Title: Comfortably Numb
Author: idreamedmusic/Frumpy
Rating: M
Disclaimer: How I wish Grissom would be mine, though you wouldn't see much of him then and he'd walk funny.

Summary: "Being alone in the dark was easier than being alone in the bright sunlight."

A/N: Many, many thanks and yet another marriage to anni2001. Like, fastest beta evah! Sight, side - pffffffffft.
And my muse seems to be stuck on post Bang Bang. Nothing really spoilerish. And yes, the title so is stolen from a PF song, 'cause I suck like that.

Yellow. Green. Some red and a vibrant blue running over his skin.

Specks of bright color as he turned the glass of scotch gently in his right hand, the ice catching the first rays of sunlight streaking through his windows. It was almost alien to see the morning sun in his house. He was either still at work or had the blinds pulled down by the time the sunlight had a chance to intrude into his dark solitude. Out of sight was out of mind. And being alone in the dark was easier than being alone in the bright sunlight. The feeling more numbed that way; except he was on his fourth glass of scotch and the numb feeling refused to come today.

Grissom swirled the glass again, watching the smooth liquid slosh against the ice for a moment before he drained it. He'd refill it, make new colors spill over his hand, waiting for the numbness he so desperately needed right now.

It wasn't often he resorted to the get-hammered-and-forget-option. It never failed to work though, did it?

He ran his tongue over his lips, chasing the slight burn the liquid left in his throat before he leaned over to the bowl filled with ice cubes he had placed to his left. When Gil Grissom got drunk, he had it all worked out to do so with minimal effort. The ice cubes felt cool in his fingers as he dropped a few more into the heavy tumbler in his hand, the sound of the scotch pouring into the glass almost gentle, and then the warmth of the sun on his fingers as he let his left hand drop on his thigh. If he concentrated on those things, the sun warming the fingers that had held the ice moments earlier, then he didn't have to think about anything else before the scotch did its work.

It was the good stuff, too. Brass would appreciate it. He was the kind of guy to get it that you didn't get drunk on cheap scotch when your best friend might never wake up again.

So much for easy thoughts.

Brass could probably use a scotch right about now too, except the doctor that had waited for his answer would have probably decapitated him gleefully for a thought like that. But his mind had never worked like others. Sudden thoughts and conjectures, not always appropriate, spilling forth from somewhere. And his conscious thought lagging a few steps behind. There wouldn't be any conscious thought soon - hopefully. Not when he kept pouring the scotch down instead of sipping it. Refilling the glass and watching the bright colors that refused to blur. Awaiting the peace that refused to come.

He usually found peace in making decisions. It was the things that were left undecided that ate at him. And he'd made the decision. He'd given his okay on the surgery and then he'd run. Ignored the scathing look in Catherine's eyes as he brushed past her on his way out, not being able to stand the sound of the respirator that was the only thing that kept Brass breathing. Running. He was good at that. He'd always been.

In a way, sitting idly on your couch and drinking yourself into a stupor was also running away. From everything, from yourself. He lifted the glass in a vague toast to that biting thought before he drained it.

Maybe he should close his eyes and that would make the numbness come sooner. Except closing his eyes only made him see Brass in the hospital. Tubes and IV s everywhere, desperate to hear him make some snarky comment that would somehow lighten the mood with its inappropriateness. Except Brass couldn't make a comment. Brass couldn't even breathe on his own and trusted Grissom so completely, it made his throat clench tight. The next sip of scotch soothing the tightness there somewhat. But he could do nothing but wait. Wait for Brass to pull through, for Cath's clipped tone on the phone as she called him to tell him it had went well. He didn't even let himself dwell on any other option. Wait for the damn numbness that was usually so easy to reach for him, but apparently not even all the scotch in the world would do that trick today.

Lips curled slightly as he swallowed, tongue running over his teeth as his left hand poured in more almost automatically. That was expected. Once he set his mind on something, he just forged ahead. Nothing could deter him. Not even the sound of keys in the lock of his front door.

Sound of keys?

And then the soft click of the lock snapping back into the place, footsteps rounding the corner and Sara's eyes falling on him and the glass in his hand. Travelling over the bowl of ice and the half empty bottle and then settling back on him.

The swift motion of her hand and the faint clink of keys being placed on the sideboard were the only sound in the room for a while.

He should be a good host. Get up and get out another glass. Brush the stacks of magazines off the chair next to the sofa. But he just kept sitting there, meeting her eyes and wishing once more to be numb enough to not be able to see the concern in them.

He saw her sigh. He didn't hear it and it made him wonder for a moment if he was going deaf again and really, at this point? He'd almost welcome it. But he heard her walk closer, felt the faint stirring of air as she passed him and leaned down to pick up the magazines piling on the chair.

He saw her hand twitch and she probably wanted to lift the glass out of his hand, but she didn't. Instead, she just watched him finish it silently before he reached for the bottle again.

"Probably not the best idea."

He finished pouring and twirled the glass again to get it to cool down a bit, caught in the bright colors spilling over her right foot for a moment.

"It's the best I could come up with right now."

And it was. Except it wasn't working as he had wanted it to and her presence so close to him made the numbness as unreachable as it made him powerless in doing anything about Brass at this point.

That's what it came down to. He had all the power in his hands. He had the power of attorney, he could make the decision about life and death when it came to Brass right now, but he was powerless really. And he was tired, so tired.

"Does it work?"

Soft words. He could hear the concern, but no judgement. Not Sara. Never. And he couldn't help the shake of his head, another motion with his hand that made the ice cubes clink faintly.

"It never really does, does it?." She leaned forward in the chair, eyes distant for a moment. "I learned that the hard way, believe me."

Faint memories of holding her hand and driving in embarrassed silence from the police station. He hadn't gone in with her then. He'd known his resolve would crumble. Her fingertips brushing over his hand before she took hold of the glass almost making his resolve crumble now. He let her. Loosening his fingers enough for her to take the glass and set it on the table quietly. Fingers returning and the soft brush of her thumb over his knuckles making him tingle.

Yes, he was as far from numb as he could get. It made him want to run again, except her had nowhere to run but to her and she was here. Soothing motion over his skin, eyes not meeting his.

"Let me help you."

The thumb tracing his hand was steady, but she was looking down. And the stark knowledge of what an asshole he had been settled over him.

"What, you think a pity fuck would solve it all?"

The motion between his thumb and forefinger faltered for a moment, but it didn't stop. Her eyes did raise to meet his though and then her cool fingers curled around his hand.

"No. But no one should be alone right now."

It was as much for his sake as hers, and he felt like an asshole all over again for making this about himself alone. Brass wasn't just his friend. And the unresolved issues between him and Sara weren't just his either. He was through half a bottle of scotch and his mind screamed at him that it was wrong, so wrong, but it felt so right as he tugged her towards him with his right hand, feeling her fingers tighten and then her lips against his. She could probably taste the scotch in his mouth as his left hand curled around her neck and his tongue stroked over hers, but wrong had never felt this right. And he was as far from drunk as he could be, even though the part of him that thrived on rationalizations screamed at him to use that as an excuse. To not press her head closer and get up at the same time, tongue running over her teeth as he felt her sigh against him.

It was all kinds of wrong as he leaned back and looked into her dilated pupils, words superfluous as they both knew what they needed and had needed for so long.

He saw the doubt cross her features as he pushed her towards his bedroom. Saw the question in her eyes as he lifted her blouse over her head and latched onto her collarbone. But he would work on making that go away forever when he didn't use any of this as an excuse later. When he wasn't so caught up in the motion of her head tipping back as he finally got the bra off and bit down on a nipple.

The sunlight streaked through the windows of his bedroom and it was where she belonged. Smooth skin bathed in sunlight as he pushed her on his bed and shed his shirt before he leaned down over her.

Fingers traced softly over his chest and stomach and his mind stopped wondering what was right and wrong as his hands tangled in her hair and he pressed his thigh between her legs. Moans like that could never be wrong, despite him not knowing who was making the sounds.

Their pants an obstacle that was overcome faster than all the other obstacles they had faced, the faint pop of a button and the metallic rasp of the zipper of his pants hardly registering in his mind. Only the smooth expanse of skin as they scooted up the bed and he found her mouth again.

Her fingers running over the flex of muscles in his back as he leaned down and nibbled on her chin, ran his tongue over her jaw. His mouth following the trail of his hands down her body. Neck and collarbone, soft nips at her nipples and the sweet taste of her skin that he finally allowed himself to explore. The different textures and sounds as he traced her ribs and let his mouth explore the texture of the dips and a faint scar he saw on her abdomen.

He nipped at the skin faintly and that drew a groan. Running his tongue over the same spot, he felt her stomach clench under his hand. Right side, third rib down. He'd memorize that spot. And all the other spots that drew a reaction, like running his fingers over her left hipbone, and the soft skin at her right knee that made her moan and shift her legs when he suckled on it.

He'd never been very vocal, preferring to let his actions speak for him. So he was content in letting his mouth and hands and tongue say the words he couldn't utter. Not yet, never easily, but hoping that the trail of his lips up her thigh was enough.

Placing his hands besides her hips, Grissom drew himself upwards, the slide of his skin on hers almost enough to have him close his eyes in pure bliss. He traced her jaw with his thumb, still slightly damp from where he had run his tongue across it moments earlier.

Sara's eyes fluttered open as his thumb was the only motion on her skin, softly sliding down her throat, almost too gentle to be really felt. The almost sensation only heightening the effect. Blue eyes met her own, unguarded. Expressive as always, but not hiding for once. She could see them clouding over with sadness for a moment, before he leaned down and reclaimed her mouth. Nothing gentle about it, pure need and hunger and him as he bit her bottom lip softly.

"I'm sorry."

She felt it more in the hot breath flitting over her skin than she heard the actual words. And she could do nothing but claim his mouth in return, showing she understood. Some part of it. Too soon for more, too late to make it meaningless. But she was content in accepting the moment for what it was; work from there. And Grissom seemed to sense that as some part of the tension apparently escaped in a shuddering breath.

He'd seen the slight doubt still lingering in her eyes and there was nothing he could do right now to eradicate it. Nor could he ask for everything between them to magically go away. He could just show her. Again and again, till one day, the doubt would be gone and she'd be as sure as he was that she'd never wake up alone or see him walk out of her life.

Ironic. Hadn't that been what he'd always been afraid of.

The same way he'd been afraid of the feel of her under him being like giving in to an addiction he couldn't battle anymore. The soft stutter in her breathing as he slowly slid into her, a sound he wouldn't be able to live without.

He wanted to hold still, to savor the moment and burn it into his memory, but he couldn't stop from propping himself up on his arms next to her shoulders, the motion lifting his hips slightly and making them groan in unison.

Slow. He wanted to go slow. To pause on every slide in and then draw back, feeling her cling to him, feeling her breath lick over his collarbone as he pushed in further every time. But clenching his hands and jaw didn't help, all rational thought left with the feel of her under him and around him. So instead he licked her neck where it met her shoulder as he pulled back sharper, biting softly on the vertebrae as he pushed in harder. No pausing, only smooth thrusts that were met by her hips as she pushed them upwards.

Sara's hand on his ass was almost his undoing as his hips pumped faster, thrusts growing ragged and desperate. A slight shift of his weight that changed the angle and he could slide his hand over her stomach and into her curls, feeling the wet glide of himself as his thumb sought out her clit. Her reaction was immediate, a deep rumbling moan that went with her clenching around him every time he brushed over the nub, nothing gentle in his motions anymore.

He tried to hold back; the almost painful need to pound into her too much. Too much, too tight as he felt her legs clamp around him and her hips buck upwards on the next deep push into her. He slowed through her orgasm, waiting for her to ride it out before she relaxed again and he pushed up on his fists to get more leverage, to pull out further and ram back in in a mindless tumbling of sensations and wants.

"Come for me," a throaty whisper against his left fist as he saw her tongue snake out and lick over his knuckles. Saw her grin before he felt her teeth against his skin, the tiny sensation of cool air on the knuckle the last straw that had him coming in jerky thrusts and a soundless moan rushing out of him. Then nothing, sweet nothing as he pushed in deep and let his head fall on her shoulder. Soothing fingers stroking through his sweaty hair softly. The last coherent thought before he closed his eyes was that for once, the nothing was peaceful and not a desperate wish to feel numb.