AN: Another chapter for you guys, and a day early, since I don't know if I'll have time tomorrow. Time to try to get back to normal, but that's never as easy as you think, is it?

Thanks to WalkerTRngr for the beta help!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI

Warning: Again, touching on some heavy subjects

Chapter 9

Sara opts to stay in the car while Grissom goes into the lab to get her stuff – she's not really up for the sympathetic looks she knows will be directed her way if she goes in there. He frowns at first, not wanting to leave her alone, but when she points out that they're parked in front of the police station, and that the officer who was posted at her hospital door is parked two spots over since he insisted that Brass gave him clear instructions to not leave her side, he relents. After instructing her to keep the doors locked while he's gone, he finally goes inside.

He's back in a few minutes, her purse in hand.

"Thank you," she says as he hands it over. She puts it in her lap and opens the zipper, groaning at the jumble of things.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just… whoever processed this just threw everything back in there haphazardly," she explains, starting to sort through the chaos.

"Oh, sorry. Warrick and I went through it when we first brought it in, but I don't know who put everything back in the bag."

Stuffing her tampons in the designated pocket, Sara tries to force back a blush at the idea of Grissom examining them. "No worries, just my inner neat freak having a panic attack," she half-jokes.

Finding her phone, she pushes the power button, without any result.

"I think the battery's dead," Grissom offers. "It was on for almost a day after… but it turned off around midnight on Wednesday."

"Oh." She's a little surprised that Lurie didn't turn it off sooner, but relieved too – would they have been able to find her if not for the phone pinging the cell tower near the property? She doesn't want to think about the alternative too much.

The car stops, and she realizes that they're parked outside a grocery store near Grissom's place. He gives her an apologetic smile. "Like I said, I don't have a lot of food at home."

"No problem," she replies with a smile, reaching for the door handle.

She freezes just inside the doors to the store, though, feeling a flash of panic at the people milling about. He's not here, he's not here, he's not here.

A warm hand on the small of her back interrupts her inner monologue.

"You're OK," Grissom murmurs in her ear, a solid presence just behind her.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm OK."

He stays close as they make their way around the store, filling a cart with everything from eggs and juice to vegetables and bread. "Is there anything in particular you'd like for the next few days?" he asks as they approach the registers.

Sara considers for a moment, then detours to the snack department and grabs a bag of Doritos. At his surprised look, she raises an eyebrow. "What? It's Friday, and I've earned it."

He raises both hands in a surrendering motion. "No, I wasn't… I just didn't know you liked them."

Dropping the bag in the cart, she shrugs. "I got hooked at Harvard, one of my roommates always had a few bags lying around, and when I crammed for finals, I would stress eat."

Grissom nods thoughtfully, as if it's important information he's filing away. Then he grabs another bag, and it's her turn to give him a surprised look. "I've never tried them, I'm curious."

They grab some sodas as well, and a bag of Sour Patch Kids since Grissom decides he wants to relive his own finals cramming sessions from college.

Groceries in the trunk, they're soon on the road again, and a few minutes later, Grissom's unlocking the door to his townhouse, ushering her in ahead of him.

She hadn't been aware that she was still a little on edge from the experience at the grocery store, but when the door closes behind them with a click, she feels the tension lift. It doesn't really make sense – she's only ever been at Grissom's house once before, during the Strip Strangler case a few years ago, so it's not like it's familiar or anything. But maybe it's more the presence of the man beside her.

He moves down the short hallway and into the kitchen, putting down the grocery bags, and then turns to her. "Come on, I'll show you the guest room." He grabs her bag and leads the way through the living area and down a hallway, passing two doors. "This is my bedroom, and the bathroom," he explains. "And this is the guest room. I know it's pretty basic, but…"

"It's fine," Sara cuts him off with a smile. The room is a little utilitarian – the furniture consists of a queen size bed, two bedside tables, a dresser against the opposite wall, and an armchair in a corner with a surprising floral pattern that matches nothing else in the room – but there are what look like blackout curtains and the bed's made with soft-looking, navy-blue sheets. "It's not like I'm moving in or anything. It'll be fine for a few days."

He smiles as he moves to put her bag down at the foot of the bed, then frowns and stuffs his hands in his pockets, seeming unsure of where to go from here.

"Do you mind if I take a shower?" she asks, both to put him out of his misery and because she really does want a shower.

"Of course," Grissom agrees immediately. "Let me grab you some fresh towels."

He leaves the room, and she opens her bag to retrieve her toiletries while she waits. He's back a moment later, two large, fluffy towels in his arms.

"Here," he offers, holding them out. "You can use whatever you want in the bathroom, but I probably don't have any of the things you're used to…"

"No problem," she assures him, holding up her toiletry bag with a smile. "I came prepared."

He lets out a relieved breath. "Oh, good. Let me know if you need anything. I'll put the groceries away and get started on dinner while you shower."

Sara nods. "OK, sounds good."

He smiles at her again before leaving the room, and she gives it a beat before making her way to the bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she puts the toiletry bag down on the vanity before leaning against it.

The woman meeting her gaze in the mirror brings her back to her childhood, to the yelling and the sound of a fist meeting soft flesh, and she sucks in a sharp breath, reaching up to carefully touch her bruised and swollen face. Wincing a little, she continues scrutinizing her appearance – her split lip is almost healed, at least, but the bruises on her throat are still a violent shade of purple, yellowing at the edges. She knows it'll be a while before they disappear completely. Maybe she can get away with wearing a scarf to work…

The bandage on her right wrist is covering the skin that was rubbed raw by the handcuffs when she tugged at the bedframe, but there are faint ligature marks on her left wrist too. Probably from the other handcuffs, her analytical brain reasons.

Figuring she might as well get it over with, she pulls her top over her head and unclasps her bra, meticulously studying the exposed flesh. There are a few faint bruises here and there, but nothing that won't fade in a day or two. Her pants are next, followed by her underwear. She hisses a little as the material brushes against the skin on her inner thighs, which is bruised and rubbed raw in some places. There are darker bruises on her hips, and she resolutely pushes the flash of memory away.

Taking a few steadying breaths, she turns her back on the mirror and steps into the walk-in shower, closing the door and turning the water on. She washes and conditions her hair and soaps up her body as well, only wincing a little at the sting of the soap on a few sensitive spots.

It's not until she's rinsed out the conditioner and is just standing under the warm spray that she lets her tears join the water cascading over her.

-CSI-

Grissom returns to the kitchen to put the groceries away, and when that's done, he digs his phone out and calls Jim.

"Brass?"

"Jim, it's Gil. I just wanted to let you know that Sara's been discharged and she's here at my place."

"I know, McAllister called when you left the hospital to update me."

Right, he almost forgot that they were tailed by the determined officer. He peeks out the window and locates the unmarked car. "Yes, he's parked across the street."

"Good, good. And you're making sure to keep doors and windows locked? Do you have a security system?"

Frowning at the question, Grissom pauses in his perusal of the fridge for suitable vegetables for the pasta primavera he's planning on making. "You really think he'll come after her again?"

Jim sighs over the line. "I honestly don't know. He might have done the sensible thing and ditched town as soon as he realized we found her, but for some reason, I don't think so. So I figure, better safe than sorry, you know?"

Grissom nods to himself thoughtfully, making a beeline to check that he did actually lock the front door when they got in – which he did, of course. "Everything's locked up tight," he reports. "I'll set the alarm system as soon as Sara gets out of the shower; I don't want her to open a window and set it off by mistake."

Jim hums his agreement over the line. "How's she doing?"

Returning to the kitchen, Grissom opens the fridge again and extracts peppers, onions, and zucchini. "OK, I think. She panicked when we stopped by her apartment earlier and her purse was gone, I forgot to tell her Warrick and I had taken it to the lab, she thought he had been there. And there was a moment at the grocery store, I don't know if it was because of the crowd or just being out in public…"

"No wonder… I assume you've already had the rest of the team offer, and I also suspect you're not planning on leaving her side until we've got the bastard, but let me know if you need anything, OK?"

"I will. So give me an update, what's being done?" He pinches the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can start chopping the peppers as he listens.

"There isn't all that much we can do, at the moment," Jim replies with a huff. "There's an APB out for the car, and the arrest warrant has gone out to neighboring states, as well as border police. Nothing yet. We're planning on running his photo on the evening news, asking the public to be on the lookout. I have a feeling someone's been keeping him updated, and if that's the case, I would assume he's told them some lie about what's going on. I'm hoping going public with what he's done might make them come forward."

Grissom thinks back to the interviews he and Nick did at the hospital. "Yeah, I don't think he has a lot of close friends. If someone is helping him, it's probably like you say – he's given them some story about police harassment."

"Exactly. We'll see if it leads anywhere. But maybe keep the news off tonight? I don't think Sara needs to see his face right now…"

"Agreed." He scrapes the finished peppers into a bowl and moves on to the onions. "So, are you planning on coming by tomorrow to take her statement?"

"If she's up for it, yeah," Jim replies. "I just got home, I need to eat something and then I'll probably conk out – I haven't slept much in the last few days."

The words remind Grissom of his own lack of sleep, and he suppresses a yawn. "Yeah, I'm fixing us some dinner, then I'll probably call it a night too. Sara was unconscious for half the day, so I don't know if she'll be tired again, but maybe leave it until a little later tomorrow, just in case?"

Jim hums in agreement. "Of course. Why don't I pick us up some lunch and I'll be there around noon?"

"Yeah, let's do that." Glancing at the clock, Grissom frowns. "Listen, I need to go check on Sara, she's been in the shower for over half an hour now. I'll let you know if something comes up, otherwise I'll see you tomorrow."

"OK, go, see you then."

He snaps the phone closed and leaves it next to the cutting board on the kitchen counter before moving down the hallway to the bathroom. The door is still closed, and he can hear the water running.

"Sara?" He knocks. "Is everything OK?"

There's no response for a few minutes, and he feels worry rise in his chest.

"Sara, honey? Please say something."

He thinks there might be a sniffle on the other side of the door, but the sound of the running water drowns it out.

"I'm not trying to invade your privacy, but I'm getting worried. If you're OK, please say something, otherwise I'm coming in."

Another few moments pass, then the water turns off. "I'm fine," Sara calls through the door, but her voice breaks on the second word, so it doesn't ease his worry. It does, however, keep him from breaking down the bathroom door.

When she opens it a few minutes later, her hair is wet and dripping, one of the towels wrapped around her body. It's large enough it covers everything that should be covered, but even if it hadn't been, Grissom knows he would have barely noticed.

He's too focused on her face, where tears are still falling freely as she shakes with sobs.

He finds his bathrobe on the hook on the open bathroom door and quickly wraps it around her before pulling her close, guiding her head down on his shoulder. She buries her face against his throat, her tears hot against his skin, and he wraps his arms around her as tightly as he dares.

He's not sure how long they stand there, Sara's sobs making both of them shake while he tries to sooth her any way he can think of, but eventually she calms against him, only an occasional sniffle escaping.

Grissom keeps his arms around her, his cheek pressed against her temple, letting her be the first to break their contact.

"Sorry," she mumbles, making to pull away, but he tightens his embrace for a moment.

"Stop." He squeezes her one more time, brushing his lips against the top of her head, and then releases her. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she looks like she's pulled herself together. He reaches out to tuck an errant strand of still-wet hair behind her ear. "How about some dinner?"

For a moment, Sara looks like she's about to say no, but then she forces a small smile. "That sounds good."

"Good. Come on."

"Let me just put some clothes on and I'll be right there."

"OK."

He's finished chopping the onions when she joins him at the kitchen counter, offering a tired smile. "Can I help with anything?"

"I was going to do pasta primavera, but it takes a while, and I have a feeling we're both about ready for a few hours of sleep," Grissom replies. "How about an omelet with onions and peppers?"

"Perfect."

"Why don't you set the table?"

"Sure."

He moves around the kitchen, putting everything together, while keeping half an eye on Sara. She finds everything without problem, setting two places at the table with the same precision she uses when examining a piece of evidence before bringing plates to the stove. When the omelet's done, he splits it in two and slides a half onto each plate.

"What would you like to drink?"

"Just water's fine," she replies. "You?"

"Water for me too. There's a pitcher in the fridge."

He brings the plates to the table while she finds the pitcher.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks after a few minutes, fully expecting a no.

She considers for a moment as she chews and then swallows. "I guess it caught up to me. Seeing the bruises…"

Grissom's eyes flash to the only ones visible at the moment, on her throat and cheek, and he reaches over the table to squeeze her free hand. "I'm sorry."

Her mouth twists up in a half-smile. "Good thing we have a few days off, huh? Maybe they'll have faded by Monday."

For a moment, he considers telling her she's not going back to work on Monday, but if they still don't have Lurie in custody, he would rather she was at the lab when he's not home. Besides, he knows she'll put up a fight if he tells her to take more time off. "I know you're not going to like this, but I would still like it if you'd stay in the lab, at least for the first few days," he says instead.

Sara frowns. "Because you're worried I'll overdo it or because he's still out there somewhere?"

"Both. Though, hopefully, we'll have tracked him down by then."

She's silent for a moment, finishing off her omelet. "Have you heard anything new?"

"I talked to Jim while you were in the shower," Grissom admits, knowing that trying to keep anything from her will only backfire when she does find out. "No sign of him, but they're running the story on the news tonight. Jim thinks someone's been helping him, or at least keeping him in the loop, and that they've been given some story about what's happening. Hopefully getting the truth out there will make them realize he's lying, and they'll come forward."

She processes the new information, pushing the last piece of omelet around her plate before popping it in her mouth. "They're not… they won't put my name or photo or anything out there, right?"

He hurries to shake his head. "No, of course not. Jim would never agree to that."

"Good. Good."

"That reminds me, though," he continues. "Jim wants us to keep doors and windows locked, and the alarm system on. There are sensors on the windows, so I didn't want to set it before I mentioned it, in case you wanted to open the window in your room."

"I think I'll be fine without an open window," Sara assures him. "I didn't know you had an alarm system, though. You didn't turn it off when we got here earlier."

He shrugs. "I mostly forget I even have it, but sometimes it comes in handy."

"Yeah. Is Brass coming by to get my statement?"

"Not today," Grissom tells her. "He'd just gotten home when I talked to him, he was exhausted. None of us have gotten much sleep in the last few days… he'll be here around noon tomorrow, he offered to pick up some food on the way."

She nods a little absentmindedly. "OK."

He finishes the last of his own omelet and then puts their plates and cutlery in the dishwasher. When he turns back to the table, she's staring at her water glass, running a finger around the rim. He carefully places a hand on her shoulder, and she looks up at him.

"You OK?"

"I guess I'm pretty tired too," Sara admits. "For some reason, being knocked out by a sedative is apparently not very restorative."

He chooses to follow her lead and puts on a sarcastic tone as well. "I wonder why? Come on, I'm going to set the alarm, why don't you start getting ready for bed?"

"OK."

She disappears in the direction of the bedrooms, and Grissom goes to set the alarm on the panel by the front door. When the beep announces it's armed, he putters around the kitchen for a moment, preparing the coffee maker for the morning and rinsing out the frying pan. When there's nothing more to do, he goes into the bedroom to change into a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. When he goes into the hallway again, the bathroom door is just opening, and Sara emerges.

"All yours," she says with a small smile.

"Thanks." He hesitates for a moment. "Do you need anything else?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm fine."

"OK, good. But let me know if there's anything, OK? Wake me up if I'm asleep."

"I'm fine," she repeats. "Night."

"Night."

He waits until she's closed the door to the guest room behind her before going into the bathroom. The room still smells of her shower gel, a scent he didn't even know he associated with Sara, and he can't help inhaling deeply, letting it wash over him.