A/N: This story is the second instalment into my trying to explain the depth of Grissom and Lady Heather's unlikely friendship. The first instalment, A Little Civility before Work, takes place during and after Lady Heather's box and is not to everyone's taste. You don't need to have read it to enjoy this one.

With Lady Heather comes angst, so this story is a little angsty I guess, but ultimately I'm staying true to the show and GSR, and hopefully the characters.

Some dialogue is borrowed from episode Pirates of the Third Reich and sadly isn't mine.

A/N 2: For Robynne. I know it's not Christmas yet but as you know we got snow, so why not?

A Friend in Deed.

Foot pressed firmly down on the accelerator pedal, hands spread wide, clenched tightly around the steering wheel, his eyes flicked away from the tarmac rolling under him to the dark desert roadside beyond. His heart rate increased as he passed the sign for Sparks. Two miles, it read. He wasn't far. Unconsciously he pushed his foot harder to the floor.

He wanted to believe his instinct was wrong and that Heather wouldn't have taken the law into her own hands and Sneller back to where Zoe had been found. He wanted to believe that she couldn't have found it in her to torture and punish the man for what he had done to her daughter herself. He banged an angry fist on the steering wheel. How could he have been so foolish as to believe she would just stand aside and let justice run its course?

A deep sense of foreboding permeated him and he couldn't help shaking his head at the fact that he should have been able to anticipate her actions, somehow prevented them even. He had been so caught up with the case, with finding Zoe's killer himself that he had underestimated her rage and misery, and most importantly the lengths she would go to in order to find the killer and get retribution. He should have read in her eyes when she'd handed him Sneller's semen that she wouldn't – couldn't – stop there. She'd sold her dignity, her integrity just so he could have his proof and a conviction and he should have known then she'd trade her freedom, her life, for the man's life – or rather his death.

He slowed on nearing the place where Zoe's body was found, frantically scanning the desert roadside for signs of Heather before making out the glow of car headlights and her silhouetted body stood in front of a car. Her arms were moving in wide, steady arcs and he swallowed at the sickening image that filled his mind. Praying that he wasn't too late, he made a sharp turn onto the dirt road. It didn't take him long to glimpse Sneller's body bent double, tied up by his arms to the front of Heather's SUV as she repeatedly, relentlessly thrashed him, unleashing all her fury and grief with vicious intensity into the might of her whip.

He pulled up, jumping out of his Denali. "Heather," he shouted, "Stop it!"

Beyond reasoning and totally out of control, she didn't let up and continued her frenzied assault on her daughter's killer who, stripped of his clothes and dignity, his face and chest bloodied and cut, could only cry out in agonising pain at every crack of the whip. "No. Let me finish," she cried through gritted teeth as she reached back for another lash.

Grissom stepped forward in time, catching the end of the whip with his hand, stopping Heather before she could strike another time. She whirled round, tugging back at the whip with all her might, desperate to pull it out of Grissom's grasp and continue her punitive lashing. Her hair was a mess, matted and damp, her tears bled into her mascara streaking her face in such a way that she almost looked demented, possessed by some higher, dark force.

"You cannot do this," he said as he struggled to keep a hold of the whip.

"No!" Heather gave frenzied tugs at the whip but wouldn't meet his gaze. "Let go! Let-"

"No!"

"Please," she begged, crying, as she continued to wrestle the whip out of his hands.

"Stop!" Grissom commanded firmly, hoping the use of the safe word would break through to her subconscious. "Heather-"

"Please," she begged again desperately, looking up beseechingly.

His gaze held hers steadily as he repeated, "I'm saying 'Stop'."

The word finally tapped into her submissive side, breaking whatever spell she was under and she stopped struggling. She lifted defeated eyes at Grissom and watched him as though seeing him for the first time. Her face crumpled with grief as she fought to catch her breath, gasping deep heaving sobs.

Cautiously he pulled the whip toward him while taking a tentative step closer to her, then another, as he gently reeled her to him until dissolving into tears she fell into his arms. Only then did he take a shuddering breath, thanking God he'd gotten to her in time as he held her close to him and stroked a gentle hand through her hair while she cried. His gaze flicked to Sneller panting and whimpering at the foot of the SUV but he made no move to go to the man's help; Brass and the EMT's weren't far behind him he knew and Heather was his priority and he would take care of her first.

She suddenly pulled back from him. Tears were streaming down her face. "Why did you stop me?" she gasped in a heart wrenching sob. She banged her fists into his chest but the fight had left her and the blows were weak. "Why?" she asked again, pleadingly. "He deserves to suffer. He deserves to die."

Grissom watched her with all the pain and compassion he felt. He dropped the whip and got hold of her wrists, stilling them, offering a small pained smile. Heather's face crumpled again and he let go of her left wrist and gently brushed a matted strand of hair away from her face. "I didn't have a choice, Heather. You wouldn't have stopped yourself – couldn't have stopped. I had to say the word," he added softly, holding her gaze, "I had to tell you to stop."

Fresh tears spilled, her chest heaved with shuddering breaths as he spoke to her. His words had the calming effect though and she looked down, nodding, finally accepting what he had done and why he had done it. Grissom sighed and closed his eyes, once again pulling her to him, stroking his hand soothingly up and down her hair as she cried softly into his shoulder.

The once distant screaming of the police and EMT sirens began to echo closer in the desert night. Startled back to his senses he sighed and pulled away from her. "Heather," he said while removing his CSI windbreaker and wrapping it around her shoulders, "Go to the truck and get the first aid kit from the trunk."

Completely dazed and her gaze fixed to the ground, Heather remained motionless.

"Heather," he called firmly, shaking her by the shoulders. She looked up. "Did you hear me? Go and get the first-aid kit from the trunk of the truck! Now!" He held her gaze until she came out of her trance and nodded at him. He rushed to the SUV, crouching down in front of a moaning Sneller, taking in the sight with a sad shake of the head and began working at untying the man's wrists of their binds. They were tied fast and he couldn't.

Heather returned with the box just as Brass and the EMT's were pulling in at the crime scene.

"PD's here," he told her as he opened the box rummaging for the scissors, "Don't say anything, do you hear me Heather? Let me handle Brass." He cut off the leather binds and Sneller fell to the dirt ground with a thud. He had time to lie Zoe's killer down onto his back before the paramedics pushed him out of the way, taking over.

Grissom straightened up to his full height with a wince and watched Brass jog down toward him. The police captain took stock of the scene, his gaze darkening as he glanced at Heather.

Anticipating Brass's next move, Grissom stepped protectively in front of her. Keeping his eyes on Brass he said, "Heather, go wait in the truck." He turned and dipped his head, making eye contact. "You're cold; you're shivering. I'll handle this," he said quietly. "Go and wait for me inside the truck. Please."

Both men remained silent, watching as Heather, head hung low, numbly made her way to Grissom's Denali. As soon as she was out of earshot, Grissom turned to Brass who shook a slow weary face and lifted his shoulders saying, "Gil, I'm going to have to arrest her."

Grissom shook his head. "No."

"Oh, come on," Brass exclaimed heatedly, glancing toward the paramedics working on Sneller, "I have no choice. She's committed a grievous assault."

"You're not doing it here. You're not doing it now. She's not stable. She needs medical attention, not a night in a cell while you wait for Sneller to give his statement."

Brass's eyes widened with incredulity, his tone cold as he said, "Are you telling me how to do my job?"

Grissom let out a long breath and rubbed his weary face before dropping his hand in frustration. "Come on Jim," he said his voice rising. He looked around, lowering his tone so as not to be overheard. "You know as well as I do what happened here tonight. You also know why she did it. Mentally she's at breaking point. Her daughter's just died, Jim; she's not thinking straight. I'm going to take her home and that's that."

Brass arched his brow at the ultimatum but Grissom didn't give him time to interrupt before continuing. "Sneller's going to be fine. You wait for his statement and then you do what you got to do. You'll know where to find her. I'll make sure she doesn't leave the state. How's that?"

"How's that? How's that?" Brass repeated his voice rising in incredulity. He let out a short breath. "I can't believe you're prepared to put your job on the line, your career, your reputation for a…for a…" The words left him but he held Grissom's gaze nonetheless.

"For what, Jim, huh?" Grissom asked. The corner of his lip rose with a smirk. "Come on, don't be shy, speak your mind. For a Dominatrix? A madam? A prostitute?"

Brass drew out a long breath. "Gil," he said in a conciliatory tone, "I didn't say that."

Grissom shook his head. "I'm her friend," he said with deliberate emphasis on the word friend, flicking his index finger toward Heather in the passenger seat of his truck, "Like I'm your friend." His finger shifted to Brass's chest. "And tonight Heather needs me, as her friend. You may think what you want but that's all there is to it." Grissom paused, watching Brass with a raised brow while his words sunk in.

Biting his lip, the captain spread his hands out wide indicating defeat. From the corner of his eye he glanced toward Heather and laughed a small cold laugh. "Have it your way. I'm not your keeper."

"No, you're not," he said coldly under Brass's incredulous stare. The CSI moved away, picked up the first-aid box before making his way back to the truck. Half-way over, he turned, saying over his shoulder,"You'll know where to find me if you need me. Heather will be in first thing in the morning to give her statement, okay?"

Brass's gaze was dark and unfriendly. He grudgingly gave a silent nod of the head in reply, visibly biting his tongue.

"Get Catherine on this," Grissom shouted as he opened his truck door, slinging the box on the back seat, "No one else." Heather's SUV was evidence now, as was the whip. "I'll get her clothing to the lab and take her in to give her statement myself."

He heaved himself into his truck, taking a moment to catch his breath before glancing toward Heather. Her gaze was dry, vacant as she stared unblinkingly straight ahead through the windshield toward Sneller. He sighed and without another glance at Brass or at the scene backed the truck out of the dirt track.

The drive to the dominion was a silent one. Heather kept her head turned away, watching the desert scenery pass by, while keeping his eye on the road and his hands firmly on the steering wheel he pondered the prudence of his actions. But what other choice could he have made?

He pulled up into her drive and cut the engine, dipping his head to look at the house. Some upstairs windows were lit and he sighed. "Do you have your key?"

A small shake of the head was her only reply. He got out, walked round to her side of the truck and opened the door, guiding her out of her seat and toward the house by the elbow. He was about to lift the brass knocker when he tried the handle, smiling as the door opened. He glanced toward his companion but she was totally impervious to her surroundings.

Laughter immediately filled the entrance lobby and he quickly steered her through to the sitting room, shutting the solid wood French doors after them. He stood awkwardly for a moment with his back against the doors at a loss as to what to do next. The bar in the corner of the room caught his eye. "Can I make you a drink?" he offered.

Looking up at his words Heather smiled softly. Before he could move she covered the small distance between them, her right hand coming up to his face, touching him gently on the cheek. "Thank you," she murmured, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

His heartbeat hitched at the touch and he closed his eyes briefly, reopening them as she pulled back, nodding. Her smile became tender, almost wistful and she lifted her left hand to his right cheek, framing his face before leaning across to kiss him gently on the lips.

"Heather, no," he said softly, turning his head away causing her lips to land on the corner of his mouth. He twisted his head out of her grasp and made eye contact. "I can't."

"But you want to," she retorted in a whisper.

He offered a small, sad smile and shook his head. "No."

She paused and watched him for a long time as though searching the sincerity of his word in his eyes before dropping her hands by her side. Her smile faded and she closed her eyes, turning away from his stare.

"I'm with someone, Heather," he added in a small voice.

She snapped her head round toward him, her eyes suddenly wide and dark and full of surprise. Her surprise turned to deep pain and he glimpsed disappointment in her gaze too. "Then why are you here? I don't need your sympathy and I certainly don't want your pity."

He faltered. "I-I care about you. You're my friend. I'm your friend."

She froze, letting out a small breath through her nose at his words, nodding her head in understanding. "You should go," she said, turning away dismissing him.

Grissom watched helplessly as she made her way to the cabinet on the far wall, removing her black leather gloves to pour herself a large measure of whisky. He glanced over his shoulder at the door and sighed, shoving his hands in his pocket. He couldn't leave her on her own, not in the state she was in. Beside he'd told Brass he'd stay with her, keep an eye on her until the morning. He checked his watch. Sara would be wondering where he'd got to. He was supposed to have joined her at a scene out near Boulder City a couple of hours ago. Heather turned round, and leaning against the cabinet took a long gulp of amber liquid and closed her eyes.

He watched as the whisky went down her throat and sighed again. "I can't leave you like this," he said at last. "You're in shock."

She fixed him with a hard stare. "Go," she said over-dramatically with a sweeping wave of her hand toward the door. "Go do your precious work. Leave me be. Leave me to my…" she fished for the word for a moment before settling for, "…wretchedness."

He pursed his mouth, shaking his head at her melodrama. "I can't. I won't." He took a couple of hesitant steps nearer. "You might as well pour me a glass."

"You need drink to stay, do you?" she asked with a smirk.

He couldn't help the pity in his gaze and she turned away from it. "I got a call to make," was all he said. She had her back to him now but he clearly heard her quiet scoff. He moved to the lobby, pulled his cell and speed-dialled Sara's number.

Sara picked up on the third ring with her customary cheery, "This is Sara."

"Sara, it's me. I've-"

"Stood me up, I know," she cut in, laughing. "What happened to you? You said you'd be an hour max at Sneller's house."

He closed his eyes with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I've been held up." He winced at his poor choice of words. "Listen Sara, I'm not going to make it; can you manage the scene on your own?"

Sara was silent for a while. "Sure," she said eventually, her jokey tone all but gone. "I'm almost done anyway. Is everything all right? You sound a little…off."

"I'm just tired," he said and then, "We got Zoe Kessler's killer."

"Yeah, I heard on the radio." There was a pause. "You…okay?" she asked again and he could hear all that she left unspoken in that one question.

"I'm fine," he managed hoping his words sounded more convincing to her than they did him. "I just got something I got to take care of, that's all." He let out a breath. "If I don't catch up with you before you clock off, I-"

"Don't worry," she cut in a little curtly, "I'll see you when I see you." Without adding another word she disconnected the call.

Grissom stared at his cell for a moment before flipping it shut and slipping it in the pocket of his black work pants. He didn't want to keep secrets from Sara and there was nothing secretive about what he was doing at Heather's. But now wasn't the time to tell her about it. Not on the phone. Not while she was a crime scene and him at Heather's house. He'd tell her face to face in the morning; there would be more time then.

He made his way back to the sitting room and found Heather seated on an armchair, nursing a second glass of whiskey. Or was it her third? His waited on the low table and he picked it up before taking a seat on the couch across from her.

"You never cease to amaze me," she said with a small chilling laugh.

Grissom's brow furrowed at her words. "I beg your pardon?"

She shook her head absently and took another long gulp of her drink.

He swirled his drink around the glass musingly before lifting his gaze to hers. "Maybe you ought to lay off a little," he advised in a friendly, caring tone.

She scoffed, shaking her head sadly. "Who are you to tell me what to do? You're not my husband," she paused gauging for a reaction as she added, "merely a former lover."

"Heather," he sighed in a disparaging tone.

She closed her eyes briefly and let out a small breath. "I'm sorry," she whispered wearily. "I know you mean well."

He shifted uncomfortably on the seat and took a small sip of the whisky she'd poured him. "Single malt," he remarked idly, raising the tumbler to peer at its amber texture.

She finished her drink and got up to pour herself another one. "Refill?" she asked.

"No." He paused and watched as she refilled her glass. "I told Brass that…that I would drive you to PD in the morning so you can give your statement. He's going to press charges, Heather and maybe it would be best if-"

"-if I could stand on my own two feet while he reads me my rights?" she finished for him. She put her drink down and turned. "You're right, I should go to bed, but first I believe you're going to need these for evidence."

She shrugged his windbreaker off and slung it on the back of the chair. Then she sat down, leaning forward to undo the long zipper of each boot before slipping her stocking feet out. Standing up, she slowly stripped to her underwear, piling the remainder of her clothes on top of the windbreak. Her lips trembled as she looked up, meeting his troubled gaze dead on. "You'll find paper bags in the kitchen," she said, making to leave the room.

Grissom watched as she left. He picked up the clothes and the gloves and made his way to the kitchen where he meticulously bagged them. He filled the tea kettle with water, put it on the stove and set about making tea, which he took upstairs.

He knocked at her bedroom door, waiting for her call to come in. Standing in her négligée by the bed, her face freshly washed, her hair combed she looked so much smaller than the woman he knew. Frail and broken too.

"I made you some tea," he said, lifting the tray to her eye line. He carefully stepped into the darkened room, closing the door after him before setting the tray on the small round table in the corner. He poured her a cup, took it to the bedside table and watched as she settled herself into bed. "I'll be downstairs if you need me," he said retreating back toward the door.

He had his hand on the handle when she rasped his name out and he paused with a sigh before slowly turning. She looked up and met his gaze with a small smile, her words coming out in a whisper as she said, "Would you stay?"

A/N: I could end it there or I could write another chapter dealing with the morning after, including his talk with Sara. How would he explain his friendship with Heather to his lover? Is that something people would like to read, if I promise to keep canon and keep it GSR?