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In Times Like These
Unbound improv challenge response. Sometimes, you just need a friend. G/S d
Rating: PG; Published on 07/10/2005 - Reviews 2
A/N: Thanks Ann and Mossley for previewing this.
"Any chance this is a drug-induced hallucination?" Sara blinked at him a few times, but didn't lift her cheek from the floor in front of her toilet. She knew she wasn't on any drugs.
"No, I'm really here. God, Sara, what did you eat?"
"I'm not telling you," she moaned childishly. She remembered calling Grissom, but darn if she knew exactly when he appeared in her apartment. "How did you get in here, anyway?"
"I knocked twice. Your door was unlocked," he answered from somewhere behind her, probably her bedroom. She couldn't open her eyes anymore, and didn't really care where he was.
"You said in your slurred message that you were vomiting yourself to death. I thought I'd come over to investigate, in the name of science, of course."
"Don't be funny," she admonished. "So sick…"
"I can see that. I don't want to embarrass you, but…do you think you could put these on?"
Sara opened her eyes and saw him holding a pair of her shorts. She immediately gasped, realizing she was in her underwear. "Shit. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He tried to avoid looking while she slowly sat up and slipped them on.
"Is that what I think it is?" he asked, pointing to a large cream-colored stain on her white t-shirt.
She looked down and moaned. "Ugh, gross. Guess I didn't make it last time. I'm so sick. Get away from me."
"I'll get you a new shirt. How long has this been going on?" he asked, heading back into her room.
"All day."
He gave her a folded shirt he found on top of her dresser and stepped back out of the room while she put it on.
"Seriously, is this food poisoning or a stomach flu?"
"Food poisoning. Grilled teriyaki tofu, and don't start." Her face was all scrunched up in pain as she held her stomach, and she seemed positively glued to floor of her bathroom.
"I won't. Looks like you've been punished enough."
"It tasted fine. So sick…" she mumbled to the linoleum.
"I'm sorry, honey. What can I do for you?"
Her eyes opened wide, like she was shocked, and she lifted her head. "Get out."
Damn, why did he call her honey? "Sara,"
"No really—go!" she gasped as she sat up and grabbed the toilet, puking again.
Grissom leaned against the wall of her bedroom, giving her some privacy and wincing as he tried in vain not to listen. He returned after the flush to find her collapsed on the floor again.
Without saying a word, he took her toothbrush off the counter and wet it, applying a little toothpaste. "Hey," he said softly, sitting down beside her and touching her cheek. "Here."
She slowly brushed her teeth and tongue, keeping her eyes closed, and handed him the toothbrush back.
"Thank you," she whimpered, feeling on the verge of tears.
"You're welcome. Can you keep water down at least?"
"No, nothing."
He sat there, watching her. She looked horrible. "Sara, how many times have you thrown up?"
"That was number four, I think. No, five? I—I don't remember."
He didn't like that answer—all from a little tofu? She had to be extremely dehydrated. Reluctantly, he asked, "Will you let me take you to the hospital?"
It was quite for a few seconds until Sara finally let out a long, heavy sigh, and then, "Yeaaaaah."
His eyebrows went up automatically. "Wow. No arguments? Now I know you're really sick."
He found a pair of flip-flops on the floor of her room and brought them to her. "I don't think I can stand up," she whined.
"Sure you can." He slipped his arms under her, lifting her easily, holding her a moment while she got her bearings. "You okay?"
"This is awful, Gris." Sara fell against him, pressing her face into his chest, and he thought she might be crying.
"Want me to carry you?" he teased, and she mumbled a laugh and managed to look up at him and glare.
"No!"
She made it to the car with the puke bucket she insisted on bringing and slept the entire way to the hospital.
"Hey. You ready?" he asked, gently tugging on her hand.
"No. I'm too sick," she moaned, clutching her abdomen and turning away from him.
"This is where you're supposed to go when you're too sick. Come on, I'll help you."
It was like a dream—or a nightmare, once you factored in the nausea. The E.R. was crowded, and a simple, albeit nasty bout of food poisoning put Sara on the bottom of the list.
When she dashed down the hall with a hand over her mouth, Grissom knew why. A few minutes later, he saw her stop at the nurses' station to inform them that she didn't quite make it to the restroom. She slumped down beside him, embarrassed and on the brink of tears.
"They're used to it, Sara. You're going to be okay," he soothed, wrapping an arm around her. She was entirely too sick and delirious to consider his motives.
She battled with herself about whether to quietly accept his solace or dwell on the fact that her boss was the only person who was even aware she was sick. How did she end up so alone in this world?
A nurse called her name before she had time to get emotional about it. Before long, she was given a strong anti-nausea drug intravenously and one bag after another of a hydrating solution. Grissom sat with her for four long hours while she slept on and off.
Then she was released, and he dutifully brought her home. "What time is it?" she moaned as she crawled onto her bed.
He was carrying a glass of ice water in from her kitchen and set it on her nightstand. "Little after midnight."
Her eyes flew to his. "You're missing work!"
"Sara, it's no big deal. I called the lab. I can be late. I'm the boss."
His attempt at levity failed. She blinked at him, looking sad and pitiful. "I'm so sorry."
"For what? You're sick. It happens."
"You didn't have to help me. If I were a normal person with friends, you wouldn't have had to—"
"Hey," he interrupted, as if hurt by her remark. "I'm your friend." For a long moment, they exchanged tender glances.
"You are?" she asked softly, almost childlike.
"Of course I am," he replied, covering her with the comforter. "You going to be all right?"
"I think so."
"Okay. Call me if you need anything," he instructed, fussing with the blankets.
"Okay."
There was no explanation for why he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It wasn't a passionate, romantic kiss by any means, more like a chaste kiss good-bye, quick and deliberate, like he'd done it a million times before. They both froze and stared at each other wide-eyed.
"Um," he stuttered, still bent over her.
"Yeah, uh," her eyes were darting all over the place—never landing anywhere near his face.
"Sorry."
"It's okay."
He straightened quickly and started to step away. Then he turned back with a puzzled expression. "It is?"
Sara was confused. "Is what?"
"Never mind. Just…get better."
She laughed, and he noticed some color had returned to her face. She was blushing.
"I'll just get going then."
"Right. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
With that, he was gone, slipping from her apartment as quietly as he came. Sara stared off into space, wondering which one of them would be the first to pretend this never happened.
THE END.
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Copyright 2005, Laura Katharine
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