Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All others belong to me, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
Spoilers: through "Lying Down With Dogs"
Note: this story includes the non-graphic deaths of children.
Many thanks to Jean for information about rosaries! You made my plot possible.
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They'd chosen different ringtones for their cellphones when they'd started making a habit of sleeping together, just to make sure that no one answered the wrong phone while three-quarters asleep. This had an additional advantage in that they'd learned to sleep through each other's rings. So Grissom didn't stir when her phone chimed and she rolled over to answer it.
Vartann's voice in her ear informed her briskly that the Hsiens were being picked up at McCarran International. "Thanks," she said quietly, and shut the phone.
The sound hadn't woken him, but when she slid out of bed and didn't return, Grissom opened one eye to peer blearily at her. "Mmph?"
"Work," Sara said, buttoning her slacks and fumbling with one foot for her shoe. "Go back to sleep."
He watched her for a moment longer, but when she gave no more details he closed the eye. The "hrmf" sound that followed was in their personal code, developed over time--an acknowledgment, and an expression of concern that she get enough rest. For some reason, this time it made Sara's eyes prickle a little; perhaps because she had missed him while he'd been in Washington. Smiling, she bent over and kissed his cheek, earning a happy sigh, then headed for the front door.
The Hsiens were as well-dressed as their son, giving every indication of a pair of successful professionals, but what struck Sara the moment she saw them was that they were standing apart. Not noticeably, physically, but there was absolutely no feeling of connection between them at all. In fact--
"Is it just me, or is it snowing between them?" Ronnie murmured beside her, and Sara grunted, watching as Vartann explained the viewing procedure.
"It's not just you. That's weird."
Ronnie cocked her head. "Doesn't this sort of thing usually bring people together? At least at first?"
"Sometimes. Everybody reacts differently, though."
The two of them waited discreetly in the background, watching through the windows in the morgue doors as Vartann escorted the Hsiens in and Dr. Nat pulled out the drawer. The coroner folded back the sheet with exquisite care, exposing only the little boy's head, and waited.
That peculiar moment of realization hung breathlessly in the air, waiting to tip towards agony or relief; then Mrs. Hsien covered her face with her hands, and Mr. Hsien let out a breath as though someone had punched him. A second later, his wife began wailing, a low and hopeless sound.
And neither of them made the slightest move towards one another.
Sara unfolded her arms. "Positive I.D.," she said sadly, and jerked her head back towards the lab. "C'mon. Vartann'll bring them to one of the conference rooms when they're ready. We can look at the report from Yakima while we're waiting."
Ronnie stuck her hands in her jacket pockets as they walked. "D'you think they did it?"
"Killed him? No. Yakima PD would have given us a heads-up if either of them were a strong suspect. But responsible for his death in some way...that's still a possibility."
"You think they sold him?" Ronnie looked revolted.
Sara shrugged. "Not necessarily--he could have died accidentally, and they tried to cover it up. But it's far more likely that he just got snatched." She pushed open the door to the small office shared by the Swing people. "Let's see what Yakima has to say."
The report didn't have a lot of evidence attached, but it did lend weight to the assumption that the Hsiens were innocent of their son's disappearance. He had been at playgroup the afternoon he vanished, playing outside in the fenced yard with a dozen other small children under the eyes of two supervisors, and both of his parents had been at work.
"Someone cut open the fence?" Ronnie shook her head in disbelief as she scanned her copy of the report. "How can you protect against that?"
Sara grimaced. "You can't, really. This was premeditated, had to be. Someone cut the fence ahead of time and waited. All it took was the caregivers getting distracted for a minute, and with that many kids they're probably distracted a lot."
Ronnie sighed. "So no trace at the scene. Shouldn't there have been something? I mean, Locard's--"
"They might have missed it, but more likely we're dealing with someone very careful," Sara said, appreciating her frustration. "Besides, there was trace; it's just not useful to us yet."
Ronnie blinked, and looked back down at the printout as though it were hiding something from her. Sara leaned forward, pointing at the relevant section. "Tool marks on the fence where it was cut. Those can be matched to a cutter, if we find one."
Ronnie nodded. "Right. First we need a suspect, though."
Sara's phone beeped, and she picked it up to find a text message from Vartann. "The parents are ready."
The Hsiens were still...apart. Sara had Ronnie stand near the door to observe, not wanting to overwhelm the couple with inquisitors, and then sat opposite them with Vartann. Mrs. Hsien looked wrecked, her eyes swollen and her makeup smeared, and she still sobbed from time to time, clutching an actual lace-edged handkerchief and using it to dab at her face.
Mr. Hsien, on the other hand, was belligerent. "We've already answered these questions a dozen times," he said loudly, though his eyes were damp at the corners. "We told the police everything we knew, and they still couldn't find Roger! And now he's dead, and you're still asking--"
"I know, Mr. Hsien, and I'm sorry," Vartann interrupted, pitching his voice low and soothing. "Believe me, we in Las Vegas regret Roger's death deeply. But if we're going to find his killer, we need your help."
"Mr. Hsien, Mrs. Hsien," Sara said, taking up the thread, "did you receive any contact at all from anyone claiming to have taken Roger?"
"You mean a ransom demand? No," the father answered angrily.
"Did you see anyone hanging around your home or his playgroup? Anyone out of place or who made you uneasy?"
"No." Mrs. Hsien blotted her eyes with the handkerchief. "The neighborhood's full of people, always coming and going. There was no one."
The rest of the questions were equally fruitless; Sara suspected that she and Vartann were getting even less information than the Yakima investigators had. The Hsiens seemed to ignore each other, answering questions with resentment or dull misery, but the answers were about what Sara expected from innocent people.
Finally Mr. Hsien asked one in turn. "When can we take Roger home?"
Vartann's mouth tightened; this was a question that was always hard to answer. "The coroner hasn't released the body yet," he said gently. "As soon as she does, we'll let you know."
He answered the usual protests, then turned them over to the officer assigned to take them to their hotel. Sighing, he slumped back in his chair, rubbing at his face with one hand.
Ronnie came and sat in Mr. Hsien's chair as Sara leaned back in her own. "That was weird," the rookie noted.
Vartann grimaced in agreement. "According to the Yakima guys, they're gearing up for a really nasty divorce. Roger was about be in the middle of a huge custody fight."
Sara felt her brows go up. "Custody snatch gone bad?"
He shook his head. "No--they both went to pick him up to avoid just that. And either way, why bring the kid all the way to Vegas?"
"Good question." Sara thought about it. "We need to find out how exactly Roger died."
"Yeah. You got anything for me?"
"The tox screen should be back today. Unfortunately, the bag had no fingerprints." Sara propped her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. "Either this is a pro, or we're dealing with someone who's really, really lucky."
"The way luck runs in this town," Vartann said sourly, "it'll probably be on his side. Call me if something comes up, I'm gonna go home and try to catch a little more sleep."
He left, waving absently as he went, and Sara sighed, rubbing her temples in a futile effort to lessen the weight of her skull. Ronnie tapped her fingers on the table. "Want me to go find that tox report?"
Sara looked up. Ronnie's eyes were shadowed but not sleepy, and Sara let the corner of her mouth turn up. "Go for it."
Ronnie left, all youthful energy in a suit jacket a touch too long for her, and Sara frowned, staring into space. There was something off, something not quite right about this case...something that didn't fit...
A really nasty divorce.
Sara stood up in one fluid movement and strode out the door, straight for the evidence locker.
"Says here that Roger's system was full of diphenhydramine," Ronnie said ten minutes later, her hands full of paper. "You know, you could have paged me."
Sara didn't look up from her examination of the child's rosary they'd found in the victim's grasp. It had already been dusted for prints and nothing had turned up but Roger's own, but Sara was making a second and far more thorough pass. "That would explain the lack of a struggle. Do me a favor, call Yakima PD and find out if the Hsiens are Catholic."
Ronnie's brows went up, but by now she was used to Sara's thought patterns, and she shuffled the report into its folder and set it down before fishing out her phone. Sara continued her examination of the rosary under her microscope, looking for any trace at all among the tiny links.
A few minutes later Ronnie closed the phone. "They're Methodist, apparently. Does that help?"
Sara did look up at that, but Ronnie's face was innocent. I guess it's not something everyone knows any more. "Catholics aren't supposed to get divorced," she explained. "Not that that stops some couples."
Ronnie brightened. "So the rosary came from the killer."
"Most likely, yeah." Sara peered at a minute scratch in the silver.
"You think we've got a serial?" She sounded eager, and Sara held back a sigh. Even Greg hadn't been that enthusiastic.
"Serial killers are actually a lot rarer than people think," Sara said, straightening again. "Most likely, the rosary is a symbol of remorse, or an attempt to safeguard the victim's soul. Remember, this may not have been a deliberate murder. For all we know, Roger was drugged to make him easier to handle, and he just rolled over and smothered in his sleep. The killer might have panicked and dumped him."
"Would that leave bruising, though?" Ronnie asked, cocking her head.
"It's not likely," Sara admitted, holding out a hand for the tox report. "But remember, there's not a lot of bruising. At this point, we just can't tell."
The report told her nothing else important; aside from the antihistamine, Roger's blood had been clean.
As clean as the rosary.
In the end, there was nothing to do but go home. She'd sent Ronnie home sooner, and gone over the scanty evidence again, but not even Roger's clothes bore anything useful--just a couple of threads that were dead ends without something to which to match them.
In times past, Sara might have stayed and gone through everything yet again, but she was tired--and she had, in her own way, promised Grissom that she would at least try to get enough rest. So she e-mailed Vartann about the tox screen, packed up the evidence, and left.
Grissom was up when she got home, making waffles with easy skill, and Sara felt her heart lift at the sight of his sturdy figure in a worn flannel robe, hair rumpled and clever hands pouring batter. She tossed down her keys and went to claim a kiss.
Grissom set aside the bowl and made it a good one, wrapping her up in his hug and tasting her mouth with a thoroughness that, for a few seconds, made her forget about dead children.
"I missed you," he said as he released her to rescue the latest waffle from burning.
"I missed you too. How did you know when I'd be here?" She gestured at the growing pile of breakfast.
"I asked Mike to call when you left," Grissom answered, naming the Dayshift receptionist. "Did you eat before you went in?"
Sara shook her head, smiling wryly. "Just a bagel. Hey, I'm gonna go change clothes."
Grissom waved a fork at her in farewell.
She wasn't even annoyed at Grissom keeping tabs on her any longer, Sara reflected as she stripped off her pantsuit and dressed in something more suitable for her shift. Ever since her abduction he'd been just a touch paranoid about knowing where she was, and Sara had to admit that she could hardly blame him. They'd had a few arguments about it at first, but it was hard for her to stay angry when she could see the fear lurking at the back of his eyes, and eventually they'd found a compromise. She tried to remember to let him know where she was, and didn't complain when he checked up on her, and he kept the checking to a minimum and didn't get angry when she forgot to call him.
Like the rest of their relationship, after a little adjustment, it worked.
I'm just grateful he hasn't installed GPS on my car, she thought dryly as she ran a brush through her hair, and then met her own eyes in the mirror, suddenly wondering.
How do I know he hasn't?
The image of Grissom skulking through their garage to implant a tracker on the undercarriage of her Prius made her laugh, and Sara let the thought go. He wasn't that obsessive.
There were still times when she was briefly tempted to pelt him with phone calls, just so he knew what it was like from her side, but knowing him he wouldn't find it annoying...
The scents of waffles and coffee drew her back to the kitchen and her lover, and plates heaped high with the confection. Grissom had sliced strawberries on top and even whipped some cream, and Sara moaned softly at the sight; he knew her weakness for strawberries and often catered to it.
Grissom smirked at her. "See something you like?"
Sara returned the smirk and pulled out a chair. "Yeah, but unfortunately he'll have to wait until he gets home from work."
Grissom snickered, and scooped up a fingerful of whipped cream, threatening Sara's nose with it. She grabbed his wrist and redirected the cream to her mouth, removing it in a leisurely fashion and enjoying the way his eyes sparked at the feel of her tongue.
"Unfortunately," he agreed, and Sara laughed and let him go.
She meant half-heartedly to tell him about her case over the meal, but between the timing of Grissom's return and their rather involved reunion after his shift, it was really the first chance she'd had to hear about his trip to Seattle. The weekend convention on decomposition rates kept him talking and Sara asking questions until it was time for her to leave for work again, and she closed the front door behind her with one more kiss tingling on her lips and a much lighter heart than when she'd come home.
That was part of the difference, Sara reflected as she drove to the lab. Grissom was the difference. She'd burnt out on work just as he had, but for both of them the saving grace had been the other--having someone to come home to. It made work less all-consuming. Among other things.
Sara thought back to the time she'd spent in San Francisco, trying to lay her ghosts to rest, getting to know her mother from the perspective of an adult. Hannah West had driven her from Grissom and Las Vegas, but only for a while, and in the end it had been a good thing.
Not that I'm going to hunt her up and thank her for it. With Marlon West dead, there was no evidence that Hannah had murdered Kira Dellinger, even if they knew she had. So instead of justice, Hannah got a lawsuit against the county and not even a slap on the wrist.
Or a psych evaluation, which is probably more what she needed--
Sara took a deep breath and let it out in a controlled sigh, deliberately banishing thoughts of the brilliant teen. There was no need to raise her own blood pressure over the past; every criminalist knew that there were sometimes cases where the perpetrator just got away clean.
Sara glanced at the date-time display on a bank as she neared the lab, idly calculating months in her head, and thinking back to the discussion she'd had with Grissom before returning to Las Vegas.
"Let's give it a year." His face was serious, and Sara cocked her head, regarding him and ignoring for the moment the spectacular view of Fort Point behind him.
"Give what a year?" The rock she was sitting on was cold and rough, and the wind cut with chill, but his hand wrapped warmly around hers was more than enough to counter the discomforts.
"The lab. Las Vegas. All of it." His grip tightened, and the wind ruffled his hair until he looked heartbreakingly adorable. "A year, Sara. If we're not both happy by the end of it, we leave."
Her throat swelled at the realization that he was willing to give all that up. "The lab? Or Las Vegas?"
"Both, if necessary." He lifted his other hand, surrounding hers in the heat that was an essential part of him. "I want you to come home, but more than that I want you to be happy. Maybe it's time to move on."
She'd never considered it in that context; she'd imagined Grissom leaving her, but never the lab, not permanently. But his eyes were entirely honest, clear and calm and without doubt.
"Are you sure?" Sara asked. "Because if you're just doing this for me--"
He shook his head firmly. "For both of us, sweetheart. One of the many things you've taught me is that there is much more to life than a job." A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. "I don't want to miss out on anything."
They were two months into that year, and for the moment, Sara thought, they were doing all right. So far, so good. Both of them were taking more time off, to spend with each other or alone, and they were even starting to get caught up on all their extra leave time. Grissom had begun collecting travel brochures, and while they hadn't specifically discussed it, Sara suspected that he was formulating plans for a honeymoon.
A year ago I wouldn't have dared imagine one. Three years ago, this was all impossible. Sara smiled to herself, still on some private level astonished that she was in a relationship with Grissom. A stable, long-term relationship.
She tried very hard to not take it for granted.
Sara parked her car and walked into the lab, looking forward to the evening and knowing that her beloved would not be far behind.