Catherine was getting worried. They had stopped at her apartment to get some of her things, and she had been waiting impatiently outside Gil's bathroom for nearly a half hour, so she could take a shower.

When he didn't come out, she rapped on the door for the third time.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yes. Just a minute," he yelled, from behind the door. Then Catherine heard a definitive "Damn!"

She didn't like the sound of that. Putting her things down, she leaned up against the door to try and hear what was going on.

"Gil, what's the matter?" she asked.

"Catherine, please just give me a minute. I'm going as fast as I can," Grissom said.

Catherine smiled at that statement, but when he still hadn't come out five minutes later, she started worrying, again.

Grissom stood in front of the mirror over his pedestal sink. He had undressed down to his boxers and socks, and removed his bandages. His ribs, side, back, neck and shoulders were covered in deep bruises. He was trying to change the dressing on the stab wound on his lower back right side, but was having trouble reaching it. Getting the bandages off was turning out to be a lot easier than putting them back on. Whenever he tried to turn his torso to apply the bandage, the pain from his cracked ribs stopped him.

He could have asked Catherine for help, he knew, but he didn't want her to see him like this. It reminded him of how vulnerable he was, right now, and how vulnerable he had been when he was arrested. Every so often the terror of that experience would spring at him out of the darkness, and he'd find himself shaking.

"Get over it," he told himself, staring at the nightmare in his mirror.

"Gil? Are you alright?"

Catherine was right there, a little more than an arm's length away. All he had to do was open the door and let her in, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it.

"Gil? What's wrong? Talk to me."

His pulse started to race and the pain increased. It had been hours since he'd taken his medication, and the effects were quickly wearing off.

"Damn it, Gil! You're scaring me! Let me in!"

He tried one more time to twist around and reach his back, but ended up doubled over in pain, instead.

"Catherine!" he called out through labored breathing. "Help me!"

He didn't have to ask twice. She had already found a paperclip and was two seconds from picking the lock. When she opened the door, she gasped and quickly covered her mouth. He was standing in front of the sink, shirtless, covered in bruises, completely bent over, his head burred in his arms, and trembling.

"Oh my god, Gil! What are you trying to do?"

Slowly he pushed himself into a semi-upright position, while still gripping the sink and gritting his teeth against the pain.

"My back," he said. "I need to change the dressing."

Catherine came around and studied the wound, noticing the redness around the sutures.

"It looks like you're getting an infection, Gil. Do you have anything to put on this?"

He indicated a bag on the bathroom floor.

Catherine quickly found a medicated salve and gently applied it to the area. Then she backed up and looked him all over.

"Gil, I need to take pictures of this," she said quietly.

He stared at her in the mirror.

"I don't want anyone to see me like this," he said. "And I don't want any reminders."

She shook her head, insistent.

"You're a walking crime scene. What those people did to you, that was criminal. I need to do this, Gil. You need to let me do this."

He knew she was right, but he didn't want to go through another photo session of his body.

"Gil," she said, gently resting her hand on his arm, "if it was me, you'd insist."

Their eyes met, and she could see him relenting. Before he changed his mind, she quickly got her camera and began photographing his injuries. She moved slowly, gently noting the placement of each bruise with her fingertips but never pressing on them. She had him turn slightly so she could get the best light. Then she stood on the edge of the bathtub to photograph his shoulders and neck. Finally, she gently peeled off the bandage from his forehead and photographed the scabbed-over gash. When she was done, she set the camera aside and found fresh bandages for his knife wound.

"Stand still," she murmured, when he tensed up. "I won't hurt you."

Her touch was as gentle a butterfly wings. When she finished the dressing, she found clean bandages to wrap around his rips and gently began the process, her arms circling him to pass the roll from one hand to the next. He stood perfectly still, gazing down at her and letting her envelope him in her tender care, and wondering why he had been so afraid to let her in. She gently straightened out each band, making sure it was secured but not tight, then cut off the end and fixed it with pieces of tape. Only when she had finished did she let herself feel the closeness of his presence. Softly passing the back of her hand over the hairs on his chest, she looked up into his pained eyes.

"Lean on me," she ordered with a smile.

"Catherine?" He could feel his skin break into goose bumps.

"Lean on me. I'll help you to your room and get you some meds. Then you can rest."

"And then what?" he asked, feeling foolish.

"Then I can finally take my shower," she replied, grinning at him.

He allowed her to help him to his room and lower him gently into a sitting position on the bed. Then she brought him pain killers and a glass of water, found him a book, and left him laying on his back, reading.

When Catherine finished her shower, she put on her pajamas and went back to check on Gil. He had fallen asleep, the book open on his lap and still wearing his reading glasses. Catherine carefully pulled the book from his hands, removed his glasses, and turned out the light.

At first she thought he was going to wake up, but he merely turned over onto his uninjured side. Then she pulled the comforter over his battered body. For a few minutes, she stood in the moonlight and watched him breath.

"This bed is big enough for both of us," she said to herself.

Then she circled around the bed, crawled in behind him, pulled the comforter up to her chin, and fell asleep with her head cradled on his back.

*******

Warrick drove Sara back to her apartment, discussing their plans for the next day.

"I think a man should do it," he was saying, referring to investigating the sperm bank. "I mean, what are you going to do, walk in and say: Don't mind me, folks, I'm just looking around?"

Sara screwed up her nose.

"I could pretend I want to have a baby on my own and I'm looking for the perfect specimen," she suggested.

"And you think they're going to believe you, just like that," he said.

"Why not?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes.

"So, how do you think we should do this?" she asked.

"Well, I've been thinking about it, and I think Greg should go."

"Greg?" Sara was surprised.

"Sure. He'd probably be a good specimen for a sperm donor, he knows the lingo, he'd understand anything he got his hands on. So, yeah, I think Greg should go."

"Would they take his sperm?" Sara asked, grinning. She was trying to picture that in her mind.

"Why not? He's a certified boy genius. He's young and he has several advanced degrees. He's healthy, and aside from a questionable taste in music, he'd be a perfect specimen."

"Oh, that's scary," Sara said, her imagination running wild. "Just imagine, five years from now, I decide to have a baby and I go to the sperm bank and say, gee, guys, give me someone who is smart and cute and likes music. And they give me Greg? I'd never live it down!"

"You would do that? Go to a sperm bank?" Warrick appeared shocked.

"Why not?" Sara asked. "I've never really thought of having kids, but if I wanted one...."

"Personally," said Warrick, "I think the whole idea of a sperm bank is nuts. Kids need parents. Real parents. Not test tube parents they don't know and will never meet. It's ridiculous."

When they arrived at Sara's, Warrick walked her to the door, took her keys and unlocked it.

"You want to come in for some coffee?" she asked.

"You want me to?" he countered.

She smiled demurely and led the way, without answering.

Warrick noted that Sara had cleaned up the apartment. He stopped a moment to glance at Gil's spiders. Sara was leaning up against the kitchen counter, watching him. When he turned to look at her, he felt suddenly uncomfortable, like a man who had accidentally found himself in the ladies' bathroom. They looked at each other for a minute without speaking.

"Well, this is awkward," he said, finally.

She smiled and lowered her eyes to the floor.

"Yeah, you're right," she said. "I guess I had hoped, after this morning.... Oh, never mind."

"Maybe I should leave."

"If you want to." She sounded dejected.

He didn't move.

Finally, he said, "I don't want to."

Sara blushed.

"How about that coffee?" she asked, turning to get it ready.

"How about breakfast?" he asked. "I'm buying."

"You know a good all night breakfast place?" she asked.

He grinned.

"Yeah, lots of them."

She thought a minute.

"Maybe we should start this thing all over again," she said.

"What thing?" he asked.

"You know," she said, pointing from her to him and back again. "This thing,"

"Ohhh?"

She walked up to him and stuck her hand out.

"Hi, I'm Sara Sidle, and I'm a scientist. And you are?"

Warrick took her hand, shook it, and began to laugh.

"Okay, I get the point. Breakfast."

"Then see where we go from there," she said.

"Yeah."

*******

Catherine awoke in the middle of the night and found Gil in the kitchen, taking some more medication.

"You okay?" she asked, joining him.

"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep," he said. "You?"

She covered her mouth and yawned.

He never asked her how she ended up in his bed, and she never said. But he put his glass down, took her hand and said, "Come on."

He led her back to the bedroom and insisted on her sleeping in his spot. She crawled under the toasty comforter. It was Gil's turn to circle the bed. Crawling in behind her, he pulled the comforter over both of them, wrapped his arm protectively around her, and nestled his head on the back of her neck. Together, wrapped in the security of their friendship, they fell asleep.

-- TBC --