A/N: Apologies from myself and Co-author/beta JellybeanChiChi for the lengthy delay between chapters. This gem is once again, solely written by Jelly. Fantastic job!

Chapter 51

Sara checked her teeth in the mirror for the second time, sliding a finger across the pearly whites satisfied with the squeaky clean sound emitted.

Inspecting herself from side to side, she picked up a pair of tweezers and tried to grasp stray hairs in her eye brows. She frowned as she lifted up her chin to see three stray hairs. "Great. I've grown a beard."

Giving herself a final look, Sara wisped her hair a bit to give it a little more lift than grabbed a bottle of lotion from the cadre of lotions on the vanity.

She exited the open door of the bathroom and made her way toward the bed as she applied lotion to her arms. The bed sheets were already turned down, so she sat down on her side of the bed and applied some lotion to her neck and face before putting the bottle on the nightstand.

The paperback book set next to the lotion made Sara debate whether to read a chapter or two before going to bed, but she shook off the urge and got under the covers.

She turned to the other side of the bed and saw that Grissom was still watching her every move.

"Enjoy the show?" she asked with a cheeky smile.

Grissom's soft smile became wider. "It's been a long time since I've been able to watch and appreciate the show, as you put it." He leaned closer to her to kiss her shoulder. "Your soft skin smells like lilacs. I've missed this."

It was Grissom's first night home after being released from the rehabilitation facility. A homecare therapist would visit tomorrow and one more day each week, and Grissom would fill in the gaps with home exercises.

After months of being on edge and fearful for his life and the future of everyone he loved, Grissom revelled in the normalcy of being in bed with his pregnant wife. As they lay side-by-side, he placed his hand on her belly. "How are you both feeling?"

She placed her hand on top of his. "Good. Better than we have in a while. Although I think I am growing a beard."

"I heard," Grissom said as he momentarily propped himself up. "Although, I'm not sure I understand why you think that…"

Sara craned her head up to expose her chin better for him. She tapped the left side of her chin. "See there? Right there? See those three huge whiskers?"

"Hon, there's nothing…."

She grabbed his finger and put it on the spot she felt. "Right there."

Grissom shook his head and smiled. "Honey, it's a couple of stray hairs…"

"Whiskers," she immediately corrected. "I'm hairy and fat."

"No, you are pregnant with hormones," Grissom said as he kissed the spot with said whiskers. "I hardly think you should quit your day job to join the circus as its bearded lady."

Before he could pull away, she put her hands on either side of his face and looked at him lovingly before giving him a kiss on the lips. When he pulled back, she still cradled his face. "You'll always have the better whiskers."

He smiled wide and laid back down. She turned off the light and followed suit. She cuddled at his side, his arm wrapped around her and his hand drawing gentle circles on whatever skin he encountered.

"It's good to have you home."

His reply was a sigh that Sara knew was an emotional sigh, fraught with unshed tears. No words were needed to confirm how good he felt to be home.

Sara kissed his chest before asking, "Are you ready for tomorrow?" She felt him shrug. "Are you OK about your appointments? I mean, I'm sure the home therapy will be business as usual for you, but going to see that therapist…" Sara paused wondering if he might interrupt, but he didn't. "Gil, I don't want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. I didn't expect you to call the therapist right away after I gave you the card."

But he had. After she left after her long visit, she pressed in his hand the business card from a therapist she had gotten to know. She specialized in PTSD and Sara was hopeful she could help Grissom, even in some small measure.

Without breaking the rhythm he created on her arm, he took a deep breath before answering. "I'm not going to lie and say I think it's going to be OK to talk to this therapist. But I don't want to be a liability to you and Daniel anymore. You two have suffered enough because of me."

"You're not a liability, Gil. Please don't think that."

Again, Grissom sighed. "Go to sleep, Sara. We're both tired. Tomorrow will be fine."

She snuggled tightly against him. "I love you, Gil."

Grissom held her tighter and kissed the top of her head reverently. "I love you, Sara."

Sitting in an office for the first time, Grissom was thankful it wasn't too small. That was one of his fears that interrupted his sleep several times. He'd been in therapist offices during investigations more than a few times. Sometimes they were spacious, especially if it was a doctor with high-profile clientele. But more often than not, it was a more intimate setting. Which was a polite word for small. And confined.

Like a prison cell.

That comparison made Grissom fear he would suffer a panic attack — an unpredictable event that might drag him down and destroy any progress he might make.

"Are you comfortable, Mr. Grissom?"

The question broke Grissom out of his musings. The therapist — Oscar Jimenez — had entered his office with two cups of coffee. It was about 15 feet by 9 feet, Grissom estimated. At least a half size bigger than a jail cell. Nothing like the jail cell, he repeated silently to himself.

"Gil?" Jimenez asked, with a cup of joe outstretched. "You OK?"

Grissom shook his head. "Yes. Thank you." He grabbed the proffered coffee. "I ... uh… You have a couple of photographs up. They're lovely landscapes."

Jimenez, a thin man who was probably a little older than Grissom but could pass for younger, smiled proudly. "My oldest daughter took them. The ones I haven't hung up, too. This is one of my favorites," Jimenez said as he handed a snowy vista. "She's been shooting since she was 14. She's finishing up college."

"Did she pursue photography?" Grissom asked as he inspected the framed photo.

"Nah. Close to getting a pharmacy degree, though. She said she didn't want to 'bastardize' her love for photography with the ugliness of a paycheck."

Grissom handed him back the photo. "Smart girl."

"You think? Sounded like 20-something B.S. to me, you know?"

"I don't know. I understand what she is saying. No sense muddling something you love," Grissom said as he watched the therapist place the photo against one of the four walls. "You know, you might want to place that one facing the adjacent wall. The light from the window will really accentuate it better."

Jimenez gave Grissom a curious look then went to the adjacent wall. "So… here?"

Grissom stood up using his cane and walked to where Jimenez stood. He used the cane to point to a particular spot on the wall. "I was actually thinking of this spot." Then he turned around to where a couple of shots were on the wall. "Then you could cradle that photo with the other two, leaving that area for the more shadowy vistas, like those two," he said as he pointed to a photo on the ground to the left and right.

"I gotta tell you, I'm not a decorator, but my daughter's visiting me later today and I want to impress her," Jimenez said. "You think that will make a difference?"

"It's just an opinion," Grissom said. "My mother worked in an art gallery for years."

"Then you would know," Jimenez said. "Maybe you can jot down a diagram before you leave…"

"We could hang them up now," Grissom said. "It wouldn't take long."

Jimenez chuckled. "Typical law enforcement. All about the stall tactics with you guys and therapy."

"Honestly, I was just trying to help."

"Oh, I'm sure. And if that meant shaving time off your session, icing on the cake?" Jimenez's comment solely garnered a shrug from Grissom. "Tell you what, think we can do it in five or 10 minutes?"

"No more than that."

"We'll hammer and talk," Jimenez said.

The small talk revolved around where Grissom was from and where he had worked. Jimenez specialized in dealing with Post-Traumatic Stress with first responders, and while Grissom was not a CSI now, Jimenez's experience made sense to pair well with Grissom's situation.

"So between working at a coroner's office and a couple of CSI labs, you've been in the business for more than two decades," Jimenez said.

"Was," Grissom corrected.

"But your wife is still a CSI, right?"

"Yes," Grissom said as he gave all the frames one last appraisal before asking, "Do you like it?"

With Grissom's direction, the therapist had three walls beautifully featuring almost a dozen of his daughter's landscapes. "Damn. I never would have thought of this. Thanks, man. It looks beautiful. And all that stuff you explained to me about light and shadow, I can't wait to spring that on her. She'll know I didn't think that up myself, but she'll be impressed."

"I'm glad to help," Grissom said as he finished his now lukewarm coffee.

"Well, let's sit down. Talk some more," Jimenez said, positioning a chair so he could face Grissom but also use his desk to write notes sideways. "You know, when I came in the office you were deep in thought. More than about the photos I think."

"I was… just thinking."

"Tell me what about." Jimenez watched Grissom's face change. "Listen, these sessions are all about what you put into them. Put nothing into them, and you won't get much out of them other than a headache. I don't want to cause you to have headaches, Gil."

Grissom sighed. "I was thinking… about the size of the room."

"Are you too uncomfortable here? Do you feel cramped?"

"No. I was happy it wasn't too much smaller."

Jimenez nodded. "How long were you in a prison cell, Gil?"

Grissom looked down to his left. "A month."

"Cellmate?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I did a stint in isolation and there was a couple times I was in the infirmary."

Jimenez jotted down a couple of notes, but for the most part didn't break eye contact. "So coming into this office cold — not knowing the size — probably made you anxious."

"It did. Yes."

"Well, that was really good what you did. You opened up about a stressor," Jimenez said. "That's why we're here. Identify stressors and triggers and see how to deal with them. How to subside them. I would love to say eliminate them."

"So I talked about it and now it's eliminated?"

"Damn, if it was only that easy, Gil," Jimenez said. "Of course not. But it's a step. One of many, I'm sure. If you're willing to talk."

Grissom nodded. "I… I just don't know what to talk about."

"Will you tell me about the day when your life turned upside down?"