AN: Here's the latest enstallment. Hope you enjoy it. I figured I might as well post something.

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI. If I did, there would be massive changes.

Summary: While processing a scene, the CSIs discover an entirely new case, a case that becomes more personal than any of them could ever have dreamed.

Chapter 7:

A Tough Reality

Catherine was speechless as she stared up at her best friend. A part of her, the CSI who had been at the receiving end of all his reprimands, wanted to chide him for getting so involved in this case. The other part, the woman who would do anything for her friends, wanted to tell him that it would be okay.

"I-I don't believe this," she stammered, "Gil, you…"

"I know!" he responded, beginning to pace the room like a caged lion, "I-I screwed up, Cath. I-I don't know what to do."

She watched as he panicked and paced the room. She had never seen him like this. All logic, all Grissom-ness had seemed to leave his body. He was vulnerable.

"Could- could Dylan be…yours?" she asked hesitantly. He froze and looked at her. The look in his eyes confirmed his fears.

"The…the conference was about ten months before Dylan's birthday," he answered. He resumed his pacing, while she stared in disbelief.

"Gil, you have to get tested," she said after a moment, deciding that only one of them could freak out at a time. He stopped and stared at her. He seemed ready to break.

"D-Do you still have the swab you took from me before?" he asked shakily. She shook her head.

"I threw it out after we got Dylan to cooperate. I didn't think we'd need it," she admitted.

"You'll have to redo it, then," he told her, "I can't handle evidence."

Then it dawned on her, "You're a suspect," she breathed, refusing to believe that he was capable of something like that, "Gil, I know you wouldn't do that…"

"You have to let the evidence clear me, Catherine," he said. Oddly enough, this reassured her slightly. The old Gil was back. Then another thought flashed through her mind.

"You could lose your job," she voiced, "It's bad enough that you're a suspect, but if you were ever brought into custody, it's an automatic dismissal."

"We have to do our jobs," he choked out.

"I know that, Gil. Believe me, I do, but I'm not going to let you take the fall for Vanessa Woods' disappearance, especially when I know you're innocent. If Ecklie ever found out that you were our first real suspect on this case, he'd ruin you," she stated. He was truly touched by her sentiments, but he was still sceptical.

"We can't lie to the department, Catherine," he reminded her.

"They don't have to know anything until it's absolutely necessary," she said. He looked confused.

"What?"

"I could tell Wendy to test your sample with Dylan's, but leave out the fact that it is you. That way, if the test is negative, you don't lose face," she explained on a brainwave.

"And if it's positive?" he asked grimly.

"Then I have your back," she shrugged, giving him a small smile, which he returned. He thought for a moment. Then he turned to his kit and held out a sterile swab.

"Then you'd better do this," he said, handing the swab to her.

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"Look, Cathin!" Dylan called to her as Catherine entered the DNA lab, "I'm a scitest!" he exclaimed, showing her his gloved hands. On that exclamation alone, she was ready to forgo the test and call the toddler Gil Grissom's son.

"And I'm sure you're going to be a good scientist," she humoured him. Dylan grinned.

"Come to join the fun, Catherine?" Wendy asked, motioning to the now exuberant little boy.

"I'd love to, but I need a favour," Catherine replied, holding out the swab.

"Goody. Who's bodily fluids am I testing now?" Wendy asked pleasantly.

"Someone who quite possibly shares Dylan's DNA," Catherine answered coyly. Wendy perked up.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Just run it and tell only me if that matches seven of Dylan's alleles," Catherine replied, completely dodging the question as she exited the room. Wendy just stared in confusion at Catherine's retreating back.

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"Hodges, tell me you have something good," Greg asked as he and Nick stood in front of Hodges's computer.

"I've narrowed the car down from the paint chips," Hodges started, "Why someone would paint their truck lime green is beyond me. Personally, I'd go with a rustic red-"

"Hodges, the paint!" Nick reminded him.

"Right," Hodges glanced back at the screen, "The paint comes from a 2005 Ford F-150. If you look under the scope," he gestured to the microscope, "You'll see that it was originally painted white."

"What? White was too blah for the driver?" Greg asked, staring down the microscope where he could clearly see the paintjob.

"I also identified a stain Catherine found on Dylan's shirt. It's beer," Hodges added.

"We found a broken beer bottle in a field next to the scene," Nick affirmed, getting a mental picture in his mind. The assailant, beer bottle in hand, chases Vanessa, who is having trouble running with her four-year-old. Just before he reaches them, he trips, on account of the combination of the rough terrain and the beer. The drink splatters on Vanessa and Dylan before the bottle smashes in the suspect's hands.

"I'll get this stuff to Brass," Greg offered after a moment, "He'll want to know."

Nick nodded in response.

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"Find anything out?" Catherine called to Sara and Warrick as the two younger CSI exited the layout room.

"Car didn't give us much," Sara replied, "But Warrick matched boot impressions to a size ten hiking boot. The running shoeprints belonged to Vanessa Woods."

"She didn't stand much of a chance," Warrick sighed, shaking his head.

"What about the other prints you found?" Catherine asked.

"Men's 12 street shoe," Warrick sighed.

"Guys!" Wendy called from the DNA lab, "I got a hit on the blood on the beer bottle."

"Who is it?" Catherine asked quickly.

"Davis Milton," Wendy replied, "He's in the system for an indecent exposure and a bar fight."

"Where's he from?" Warrick asked.

"Phoenix," Wendy replied, the three CSIs stared at her imploringly, to which she added, "I compared his blood to Dylan's sample. Not even close."

"Still a prime suspect," Warrick stated, turning on his heel.

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"Does the name 'Davis Milton' ring a bell, Ms. Bow?" Brass asked into the receiver after just having been informed of their new suspect.

"Oh my God, yes!" she answered, "He was Van's last boyfriend. They broke up because Van wanted a father figure for Dylan. Davis was anything but. He had to be escorted out of PD Headquarters a month ago for causing a scene."

"And you didn't tell me this because…" Brass trailed off.

"It happened a month ago. I haven't seen nor heard about him since," she replied.

"Does he drive a lime green truck?" he asked.

"With a red snake on the side," she affirmed, "Is he a suspect?"

"A very good one," Brass replied, "Ms. Bow, I need for Phoenix PD to obtain a warrant and check out Milton's home. I want to know just what kind of man that he is."

"Absolutely," she agreed, "I'll talk to George."

"Thank you, Ms. Bow, but if you'll excuse me, I have an APB to put out."

"Let me know anything you find," she responded before the call was disconnected. Brass hung up his, then picked it up and dialled once more.

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"How's kido doing?" Greg asked, poking his spiky head into Grissom's office.

"He's sleeping," Grissom whispered.

"Poor kid," Greg said, stepping inside the dimly lit room to where he could see Dylan curled up under Grissom's coat, "He's had a hell of a day."

"At least he's with us," Grissom sighed, staring at the sandy blond hair peaking out at the edge of the couch.

"Yeah," Greg agreed, "We have a suspect, you know."

"You do?" Grissom asked, interested in the young man's words.

"Davis Milton. He's from Phoenix. Owner of a lime green Ford with a red snake on the side," Greg informed his boss, "Dill was right on the money."

"He's a smart boy," Grissom agreed, still staring at the sleeping toddler. Greg looked at his boss for a moment, as if noticing something different. He brushed the feeling off and continued on his trek to the break room for a Twinkie.

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Officers West and Parker hopped back into their squad car, coffee in hand, and left the crowded café. It was getting pretty late in their shift. In about an hours time, both would be sitting at home instead of the dreary police car.

"Viva Las Vegas," West sighed, as he pulled off of the crowded strip and onto a side street. It would be much better for his sanity if he kept off of the crowded freeways for a the rest of the night.

"You have to love the crowds. If they weren't here, we'd be out of work," Parker said brightly. West smiled at the young cop's optimism. It's been a long time since West would say things like that. He'd seen too much.

"So true," he agreed, but his tone was not near as chipper as Parker's. Silence fell between the two until Parker's head snapped up.

"Isn't that the vehicle from the APB?" he asked, pointing to a green truck outside a warehouse. West slowed the car down.

"I think you're right," he confirmed, squinting at the vehicle before he grabbed his radio, "Control, we have a green truck out here," he said, beginning his message.

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"He looks beat," Catherine commented from the doorway.

"Yeah. He fell asleep about an hour ago," Grissom replied, and then, in a lower voice, he asked, "Anything from Wendy, yet?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied and sat in one of the chairs across from his desk.

"What am I going to do, Catherine? If it's positive?" he asked, breaking the silence that had fallen.

"It's not for me to decide, Gil," she replied sympathetically. He exhaled sharply.

"I-I can't raise a kid. I don't know the first thing about kids. What if-" he started to panic.

"You'll drive yourself crazy thinking about the 'what-ifs', Gil," she told him. She knew from experience. She was constantly worrying about the dangerous situations that Lindsey could get herself into. True, it was a parent's job to worry, but in the past, Catherine had literally made herself sick over thinking about what could have happened to her daughter, for example, if Lindsey had been picked up by a rapist/murderer when she had tried to hitch a ride to Fremont Street.

"But what if I'm not a good father?" he asked, confessing the fear that had curbed any desire to have a family in the past.

"You really need to give yourself a little more credit," she said, "You're more capable than you think."

He gave her a grateful smile. That was precisely why he had come to her for help. No matter how many ups and downs they had in their friendship, she was always on his side. The phone snapped them out of the silence. Grissom hurriedly answered it to ensure that it did not wake the sleeping child.

"Grissom," he said into the receiver.

"We found the truck," Brass's gruff voice announced. Grissom's head snapped to attention.

"Where?" he demanded.

"Outside a warehouse off of the strip," Brass answered. Grissom hurriedly wrote down the address and hung up the phone.

"What's going on?" Catherine asked.

"They found the truck," Grissom answered, starting for the door.

"I'm coming with you," Catherine announced, following him down the hall. He stopped at the break room and stuck his head inside.

"Greg, Sara, I need you two to keep an eye on Dylan for me," Grissom barked.

"Okay," Sara said, "What's going on?" she questioned, but she might as well have been talking to the door. He didn't even wait to hear her question.

"Did we miss something?" Greg asked, handing her a cup of coffee.

"I have no idea," Sara sighed, staring with a perplexed expression at the spot that her boyfriend had just vanished from.

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"You guys head around back," Brass ordered as he got out of his Taurus and approached West and Parker's squad car.

"Will do," they replied, obediently running around the building, completely forgetting that their shift was long since over. Brass heard a door slam and looked behind him to see Catherine and Grissom walking up.

"What did we miss?" Grissom called.

"You're just in time," Brass responded, withdrawing his gun. No one noticed as a black car sped by the building when it saw the cop cars in front.

"Perfect," Catherine said, withdrawing hers as well. Grissom and Catherine followed Brass and two uniformed officers to the door, Grissom, the only unarmed one, taking up the rear. They leaned against the cool metal as Brass rapped on the door.

"LVPD! Open the door!" he shouted. There was no answer. He signalled for one of the officers to use the battering ram to gain entry. There was a loud bang as the door flew open. Brass, Catherine, and the other uniform cop entered first, their guns drawn. Grissom followed behind. The first room was clear. They kicked open another door and found the rest of the warehouse.

A man in his early thirties with dark hair and tattoos was lying unconscious on a tattered couch, drenched in blood, with a beer bottle clutched in his hand. A blood-covered knife was lying on the floor. On first glance, they thought he was dead, but Brass found a pulse on him when he checked. He could not find where the blood came from. There was no visible wounds on this man. When the officers attempted to rouse him, he opened an eye and slurred something. He was drunk. They got him standing and cuffed him.

Grissom, however, paid little attention to this man. His eyes were drawn to the only other body in the room. Her once vivid eyes were dead and empty as they stared up at him. Her strawberry blond hair was splayed on the ground around her. He felt his stomach churn as he saw the stab wounds along her chest and stomach. Her arms were lined with defensive wounds. She fought back. That was obvious from the beginning, though. She saved her son.

"Gil," Catherine whispered, coming up beside him and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He barely felt her touch. He just stared at the body of Vanessa Woods, feeling like a small part of him had died as well. Had they not been worlds apart, he could have cared about her, maybe even loved her. He couldn't speak.

He barely heard Catherine's phone ring.

"Willows," she answered. She listened for a moment and sighed, "Thank you, Wendy."

As if slowly coming back to earth, Grissom turned his head a fraction of an inch to look at Catherine, who stared back into his blue eyes.

TBC