When the door closed behind Greg and Catherine, she exhaled sharply once.

"Catherine?" tried Greg carefully.

"I'm okay..." she rushed to reassure with her usual abruptness. She shook her head once, and the smile that came on her face felt genuine enough from the inside.

But judging by the look on Greg's face, it wasn't working.

"Case," she commanded.

Greg shook himself. "Oh, yes! Here..."

She took the new folder from his hands and pried it open with more force than necessary. And after perusing its contents for a few moments, she looked up incredulously at Greg. "Archibald?"

"I know, right?" replied Greg with a grin.

She leaned her head to the side. "Don't ever say that again. You sound just like Lindsay... Like a teenager."

He inhaled a mockingly-sharp breath. "Sorry..."

She smiled at his attempts at humor, and her eyes fell back to the papers. "So, what have you learned so far?"

"His name is Archibald Gracie. He's in his forties. He was found stuffed in a ventilation shaft... by the housekeeper." Greg wheeled a stool a bit closer to them. "And, it gets better."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Catherine licked the end of her finger and turned the page. "It looks like a real stunner." After a few more moments of silence, she again eyed Greg like he'd just sprouted a second head. "'Delora'..."

"Yes. That's the housekeeper. She found him. She's agreed to come in for questioning."

Catherine tossed the folder lightly over on the table and ran her hand over her forehead and through her blonde hair. "Well, that's nice of her, I guess... What do we have in the way of evidence?"

"Not much, unfortunately," answered Greg. He spun around on his stool and pulled the small plastic container towards him. "Everything we've collected is minimal, too."

"What about the wife?"

"The wife? She's been REAL helpful. I mean..." here, he glanced at Catherine with some trepidation, "...she was an emotional wreck at the crime scene."

Catherine shrugged. "So what? It doesn't mean anything. They ALL are."

"Exactly what I was thinking." He pulled the small bags of evidence out one by one. "Warrick had the records of her statements. I think they're probably still with Brass."

"Mmm. Well, I'll get them once we're through here. How long till we can interview them?"

"Should be anytime," replied Greg. "They both came in to do DNA and fingerprints. That's what Warrick was doing before–"

–but he cut off before the name, "Nick" could make it out...

Catherine looked at her feet. And after a pause, "Well, let's do that first. I know it breaks protocol, but if we don't have a lot of evidence, it won't take long to review it."

Greg leaned back and looked at her sympathetically. "Taking a page out of Nick's book about breaking protocol?"

Catherine returned her gaze from his face to her feet.

He leaned forward and put a consoling hand on her forearm, where she leaned against the table. "Okay, bad joke–"

"–yeah–"

"–but I'm sorry for it, and he'll be alright, Catherine. He really will."

Again, she blinked the prickling of threatening tears away. "I know," was all she said. And then, "Who's the primary on this case?"

"I think, when there's a tradeoff, the primary becomes the person who was last on it..."

"So, that would be you." She shrugged. "It's your call, then. Do we interview the suspects, or process these... what, four bags of evidence first?"

"Oh, let's do an interview," answered Greg nonchalantly. "These people are being nice. We should at least pretend we don't suspect them by respecting their time."

She smiled sympathetically. "Good thinking. Do you want the wife or the housekeeper?"

He deliberated. "The housekeeper," he finally said. "I'm new on the field, and I already saw the wife." He inclined his head in her direction. "I want your take."

"Greg," assured Catherine. "It's alright. I'm too tired to evaluate you. Technically, you're the supervisor this time. I'll be back with my reports." She started for the door, but looked back at him. "Sir," she added.

She caught sight of the smile Greg couldn't help forming in the reflection on the glass doors before she disappeared through them, headed towards the waiting area.

When she reached it, she saw that the wife was sitting in the first seat. The housekeeper next to her was rubbing her red nose with a handkerchief.

Catherine stopped for a moment before approaching. When was the last time she'd seen someone using a handkerchief? But then again, this woman DID look about a hundred years old...

But she exhaled like she had in the materials lab, and then stepped up to them.

"Ginger Gracie?" she questioned gently.

"That's me," answered Ginger.

"I'm Catherine Willows. I'm with the crime lab. Thank you both for coming in."

"Oh, certainly," answered Ginger. "I just... I'm having a hard time with this, you know..."

"I understand. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," she replied, and sniffled.

"I'm, uh... sorry, but I'm gonna need to ask you a few more questions," continued Catherine. "If you'll follow me. And my co-worker, Greg Sanders, will be here to get you, Delora..."

The housekeeper nodded politely and leaned back with a worn out expression on her face.

"If you'll follow me, Mrs. Gracie..."

The two women proceeded down the hallway and around a corner. As they passed, they saw Warrick thumbing through Nick's file. Catherine couldn't help staring, but when he looked up with a small smile, she forced her own eyes forward. She didn't want to think about Nick right before an interview. It wouldn't look very good when it broke through, as it undoubtedly would after a while.

When she reached interrogation, she held the door open. Mrs. Gracie stepped in with a gesture of her head.

"Go ahead and take a seat, Mrs. Gracie. This should only take a couple of minutes." She shut the door behind them and crossed the room to a seat. "I understand you've already spoken to my colleagues, Greg and Warrick."

"Oh, that's right," confirmed Mrs. Gracie. "I did. Very nice young men."

"Aren't they?" commented Catherine. "Now... Mrs. Gracie... what do you know about your husband's murder?"

"I came home from my vacation with my sisters. When I got off the elevator on my floor, I found the police there. I was told he was murdered, and my housekeeper found him."

"And that's all?" asked Catherine, inwardly begging for a bit more to go on.

"Until I talked to Delora. What I'm given to understand is, she came in for her usual weekend cleaning, and..." Mrs. Gracie turned her gaze to the table and again sniffled, "...and that's when she found him."

Catherine straightened the stack of papers she was holding in her hands by bouncing them on the table. "Yes. Tell me... did... Delora ever..." and she jutted how lower lip out thoughtfully, "...do anything.. suspicious... since you've known her? Were there ever any run-ins with your husband? Did she ever steal anything?"

Mrs. Gracie shook her head. "No, absolutely not. She's been with us for years." She smiled. "Since our children were born..."

"Oh," remarked Catherine in real surprise. "So... she was a, what, nanny?"

"You could say that," answered Mrs. Gracie. "She was a wonderful one, too. Took such great care of the children."

"I see..." said Catherine softly. "How long ago was that?"

Mrs. Gracie sighed. "Oh, my second son died when he was sixteen. My daughter died when she was nineteen. But, goodness, that was a long time ago. It's been almost ten years since."

Catherine sighed. "I see," she repeated. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, no. Please. Think nothing of it," assured Mrs. Gracie. "It was quite a shock for all of us. They died the same year..."

"The same year?" asked Catherine.

"Yes. At the same time, actually. The same car crash."

Catherine sat up straighter and folded her hands in front of her on the table. "Mrs. Gracie, where did you vacation with your sisters?"

"In Oregon. As I told Mr. Sanders, my sister inherited our grandmother's home out there. She invited us all out there to visit."

"That's nice," consoled Catherine with a grin.

"It's very nice out there. I'm quite fond of it. It brings back happier memories. You know...?" She raised her eyes to Catherine's. "When we get older, sometimes things change, and... at the time, it could seem positive. Like when I married Archie."

Catherine's snigger at this typical nickname was also contained, but barely so. As it was, she couldn't stop herself from blinking twice, noticeably. No matter how hard she pressed her lips together.

"It seemed like a great idea. And it really has been a marvelous twenty years."

"Twenty years?" asked Catherine.

"Yes. You see, it... was our anniversary today."

At this, Catherine squeezed her hands. "Oh, Mrs. Gracie. I–"

"When I got back, you see, I was going to visit our... our oldest son, and... then I realized Archie had today off." She brushed a few stray tears away. Her eyes were turned away. "So I thought I'd go and get him. You know, because he hasn't seen Frank in a while. That's how I found out."

Catherine nodded calmly. "Mrs. Gracie, do you mind if... we take a look at your luggage? Nothing that was inside, but just the suitcases, themselves?"

Mrs. Gracie's eyebrows furrowed. "M-my... my luggage?"

"Yes, ma'am. For protocols, only. We try to cover all grounds thoroughly."

"Oh, well..." exhaled Mrs. Gracie. "Certainly. If you think it will help. I have it with me, here. I was going to book a hotel."

"Alright, excellent. I'll have the, uh, receptionist assist you with your arrangements. She can get you and your things transportation. And I imagine, Greg is already interviewing Delora. If you'd like to follow me back to the waiting room..."

Catherine and Mrs. Gracie both rose from their chairs.

"And thank you, very much, for your help. It really does make all the difference," finished Catherine.

Mrs. Gracie smiled politely, and they left the room.

In the corner of her eye, Catherine could see Greg hard at work in the next room over.

"Thank you for coming in, Delora."

The housekeeper looked up and nodded her head once. "It's just so horrible... Mr. Gracie was such a wonderful man to work for."

"Was he?" asked Greg kindly. "Have you worked for him long?"

"Oh, yes," answered Delora with a smile. "I've worked for the Gracies almost thirty years now. I helped raise their children. I used to be his father's secretary."

"Secretary?"

"That's right. I, er... asked for the housekeeping position. The paper work was too much, you see."

"I understand," said Greg, holding up the papers in his own. "It's the only part of my job I don't like." He set it down, opened it, and begun to flip through it. "So, Delora, how often do you go out to the Gracies to clean?"

"A lot less, recently," answered Delora, considering. "Mr. Gracie was an employee at Crest."

"Crest?" repeated Greg.

"Yes. The toothpaste?"

"Oh, Crest! Crest... Alright, I got it, now."

"That's right," continued Delora. "He was very committed to his work. All his time and attention was paying off, too. They were going to promote him."

"Mr. Gracie was due for a promotion..." clarified Greg.

"That is correct," confirmed Delora. "He was so happy when he talked about it on the phone to Mrs. Gracie."

Greg folded his hands, similar to Catherine, and leaned forward on them. "And how was Mr. and Mrs. Gracie's marriage?"

"It all seemed quite good, from my angle. They would occasionally have an argument... Who doesn't, these days?"

"Oh, yes," replied Greg with a smile. "I know what you mean."

"But they were really getting along, I thought. Working through some of their problems."

"Mr. and Mrs. Gracie had problems?"

"I've been with the family for a long time, Mr. Sanders. I helped them raise their kids. I lived with them, at one point. Just before Joshua and Elaine died..." She rubbed her eyes with her hands and removed her glasses entirely from her face. "The Gracies had three children, you see. The oldest is Frank, by a good ten years. He was the reason they got married. He's still with us, but he is all grown up now! I'm very proud of him."

Greg couldn't help smiling a bit.

"They had a daughter next. And then, another son. Mr. and Mrs. Gracie were very happy. But they died... that night Elaine decided to get into her daddy's liquor. She put Joshua in the car, and she drove. And they crashed it." Delora shook her head. "They never woke up. Frank was almost halfway through college at the time. He went late, you see..."

"Where is Frank now?" asked Greg.

"He works with his father, at Crest." She took a deep, regretful sounding breath. "Or did... I haven't seen him in so long... I wonder how he'll handle this..."

Greg blinked prominently and closed the folder in front of him. "Delora, you found the body when you were cleaning, correct?"

"I didn't get that far. I came into the living room, and I could smell it right away. I found him after searching everywhere. I called the police immediately."

Greg nodded. "That was the right thing to do. Thank you for all your help."

Delora smiled widely. "Thank YOU, Mr. Sanders."

Catherine yawned when she took a seat behind the table back in the materials room. Her vision was starting to haze over. It had been a long shift...

Her eyes popped open at the sound of Greg entering the room.

"Hey, Catherine."

She blinked to try to wake herself up more. "Oh. Yes, hi, Greg." She cleared her throat. "Did you learn anything new?"

"Yes! I did, actually... Delora worked for the family a long time. Almost thirty years. She helped raise the children." He pulled up a secondary stool. "And apparently, Archibald and his oldest son work at Crest."

"The toothpaste?" asked Catherine.

Greg grinned. "Yeah. I'm actually a little disappointed you picked up on that... I had to guess at it."

She ignored that. "Well, where are the children now?"

"Well, according to Delora, all but one of them... died."

Catherine looked down. "Yes. Mrs. Gracie told me that."

Greg fell into a thoughtful silence. For a moment... but then he looked around and realized there were suitcases on the floors and tables. Catherine watched him, fighting back a smile, but losing.

"Where did all these come from?" he asked.

"It's our new evidence. Mrs. Gracie agreed to let us check them."

Greg appeared confused. "Her luggage?"

"That's right."

"How'd you get her to give you her luggage?"

Catherine leaned towards him on the table. "I told her we wanted to be thorough."

Greg nodded. "And thorough, we shall be."

Grissom rounded the corner into the locker room doorway with a negative anticipation. He could already hear Sara in there, trying to calm herself with deep breathing. Before going too deeply into the room, he stopped and leaned against the frame. He wasn't good with emotions, in most cases, and at times like these, he was almost always ready to admit it. Particularly with Sara, whose outbursts were even more unpredictable and intense than anyone he'd ever met.

"Hey."

The sound of her voice made him jump a little. He banged his head on the side in the act of looking up. "Oh. Sara, there you are. Hey..."

"Coming to check up on me?" asked Sara with an obviously-forced smile.

Grissom's eyes swept over her with disapproval. She was very red in the face. Her eyes were still misty. She was still shaking. Her nose looked like it was running a marathon. One glance to the garbage can beside the bench confirmed it, with an entire box's worth of Kleenex lying underneath the box itself, neatly on top.

"Yes," he said in answer to her question. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," Sara said hastily. "I am, really. Much better."

Grissom turned his head ever-so-slightly to the side. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I am." She looked away from him to the lower walls. "I just, seeing Nick like that, you know...?"

Grissom blinked in thought, but finally came back back with, "No, I don't."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Her facial muscles spasmed violently. When she opened her mouth, he expected quite the response...

Instead, "It's just, he's such a good guy. Nicky is, I meant to say. He's never done anything wrong, and..." she brushed at her dampening eyes again, "...and I don't know WHAT'S happening to him. Or to me, I–"

Grissom sighed. "–he's been arrested for shooting someone. Out in the desert."

Sara swallowed. "Shooting someone."

"Yes. As Catherine said, he halted a squad when he heard a scream. He got out of his car, and looked down over the bridge. There was a woman there, about to be injured – killed, most likely – by an assailant. He shot him. Nick shot the attacker, I mean."

She folded her arms across her chest. Grissom noticed she had put on a sweater.

"Nick saved a woman," she stated.

"That's right," confirmed Grissom. "He did. I know that, and you know that. But unfortunately, the law–"

"–doesn't see it that way," Sara cut across him. "I know." She looked down at her feet. "I do. I know..."

Grissom took a tentative step forward and placed both hands on her shoulders. "Sara..." he began cautiously, "...right now, we really need everyone to be at their best." He paused for a moment, eyes angling upward. "Nick needs everyone to be at the best," he amended. "I'm afraid I can't let you on any cases in this state."

She nodded before he even finished his sentence. "I knew that was coming," she said when he'd finished.

"But, if you want to wait here – off the clock, out of the way of everyone who's still working – and see what happens with Nick, we can do that."

She looked up, and her smile was a little more genuine. "Thank you, Gris. That would be absolutely great." And she patted his hands once, then stepped around him out into the hallway. "I'm gonna go clock out."

Grissom nodded after her and watched her go down the dimly-lit hall. As she went, she wiped her eyes again, even though she hadn't been crying during their discussion.

Grissom shook his head. Somehow, some way... he was determined to figure her out.

He then leaned back on the door frame again, this time for his own sake, and ran his hands through his hair. He couldn't help thinking about Nick, either. Wondering what he must be thinking, what it must feel like to be where he was.

He sighed as he pushed himself off the edge of the wall with his back and headed off in Sara's wake. Mentally, he was thanking the gods for Lady Heather's timing as much as he was cursing it. Some small part of him couldn't help feeling annoyed that this what he was doing when she'd decided to come back by... And he knew that was wrong.

Wrong by his team. Wrong by his friends and family at the lab. Wrong by Nick and Sara. Wrong, as a general rule. But he couldn't help it.

The extra light in the main hallway sort of hurt his eyes. He raised a hand instinctively to shield them for a few seconds, while they adjusted. When he lowered it, it felt like he was viewing the world from a slow motion angle all over again. The silhouettes of the people milling about, for various reasons, felt comforting. Comforting enough to almost drive single-handedly the natural, habitual replay of Nick being taken down the early morning, sunlit hallway to the holding cells.

Almost, but not quite. Grissom could see Nick's weary face. Feel Brass coming to stand behind him again. Smell Lady Heather's perfume. Remember Sara's chin hitting the floor. Her body beginning to shake. The way her face crumpled when she ran past. The one sob he'd been able to catch before she'd disappeared.

With another tired sigh, he removed his glasses and turned for his office. He was certain Sara would end up there, eventually. And it was time to talk to Lady Heather. See how she could help, as she'd so generously offered...