to Alexandria but it didn't explain why she seemed so intent upon leaving so soon after arriving. It didn't explain why she seemed to discount him.
"I have nothing left," she said sorrowfully. "I lost everything."
He stood, quickly undressing to his long johns before moving to the opposite side of the bed. He lay down again, this time facing her. "Well that's not entirely true, Sara."
Another couple of tears fell from beneath her closed eyes. "Yes, I did." She coughed again. "I'm so tired. And I deserve to have nothing so I guess it's okay."
"Sara, I don't understand. You have me."
"I know and you're very nice but I can only love one man. And he doesn't love me…..anymore…He left….and I…can't bear that…I could have lost….everything else…..I could have gone on….my home, my parents, even my baby…but I did want my baby…..I did…..but I loved Grissom more than I ever loved anyone. And he doesn't love me because I was a whore."
He understood then. He understood everything….what the Captain had to have said. What Sara truly and fully believed…that he no longer loved her and had left her because of their indiscretion….or because she had lost their baby. An intense sadness filled him at the knowledge of what this had done to her, at what the culmination of the last few days had done to her. From the moment she had broken his heart….she had also started breaking her own spirit, until now….she was totally decimated and even her will to live was severely tested.
Grissom closed his eyes. Sara had meant to leave Pandora and then to just wander alone out into the storm. Her earlier comment about going to church…to the one on Anderson Road, the one that had been abandoned for years….now made some sense. That particular church was situated near the Potomac River, a river that now would be flooding the banks and testing the old bridge that stood between the old dirt road and the desolate church.
All she had to do was simply stand on the bridge. The storm and the flooding would do the rest.
Had she not fallen at his stables….she would have been swept away. She would simply have been seen as a casualty of the storm….no one would have known the truth. Had Dante not come to her aid and alerted him….he would have found her dead the coming dawn. Either way, he would have lost her…..forever.
He groaned at the very notion.
She was crying again, struggling to do so against the congestion and wheezing of her lungs. And she was shivering as the chills were starting anew.
He almost reached for her. Needing to feel her in his arms, needing to provide some sort of physical and emotional comfort to her, he thought vainly for something that would break through her distress, to allow her to know that he was there. But he didn't, fearful that any touch would only send her thoughts back to Hank's lewd act.
Her tears were breaking his heart; they were concrete evidence of her own personal hell. She was too weak to cry, the physical effort taxing her congested lungs. She needed warmth and rest and unless he could somehow break though her mind's confusion, she might not find the strength she so desperately needed to get well.
And then another idea came to him.
He leaned closer to her, close enough to allow him to whisper in her ear…
"I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. In my degradation I have not been so degraded but that the sight of you and of this home made such a home by you, has stirred old shadows that I thought had died out of me."
He recited slowly, recalling those words he had read that day he had first kissed her.
Her eyes, so bleary and red, tried to focus on him.
"Gil?" she said disbelievingly.
"Yes." He smiled at her. "I'm here."
"No." Her eyes filled with tears. "No…" She shook her head almost violently.
He swallowed hard, fearing he was losing her again.
"Since I knew you, I have been troubled by a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, and have heard whispers that old voices impelling me upward, that I thought were silent forever…"
"Gil…" she said with certainty now, her voice so weak and tired that it was barely audible. Another wheeze followed his name.
He couldn't hold back any longer. "Sara…" He reached for her.
And she finally allowed him to pull her into his embrace. Her skin was fiery hot and yet she was shivering.
Grissom wrapped the coverlets around them, before securing his arms around her. Weakly, she pressed her forehead against his cheek, resting one arm around his waist.
He kissed her; he absolutely couldn't help it. His lips pressed repeatedly against her cheeks, neck, and eyes, tasting the saltiness of her tears. He began to rock her lightly but whether it was to soothe her or himself, he didn't know nor care. Rubbing concentric gentle circles on her back, he whispered reassurances in her hair.
And then he felt one of her hands, in his own hair, tangling in his curls, giving a few soft caresses with her fingers.
She was his again; he had her back.
"I was coming back," he told her. "I was coming back." He tilted her head back, in order to drop a brief kiss on her dry lips. "Sara, I don't care if you lost your birthright. I don't even care that you lost the baby. I just want you. I have to know that you are safe. Don't you ever, ever do anything like this again. I can't lose you. I love you and as long as I have you, nothing else matters. Do you hear me?"
"Is it Christmas yet?" she asked sleepily.
His heart suddenly accelerated at the reminder of her confusion and illness.
"Sara," he said firmly. "Sara, who am I?"
"Gil," she said quietly. Her hand briefly stroked his shoulder.
"Okay," he croaked out. "Just rest, Sara. You need to sleep."
He continued to rock her for a few minutes, gently caressing her back and hair. Her shivering stopped, leaving a high fever in it's wake. She curled up tightly in his arms, her head resting against his bare chest, her palm open against his shoulder.
"Gil…"
"Shush," he warned.
"I love you."
He swallowed hard. "I love you too. Do you really know that?"
She didn't answer and after a few minutes he looked down, noting that she had finally fallen asleep through a combination of both illness and exhaustion…
A/N: *Sniffs*. Thank you for all the reviews, please keep them coming. Did Sara hear him? Does she know anything about what is going on? Will she even make it? Why do I feel another storm but it has nothing to do with weather? :D