When Grissom entered his office, Catherine was standing behind his desk facing the shelves. He watched her for a moment, taking in the tense posture and tight movements she displayed as she ran her fingers over various items he knew she'd seen a thousand times before. Standing there bathed only in soft lamplight, she looked small to him; smaller than she'd looked in a while. He knew the altercation at the crime scene earlier must have had some effect on her, but when he'd spoken with her on the phone shortly after it happened she had assured him she was fine. Now he wasn't so sure.

"Hey," he announced himself softly. He watched her movements cease and expected her to turn around, but she did not. She merely stood there unmoving, back ramrod straight.

After a moment, he walked over and rooted himself to the ground. He stood so closely behind her he could feel the heat radiating off her body and see the tension lines in her neck. Each tendon looked to be pulled more tightly than the previous one. He ached to place his palms there and soothe the strain away with the pads of his fingers, but he kept his hands to himself.

He then took in the rigidity of her back. She stood not as if burdened by a heavy load, but as straight and stiff as could be, her head being the only thing bowed. His gaze traveled down to her hands that hung limply at her sides, and unable to just look any longer, he took her right one in his left, entwining their fingers.

At that contact, she slowly turned to face him and he got his first look at the angry red cut on her forehead. She kept her head down, eyes focused somewhere around his knees while he examined the gash. It was pretty deep, but Warrick had warned him of that earlier. The skin around it was pink and swollen, the cut itself a startlingly red scarlet that provided a stark contrast to her already pale skin.

As he studied it, he felt a surge of anger at the monster who put it there. He wanted to hunt the bastard down himself, wrap his fingers around the man's neck and watch all the life drain from his body. He wanted to scream at him and let him know that no one hurts those close to Gil Grissom and gets away with it. He wanted to avenge any pain and suffering Catherine had been forced to go through.

But Grissom knew none of that was possible, and even if it had been he'd choose to stay with Catherine anyway. She'd yet to speak to him face to face -- or look at him, for that matter -- and he needed to be reassured of her well-being.

Finally finished with his examination of the wound, he lifted his right hand and placed his fingers just under her chin. He let his thumb graze across her full lower lip once before gently urging her head up. Her eyes hesitated and flitted around a point past his shoulder before finally settling on his.

The tired discomfort that had made itself at home in her face for the past few hours squeezed at his heart. He'd known she would be affected -- who wouldn't be? -- but the damage that lay in her cobalt gaze made him want to wrap himself around her slender frame and never let go. He was so used to seeing a spark in her eyes, and it was missing now. Again he wanted to kill the man who was the cause of its absence.

Not quite sure what to say exactly, he opened his mouth to speak. But in true Catherine-style, before a syllable could tumble out, he was interrupted.

"Could you just hold me?" she asked in a shaky voice, her lower lip trembling slightly at her request.

Both the uncertainty and tears in her eyes propelled him to immediately nod his head and pull her to him. She stepped between his legs and wrapped her arms low around his waist, her cheek resting on his shoulder. He could feel little puffs of cool air against his neck as his arms wound themselves around her middle, securing her as tightly to him as possible. He felt the tension fade from her body almost immediately.

"Are you okay?" he asked after a moment, his voice sounding oddly loud to his ears.

He felt her nod once, then clear her throat before she spoke. "I was scared," she confessed, then hesitated briefly before softly adding, "I wanted you."

His arms tightened around her at the vulnerability he could hear in her voice, and he suddenly felt disgusted with himself for not having been there with her. When he imagined how scared she must have been he wanted to kick himself for not going to check on her immediately. His rational mind knew that Warrick had been there and had it handled, but Warrick wasn't the man she loved.

He tightened his arms a bit more and took a breath. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

At his words, she pulled back and looked him right in the eye, the determination evident in her gaze. "You're here now," she said softly, her eyes holding the rest of the sentence: and that's what matters. The briefest hint of a smile graced his lips and he nodded. His eyes then wandered back up to her forehead.

"Everyone's been staring at it all night," she sighed, and he detected the slightest bit of frustration in her tone.

"Everyone's been talking about it, too," he nodded, bringing his hands up to cradle the sides of her face and tilt her head toward the light for a better look. "You're like Superwoman around here now."

She said nothing, only hummed an unintelligible response in the back of her throat. When he moved to drop his hands she grabbed one and held it to her face. "Wait," she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning into his palm.

He kept his hand there and leaned down to place a gentle kiss as close to the cut as he could without hurting her. She hummed her response once more, then opened her eyes to look at him. He searched her gaze for a moment before he dipped his head again to place a tender kiss on the side of her mouth, then another on her lips before he pulled away completely.

"Hey," he rasped, cradling her face in both hands again, "we should get you home."

She opened her eyes and nodded once. "Okay." She made quick work of gathering her things from his desk and paused to look at him oddly when he didn't collect anything. "You're not taking anything?"

He shook his head, "not today," and was awarded with a small smile.

*

When they walked through her front door, Catherine announced that she was going to take a bath and headed for the bedroom. Grissom watched her retreat, noting the weariness in her posture. He could see that she was tired, her body language and voice told him that much, and he hoped a bath would ease some of the day's stress.

He glanced at the clock then went out to fetch the mail and grab the newspaper that was laying on the porch. He flipped through the envelopes -- nothing but bills and junk mail -- and opened the paper. He was three sentences into an article on genetic cloning when his vision started to blur and another two sentences in before he realized it was the same one he'd read earlier at work. His stomach gave a low rumble as he threw the paper down on the counter and followed Catherine's path to the bathroom.

"Cath?" he called, rapping twice on the door. He leaned his head down and listened for a moment, hearing only silence. His brow furrowed as he knocked once more. "Catherine?" Still nothing.

Sighing, Grissom pushed the door open and peeked his head in. He immediately spotted her form stretched out in the tub, eyes closed, a fat towel folded behind her head. Her eyes remained shut when he called her name again softly, her steady breathing an indication she was asleep. He walked closer to the bathtub, noticing how much less tired she looked when sleeping. The lines around her forehead and eyes were still there, but not as deep. She looked relaxed for the first time that night.

His eyes wandered up and he took in the cut again. The surrounding area was bruising now, turning her skin a mottled purple color, and he knew she wouldn't be happy about that. He could just see her in front of the mirror now trying to cover it with ten different kinds of makeup and growling in frustration when she realized it wasn't working. He would have to make sure to tell her she still looked beautiful.

His gaze traveled down her face, lingering on her lips for a moment, before making its way to her chest and shoulders, both covered in freckles; a product of being out in the sun too much when she was little. He liked to kiss her there, on her neck and shoulders, and nuzzle the smooth skin beneath his nose as he inhaled her scent. He moved on to her breasts which rose and fell with each breath, the light-tipped nipples barely breaking the water's surface, and imagined the weight of them in his hands, soft and firm. The flat planes of her stomach and narrow span of her hips were mostly covered by the water, as was the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs and the rest of her long, svelte legs.

As he took in her form, he was amazed at this creature before him and how truly beautiful she was. Not just her body, but her mind as well. He marveled at all the obstacles she had cleared in her life just to get to where she was today, the most prominent of those being Eddie Willows. The wounds that man left on her body healed long ago, but the scars on her heart and soul would remain forever.

"Gil, what are you doing?" Catherine's rough voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing." His eyes moved back up to hers. "You were asleep."

She nodded slightly, the water lapping against her chin. "I dozed off," she explained, regarding him carefully. "You need something?"

"No," he shook his head, "not really." A pause. "That's starting to bruise," he gestured to her forehead, then moved a towel off the toilet and sat down.

She reached up to gingerly probe it with her fingers. "Yeah. I won't be able to cover it up tomorrow," she sighed.

He smiled inwardly and nodded. "It won't be long though."

She nodded, but didn't say anything, and closed her eyes again. The water sloshed around as she shifted.

"So, what did you want?" she asked after a moment, eyes still closed.

He hesitated before answering to see if she would open her eyes. She didn't. "You hungry?"

She sighed. "Nah. I think I'll eat with Linds when she comes home."

He nodded. "Okay." She should really eat, he knew, but he didn't want to coddle her too much so he let it go. Lindsey would be home in a few hours anyway.

"Was that it?" she wondered, her voice holding a hint of skepticism.

He nodded again, even though she couldn't see him. "Yeah." He waited a moment before bringing up the next subject, not exactly sure how to approach it. "Catherine, you know you can take a few days off--"

Her eyes opened and she shook her head, and for the first time he noticed her hair was still dry. "No, Grissom, I told Warrick I'd be there. We've got to get this guy."

"I'm sure Warrick can handle it alone for a few days, one at least. You should take a day off, spend it with Lindsey," he suggested, thinking that the idea of time with her daughter might bring her around. He was wrong.

She sighed heavily and stood up, water dripping down her body. "Grissom, I'm not taking time off," her voice was weary and tired and he could hear the need for sleep in it, but that did not stop his grimace at the use of his surname. It was never a good sign when she called him Grissom at home.

She stepped over the edge of the tub and grabbed the towel he'd placed on the counter earlier. He remained seated, watching her dry herself off then wrap the white cotton around her slim body, securing it between her breasts. Only when she moved from the bathroom to her bedroom did he stand.

"I think it might be good for you to take a little time." He stopped in the doorway and watched her as she pulled clothes out of a drawer, slamming it closed a little harder than necessary.

"I appreciate your concern, really," she said, stepping into her panties and pulling a faded t-shirt of his over her head, "but I'm--"

His eyes snapped to her form and he stepped over to her. "Concern?" he asked incredulously. "This goes beyond concern, Catherine. You were scared, you told me that yourself, and I don't want you going back before you're ready."

She pulled her hair out of the collar and turned to him, the tiredness of her body lending itself to her voice. "I told you this was going to happen." Her words came out quieter than he expected and his whole body went on rigid alert. She wasn't arguing back; that was never a good sign.

He eyed her warily for a moment before responding. "You told me what was going to happen?"

She sighed. "This," she gestured between them. "You trying to protect me. I told you it would be impossible to keep our personal lives separate from our professional ones."

The defeated tone that carried the words out of her mouth made Grissom's heart lurch in his chest. His mind began frantically searching for what she could possibly mean: the end of their relationship? Maybe. He hoped not.

His eyes scanned her form, now hunched over on the side of the bed. His hands ached to touch her, but he was suddenly scared to. He was scared to move at all. He was terrified she would look up at him with her big blue eyes and tell him it was over. His whole life, everything he'd built with her in the past few months -- over. He knew instantly his heart would never survive it. Before, he needed her to be happy; now, he needed her to exist.

He knew he should say something before she called the whole thing off, but he didn't know what. His mind fumbled blindly for the proper words to express himself. "Cath, I--"

"Will you just lay with me?"

His eyes jerked to hers and he could see the love there. He let out a small exhale of relief and nodded, his heartbeat returning to normal. She was still his, they were still together, everything was fine. False alarm.

He stripped down to his boxers and climbed in behind her, pulling the covers over them both. He spooned his body against hers and wrapped his arms tightly around her thin frame.

He let her relax in his embrace for a moment, then opened his mouth. "You know, I was just offering the time off in case you needed it; I knew you'd never ask."

He felt her nod against him. "I know." Her voice was quiet and lethargic, and he could tell she was close to sleep. She was silent for a moment, then he felt her take a deep breath.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

He smiled and tightened his arms. "For what?" he murmured into her shoulder, feeling the pull of sleep himself. His eyes fluttered as he waited for her response.

She fell quiet again and when her breathing evened out, he was sure she was asleep. He turned his nose into her hair and inhaled once, absorbing the rich scent of her. Her voice startled him when she spoke.

"For this. For being here," she answered, her voice gravelly and half asleep. She squeezed his hand where it rested on her stomach and snuggled back into his embrace.

He sighed contentedly and leaned in to place a soft kiss on her cheek, then closed his eyes against the light that was filtering in through the blinds. There was absolutely no place in the world he'd rather be.