Surrendering

A/N: Well, I've searched all over the place for something like this, and haven't found it, so I decided to get off my lazy ass and write it, if only for myself. This story will have themes that some people might find offensive, but none of them are in the first chapter so you're safe. Spoilers up to and including Lady Heather's Box. Rating is R for mature themes. Oh, and reviews? Love those. Song for this is of course Surrendering, by Alanis Morissette.

*****

Then.

He didn't climb those stairs that night. He sat in his car for two hours, staring at the door, then drove home and went to sleep. He wasn't that far gone yet, he told himself.

Now: Cases came and went, six weeks had passed, and things went back to normal. Catherine seemed to be handling Eddie's death, Warrick was back on track, and Gil, though slightly more distant than usual, led the team with his usual efficiency. In the flow of robberies, murders, rapes and other unpleasant ventures, only a few stood out.

An example of such a case was starkly clear that night, awash in the mocking silvery light of a half moon, which cast a surreal shadow on the grisly scene. Sara sucked in her breath through her teeth.

"Forth one in under a month." she said quietly.

Gil nodded. It was clearly the same method of the killer the night shift had been tracking. The same subject, too- a young child, hogtied in a shallow grave by the road, fingertips, feet and eyes missing to make identification harder. Their heartbroken parents identified them all eventually, but the killer was clearly playing a game with them. The children- two boys, a girl and now another boy, had been raped before being killed with a single blow to the back of the head with a blunt object, and the cutting had been done with surgical precision. All had been happy, healthy children from different parts of the city, unconnected to each other. All were declared missing a day or two before being found- the killer was working fast. And there was practically no evidence. No hair, fibers, blood, skin- nothing. There were no fingerprints, no motive so far other than sheer perversity, and it was getting worse. The media was all over it too, hounding the police and the CSI's with phone calls and lurid headlines. Other cases appeared and were solved and shelved, but the constant dread of another murder, another distraught family was always in the air. Gil felt slightly guilty about letting Sara and Warrick deal with the families, but after the first time he just couldn't take it. He'd pulled Nick and Catherine from the case within ten minutes of seeing the first body and their reaction to it, and the other young CSI's were taking the brunt of the case.

After meticulously processing the scene for inexistent evidence and bagging the small body, they returned to the lab, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Gil braced himself for the autopsy and sent Sara to sit in with Brass when he told the boy's parents. After years in the field it surprised Gil that child autopsies still got to him sometimes, but he was a master at detaching himself. Still, it was all he could do to sit there and listen to Doc Robbins rattle off details- the same ones he'd heard three times before. Sexual assault, no semen, blunt force trauma to the head, no fragments. After the autopsy he finished off the paperwork and threw himself into looking at slides from that scene and the previous ones, trying to find something he hadn't seen before.

Catherine found him four hours later going over case-notes for the umpteenth time. He didn't even notice her come in, but she'd grown used to that, when he was concentrating. He jumped when she gently shook his shoulder, placing a steaming cup of coffee on the table. "Shift's over," she said, "Want to go get breakfast?" She was the only one who was comfortable enough with him to ask that, and most times he even agreed. Not today.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll stick around for a while. There's something here I'm still missing." He gestured at the photos spread out in front of him. "Thanks for the coffee, though. I'm gonna need it." He hadn't slept well, if at all, in days.

"Gil." Catherine was exasperated, and let it show. "You've been staring at these for hours, you've logged in more overtime than Sara in the past month, if that's at all possible- take a break. Besides," she added as he tried to defend himself, "you can't stick around. Ecklie's threatened to lodge a formal complaint against you if you keep 'encroaching on his office time and space', end quote."

"I'm in my own office, on my own time." Gil frowned. "Ignore him. I'll see you tomorrow." Catherine nodded, conceding defeat.

"Promise you'll go home?"

"Eventually." He half smiled. Catherine sighed and left. Gil didn't even notice. Hours later hunger drew him out of his office and into the hallway. Immediately he wished he hadn't come out. The sunlight was far too bright. Wait- sunlight? What time was it? He glanced at his watch and found it was nearly noon. An unpleasant voice intruded upon his surprise, and he turned and saw Ecklie striding towards him with a thunderous expression. Gil didn't even try to hide his distaste. "Anything I can do for you, Conrad?"

"You can start by noticing me when I call you for five minutes straight." Ecklie sneered, "Then tell me what you're doing here."

"I work here." Gil answered mildly, hiding his chagrin. Of all the people for his hearing to fail with, it had to be Ecklie. They'd had the argument many times before, and he was well versed in his lines, but today he was simply too tired, distracted and desperate for coffee to get into it.

"Yeah, well, this is my shift and you're getting in my people's way." Ecklie replied coldly. Gil shook his head to clear it as well as to refute his colleague's claim.

"Give it a rest, Ecklie. I stick to my office, you stick to yours. This argument is a waste of time." He turned and tried to walk away, but Ecklie grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He also managed to piss him off. A lot. "Get your hands off me!" He was irrationally, unproportionally angry- there was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to punch the other man. Ecklie's face bore a smirk of ugly victory.

"Just so you know, I've put in a formal complaint against the entire night- shirt for disturbing my team's work." Then he added in a vicious whisper, "Just because your team can't solve their cases, doesn't mean mine should be bothered. We're taking more and more of your workload, did you know that?"

Gil pulled his hand away in disgust. He hated these cheap tricks and low blows, especially when they hit. He said nothing, and Ecklie, thankfully, didn't bother him anymore. Machine coffee tasted vile, but he didn't even feel it going down. The day shift supervisor was right- they had a case to solve. By the time he finally got home he barely had time to shower, change and grab a sandwich before shift started again.

Fortunately for all involved, the night's major case was an interesting one, and kept him distracted as well and flowing with the adrenaline of the challenge, so with the help of more coffee he pulled through without too many ill effects. By he time they finished processing evidence and interviewing witnesses it was nearly noon again, but they had a prime suspect and plenty of evidence to go on. Gil went to the break room for a re-fill and collided head-on with Catherine. He muttered an apology and moved on, but she still blocked his way, scrutinizing him.

"Are you OK?" She asked, "You look like hell."

"Thank you." He managed a smile, but felt it waver. "Had a good night?"

"Hit and run, one burglary and suspected OD." she reported, "Under the circumstances, not bad. Think any of us can get some sleep before we have to wake up again?"

"We can try, certainly." Leaving it at that, he continued on his quest for coffee. Re-fueled with caffeine and an aspirin to combat a fatigue-induced migraine, he went back to his office. This time he didn't even attempt to go home. He did sleep- half an hour at his desk, waking up in a cold sweat. Not even music or the quiet chattering of his cicadas could calm him down enough to try again. By the time the rest of the team arrived that night, he could barely see straight. People were looking at him oddly. It couldn't continue. He pulled Catherine aside. "I'm taking the night off, Cath. Can you hold down the fort?"

Catherine looked at him, noting the dark circles around his eyes and the fact that he was barely standing. She nodded quickly. "Sure. Try to get some sleep, we'll be OK." She knew whatever was going on, if it was serious enough to get Grissom to spontaneously leave them stranded, it was best to let him do it and not ask.

"Call me if there's anything I need to know." Gil said gratefully. He left Catherine to field the others' questions and left as quickly as he could. The cool night air washed over his face and cleared the fog in his head a bit, enough to tell him he would be putting himself and others in danger if he tried to drive. Contrary to popular myth, a cab stopped for him almost immediately.

"Where to, man?" The driver, a young man with an accent Gil couldn't place, asked. His home address was on the tip of his tongue, but something made him hesitate. Slowly, he fished a battered business card out of his wallet and handed it to the driver. The young man whistled, but otherwise didn't comment.

He must've fallen asleep during the drive, because it seemed they arrived seconds after leaving, and he was groggy, dizzy and his head was pounding. Somehow he managed to pay the driver and settle down on the stairs leading up to his destination. Whatever part of his mind remained rational was telling him to get up, go home and leave this bout of insanity behind him. A smaller yet far more convincing voice, however, told him this may be his only shot. With a deep sigh, he rose and rang the doorbell. A leggy redhead in a Catholic schoolgirl outfit opened the door, and before he could say anything, a familiar voice drifted down from behind her.

"Mr. Grissom. What a pleasant surprise. I do hope you have a warrant this time?"

"Lady Heather." He inclined his head. "No warrant. No case. I just want to talk to you." He should've called ahead. If she were busy, he would never work up the courage to come gain. Luck seemed to be on his side though.

"My evening's clear. Come in." There was a lot more 'order' than 'welcome' in the words, and her voice was cool. He followed her to her sitting room, still full of masks. She started to set out the teapot and cups. "If I knew you were coming I'd have set the tea in advance, but I suppose we can both wait." He nodded. They both sat down. She seemed to be in no hurry, but it took him a long time to say the next words.

"I need your help in a professional capacity."

"Your profession," She seemed amused by his discomfort, "or mine?" **** Cliffhanger? Me? Well, I guess.