Grissom slipped his T-shirt off over his head and splashed water on his face. He still felt unnerved and edgy. The smell of smoke was everywhere. It wouldn't leave him. It was on him, in his hair and clothes, but also in him, in his nose, his mouth, his mind. He almost felt sick with it. A shower would have been better, but he was already so late for shift. A quick wash would have to do.

He knew Catherine would have covered for him – the board showed Nick, Greg and Warrick all out some place or other – but he didn't want his tardiness to be a talking point at the lab and arouse suspicion. Hodges had been quite obvious, openly staring when he'd trudged past his lab earlier. Not that he owed anyone an explanation, least of all Hodges, but still.

He grabbed a fresh towel to dry himself with, then hurriedly unzipped his bag, taking out the spare set of clothes he kept in the trunk of his car, and got changed. Wearing paint-spattered jeans, sneakers and a UCLA T-shirt made him feel like Grissom the man on his day off, not Grissom supervisor of the night shift. He felt too exposed, too vulnerable. Tonight as well as his mask, he would need his armour.

"Any reasons you're not picking up your calls?"

Catherine's tone wasn't accusatory, but rather soft and teasing. Grissom frowned in puzzlement, then looked up sharply from buttoning up his shirt and reached for his cell from the shelf inside his locker. One quick look told him he'd missed plenty of calls, but thankfully none from the hospital. He turned the sound back on, then calmly placed the phone back on the shelf. You can do this, he thought. "I'm sorry, Catherine. I switched my phone to silent when I was at the hospital."

Catherine gave him a soft smile. "You've been with Sara all this time?"

Playing it cool, Grissom lowered his eyes back to his shirt. He was going to tuck it into his pants when he stopped. "You mind?" he asked, glancing up.

Catherine pulled a face that seemed to say, "It's not anything I've not seen before", but turned around nevertheless.

Grissom lowered his pants, then tucked his shirt in fully. "No," he replied to her original question while he finished doing himself up, and with a glance over her shoulder to make sure he was done Catherine turned back around. "I went round to her apartment building." David had been loading the fire victim's body into the coroner's truck when he'd arrived, and it had sadly brought everything home again.

Catherine's brow rose with surprise. "You went to the scene?"

"The scene is Sara's home, Catherine. Of course I went."

He had needed to see for himself the extent of the damage. The fire was out, but the heat emanating from the rubble was still substantial. Water and foam dripped everywhere. Despite his pleading he'd not been granted access – for obvious safety reasons – so he'd borrowed a helmet and had walked round the perimeter of the building. Sara's apartment was at the back, and from what he could see still standing.

How much could be salvaged was another matter. He knew from experience that whatever the fire hadn't destroyed, the water, foam and smoke would have. Sara's life was in that apartment, and it had broken his heart to see it gone up in smoke. How would he tell her? How would she react? How could he tell Sara that she'd lost everything?

Catherine was watching him with narrowed eyes, and he regretted his outburst. He'd have to keep his temper and anger in check, his worry too. He'd have to do better that that, he thought, or the cat would be out of the bag. To give himself time, he rummaged inside his bag for a clean pair of socks. Finding none, he picked up the dirty ones from the floor.

"I'm sorry, Cath," he said, mustering a sheepish smile. "I shouldn't have snapped. It's just…" He shrugged, faked a levity he was far from feeling to lighten the tone, "you know how I hate to be late to my own shifts."

Her face softening with a smile, Catherine accepted his apology with a nod of the head. "How's Sara?"

He sat down on the bench and sighed before pulling his socks on his feet. "Still the same, as far as I know." He made sure to keep his eyes averted to what he was doing to hide his feelings and kept his tone even as he spoke. "She came to briefly while I was there." He looked up, met Catherine's concerned gaze, "They're watching her closely for CO poisoning. They were taking her for X-rays to check on her lungs when I left. They won't know more until morning."

Catherine nodded gravely. "Mike Schaffer's investigating the fire―"

"I know. I spoke with him."

"So, what did he say?"

"Very little. He was having a good dig around, but the light wasn't good."

"Did he say the fire was started deliberately?"

"He's keeping an open mind."

Catherine let out a long-suffering breath. "Greg and I are meeting him tomorrow. He said he'd take us to Sara's apartment. See if there's anything of hers we can save, you know, clothes we can wash, books, her car keys, laptop…whatever we can find. I know of this good fire and smoke restoration company…" Her voice drifted off and she looked at Grissom with a tender smile.

Grissom nodded, then busied himself with his shoes to hide his emotion. He was deeply touched, deeply grateful for hers and Greg's care and consideration. Catherine was always so pragmatic, so good in a crisis. His eyes widened suddenly. What if Catherine and Greg found the stuff he kept at Sara's place during their search?

There wasn't much, and nothing of value, a few items of clothing and toiletries and Hank's stuff, but all the same. Would it be enough to give the game away, he wondered? And then he remembered. Sara kept a framed photograph of Hank and him by her bedside. She'd taken the photo when they'd gone hiking in Red Rock Canyon early on in their relationship. That day had meant so much to both of them.

He stood and began tidying his dirty clothes inside the bag, and the bag inside his locker. "What time did Schaffer say to meet him?"

"Noon. Why?"

"I'll meet you there." He picked up his cell from the shelf, closed his locker door and made for the door, hoping to put an end to the conversation. "I'll be in my office catching up on paperwork if you need me."

He was rounding the corner into his office when he checked his phone again and realised he'd missed another text from his mother. I hope your friend is okay, he read. I saw the fire on the news. It looked bad. Hank is fine but unsettled. And no, he doesn't need to pee. How are you doing?

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. Could Hank have sensed something was wrong with Sara, he wondered? He felt bad for forgetting to text his mother back after he'd left the hospital. He checked the time; 11.30 pm, but he knew Betty would still be awake, waiting for news. He pressed reply and composed his message. His texting was slow, but right then it was the only way he could put her mind at rest.

Sorry I didn't reply sooner. Thank you for your concern. Sara is doing okay. She's stable. I'll go visit her tomorrow after shift before I come pick up Hank. He paused, then added, Sleep well, before he pressed send.

The lack of assignment slips on his desk was a relief, and he reached for the top file on his pile. Maybe losing himself in mindless paperwork would take his mind off thinking and worrying about Sara. It didn't work. After an hour he went round the lab to do his checks, then returned to more paperwork, long overdue staff evaluations this time. When some time later his phone rang he jumped on it, only to see Morgue flash on the screen. He connected the call.

"Hi, Grissom," David Phillips said. "You said to call when the victim from the fire was ready? Well, she is."

Grissom was already on his feet. "I'm on my way."

He pocketed his cell and made his way to the morgue. There, he put on a blue lab coat and joined David at the stainless steel table. The female body exhibited full thickness burns with brown leathery skin and lay in a boxer-like body posture of flexed elbows and knees and clenched fists. It looked like she was shielding her face from an attacker, but Grissom knew better than to infer that.

Heat had caused for her body tissues and muscle to shrink due to dehydration. The smell of burnt flesh was overpowering, and it took all his resolve and years of experience not to walk out of the room. All he kept thinking as he stared at the body was that it could be Sara lying there instead of her neighbour. He took a breath and tried hard to put that picture out of his mind.

"Any news on Sara?" David asked, his concern undisguised, as he glanced toward Grissom.

Grissom gave his standard answer, the same he'd first given Catherine and everyone else that had asked since.

Looking grave, David nodded his head then fell silent, presumably thinking about Sara and the ordeal she'd just been through. "Are they watching for CO and cyanide poisoning?" he asked, "I heard there was gasoline at the scene too. Sometimes reactions are delayed."

"I know," Grissom replied quietly, "And they are."

David gave another nod, seemingly appeased by Grissom's replies.

"No Doc tonight?" Grissom asked, hoping that would be clue enough to get back to the topic at hand. He slipped his glasses on and looked at the body in more detail.

"He's off. He's taken Judith to see Céline. I―I haven't told him about the fire. I didn't want to spoil his…evening."

His lips twisting in a sardonic smile, Grissom looked up at David over the top of his glasses.

David's smile was wide and unabashed. "I know. I know. It's all my fault. But believe me, she's well worth it." He averted his eyes briefly, hesitantly, before he raised them again and stared at Grissom unwaveringly. "You ought to go. The show's run is ending in December. Take a lady friend with you. As I said, it's well worth it."

Could David have guessed, he wondered suddenly? Was the use of 'lady friend' a subtle way for David to let him know he knew? Grissom quickly lowered his eyes back to the body. "I'll take your word for it, David," he said, sternly enough to get David to look sheepish and refocus on the body. "So, what can you tell me?"

"The vic should be thirty-five-year-old Heather Clarke," David replied after a pause. "Visual positive ID will be hard to confirm due to the extent of the burns so I'll try to extract some DNA – maybe from the teeth, or bone marrow. Total body radiographs showed nothing I wouldn't expect in the circumstance."

"COD?" Death due to thermal injuries – smoke inhalation, burns or cardiac arrest when the pain got too much – was the obvious choice, but it wouldn't be the first time a fire had been started to cover up something more sinister.

David glanced at Grissom with surprise. "Any reasons to think the fire didn't kill her?"

"Aside from gasoline present at the scene, no," Grissom replied rather curtly.

David stared at Grissom with a frown before he averted his eyes back to the body. "I'll make sure to be thorough," he said in an even tone, and Grissom regretted his shortness. "From what I heard, you know, when we were recovering the body," David went on quietly, "fire department thought the fire had started in the vic's apartment kitchen. Gas cooker was on, burnt pan on the stove. The vic was found on the floor near the front door."

Grissom looked up, suddenly interested. Could the fire have started accidentally after all?"

"That's all I heard, I'm afraid," David added with an apologetic lift of his shoulder, "We didn't hang about."

Grissom nodded.

"I cut off what clothing I could from the body. It's in the bag, on the table."

Grissom looked over to where David was indicating. "Thank you. I'll take it up to Trace." He removed his glasses and turned back to David. "Could you email me copies of the photos you took at the scene?"

David frowned. "I emailed them to you as soon as I uploaded them on the computer."

"Oh."

"Didn't you get them?"

Grissom's mouth open then shut hesitantly. "I must have done. I―I haven't checked my email in a while." To cover his lapse, he moved over to the table and picked up the evidence bag to take to Trace.

There was a pause. "I saw her car in the lot," David then said in a soft voice. "It was intact, so that's something."

It would seem Sara was on David's mind too. With a sigh, Grissom turned back to the assistant coroner and nodded his head, even tried a smile. "Thanks, David."

As soon as he was back in his office, Grissom printed the pictures David had emailed him and studied them at length. Some showed close-ups of the victim's body, others included what was left of the apartment surrounding it, but none encompassed the kitchen or gave any clues as to explain what had happened. Homicide, or accidental death? Schaffer was keeping an open mind, and so was he.

Grissom was packing away for the night, eager to leave so he could pop by the hospital before he went to his mother to fetch Hank, when he heard a knock on his door. Nick, Warrick and Greg stepped into his office. Immediately Grissom's gaze zoomed in on the clear plastic bag Greg was holding.

"Griss, we're going to Frank's for breakfast," Nick said. "Want to come?"

Grissom paused. "I―I can't. I've somewhere to be." And then as an afterthought, "But thank you."

"Sure?" Warrick tried.

Mustering a smile, Grissom nodded his head. "I'm…expected at my mother's, but some other time maybe."

"All right."

The trio was turning on their heels when Grissom called, "Greg, can I have a word?"

Greg hesitated, but stopped in his tracks. "You go on ahead," he told Nick and Warrick who turned around, "I'll meet you there."

"What's this?" Grissom asked, keeping his tone neutral as he motioned toward the bag in Greg's hand. "If it's evidence…"

"Oh, no," Greg said, lifting the bag up in Grissom's eye line. "It's Sara's boot. Well, I think it is anyway. I found it in her car lot, last night." His eyes lowered to the bag. "I―I kept it for her. Thought I'd clean it up. I know there's only one, but…" His voice choked up, then faded and he stopped talking.

Grissom's eyes averted. Once again, Greg's consideration toward Sara touched him deeply. "You know what, Greg?" he found himself saying, and the young CSI looked up. "I'm pretty sure I remember seeing a similar boot at the hospital, bagged at the end of her bed in the ER."

Greg's face lit up. "Thanks Grissom. Nick and I are going to visit her this afternoon; I'll pick it up then. Warrick called Tina who checked for us. She's had a good night apparently. Well, all things considered."

Grissom nodded. He knew all that of course, he'd rung the hospital himself, but it was nice of Greg to share what he knew with him. "I'm sure she'll be happy to see you," he said quietly.

Greg watched Grissom with surprise while the latter stared back, confident his mask was firmly in place.

"Enjoy your breakfast," he then said, and stepped round his desk, headed out.

All in all he felt he'd given quite a good performance.