Disclaimer: I do not own CSI

Back at the lab, there was a huge pile of evidence to process. Nick and Warrick brought the load to trace and DNA; then retreated to the break room. "That EMT who checked out Grissom was pretty cute," Nick drawled. Warrick laughed and nodded as he poured a cup of bad coffee.

"Don't talk about that!" Grissom huffed as he came in the room. "Do you have any idea how horny I am?"

They looked at each other with total shock on their faces.

Grissom continued, "You can't believe how Sara can make a man…"

"Whoa boss," Warrick cut him off, "too much information."

Nick then asks, "You OK there, man?" just as Grissom was wavering as he tried to sit in a chair.

"I've got a killer headache," he said rubbing his temples, "and, I'm a bit unsteady."

Catherine caught the exchange, "Nick, why don't you go get Doc." She had heard about Grissom's head bump at the crack house. "Warrick, get Griss's file from Judy, we may be taking him to the hospital," she whispered in Warrick's ear to avoid upsetting Grissom.

"Gil, have you talked to Sara lately?" Catherine asked. No more treading lightly; it was time to find out the status of the relationship.

He looked at her strangely, "Well, yeah," shaking his head now, "we were all talking just a bit ago in the layout room, she's probably still there."

Her eyebrows shot up. Sara hadn't darkened the door of that layout room in over a month. Something was really wrong. Just then Dr. Robbins walked in, "I was in the building, what's up?"

"Gil had a bump on his head earlier; no loss of consciousness or anything, but now he's acting a bit weird."

"I am?" Grissom looked up, confusion on his face.

He turned his stare on Grissom, "Flashlight?" The CSI's thrived on flashlights, but of all times, they were fumbling to find one. Dr. Robbins was putting Grissom through various maneuvers that should have been simple, not unlike a field sobriety test, but he was fumbling with a lot of it. Finally, a flashlight appeared. Robbins flashed it in each pupil and then moved it away just as quickly. The pupil on the injured side was larger and sluggish; it was a sign of serious consequences. "Call an ambulance! I need to speak to the accepting MD!"

"What's happening?" Catherine asked.

"He's exhibiting all the signs of an epidural hematoma. A hit on the temple, followed by a lucid interval of several hours, and now with mental status changes, motor difficulties, and a blown pupil on the side of the injury. He needs surgery, and fast."

The EMT's arrived quickly. Hank Pedigrew and his partner blew in the building. He took in the scene; the CSI's were gathered around their fallen mentor, and were not pleased to see him in attendance. He knew he was a persona non grata in these parts. "There's not another rig within miles of us; we need to take him," he explained, as he glanced around for Sara, wondering why she wasn't at his side. They couldn't argue with that; they all knew time was of the essence.

Grissom looked up at Hank, "I named my dog after you."

Hank's jaw dropped.

"Yeah, he's cute, but he's still a dog," he smirked, "fitting, don't you think."

"Don't try to talk Dr. Grissom." Hank turned crimson in embarrassment as he strapped Grissom onto the gurney. In the meantime, Robbins alerted the hospital to have a scanner open and a neurosurgeon ready. Grissom likely had an intracranial hemorrhage which carried a significant mortality. The next step was to find Sara.

"OK, let's look at his file," Catherine said as Warrick produced it, "Sara's still listed as the emergency contact." She shook her head, "I think this is her old cell number, and the address is his." She slammed the file shut in disgust. "That's just great!"

Catherine took charge nevertheless, "Warrick, take this file to the hospital, and try to get his cell phone. Take care of registering him, and for goodness sake, call us with any news." Warrick nodded and left.

"Nick, you think they were talking? Go get his phone records; we need a number we can call to get her."

Nick replied, "I'm on it!"

"Greg, you and me get to search the man's desk!"

Greg followed Catherine into Grissom's office. He felt oddly intrusive as he opened desk drawers and rummaged through them. This was Grissom's inner sanctum. Nobody snooped around this office. Looking past animal skulls and other weird items Grissom had collected, there was a discovery. There was a file, it was unnamed. Greg poured over the contents. It was a file containing brochures of wedding ceremonies in exotic places. Big Sur, Florida Keys, even Maui. "They were planning to marry," Greg pronounced, surprise in his voice.

"That's great, but we need to find her now," Catherine replied, worry and frustration in her voice. Why do those two have to be so damn secretive!

"Wait there's other stuff here," Greg sounded upbeat as he flipped through more items in the folder. "There's some numbers on some loose papers and a flier for Habitat for Humanity?" he questioned, wondering what that had to do with Sara.

Catherine looked up as Brass flew in the room, "Is it true, Grissom was taken to the hospital?"

"Yeah, Doc says it's serious, something about a 'blown pupil.' Anyway, now we're trying to locate Sara, she's still listed as his emergency contact. Do you know anything about where she might be?"

"Ah, well, I know he mentioned she went to see her mother, maybe she's still there."

Greg beamed, "A Laura Sidle perhaps?" as he held up a post-it note with that name and a phone number.

Catherine grinned, "Brass, why don't you make the call, you're great at that sort of thing."

Not sure what she meant by that, but not wanting to waste any time either; Brass whipped out his cell phone and began to dial the number.

"Hello," a soft spoken woman's voice answered.

"Hello, this is Jim Brass with the Las Vegas Police, is this Laura Sidle?"

"Why, yes, it is," came the worried reply.

"I don't mean to alarm you, but I'm trying to find someone, Sara Sidle."

"She's my daughter, but she's not here right now. Is she in some kind of trouble?"

"No, no, nothing like that. A friend of hers in Las Vegas is very, well, um," fumbling for words, not sure how much to divulge, "He needs to see her, so I'm trying to locate her for him. We all used to work together." He shrugged at Catherine and Greg, "Do you have her cell phone number by chance?"

"I'm sorry; she got a new one, but never gave me the number." She paused, "You see, we were estranged for some time, and I can't say we've completely reconnected," she offered as an explanation for how it is a mother doesn't know how to reach her daughter.

"Well, then, do you know where she is."

"Sort of. You see, I went away for a while," she cleared her throat, "and while I was away, well I guess you could say I found religion. Sara's not much of a church-goer, but she came with me one time, and there happened to be a group there talking about going down to the gulf coast to help rebuild the hurricane damage. This one charity organization in particular guts flooded houses for the elderly. They've gone every year, evidently there's still plenty to do down there. Anyway, she got all excited about it, says she can rip out walls with the best of 'em. I can't see those skinny arms wielding a sledge hammer and pulling down sheet rock. Do you think she can really do that?"

"I've actually seen her rip out a few walls, maam." Catherine and Greg looked puzzled hearing only his side of the conversation.

"Wow, so she wasn't kidding," Laura Sidle wondered.

"So that's where she is, off with the church group?" Now they were in total shock to hear this. Sara with a church group?

"Well, not really. They came back a week ago. Sara called to say she found the work extremely satisfying, even called it 'therapy', so she stayed on there. I think instead of gutting, she's now finishing some houses for some needy people. She just went on and on about it. It must be good for her right now."

"So basically what you're saying is she's somewhere on the gulf coast, but you don't know where she's staying or how to reach her."

"I guess so." She softly lamented, "I'm sorry."

"Well, if she checks in with you, please give her a message to call me." Laura Sidle took down the information, and ended the call.

"What was all that about?!" Catherine was dying to know.

"Sara's gone to the gulf coast to rebuild hurricane Katrina damage, but her mom doesn't know any more than that. Basically, a dead end."

"Well, that one sure came out of left field!" Catherine quipped.

"What about this number," Greg held up another piece of paper with a phone number on it, but no name.

"Let's give it a try," Brass said as he dialed the number. "Sorry, wrong number," he spoke into the receiver, "It's a jewelry store." He shrugged.

"Goes along with the wedding brochures," Greg threw in as Brass's eyebrows went up.

"Greg, what did you say about a Habitat for Humanity flier?" Catherine asked.

"Oh, yea, right here," he handed the flier to Brass, who started dialing.

"Habitat of New Orleans," was the greeting.

Brass smiled in anticipation, "Hello, I'm trying to locate someone who may be down there doing some work with you, a Sara Sidle?"

"Let me check on that, all of our volunteers register, just give me a sec," after a pause he returned, "Yes, she was here for about a week, but it looks like she last worked yesterday, and someone here said she left the area. So I don't think I can help you."

Brass still left his contact information just in case she returned. "Another dead end," he declared.

"Let's go to his house, there's got to be something there to tell us where she is," Catherine reasoned, grabbing his keys from the top drawer of the desk.

TBC….