AN: Hey guys, next chapter for you – sorry about the delay, this week's been a little hectic. Hope you like it!

Thanks to WalkerTRngr for the beta help!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI

Chapter 11

Brass leaves soon after they finish the interview, and Sara feels her shoulders drop in relief when the door closes behind him. It must be obvious, because when Grissom returns to the living room after walking him to the door, he squeezes her shoulder.

"You OK?"

"Glad that's over," she admits. "At least for now."

He frowns as he sits down in the armchair Brass just vacated, and she can't help but feel the lack of his warmth next to her.

"I can't make any promises, obviously, but if there's enough evidence, they might be able to get through the trial without your statement," he muses out loud. "We'll make sure to discuss it with the DA before you agree to anything, OK?"

"No, I'm going to testify," Sara replies, even if it is tempting. "I want him in prison for as long as possible, I could never forgive myself if I take the easy way out and he gets off."

He looks like he's about to object for a moment, but in the end, he just sighs. "I know there's no point in trying to talk you out of it, so I won't waste my breath."

"Good."

Since Grissom seems happy in the armchair, and the interview took a lot out of her, she grabs a throw pillow and lies down on her side, propping it between the arm of the couch and her head.

"Tired?" he asks, sounding more concerned than he probably should.

"Just… crying is always exhausting," she admits. It's not like she fooled him or Brass by escaping to the bathroom before bursting into tears. He tilts his head to look at her, eyebrows furrowing slightly, and she has to avert her eyes, focusing on the blank TV screen. "Can we turn on a documentary or something?"

She can still feel his eyes on her, but he does reach for the remote and turns the TV on to Discovery Channel again, where the documentary on the Russian revolution they were watching earlier has been replaced by something about the Titanic.

They watch in silence for a while, until he clears his throat. Sara twists around a little to be able to look at him, but he's watching the TV. "You didn't eat much," he notes lightly. "I put the rest of the food in the fridge, do you want me to heat it up?"

She considers for a moment. "Not right now, maybe in a little while?"

"OK, sure, just let me know."

She opens her mouth to tell him that she's perfectly capable of microwaving her own leftovers, but he's just trying to look out for her the only way he knows how, so she pushes it down. "You know…" she starts instead, "if you have things to do, I'll be fine here on my own. I'll make sure everything's locked up and keep the alarm on."

Grissom turns from the TV to frown at her. "No, I… I'm not leaving you alone, not until we've got him behind bars."

"That could be weeks!" she exclaims, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "Months, even. What if we never find him? He could be in Mexico by now. Are you just going to… move me in here against my will?"

He flinches at her last words, and she instantly regrets them.

"I'm not…" he starts before she can apologize. "I would never force you to do something you don't want to do. If you don't… if you're uncomfortable here, we can make other arrangements, but I won't… none of us will put you at risk by letting you go off on your own. It's true that Lurie could be in Mexico, but he could also be right here, watching your every move, biding his time until you're alone again, and I can't…" He cuts himself off, fingers digging into the arms of the chair for a moment before he propels himself to his feet. "I just can't."

"Grissom!" she calls after him, but he quickly disappears into the hallway, and a moment later, a door slams.

Sara flops onto her back and stares up at the ceiling, cursing her insensitive words. She's sure he must have been blaming himself for her abduction, for assigning her to the break-in at Lurie's place. Why couldn't she just let him take care of her for a while?

She decides to give him some time to calm down, but when it's been quiet for half an hour, she sighs and follows his path down the hallway. She hesitates in front of his bedroom door, but takes a breath and pushes the nerves down.

"Grissom?" she calls quietly when there's no response to her knocking. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

It's quiet for another moment, then the doorknob turns and he opens the door.

"I'm sorry," she repeats, trying out a smile. "I don't want to stay with someone else, I like it here. I just… you know I don't like accepting help from people. I'm not good at it."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I know. And I'm sorry I overreacted, I'm just… Do you know what I, what we went through while you were gone? We had no idea why he took you, all we knew was that he… he killed Debbie. That's it. All we had to go on was a phone ping, from a tower covering miles and miles." He moves back from the door, starting to pace. "I tried to stay positive, we all did, but… I just kept flashing back to that bathroom, only it wasn't Debbie's body on the floor, it was yours. And I couldn't… I couldn't get it out of my head that… that it was all my fault. Because I had him, I knew he killed Debbie and Michael, but I couldn't prove it, and he walked."

"That wasn't your fault," Sara interrupts his rambling, stepping into the room. "We have to follow the evidence, and sometimes it's just not enough, you know that – it's not anybody's fault!"

"But what if I missed something?" he insists. "I was at that house for too long, I knew that. Catherine tried to get me to leave, but I couldn't… I had to keep looking for that one thing that would prove who did it. But what if that's the reason I missed it? Maybe I would have found it if I just went home at the end of shift and kept going the night after?"

She doesn't know what to say to this Grissom, questioning his own abilities.

"You know as well as I do that if there was more to find, you would have found it," she tries. "You've worked doubles and triples before."

"Yes, but not like that, not…" He stumbles over the words and for a moment, she thinks he's going to stop. "Not where I couldn't focus on the victim, the scene, where I kept… I kept seeing you, and I had to… I had to…" He trails off and finally stops moving, hands gripping the foot of the wooden bedframe, body hunched over the piece of furniture.

Sara hesitates for a moment, in case he's not done, but when he remains quiet, she takes the few steps needed to reach him, gently placing a hand between his shoulder blades.

"It wasn't your fault," she repeats, voice gentler. "You did everything you could to put him away, but there just… wasn't enough evidence." He doesn't respond, just breathes heavily, her hand rising and falling with each inhalation and exhalation. "But we will get him this time. He's going away for life, you know that. First-degree kidnapping, that's at least forty years, probably life. And… and…"

She can't force the word 'rape' out, can't bring herself to say it out loud, not again.

In a flash, he turns, and before she has a chance to react, he's crushed her to his body, arms a little too tight around her, but it doesn't even occur to her to complain. He buries his face against her hair, mumbling something she can't quite make out at first.

"I could have lost you, I could have lost you…"

"You didn't," she murmurs back, wrapping her own arms around him in turn. "I'm right here."

Grissom's hold on her just tightens, and his whole body shivers for a moment. "What if he… and I never…"

It doesn't take too much to figure out the first aborted sentence, but she can't make heads or tails of the second. "He didn't. You found me. You saved me."

He doesn't respond, just drags in a shaky breath and holds on even tighter.

She's not sure how long they stand there, wrapped in each other. Eventually, his breathing calms, and his hold loosens a little. The he turns slightly, presses a kiss against her hair, and pulls back. "Sorry about, uh… that."

"Hey, no," she tells him. "It's better to just… let it all out."

"Yeah." He nods but doesn't quite meet her eyes.

"How about those leftovers?" Sara suggests, trying to catch his eye.

He shrugs and finally looks up at her, eyes still unguarded, and the overwhelming emotions in them makes her avert her own eyes. She feels his hand slide into hers and squeeze. "Yeah, that sounds good."

-CSI-

They spend the rest of the afternoon on the couch, half-watching – at least in Grissom's case – different documentaries. His mind is divided, (a very small) part of it focused on the TV, another on his admission earlier, and the last part trying to memorize the feel of Sara's head on his shoulder, her body pressed lightly against his side, his arm around her.

While he waited for their leftovers to heat up in the microwave, he went over the conversation he had with Catherine the other day. While he has no intention of going back to ignoring his feelings for Sara, he doesn't know if she's even open to a relationship with him anymore. It's been almost a year since he turned down her dinner invitation, after all, and she did say it might be too late when he finally figured things out…

He's going to find out, he is. He just… wants a few hours, maybe an evening, to remember in case she turns him down flat. Which he probably deserves, but he still hopes she won't.

So they semi-cuddle on the couch, switching from Discovery Channel when Sara resolutely refuses to watch a documentary about aliens. She claims the remote and flips through the channels until she finds the first scene of Gone with the Wind, raising a questioning eyebrow.

He nods his agreement, and she settles back in, propping her feet up on the coffee table.

Half an hour into the movie, he extricates himself and stands. "You want some of those Doritos?"

"Mmm, yes please," Sara replies, stretching her arms over her head and cracking her neck.

He goes into the kitchen and pours Doritos into a large bowl for them to share, grabbing a couple of sodas and the bag of Sour Patch Kids before returning to the living room. She accepts her soda with a smile, and immediately reclaims her previous position when he's sat down again. He balances the bowl in his lap, and she reaches for a handful, closing her eyes as she chews.

"OK, I needed that," she announces, and he chuckles.

"Well, there's plenty, so eat away."

They're not half-bad, if he's honest. He still argues for his candy, of course, if only to get a bit of a rise out of her as she defends her chips.

The movie ends a little after eleven, and she sighs. "I guess it's time for bed."

Grissom can hear the reluctance in her voice. "Did you have trouble sleeping last night?" He didn't hear anything from the guest room, but he did fall asleep pretty quickly himself.

"No," she replies with a shake of the head. "I fell asleep right away."

"Hopefully you will now too."

"Yeah… do you want to use the bathroom first?"

He shakes his head. "No, you go ahead."

Sara nods and pushes herself to her feet, making her way out of the room slowly.

He turns the TV off and brings their empty soda cans and the bowl into the kitchen, turning off lights as he goes. He makes sure that the security system is armed and the front door locked, and then makes his way to his bedroom. He leaves the door ajar, so he'll hear when she's done in the bathroom, and changes into a t-shirt and pajama pants before pulling the bedspread off. He settles against the headboard, on top of the covers, and grabs a journal from the bedside table as he waits.

It's another ten minutes before he hears the bathroom door open and close, and then there's a soft knock on his half-closed door before she sticks her head through the crack. "Bathroom's all yours. Night."

"Goodnight."

She disappears with a small smile, and he goes into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

There's a faint scent lingering in the air, another one he vaguely associates with Sara. Last night and this morning, she had been careful to put her things back in the toiletry bag on the shelf to the left of the sink, but tonight his toothpaste and shaving cream, lined up along the back of the vanity, have been joined by a tube of facial cleanser and a jar, apparently containing a skin renewing night cream.

He stares at the two innocuous items for a moment, waiting for the panic he remembers from finding a similar scene at his bachelor apartment in Minneapolis when a woman he'd been seeing casually for a few months suddenly started leaving things behind, but it doesn't come.

He wants Sara here, with everything that entails. If he thought there was even the slightest chance she'd actually agree, he might ask her to move in as a way to broach the subject of the fact that he knows what to do about this now.

But he knows she wouldn't. And it's probably for the best – they need to work up to that kind of relationship, need to hash out the last few years and build to something more, not just jump into the deep end.

But for a wonderful moment, he really thinks they'll get there.

With that thought in mind, he hums to himself as he brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed.

Returning to his bedroom, though, he settles back against the headboard again and reaches for the journal – he's going back to work on Monday, staying up for a few more hours will make it easier to get back into the night shift schedule.

Which is why, when the door to the guestroom creaks open at almost three in the morning, he's still awake. He frowns at the sound, waiting for the bathroom door to follow, but instead, he hears quiet footsteps moving down the hallway to the living area.

Putting the journal away, he gets to his feet and follows.

Sara's leaning against the kitchen counter, a glass of water in her hand. She looks up when he enters the room, blinking tiredly.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asks gently, grabbing a glass for himself and filling it at the sink before leaning against the granite countertop next to her.

She shrugs and takes a sip before answering. "I keep nodding off, but then I jerk awake. I don't think I start dreaming, but I just… I get the feeling that he's there, leaning over me, and I panic. It takes ages before I calm down enough to try to sleep again, and then it repeats, like some sort of bad loop…"

Grissom sighs, moving closer slowly enough she can move away if she wants to, but when she doesn't, he wraps an arm around her shoulders. She immediately lets her head fall to rest on his shoulder, and he squeezes. "I'm sorry. Maybe you should have asked the doctor at the hospital to prescribe something to help you sleep."

"No. I don't like taking sleeping stuff." She sighs. "I'll survive, it's not the first time I've lost a night of sleep. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, no," he quickly assures her. "I was still reading, figured I'd better start recalibrating to night shift time again."

"Ah, right."

He hesitates but decides to push forward. She can say no if she wants to. "Do you want to… stay with me? Maybe having someone nearby would make you feel… safer?"

Sara doesn't freeze at the suggestion, like he thought she might, and she doesn't pull away. Instead, she just takes a few deep breaths, considering the offer, he assumes.

"Are you sure?" she finally asks.

"Of course," he replies immediately. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't."

"Then yeah, that would be nice," she says, not quite meeting his eyes.

Grissom takes another drink of water before pouring the rest into the sink. Sara's glass is still almost full. "Bring that with you," he tells her. "Come on."

She trails behind him so quietly he almost turns to make sure she's still there. When he pauses at the foot of his bed, though, she comes to a stop next to him.

He suddenly realizes how awkward this could get.

Apparently, she's thinking the same thing. "It's OK, I'll just…"

"No," he cuts her off gently. "We're both adults, and it's a big bed. I promise I'll stay on my side, OK?"

One side of her mouth turns up at that, and when he moves to the side he usually sleeps on, she goes to the other side, putting her water glass down on the bedside table.

He tries not to watch her as she slides between the sheets, pulling the comforter up to her shoulders. Filing away the sight of her in his bed, just in case it's the only time he'll get to see it, he rearranges his pillows and lies down.

"See? Plenty of space between us," he says lightly, glancing at her.

Sara rolls her eyes. "Yeah, we shouldn't have to worry about accidentally ending up cuddling like in some rom-com."

Of course, now that she's mentioned that possibility, it's all he can think about. "Yeah, wouldn't want that." He reaches out to turn off the bedside lamp, shrouding them in darkness. "Night, Sara."

"Goodnight."

-CSI-

Sara stretches as sleep fades, one hand knocking into an unfamiliar headboard. She opens her eyes, taking in what she can of the dark room. The scent is familiar but not one she connects with sleep, the sheets soft and the comforter warm. Soft breathing from her left brings the events of last night back to her mind.

She's still on 'her' side of the bed, Grissom on his. She's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed, to be honest. It would be nice, to know what waking up in his arms felt like, but on the other hand, she might have panicked if she woke up and someone was holding her.

Rolling onto her back, she peeks at his sleeping form. He's on his side, turned towards her, right hand tucked under his chin in a childlike pose, left hand stretched out towards her a little. As if he reached for her in his sleep.

Pushing the thought out of her head, she settles back against the pillows, closing her eyes. She's not sure what time it is, but she doesn't feel all that rested, so a few more hours of sleep probably can't hurt.

When she wakes up some time later, the other side of the bed is empty, and she tries not to be disappointed. The door to the hallway is cracked open slightly, and when she pushes it the rest of the way open, she hears Grissom in the kitchen. When she's brushed her teeth and changed into actual clothes, she finds him at the stove, scrambled eggs in one pan and bacon in another. There are four slices of bread in the toaster, waiting to be toasted.

"Morning," he greets her with a smile. "I hope the fact that I didn't wake up at any point means you slept OK?"

She nods as she finds a mug and pours herself some coffee. "I did, thank you."

"Good." He pushes the lever to start the bread toasting. "This is just about done, if you want to set the table?"

"Sure."