Disclaimer: Not mine. Acceptance is the first step to recovery.

Author's Note: It's been a really long time since I posted anything, and a really really long time since I posted anything in the TV Shows section. Plus, the series itself is a new one for me. But here's hoping it's worthwhile to read and – possibly – review. I'll try not to get my hopes up.

Summary: Just an experiment. A simple testing of ideas and proving of theories. Grissom's POV. Episode addition to 'Bloodlines'. GS – Soft, gentle; the way it's supposed to be. More of a prologue than anything else.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The car was so silent that he was sure neither of them was breathing. It seemed like something as fragile as a puff of air should have been able to interrupt the vacuum – even external noises, the sound of the wheels on the pavement, seemed so dim he wondered whether he really heard them or simply added them to the scene because he knew they should be there.

He wasn't angry. Not even annoyed. Half of him felt like he should probably say so, and the other half figured she already knew. And then the two halves got into a debate, and he couldn't decide one way or the other. So he said nothing. Neither did she, sitting back against the dark fabric of the seat with a kind of weary finality. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her posture was new to him – when Catherine was upset, she tended to fold in on herself, pull her jacket tight and hold it with her white fingers. Warrick became suddenly all limbs – as though his arms and legs had grown longer and there was no room for them. It had always reminded him vaguely of a bramble folding in on itself.

He had only seen Nick upset once – after the first time he was threatened at gunpoint. Nick had been almost restless, constantly fidgeting and readjusting his position, as though trying to bury his emotions with excessive movement. But he had never seen anyone sit so still as she did now. Her face was blank, and she seemed almost empty. He wondered absently if it was the beer or the rain clouding her eyes.

When they pulled up to the townhouse, neither of them moved. She continued to stare out the windshield with unseeing eyes and he continued to watch the rain write secret messages on the glass before the wipers swept them away. He waited five minutes before he put a hand on her arm and she started, almost as if she'd been asleep.

"Here already…" Her voice was rough. "Thanks for the ride," she croaked, a chipped smile falling onto her face. He didn't speak, instead giving her a little smile in return. She reached for her seatbelt and the door, and he mimicked her. The sound of the rain intruded, but somehow it too filtered into the background and practically disappeared. She cast him a confused glance as he followed her to the covered porch, but she said nothing.

They stood together at the door, the rain in her hair and on his face. She shifted almost awkwardly, and he smiled again. It wasn't quite all right to leave her alone yet.

He wondered what the next step was. Catherine was generally best comforted by a steady presence and perhaps a friendly talk – someone to confide in, someone to trust. He'd learned that Warrick generally responded best to a mature conversation and a strong hand on his shoulder; no mush, no overstepping one's bounds, just the sympathy of someone who might understand. He made sure never to baby Nick – Nick seemed to deal with his troubles best when he was treated like an adult with enough self-discipline to both solve his own problems and keep himself under control. He had carefully observed each of his team and had learned just what they needed from him in the best and worst of times.

But she… she was the wild card. He could never tell with her. It depended on her mood, the situation, whether the problem was deep-seated or passing, whether it was emotional or more tangible. He had made enough mistakes with her to know that what was the right answer once might not be the right answer the next time – and if he ever did anything right, it was mostly by chance. He reached out and put a hand on her elbow to stall for time. Should he joke? Speak seriously? Trust her to take care of it alone?

There was really only one way to find out, he decided. The way any scientist found anything out. He would have to experiment. The problem with people, he thought with a sigh that made her look up, was that the circumstances could never be duplicated perfectly. Truly, he would never have this particular moment again – some factor would always elude him; namely, the human emotion. He only had one shot, which made it difficult to decide what kind of comfort to try. But he was running out of time, because now she was looking at him and soon she would turn to go inside.

So he chose what he considered an option that was probably harmless. He took a step forward and enveloped her in a hug – a hug of friendship, of comfort, of understanding. He supposed he had guessed right, because she returned the hug in the same manner. He smiled into the air above her shoulder. Sometimes, Catherine had once told him, all someone needed was a little physical comfort. And the hug had been a safe bet, because they had exchanged hugs before and she had never seemed particularly affronted or startled – the way he imagined Catherine or Nick might look if he tried to hug them. The thought of hugging Nick made him laugh, and soon he could hear she was laughing, too. He could feel the vibration through his jacket and up his arms.

It didn't take long until she was crying and laughing at the same time. The sobs came out in short bursts and he could feel her tears dampening his collar. He began to rock from side to side, listening to her crying and laughing. The laughing told him she was ashamed; the crying told him she was terrified.

He had no idea how long they stood there like that, her crying and him rocking side to side. Eventually her tears subsided and his movement stopped and they became still again, but he hugged her just the same and smiled over her shoulder at the houseplants peering out the window. The mist from the rain sparkled even in the dark, and he felt as though they were being completely swallowed by the damp night air.

And then she shifted a little, and suddenly everything changed. He wasn't hugging her anymore – now he was holding her. The emotion behind the action had transformed so quickly that it left him surprised and wondering just how her head had come to rest on his shoulder rather than against it, and what the difference really was. He could feel her heartbeat now, which seemed incredible and nearly impossible. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd sensed a heartbeat besides his own. He felt her fingers clenched into his jacket and wondered if they had been that way before – had he not noticed, or had they tightened when she moved her head? He squeezed her a little and discovered that for some reason, now that his arms were tighter around her, they didn't want to come undone. He laced his fingers through the layers of her coat and closed his eyes.

Again time receded from him. He could feel her breathing and his mind told him that counting the breaths might give him a vague temporal perspective, but each moment blended into the next and he realized that he didn't really care. The office would wait; he hadn't been in the middle of anything pressing when the call came in. He had a feeling that she needed him more right now than his insects and forensic articles ever had. The rest of the world could wait until he was done holding her.

It was the sound of a car in the neighbor's drive that finally broke the spell. Two or three voices echoed through the still, watery night and the headlights shone against a pale garage door that he could barely see in his peripheral vision. She started as though shocked and stepped back, eyes meeting his for the first time in what felt like eternity. He had intended to let go, but his fingers were slow and they protested her movement for a second before opening partway and holding her shoulders in an almost questioning manner. His hesitation made her pause, and she froze half in and half out of his arms, looking at him with the same confusion and regret he felt collecting in his stomach. They stood there, motionless, until the car drove away, the falling rain the only sound between them.

And then she smiled – a bright, real smile – and all his consternation slipped off his shoulders like sand. He stepped forward and kissed her hair; a gentle kiss, similar to their hug but so far removed from the feeling of holding her that he marveled yet again at the diversity of human communication. She bowed her head a little, then stepped back to lean against the doorframe and looked up at him with clear eyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she promised.

He thought about asking if she wanted the day off, but smiled lightly instead and nodded before heading for his car. He backed the vehicle down the driveway and then stopped for a moment to watch her, still leaning against the door with that beautiful smile. And as he headed down the road for the office, he thought he saw her blow him a kiss – but it might have been a mirage in the rain.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

End. Well, what did you think? Was everyone in character? It wasn't too sappy, I don't think. Please review if you have a comment, suggestion, or whatever.