Title: Ruthless 1/7
Author: Anita
Rating: R
Pairing: G/C – I promise
Spoilers: Mea Culpa, Formalities
Disclaimer: You know to whom they belong. Not me. ::Sigh::
Summary: Sofia gets out of hand and WAY out of line.
A/N: Feedback welcomed. Please be gentle. Thank you!
Graveyard shift had just ended, and Supervisor Gil Grissom was in his office, feeding his pets. He picked up a jar and peered intently at the rare South American beetle within, smiling as he remembered how this beetle had single-handedly solved a recent case for him.
A rustle behind him caused him to set the jar down abruptly and turn around to find Sofia Curtis, his newest team member.
"Hey, Gil," she said with a smile.
"Hi," he replied, with a quick, tight smile, barely glancing at her. "How did your case go?"
"Open and shut. Sara found the fingerprints and Jacqui did the rest. Killer was careless. How about you?"
He shook his head and sat back down at his desk. "Waiting on trace. Hopefully it will be done by tonight's shift." As if to dismiss her, he turned and picked up a forensics journal from the stack on the floor. After opening it, he stared at the page for several minutes, then looked up as she cleared her throat.
"Yes?" he asked, pushing up his glasses.
"You up for breakfast?" she asked, with an air of confidence betrayed by the slight uncertainty he could detect in her eyes.
He gazed at her for a few seconds, expressionless, his sapphire eyes seemingly faraway, then looked back down at the journal. "Sorry, I've got studying to do for my case."
"Oh." She continued to look at him, hoping he would change his mind, but since he persisted in focusing on the journal, she finally gave up with a sigh and walked away.
Grissom waited until he was sure she was gone, then set the journal on top of the stack. For a few moments he stared into the hallway, finally giving in to the urge that had been plaguing him all night. Reaching for the bottom drawer of his desk, he extracted a small photo album that was underneath the random paperwork. With a sigh of resignation he opened it.
The lab Halloween party: Grissom flipped quickly through the pages of photos that Greg had given him until he found the one he wanted. It was a close-up of two smiling blondes in costumes, one face smaller than the other. The little girl was dressed as a butterfly; he could see the fuzzy pink antennae and the gauzy blue wings on her back.
His eyes lingered on Lindsey, then he turned his gaze to the strawberry blonde woman smiling beside her daughter. Catherine had dressed as a black cat – at Nick's request – and she was wearing ears and whiskers in the picture. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement after the games the group had played. Or rather, the games that most of the group had played. Grissom, of course, had elected to watch. In general, if it didn't involve bugs, he didn't want to do it.
He could almost hear her voice, smell her perfume, and feel the heat that radiated from her body as they stood close together at a crime scene. His heartbeat accelerated when he thought about her, causing him to wonder briefly if this woman would indeed be the death of him. A smile flitted across his face at the thought, then disappeared as he returned to contemplation of her image.
It seemed as if millennia had passed since she was promoted to swing shift supervisor, although it had in fact only been a few weeks. Aside from an abbreviated phone call when she had thanked him breezily for his help over the years, Grissom had not heard from her or seen her face to face since that day. He had once glimpsed her form striding down the hall when he arrived for his shift, but she was moving away from him and he did not call out to her.
Repressing the urge to sigh again, he put away the photo album and sat staring at the phone. After an extended inner struggle, he picked up the handset and quickly dialed the familiar numbers before he could change his mind.
One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Was she still asleep? He was about to return the handset to its cradle when he heard a quiet voice utter that magic word.
"Willows."
"Hi, it's, uh, it's me. I hope I didn't wake you."
"No, you managed to miss that by about five minutes," she replied, the amusement evident in her voice.
"Good." For a few moments he remained silent, unsure of what to say next.
"Grissom?" The voice on the phone held a slight edge of worry.
"Oh. Yes. Sorry." He cleared his throat, waging another internal war. Finally he forced the words from his throat with a slight squeak. "Er… you up for breakfast?
Sofia sat in her new sports car with the radio blaring to drown out the disappointment she was feeling. A message at the reception desk had delayed her departure long enough for her to glimpse Grissom in her rear view mirror as he exited the building and headed for his Tahoe.
"Hmmmph!" she muttered. "Studying, huh?" A daring thought suddenly pushed through the bitterness in her mind. Once she had the thought she knew she had to do it. Pulling out of the parking lot, she drove into a nearby alcove where she could easily see those leaving the lot.
When she saw Grissom's car, she took note of the direction he was turning, then waited a few more seconds before following him at a discreet distance.
Grissom, for his part, was oblivious to the fact that he was being followed. His usual observational skills were apparently off the clock as he drove absently through the streets of Las Vegas. Like a well-trained horse, his car knew where it was going. Almost twenty years of breakfasts there had made the path worn and comfortable.
As he pulled into the lot of the small café, he failed to note the emerald green BMW convertible half a block down the street. Even if he had seen it, the closed top that guarded against the cold wind would have prevented him from seeing who was driving.
Striding towards the door of the café, he spotted her brown Tahoe a few spaces down. He smiled as he realized how quickly she must have driven to get there before him. That was a good sign, he thought.
She was engrossed in the menu when he walked up to the booth and sat down. "Hi," she said with a slight frown and without looking up.
He shrugged off his leather jacket and laid it carefully on the seat beside him. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"They changed their menu," she replied glumly. "They don't have my favorite anymore." She finally looked up, her deep blue eyes shining with obvious pleasure at seeing him. "Long time no see, Griss. I'm glad you called."
He smiled, then turned his gaze abruptly to the menu. "How are you?" he asked nonchalantly, as his eyes roamed the selections.
"Not bad," she replied.
He looked up sharply, noting the tone of her voice.
"Well, not good either," she amended, swirling her coffee cup.
"The hours?"
"Yeah. I barely get to see Lindsey anymore. She doesn't seem to mind – she's happy for my promotion – but it pains me to be at work during the only time when my daughter is at home awake."
"How's the job itself going?" he asked, stealing quick glances at her in the middle of pretending to read his menu.
Her eyes grew bright and her lips curved into a radiant smile. "Wonderful! Nick and Warrick are better than ever. My junior CSI's, Julia and Cody, are coming along fine. We have great lab rats – although not as good as night shift," she quickly admitted, "and we're on the way toward setting a record for most cases solved in one quarter."
He nodded, closing his menu. "I've heard," he said, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.
She arched her eyebrow at him, her face conveying a mixture of anger and fear. "What's the matter?" she demanded. "Aren't you happy for me?"
He was saved from answering by the arrival of the waitress. "What can I get ya?" the young woman asked in a bored tone.
Grissom gestured toward Catherine, who said, "I'll have a fajita omelet with extra hot sauce."
"Mmhmm." The waitress scribbled the order on her pad and took Catherine's menu. "And you, sir?"
"Whole wheat toast and a fruit bowl," he requested.
"Coming right up." The waitress walked away and Catherine pounced.
"Again?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "Don't you ever order anything different? What was all that studying of the menu about?"
There was silence for a moment, then he quietly said, "Yes. I am very happy for you."
Sofia leaned against her BMW, not missing the presence of the two familiar Tahoes. It hadn't taken her CSI mind very long to determine to whom they belonged. She debated whether to enter the café, finally deciding that she would.
She saw them in a booth across the room before the glass door had a chance to close behind her. They were talking animatedly, and smiling intently at each other. Sofia didn't really need her forensics degree to assess the situation. Professional as well as personal jealousy joined forces as the knot in her stomach threatened to rise to her heart. Catherine had been promoted to a supervisory position when Sofia knew her own expertise was more extensive. Not only that, but Sofia was forced to admit that Catherine's easy familiarity with Grissom was distressing to her personally. She felt betrayed as she recognized the true reason for his refusal to join her for breakfast.
Turning to the front desk, she said, "I'd like to order take-out. Black walnut pancakes, sausage, and a side of fruit."
"Yes, ma'm. That will be $9.45."
Sofia reached in her wallet for her credit card, her thoughts racing furiously. Handing over her card, she flashed back to the meeting with Ecklie when he explained his reasons for demoting her to a position under Grissom.
"I'm going to give you a second chance, my dear," he had said, his feet propped on the desk. "You know what to do. If you can do the job, you will get your pick of shifts and I'll make sure you're next in line for my spot." He gritted his teeth. "Grissom isn't going to get away with it this time. I'm depending on you, Sofia. Don't let me down."
"Ma'm?" The cashier's voice brought her back to the present as she proffered a charge slip and a pen. "Could you sign this please?"
She signed quickly, glancing again at the figures across the room.
"Thank you. Your order will be out in about ten minutes. In the meantime, feel free to take a seat."
Sofia nodded, choosing a table near a tall potted plant where she could see them but they could not easily see her. She watched as the waitress put down their orders, at which they barely looked as they continued their intense conversation.
A part of her was chanting, 'Just friends, just friends,' but she remembered the look on Catherine's face when she confronted Sofia during the investigation. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she was sure there was more than friendship in Catherine's eyes. She had once heard a rumor… she shook her head, trying to clear the thought. Surely not, she thought. Then she saw Catherine place a hand on Grissom's arm, leaving it there longer than absolutely necessary, and her blood began to boil as pain stabbed her in the gut.
Catherine. Always Catherine. Grissom had wanted his 'girlfriend' to get days instead of Sofia. Grissom had complained to her about the bowtie joke, insinuating that he liked having Catherine tie it for him. His attitude toward Sofia had gone from friendly to brusque since they started working together. He obviously was less than pleased to have her around.
Sofia sat shocked as Grissom reached across and wiped sauce from Catherine's face, his hand lingering on her cheek. Again, her angry reverie was interrupted.
"Your order, ma'm."
"Thank you," she managed to whisper. Then she turned to the waitress. "I've changed my mind. Could you have them put this on a plate, then bring me a cup of coffee and a glass of water? I'd like to eat it here."
"Of course ma'm." Sofia turned back to the scene unfolding before her. The pain in her heart told her something would have to be done.
Grissom slowly moved the last piece of fruit to his lips, not really wanting breakfast to end. Catherine had filled him in on Lindsey's activities as well as her own cases, somehow managing to finish her breakfast before he finished his in spite of all the talking she had done. He hadn't minded. The sound of her voice was refreshing.
Silence fell as he wiped his mouth and pushed his plate away, finding her blue eyes with his own. The tableau remained for a time, then she smiled and looked away briefly. "Hey," she murmured, looking at him through half-closed lids. "Would you like to come over for a drink?"
There was that rapid heartbeat again, he thought ruefully as he gave her a half-smile. "Sure," he replied simply.
Wordlessly they stood, donned their jackets and walked to the front to pay. Sofia noticed that they only had eyes for each other and never even looked her way. She watched them leave, then stood up to follow, the fire in her eyes belying the disinterested look she affected.
Her mind raced as she followed them to Catherine's house. There had to be some way she could use this to her advantage. Telling Ecklie that they were having a relationship would not do the trick – since they were now on separate shifts, they were well within lab policy.
It seemed like forever but was in fact only twenty minutes before Grissom emerged from Catherine's house. A quickie? Sofia tried to stop the fugitive thought but couldn't. She wondered if she had been wrong. Maybe they weren't together after all. But what if….?
An evil idea came to her mind and quickly took over, pushing aside all other thoughts. Was it worth it? It would certainly discredit Grissom and give her the professional glory she so clearly deserved. But did she really want to do that to Catherine? It was every woman's worst nightmare – could she inflict that on another member of her gender? Just how badly did she want to get rid of Grissom? How badly did she hate him for pushing her aside in favor of Catherine? She teetered on the brink of uncertainty, then saw him stop his car and get out, running back to Catherine's door. After a few seconds, the strawberry blonde opened the door and walked into Grissom's embrace.
The tide turned for Sofia and she felt her heart harden. Ruthless. She would have to be ruthless.
It would not be difficult.
Two weeks later, Catherine waved to Grissom through the window as he drove off after their breakfast together. It had become a routine – meet at the café, then a drink at her place. She yawned, feeling contented and happy that they were friends again. In spite of her appreciation of Nick and Warrick, as well as the thrill of being in charge, she had missed the conversations with her former supervisor. The fact that Grissom had made the first move was just the icing on the cake. Her heart skipped a beat as she recalled that first day and the expression on his face when he saw her waiting in the café. His pleasure was obvious. He clearly shared her feelings about their friendship. And… perhaps…?
She yawned again, shaking the thought from her head. They were just friends, always had been. Yes, she had been jealous of his more intimate relationships with other women. She would have gladly agreed to become one of them if he had asked her to. But he didn't, so she remained his best friend, pleased that she could at least be that. Sex wasn't everything, she thought to herself. It was easily overshadowed by… love?
Catherine leaned against the couch, trying to steady herself. She had suddenly become very sleepy. That was odd, since she had slept a good while when she came home from work. But now she could feel the inexorable pull of her bed. Resigning herself to it, she walked down the hallway and slipped under the covers, pausing only to kick off her shoes.
Catherine came semi-awake with the feeling of a hangover. She opened her eyes but could see nothing. Her eyelids felt the pressure of fabric and she realized with a stab of fear that she was blindfolded. Worse than that, her hands were bound and there was something holding her lips shut.
She tried to scream but succeeded only in producing a strangled cry. She could feel a presence in the room and immediately knew what was about to happen. She had processed too many sexual assaults not to know the mechanics of it. She also knew that at this point there was nothing she could do other than let it happen. Lab policy said not to fight back unless you know you can escape. It was too dangerous otherwise. The best bet was to remain calm and observant and try to gather as much evidence as possible to put the bastard away.
However, the drug-induced fog was making that extremely difficult. She tried to focus her attention on sound and smell. There was no sound other than the ripping of a condom package. Well, that was one relief. She wasn't going to get pregnant or contract HIV. On the other hand, there would be no semen and therefore no DNA unless they could get the condom.
He quickly removed her pants and underwear and forced her legs apart. Her muscles tightened involuntarily even though she tried to will herself to relax. With a sudden thrust he entered her and began to move slowly.
Oh God, she thought as the pain hit her. He moved her feet to his shoulders and forced himself deeper. She whimpered in anguish, hoping it would be over soon.
He leaned heavily against her and she caught a tiny whiff of his cologne. It seemed familiar but she couldn't place it. She was glad that her mouth was covered and he couldn't kiss her. But he could and did place his lips hungrily against her neck with a pressure that she knew would cause bruises that everyone would be able to see.
After an interminable length of time he began to move faster, sucking harder on her neck. Then he stopped suddenly and she felt a sudden sharp pain where he had been sucking. Then his mouth was on her again and with a few more thrusts he began to shudder against her.
When it was over he moved off. She could hear the zipper as he dressed, then he came closer again. With one quick movement he removed the whatever-it-was across her mouth. Strong tape, she guessed, because it was painful to remove. He walked across the room as she finally recovered her voice. He was going to leave her like this for her daughter to find! "You goddamned fucking bastard!" she screamed. But there was no sound other than the closing of the bedroom door.
And her sobbing.
Many hours later, Lindsey Willows opened the door to her house, having noted Catherine's Tahoe still parked in the driveway. "Mom?" she called, hanging up her sweater. "Are you sick? Why are you still here?" She saw the closed bedroom door at the end of the hallway and walked towards it. "Mom?"
Catherine came out of her stupor at the sound of her daughter's voice. "Lindsey!" she called, as loudly as she could manage.
"Mom?"
She could hear Lindsey's footsteps and felt intense panic. Linds couldn't see her like this. "Don't come in!" she called desperately. "Lindsey, please don't come in!"
Lindsey stopped, puzzled. "What's wrong, Mom?" she asked, her hand on the doorknob.
"Just call Uncle Warrick, okay? Just call him on his cell. Tell him to come right away. It's an emergency."
Lindsey hesitated, now sure that something was terribly wrong. But she did as she was told. "I'll be right back, Mom. I'll go call him."
"What?!" Nick exclaimed.
"Catherine. Emergency," Warrick said again, donning his coat with a grim expression. He turned to leave, then glanced back at Nick. "Are you coming or what?"
Wordlessly Nick put on his jacket and followed Warrick, stopping only to grab his kit. They hurried out of the lab and straight to Warrick's truck.
"How did you find out?" Nick finally asked as they drove, oblivious to traffic laws, towards Catherine's house.
"Lindsey," Warrick replied shortly, trying not to give away the terror and anger he was feeling.
Nick said nothing. He hoped Lindsey had not seen her mother. It couldn't be a pretty sight, whatever had happened.
They stopped abruptly in Catherine's driveway and raced to the front where Linds was holding the door open, the fear evident on her face.
"Where is she?" asked Warrick, glancing around quickly.
Lindsey pointed down the hall. "In her bedroom. She won't let me go in."
Nick nodded, following Warrick. He was glad to hear that.
They pulled on their gloves just in time to reach the door. Warrick looked behind him. "Lindsey, go in the living room," he said quietly.
Lindsey reluctantly obeyed, and they opened the door.
"Oh, God, Cath," Warrick muttered as he saw her state of undress – the bound wrists – the blood.
Nick shook his head and turned away from the figure on the bed, dialing 911.
She said nothing as Warrick took out his camera. "I'm sorry, Cath," he told her as he began to snap pictures and took a swab of her neck wound.
When he had finished, he gently removed the blindfold and the cord around her wrists. The ligature marks were raw and livid.
"They're from blinds," he commented as she gingerly stood up and made her way to the closet, looking for a blanket to cover herself. Warrick knew he shouldn't have let her get up, but he chose not to stop her. Nick had already bagged her clothes. "Short blinds. Nick, where would you find blinds this short?"
Nick's reply was cut short by Catherine's muffled sob as she glimpsed herself in the dresser mirror. Bruises, the cut, a red rash across her face and tangled hair brought her to reality. This had really happened to her. She collapsed onto the floor in a heap, sobbing uncontrollably.
Lindsey appeared in the doorway, unable to keep herself away. She knelt on the floor beside her mother, putting her arms around her and stroking her hair. She didn't know exactly what had happened, but it was obviously something awful. "It's okay, Mom," she murmured. "They're going to take care of you."
The sirens outside came closer, and Nick went to the door to open it for the paramedics and police officers. He was grateful to see Brass there.
"How did it happen?" Brass asked softly.
Nick shook his head. "I don't know. She hasn't talked yet."
The police captain nodded, watching as the stretcher passed with Catherine's pale body wrapped in a blanket. He turned back to Nick. "You'd better finish processing the scene. We'll check the perimeter."
Nick was about to return to the bedroom when he saw Lindsey. "Er… Captain Brass?"
"Yes?"
"Would you talk to Lindsey? You have a daughter yourself, and…"
Brass nodded. "Will do."
Warrick and Nick worked their way methodically around the room. "Found anything?" asked Nick sometime later.
Warrick shook his head. "Nada. This guy's a pro. He definitely knows his forensics. No fingerprints, no hairs, no nothing."
"Like Sid Goggle?"
"Yeah." Warrick continued to examine the sheets on the bed. "No semen. Must have worn a condom. Damn!" he exclaimed suddenly, slapping his hand on the bed in frustration.
"What?"
"Why did this have to happen? To Catherine, of all people. If we can't solve this, then…" His voice trailed off as he noticed something just inside the pillowcase. He almost hadn't seen it. "Hey Nick? Take a look at this."
Nick peered at the thin black hair. "Not hers, that's for sure. It's short and coarse. Beard?"
"Maybe." Warrick carefully removed the hair with his tweezers and slipped it into an envelope.
An officer entered the room. "No sign of forced entry," he said.
"Someone she knows?" mused Nick.
"Either that or she left the door unlocked. And that doesn't sound like Catherine." Warrick stood and placed the small envelope in his kit. He knew it could be their only link to the rapist. "Let's do the outside."
Catherine cringed and grit her teeth as the speculum touched her traumatized skin. "I know it's cold," the doctor said sympathetically.
"That's the least of my concerns," Catherine almost spat. "Have you ever been raped?"
The young doctor glanced up at Catherine, then continued her examination. "No," she said simply.
"What do you see?" Catherine asked in a milder tone, feeling regret for her outburst.
"Bruising, a small laceration. But unfortunately, nothing that will lead us to a suspect."
Catherine sighed. Damned condom.
The doctor gently removed the speculum and set it aside. "That's all. I'll send in Captain Brass."
Catherine slowly lowered her legs and slid under the sheet, grateful that it was over. She looked up when Brass entered.
"Uh… Catherine," he said, his eyes averted.
"It's okay, Jim. I'm still alive."
"Yeah," he said, adding under his breath, "thank God." He sat down on the chair beside her bed and looked into her eyes. "What do you remember?"
She hesitated, swallowed hard, then spoke about it for the first time. "I woke up with a drugged feeling. Are they doing a tox screen?"
Brass nodded.
"Good." She took a deep breath and continued. "I woke up bound, gagged and blindfolded."
"Gagged? We didn't find a gag."
"He took it off before he left. It was some sort of tape. That's how I got the rash on my face. Anyway, I woke up and couldn't see or move my hands. But I could tell there was someone in the room. He put on a condom and took off my pants. Then he raped me."
"Did he say anything?"
She shook her head vigorously. "Not a word."
"Did you smell anything? Alcohol, soap, cologne?"
"Cologne." She thought back to the moment she smelled the cologne and vaguely recognized it, then suddenly realized where she had smelled it before. "Gil," she murmured without thinking, a sudden panic gripping her. Would she ever be able to face him if he smelled like her rapist?
"What's that?"
"Oh, uh, nothing. I just realized where I knew that cologne from. Grissom wears it sometimes."
"Anything else? How did you get the bruises and the cut?"
She winced. "He was sucking on my neck, then I felt a pain. I guess it was a knife. A sharp one." She paused, thinking back. "Then he took off the tape and left, closing the door behind him. Thank God Lindsey didn't have to see me."
"Yeah, thoughtful of him," Brass said dryly.
"How did he get in?"
"We don't know. No signs of forced entry. We thought you might have let him in."
"No, I couldn't have," she replied vehemently. "I was drugged, inert on the bed."
"Are you sure? Maybe you just don't remember."
"Well…." She considered for a moment. "Could be, I guess. Since I wasn't myself, I suppose anything could have happened."
"Who has keys to your house?"
Catherine licked her lips, not liking where this was going. "Me, of course. Lindsey. My sister Nancy. And…." She hesitated, not wanting to say it.
"And Grissom?" he prompted, guessing why she was holding back.
"Yeah," she replied, looking down at the sheet.
"Okay." He made a note in his book, then stood. "I'll let you know if we hear anything."
"And I'll call you if I remember anything else." She sighed as the door closed behind him. Her mind was filled with distressing thoughts. No, Gil would never do that. He was not that kind of man. He had seen too many sexual assaults, he would never do anything similar. Especially not to her. Right? She tried to convince herself that her suspicion was unfounded, but the thought kept nagging at her. What if something had made him snap? Too much stress maybe? She knew that the past couple of months had been rough for him, what with the team being split up and all. Could it have been that rough?
She shook her head and closed her eyes, willing the thoughts away. Warrick and Nick would find the rapist. And there was no way it would turn out to be Gil!
Warrick and Nick had found another round of absolutely nothing in the area around Catherine's house. They were just about to give up when Nick spotted something.
"Hey Warrick?"
"Yeah?"
"Look."
Warrick followed Nick's gaze, looking towards the line of garbage cans on the curb. "Surely they're not still full. Garbage pickup's never this late…"
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Nick headed for the nearest one.
"I'll talk with the neighbors," Warrick offered.
Thirty minutes later they met again at the curb, Nick carrying something in a plastic bag. Warrick's eyes grew large. "You found something?"
"Yeah. Buried carefully, but I found it. The guy must have assumed the trash truck would come before we could find it. Latex gloves with blood on them. And guess what – fingerprint lifter."
"Say what?"
"No kidding. Brass said to look for some kind of tape and that's what I found."
"Huh," Warrick muttered, shaking his head.
"Did you learn anything from the neighbors? Did they see anything?"
Warrick sighed. Things were not looking good. "Yeah, a black Tahoe. It was here this morning, then returned later, according to the eyewitness."
"Plates?"
"Neighbor wasn't sure, but she said it's the same car that has been around a lot lately. She was curious because she noted it was the same make as Catherine's." He turned to walk towards his truck.
"Ooh," said Nick. It was his turn to have wide eyes as he began to put two and two together. "You don't think…"
"No," Warrick whirled, looking intently at Nick. "I don't think. And neither do you."
Nick spread his hands. "Hey, I'm just going with the evidence. I don't like it anymore than you do."
"Well, before we jump to any conclusions let's examine the rest of the evidence at the lab. Ready?"
"Yeah."
It was five thirty when Nick entered the lab with the evidence. He took a swab of the blood from the gloves and delivered it to DNA along with the hair in the envelope, stressing the high priority of the case to the lab tech. She nodded, having heard the news.
After further examination of the gloves, he took another swab and sent it to DNA as well. Finally, he carefully cut open the gloves and began to fingerprint them.
There were no clear prints on the outside. The inside prints were a bit smudged, but he managed to find two clear ones. Fingers crossed, he ran them through AFIS, hoping against hope that he didn't find what he feared he would.
When the display read "Compliance," an emptiness hit his gut. He glanced at the printout, already knowing what he would find.
Warrick drummed his fingers impatiently against the counter in the DNA lab. He had forgotten just how long DNA processing could take. Of course it seemed much longer than usual this time.
"I'm sorry," Lisa said, putting a hand on his arm in sympathy. She had seen how he looked at Catherine. She knew that Warrick practically worshipped their supervisor.
The machine beeped and they both turned quickly.
"The blood is Catherine's," Lisa sighed, glancing at the printout.
"And the other?"
"Also Catherine. No doubt about it, the person who wore the gloves was her rapist."
Nick cleared his throat behind them. "Warrick," he began, not sure how to break the news to his friend. After a moment's pause he handed the paper over.
"It can't be," Warrick breathed, unable to believe what he was reading. "He loves Catherine. He would never…"
Nick gave his friend a few minutes to absorb the information, then gently said, "I think we'd better call Brass."
Grissom was engrossed in a Discovery channel program he was watching while he ate dinner. He didn't hear the doorbell the first time, but when it rang more insistently, followed by a loud rap at the door, he stood up and set his plate on the coffee table. "Who is it?" he called.
"It's Brass."
"Oh." He quickly undid the deadbolt and opened the door, then stepped back, surprised to see his friend flanked by two uniformed police officers. "What --?"
Without preamble, Brass read from the paper in his hand. "Gilbert Grissom, you are under arrest for the sexual assault of Catherine Willows. Please turn around, hands behind you."
Grissom complied automatically, his mind struggling to wrap itself around this information. "You mean Catherine was -- " he began as the cuffs were snapped around his wrists.
"Jennings, read the suspect his rights." Brass started to turn, then paused. "I'm sorry, Gil. But I can't let you get away with rape just because you're a CSI."
"But I –" He was interrupted by Jennings. The words were familiar; he had just never expected to hear them applied to him.
His mind wandered. How could this have happened? Catherine had been raped. By whom? He knew he hadn't done it. But he had been alone all day, had not spoken to anyone. He had no alibi.
They must have some kind of evidence, he thought. He knew Catherine would never falsely accuse him, no matter how angry she might be. But what kind of evidence could they possibly have, if he didn't do it?
He shook his head as they led him to the squad car. His heart ached for Catherine. She had suffered enough in her life; she didn't need something like this on top of everything else.
At the same time Grissom was being booked, Brass quietly opened the door of Catherine's hospital room. She was sleeping peacefully and he didn't intend to wake her, but her sense of hearing was still acute after what had happened. She opened her eyes quickly and gasped.
"It's just me, Catherine," Brass assured her, sitting back down in the chair. "Have you recalled anything else?"
"No," she replied, relaxing. "What about the tox screen?"
"I just got it from the doctor. You were drugged with Midranol."
Her eyes opened wide. "That's a migraine medication. It's similar to Midrin and includes a sedative. How much?"
"Fifteen hundred milligrams."
"Wow, that's way more than the prescribed dose. No wonder I was out of it."
"It's amazing you remember anything." He hesitated, then asked, "How do you know so much about it?"
She lowered her eyes and murmured, "Gil takes it for his migraines."
Jim nodded and took her hand. "He's been arrested, Catherine."
"Because of a medication?" she demanded, snatching her hand away and glaring at him.
"No, because of fingerprints," he replied bluntly. "We found the gloves. They were smeared with your blood and vaginal secretions, and his fingerprints were on them. You were gagged with fingerprint lifting tape. You were bound with the cords from the blinds on his office door. You smelled his cologne, and the neighbors saw his car. It adds up, Catherine. It doesn't matter whether any of us like it, the evidence says that he did it."
"No… it can't be," she whispered, despair evident in her eyes. "I don't believe it. There has to be some explanation." She glared at him again. "You're his friend! How can you think this of him? You should know he would never – "
The police captain smiled sadly. "The evidence doesn't lie, Cath. You know that." He stood abruptly. "The nurse told me you were being released. Would you like me to take you home?"
"No," she said flatly. "I can't stay there tonight." Suddenly she burst into tears. "Where will I go, Jim? I always went to him before. When Eddie hit me, I went to him. When I couldn't cope after a case, I went to him. What will I do now?"
Brass really wasn't sure what to say. No matter what he said it would sound callous. "Well, Lindsey's at your sister's. You could go there for now."
She gazed at him, tears rolling down her cheeks, then nodded. "Yes. That would be okay."
Grissom lay on the hard cot in the semi-dark, visions of Catherine's rape filling his heart with anguish. He could almost hear her cry out for help, help that never came. If only he had been there… he wished he had never left her house. Perhaps he could have stopped it from happening if he had just been there.
Another vision flashed through his mind – Catherine being told of his arrest. He could only imagine the heartbreak she must feel, thinking that the man she had depended on had betrayed her trust. Did she really believe it? Grissom didn't know the exact circumstances of the rape or why he was being accused. All he knew was that everyone seemed to think he did it. Was Catherine one of those people? He hoped not. He hoped she knew he would never hurt her.
Salty tears trickled down his temples, but he ignored them, concentrating on his thoughts. In any case, it had happened, and she would never be the same. He had seen too many sexual assaults not to realize the enormous physical and emotional consequences. He hoped she would heal quickly. Warrick would be there for her, and Nick. They would console and comfort her, mending the deep wounds.
At the same time, though, he feared for her life. They thought they had caught the rapist, but Grissom knew the truth. He knew that there was someone still out there who wanted to hurt her and might do so again. Was she going to be safe?
He climbed out of the creaky bed and knelt on the floor, crossing himself. He hadn't done this in a long time, but if ever there was a time when he needed to, it was now. He pictured Catherine's angelic beauty as he whispered the familiar words: "Hail Mary full of grace…."
Sofia was at home preparing to go to work when she got the call she had been expecting.
"Curtis," she said nonchalantly.
"Sofia. Conrad. Guess what – you're now acting night shift supervisor."
"Really? Why?"
Ecklie chuckled. "You don't sound all that surprised, my dear. Have you been listening to the police scanner again?"
She smiled. Yeah, that would make a good excuse. "Sure," she lied.
"So you know."
"Yes."
"Okay. Well, you know the drill. Do your job and we'll see about finding you a permanent one." He hung up abruptly.
Sofia was now grinning. She had never heard Ecklie sound so smugly self-satisfied. It was as if his fondest wish had come true.
For a moment, she felt a slight tug of guilt at what she had done, then she pushed it away. Ruthless. You had to be ruthless to get ahead in this world.
"What?!" Sara's voice had risen several octaves to convey her disbelief at what she had just heard.
"Yeah," Greg said uncomfortably. "If you don't believe me, go to detention. He's there, no bail. And from what I've heard the evidence is pretty solid."
"We are not having this conversation."
"Hey, I don't write the news, I just report it." He turned and saw Sofia opening the door of Grissom's office. It wouldn't be long before assignment time. "Well, if you're going, now would be a good time."
Sara just glared at him, then strode purposefully down the hall. Archie tried to stop her with news about a case, but she brushed him aside and continued towards the detention area.
He was awake, sitting with his back to her when she walked up next to his cell with her arms crossed. "Did you do it?" she asked quietly.
He didn't turn. "Sara, if you have to ask then you don't know me very well."
"Grissom, come on. You're looking at serious time here. The least you can do is look at me and tell me you didn't do it."
He swung around slowly and caught her eyes. "Of course I didn't," he said wearily.
She strode forward and gripped the bars tightly. "How can I help you? Do you need a lawyer?"
He shook his head. "No, I've already hired one. He'll be here soon. I really shouldn't be talking to you, you know. It could compromise my chances."
Sara sighed, knowing he was right. "Okay. Let me know if I can help."
"I will." He watched as she moved away from his cell. "Sara."
She turned quickly. "Yes?"
"I do love her, you know."
Sara smiled sadly. "Yes. I know."
Catherine was curled up in a ball on her sister's guest bed, trying to hold back the tears. One mantra kept going through her mind: how could he? She had asked herself this for hours but no answer was forthcoming. Catherine knew Grissom – or at least, she had thought she did. Of course some things about him were always going to be mysterious, but she had accepted that. She had never seen any sign of a violent streak in him. She knew rape was about power, not sex. But he had power, didn't he? He was the supervisor. Of course, Ecklie was on his case, and they had split up his team, but still….
She returned inexorably to the thoughts she had had earlier. Perhaps it had all become too much for him. He just couldn't take it anymore, and he had exercised the only power he had left: the power to hurt.
At that point the pain she had tried to contain broke free, and she cried the anguished tears of the broken-hearted.
Weeks passed and Grissom was still in jail. Catherine returned to work after a week, putting on a relaxed exterior, but Warrick could see the hurt that haunted her ocean blue eyes. He noticed she avoided going anywhere near Grissom's old office, even though the bugs had been removed and curtains had replaced the blinds on the window.
He also noticed the times when she would walk down the hallway that led to the jail, then return a few moments later with shaking hands. He wished there was something he could do to take away the pain of betrayal, but he was powerless. He had tried to talk with her about it only to be dismissed as quickly as he had begun. He knew that she and Lindsey had moved in with Nancy and that Catherine had put her house up for sale. And he knew that she had frequent nightmares when she screamed Grissom's name in terror. A worried Linds had called him about the latter.
In fact, he knew a lot of things, but what he didn't know was why.
He was sitting in the locker room at the end of shift when Catherine called his name from the doorway. He immediately stood up and went to her.
"Warrick, I need to talk to you. Could you come to my office?"
He nodded and followed her, sitting down on the couch.
She didn't waste any time. "Warrick, I'm leaving."
He looked at her unsurprised. "Where are you going?"
"Washington, D.C. I've accepted a job with the FBI."
"When?"
"This was my last day."
"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, touching her on the arm.
She smiled briefly at his hand. "This is why."
"Oh. Sorry." Warrick quickly withdrew his hand.
"I just can't take it anymore," she sighed. "I left my house, but it's not enough. I can't remain here where my – perpetrator -- and I used to work together." A fugitive tear ran down her cheek, but she ignored it. "My boss. My best friend. Or so I thought. I still have trouble believing it."
Warrick slowly raised his hand to her face and tenderly wiped away the tear. She glanced up at him, then fell into his arms sobbing.
He didn't say anything, just held her close and allowed her to express her feelings. When she was finished, he handed her a tissue. "We'll miss you, Cath," he murmured.
"Yeah, I'll miss you too," she sniffed. "Please don't tell anyone until tomorrow, all right."
"I won't," he assured her. "Who's getting the shift?"
"Sofia Curtis."
Warrick rolled his eyes and Catherine smiled wanly. "She's not that bad, Warrick. Just try to get along, okay?" With that, she stood, and he followed suit.
"Goodbye," he said reluctantly as she followed him to the door.
"Goodbye." She kissed him on the cheek, then opened the door and walked away.
Warrick watched her go, unable to comprehend what was happening. Then he realized what he had to do.
It was hardly visiting hours in the middle of the night but the guard recognized Warrick and let him in anyway. Grissom was asleep on the hard bed, tossing uncomfortably and mumbling in his sleep. Warrick would have sworn he heard the word "Catherine" come from Grissom's lips. He waited to see if it would be repeated; when it wasn't he spoke loudly. "Grissom."
"Huh? It's not visiting hours, is it?" he asked without opening his eyes.
"It is for me. Wake up, Griss, and talk to me."
The former CSI supervisor suddenly recognized the voice and sat up abruptly. "What do you want, Warrick?" he asked in a neutral tone. His face was haunted and haggard.
"Catherine's leaving."
Grissom's shoulders sagged. "Because of me?"
Warrick nodded.
"Damn, I wish I could stop her," Grissom murmured. "I wish she would have come to me so I could have at least told her the truth."
"What truth?" Warrick asked suspiciously.
"That I didn't do it."
"Sure you didn't." Warrick was angry now. Actually, he had been angry all along. "Grissom, I ran the prints myself just to make sure Nick didn't screw up. They were yours."
"And?"
"You don't think that's incriminating?"
"I would if I were you," Grissom admitted in a tired voice. "But I'm me and I know I didn't do it."
"So how did your prints get on gloves with Catherine's blood and…?" he couldn't continue, but Grissom knew what he meant.
"The evidence was planted, for Christ's sake. I've told my lawyer this and he's tried to get the investigation re-opened but Ecklie's in charge and of course he doesn't believe a word I say. He's out to get me. He doesn't care if he hurts Catherine in the process. He always thought she was too loyal anyway."
Warrick gazed at him thoughtfully. "Out to get you? Are you sure?"
"Wake up and smell the coffee, Warrick. Ecklie's been out to get me ever since I got graveyard shift. You know that."
"So you think he -- ?" Warrick's eyes grew wider. "Did he rape Catherine himself?"
Grissom shook his head. "I don't think so. I think he hired someone to do it, then planted the evidence. He drugged Catherine with my medication, stole a pair of my gloves from the evidence room, and had the guy wear my cologne. The other evidence could have been planted just as easily."
"Griss, we sent the hair out for mitochondrial DNA just to make sure – it was yours."
"Warrick, people lose hair every day. Think about it. Isn't it plausible that it was planted too?"
Warrick nodded, seeing where this was going. "Whoever did this had access to everything about you – your car, your medication, your hair, your cologne. The blinds in your office. How?"
Grissom shook his head. "I don't know. But I do know that's what happened."
"Why haven't you told any of us?"
"I told Sara a month ago but she hasn't done anything, and I bet I can guess why."
"Ecklie's control over the situation?"
"Yeah."
"You know, it could have been Sofia," Warrick mused, scratching his chin with one hand. "Ecklie's little stooge. She had access to your office and your car. And your keys!" Warrick began to get excited. He liked this new train of thought. "She could have had your keys copied. You have a key to Catherine's house. That could be how the rapist got in. You also have a key to your townhouse. They could have stolen some of your medication and cologne. Hair off your comb. You would never know." Warrick smiled, then frowned again. "But how can you prove this?"
"I don't know," Grissom admitted. "But I know I can't do it alone. Someone has to help me find the real rapist – otherwise, Catherine will never be safe again."
Early the next afternoon an emergency meeting of the old graveyard shift team was called at Nick's place. Brass and Greg gazed out the windows while Warrick and Nick paced, wishing Sara would hurry up. Finally Warrick felt they had waited long enough.
"Okay, let's do this," he said. "We need to find a way to prove that Grissom didn't rape Catherine – that he was framed. Any ideas?"
Nick looked glum. "The evidence was airtight, man."
"Uh-uh." Warrick shook his head and explained his conversation with Grissom to the others. "All the evidence we have could have been planted. What we need is some evidence that could not have been planted. If that still says Grissom, then he's headed to the big house. If not, he's exonerated."
"But what evidence?" asked Greg. "Did you have any DNA?"
Nick shook his head. "Nothing for the rapist. He was careful. We never found the condom."
Warrick looked up curiously. "Well, why didn't we?" he mused. "Why would he have dumped the condom in a different place from the gloves?"
"Spreading the evidence around, hoping you couldn't find it all?" Brass suggested.
"Could be," Warrick admitted.
"You know," Greg said slowly, "it's going to be impossible to make sense of this case without the files and the evidence."
"I know," Nick replied dejectedly. "And Ecklie's got it under lock and key."
"Screw Ecklie!" came an excited female voice from the other side of the door.
Nick rushed to open it. "Sara—"
"Look what I found," she said merrily, waving around a manila folder. "It's the case file, if you guys can't figure that out."
"How did you get it?" Greg asked curiously.
Sara winked at him and he blushed. "That's a female secret."
"Sara!" Nick protested.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Rein it in, Nick. I didn't go that far." She walked across the room and plopped into a chair, opening the file to study it.
"Hey, let me see that!" Greg swiped at it with his left hand, but she was too fast for him.
"Wait your turn, Greggo."
Instead, he stood up to read over her shoulder.
"Hey Nick?" Sara asked after a few moments.
"Yeah?"
"What about this neck swab?"
Nick shook his head. "Lisa identified that it was Catherine's blood – which we already knew."
"Did she send it to trace?" Sara asked.
"No, why should she?" he replied, annoyed. "We –"
"Didn't you read my report?" Brass interrupted. "The guy was sucking on Catherine's neck. There should have been traces of his saliva."
Warrick and Nick just looked at each other.
"Are you telling me you didn't know that?" Brass demanded.
"For God's sake, guys, you should have known better, especially on a case like this…" Sara put in.
"Well, you didn't –" Warrick began.
"Hey!" Greg interrupted loudly. The other four turned to look at him, surprised. "There's no sense in trying to point fingers, is there? It's not too late. Just call Lisa and have her send it to trace. It's as simple as that."
Warrick sighed and nodded, taking out his cell.
"Grissom!" Brass called out as soon as the guard opened the door.
"Yes?" Grissom looked up at his old friend, the emptiness evident in his eyes. He was surprised to find a big grin on Jim's face. "What -- ?"
"You're free to go, Gil. New evidence. Not your DNA."
Grissom failed to smile as his cell was unlocked. He had bigger fish to fry. "Do you have a suspect?" he demanded with a frown.
Brass cocked an eyebrow. "Aren't you glad to get out?"
"I couldn't care less – I just want to make sure Catherine is safe. I want you to find who did this and nail them."
The police captain felt a pang of guilt that he had ever thought Grissom would hurt Catherine. "Yes, we have a suspect," he said quietly, while Gil retrieved his personal belongings. "Registered sex offender, two priors. Moved to Vegas four months ago after serving ten years in the pen. He's on parole. I think he'll talk."
"But how did he frame me?"
"Ah, that's the big question. As you discussed with Warrick, it had to be someone with access. An inside job. Our suspect just supplied the penis." At Grissom's sharp intake of breath, Brass added, "Sorry, Gil."
They walked silently through the hall after that, heading for the interrogation rooms. Brass hesitated, wondering if it was really a good idea to invite Gil to join him. "Can you control yourself?"
Grissom paused to think. "I guess so."
"All right." They entered the room, only Brass knowing that Warrick, Nick, Sara and Greg stood behind the one-way mirror.
The suspect sat slouched in his chair, gazing sullenly at the officers. He was bald and clean-shaven, but in size and shape he was very similar to Grissom.
"Now let's see," began Brass, taking a seat. "Your name is Jimmy McMillan, right?"
The suspect stared at the table. "I don't have to answer no questions," he muttered.
"You're right. You don't. But you do have to listen. On the morning of January 16th, 2005, you went to the home of Catherine Willows. You entered the house with a key that had been provided to you. Once inside, you tied her up, blindfolded her, and gagged her, using materials that had also been supplied. At that point she began to wake up, but she was already at your mercy. You raped her and sliced her neck. After planting evidence at the scene, you left, taking your used condom with you. Upon returning home, you made a phone call to announce that you had completed your job. The next morning, you went to the bank to deposit cash in the amount of fifty thousand dollars."
During Brass's recitation, McMillan's eyes had grown wide. "That's not true! You can't pin this on me!"
"Oh, but we can." Brass reached for a sheet of paper. "Ever hear of DNA?" he asked conversationally.
"Yeah, what do you think I am, stupid?" the suspect snarled.
"I'll take the fifth. Anyway, we found your DNA on Ms. Willows' neck. You left your saliva there. I suspect that in doing so you went against your instructions, but I for one am glad you did. You saved an innocent man when you left your mark." The captain's eyes narrowed. "You're on parole, right? You're looking at life for screwing up. The only thing that can help you now is if you spill your guts. You'll still go up on rape charges, but eventually you might get paroled again. If you talk."
"I ain't got nothin' to say."
Brass shrugged. "Very well, I guess it's my turn again. Someone hired you; they paid you in cash. I don't know if it was a man or a woman. You probably didn't see them in person. It was probably an e-mail or phone deal."
"Do I look like I got e-mail?"
"All right, by phone then. So this person calls you up and asks you to do a little job for them. You'll get a shitload of money and no chance of being caught as long as you follow your instructions to the letter. Being as the job is a rape, it's right up your alley. You agree readily, carry out the task and receive your reward. We know that much. What we don't know is who hired you."
"I don't know."
"Come on, McMillan, you can do better than that. Male or female?"
The suspect hesitated, unsure of what to do. Finally he decided that if he was going down, he might as well take someone else with him.
"Female. She said her name was Sara."
Grissom's stomach tightened at that. Behind the glass, Warrick, Nick, and Greg turned to look at Sara with disbelief.
"What?!" she hissed. "I didn't do it!"
"She wanted to get revenge on a co-worker who stole her guy," McMillan continued. "Wanted to bring the guy down for rape. Said she was a cop and knew exactly how to do it so I wouldn't get caught. What was I supposed to do? Fifty thou and I get my jollies too? Can't beat that deal."
Grissom felt certain he was going to throw up. He hoped it would be on McMillan.
"Are you sure you remember the name correctly?" asked Brass.
"Sure. I –"
He was interrupted as the door opened and Sofia Curtis stuck her head in. "Sorry, didn't know this room was in use." She suddenly spotted Grissom in the corner. "Gil! What are you doing here? I mean, I thought you were –" She stopped as Brass held up his hand.
"Sorry, Sofia, I just have to ask our suspect a question. Could you have a seat for me?"
Sofia complied, looking at him curiously.
Brass had noted that the suspect stiffened when he heard Sofia's voice. "Mr. McMillan," he said, watching Sofia out of the corner of his eye, "is there something you want to tell us? Do you know this CSI?"
Sofia jumped slightly upon hearing the man's name. Panicked, she began to eye the exit as she realized just who was being interrogated.
Grissom spoke for the first time. "Officer, would you stand in front of the door? We wouldn't want our suspect to escape."
At that point, Sofia knew that she was in trouble. He was about to give her away. Oh, God, she thought. It was a foolproof plan –
McMillan smiled as he recognized that she was in the same hot water he was in. Ah, but misery loves company. "Yeah, that's Sara. The one who hired me. I'd know her voice anywhere, she called me like sixteen times."
"You're willing to testify to that effect?"
"I can do better than that. I gotta phone message with her voice on it. She told me to erase it but I thought I might need it for reference, in case I forgot her instructions. It's on my machine at home."
Sofia closed her eyes with a sigh. It was over. Her plan had failed.
She opened her eyes and stood when the officer touched her arm. As the cuffs went on her wrists, she gazed at Grissom and whispered, "I only did it because I love you."
Behind the glass, Warrick couldn't help but chuckle. The situation wasn't funny, but one part of it was. Why did they always fall for Grissom?
Nick felt a deep sorrow that he had accused Grissom so quickly.
Greg stood staring in disbelief. He had been clueless about Sofia, even while everyone else had a bad feeling about her.
Sara sighed. It seemed everyone, even Sofia, could see through her. "Why did she have to use my fucking name?" she wondered aloud.
The four filed out of the observation room and waited for Grissom and Brass to join them.
Catherine Willows was putting the finishing touches on her packing when the doorbell rang. She had finally come to the point where she could be in her house alone without feeling panic-stricken. Once she moved and took her new job, everything would be fine. She was sure of it.
As she walked to the door she noted Warrick's truck in the driveway, and smiled. He had come to see her off. How had he known she was leaving that day?
She opened the door, then stepped back abruptly. "Gil," she murmured uncomfortably, unable to meet his eyes. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you in jail? You shouldn't be here." She moved quickly to close the door, then a dark-skinned arm stopped her and Warrick appeared beside Grissom.
"Cath, it's okay," he said quietly. "He didn't do it."
She looked at him quizzically. "He didn't? But Jim said –"
"I know. All the evidence we had pointed to him. But all the evidence we had was planted. He was framed, Cath. Once we found a piece of evidence that had not been planted we were able to determine the real perp."
"He's in custody?"
"Yes. We have a confession."
Catherine sighed and smiled, the weight suddenly rolling off her shoulders. She looked at Grissom, who had a half-smile on his face. "Would you, uh, like to come in?"
Epilogue – six months later
"How does it feel to be the assistant director of the crime lab?" Catherine's voice and her smile were teasing as she leaned over Grissom's new desk.
"I don't like it," he admitted, looking uncomfortable. "I'd rather be out in the field."
"Oh, you will be. I have no doubt about that. You'll be the most hands-on A.D. they've ever seen."
He grabbed her shoulders with a devilish smile and a raised eyebrow. "You want to see hands-on? I'll show you hands-on!"
Catherine pretended to be shocked, pulling away from his grasp. "Dr. Grissom! You should be ashamed!"
They both laughed as she fell into his lap.
"You're in fine form today," he said, giving her a quick kiss.
"I'm just happy," she proclaimed.
"About what?"
"Everything – your job, my job, the sun, the sky, even the bugs."
"The bugs too? But you're leaving something out. The best thing."
"What?" she asked innocently.
He picked up her left hand and tenderly kissed the brilliant diamond on her third finger. "This," he said simply.
"Oh, that. Yes, I am a bit happy about that too. Speaking of which, are you ready to go tell everyone?"
"Always," he sighed.
"Yeah, right!" she grinned, standing and taking his hand to lead him out of his office. Her heart leapt as she thought of how things had changed. She would have never wished to be raped, but it had certainly shaken up their relationship. They had finally acknowledged how much they needed each other. And love. There was that too.
She was startled when he swung her up into his arms to carry her along the hallway. Then she smiled, filled with contentment and love.
As he carried her, Grissom whispered the timeless words of William Shakespeare:
'…. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds…:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken…;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.'
Shakespeare, Sonnet CXVI
Finis