I know, I know. I bring no good excuse, just the promise that I will try to update this sooner, 'cause it's a good story and deserves to be finished.


Sara watched through the glass as Gil gave Heather the tragic news. Even from a distance, even from a sheath of glass between them, and even though she felt with everything in her being that he loved her, Sara knew Grissom wanted to comfort Heather. He wanted to comfort Heather like he did Sara when she finally broke down and told him about her parents and her past. Maybe this was something she was going to have to get used to--Gil's need to save women in distress.

If she wanted to psychoanalyze it, perhaps this stemmed from comforting his mother when his dad died so unexpectedly and suddenly. But she didn't want to do that. No, what she wanted was to turn away and not watch what was happening in that room. What she wanted was to feel sympathy and compassion for a woman who just lost her husband, and with a baby on the way to make everything just a little more tragic. Sara did not want to feel this jealousy and intimidation for the woman who now had the full attention of Gil Grissom, Love of Sara's Life. What, were they in high school? If Grissom was able to bring comfort to Heather in her time of need, who was she to get in the way of that? Yet Sara could not help what she felt, which inevitably made her feel even worse.

"Why aren't you in there?" Greg asked, appearing out of thin air. Sara didn't even know he'd been standing there.

"Well, Heather asked for him," she said. "She didn't ask for me."

"Don't you think that's a little odd?"

"No. She trusts him, I suppose."

"I think she does a little more than trust him," Greg said mischievously. "I heard that a few years ago, he spent--"

"Greg, that is none of your business. It's none of my business. It's nobody's business, okay? And haven't you been warned about spreading gossip around the lab? Seriously, what's wrong with you?"

Instead of looking at Greg's confused and hurt face, Sara left in a hurry. Greg was her friend. Sometimes, when nobody else was around, they'd go outside and share a cigarette and some secrets. It was not normal for her to act like that with him.

Out in the hall, she sighed, wondering how this case, of all the cases, was bringing out the worst side of herself. She didn't like it.


"Please, Gil, tell me what happened," Heather said. "I want to know where you found him. I want to know every detail."

"Didn't Jim tell you these things?" Gil asked nervously.

"No. He was going to, but I told him I wanted to hear it from you. Please, Gil. I have to know."

"Heather...you don't HAVE to know. Do you really think it will help you sleep at night to know what happened to John?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Gil took a deep breath, wondering why in the world she would want this information.

"We don't have all the results in yet, but we think he was abducted from the stadium and taken to maybe a warehouse or an empty house somewhere. He was dumped in the back alley of the Tangiers. There are signs of torture, including hair pulling and burn marks all over his body. Judging from the Mees' lines under his fingernails, he was then poisoned with a heavy metal like arsenic or thallium. And, well, he was also shot at close range to the back of the head."

Heather nodded, composed as always. Gil wondered how she had it in her to remain so strong.

"I understand," she said. "Tell me, Gil, isn't heavy metal poisoning the chosen method of women who kill?"

"Yes, it is, actually," he said. "Because of the passivity." He took a second to remember the case a few years ago of the two women who poisoned their husbands--as a team, it appeared. He remembered how Sara was angry when they weren't able to convict the women of the murders. She was so passionate, his Sara.

"So I imagine that would narrow the list of suspects quite significantly," Heather said cooly.

Grissom wasn't sure what to tell her.

"Yes, in theory. But we aren't very far with our list of suspects yet, I'm sorry to say. And, well, you know...Heather, we can't really discuss that with you until we know for sure. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes. In theory." She looked at him, a strong, determined woman in a broken down shell. There were so many things he wanted to ask her; so many things he wanted to tell her. But yet, he couldn't bring himself to feel these things without guilt, much less say them.

When Heather determined that was the end of the conversation, she gathered her things and made her exit, elegant and poised as usual. Only people who knew her well could tell that under that exterior, she was grieving. She wouldn't fall apart, not in public. He had a sudden urge to be there when she did ultimately break down. This was not a feeling he enjoyed.

"Heather..." he said softly before the door closed, with her behind it.

"Yes, Gil?"

There was so much he wanted to ask. He wanted to know if she had anybody to go home to; anybody to listen and comfort her as she cried. He wanted to ask her about the drawer full of, well, him, that he and Sara found at her house. He wanted to tell her he knew about the pregnancy.

"I'm sorry," he said. "We'll let you know about possible suspects."

"Thank you, Gil," she said, and looked at him for a few seconds too long. In those seconds, he knew that he was hiding nothing. She could see right through him, and they both knew it. He just wished she knew that he had his reasons. For everything.

Grissom composed himself before he left the room. He knew Sara had been watching even if she didn't know he knew. It was almost like the Vincent Lurie investigation three years before, expect it wasn't at all like that. 3 years ago he had been a coward. He'd been terrified of his feelings for Sara. Somehow he overcame that fear and now he was a better man for it. Sara made him a better man. Through her love for him; through the strength and devotion and everything else she stood for, she made him want to be a better man. But yet, he was still a coward. His heart was broken for Heather. He wanted to be the one to comfort her. Maybe he should have himself excused from the case. Maybe it would be best for everyone. But he wanted to stay. He wanted to be the one that found the killer. He wanted to be the hero. Was that so wrong?


Less than 24 hours later, Catherine Willows and Jim Brass were sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels at Catherine's townhouse. They did this about once a month - it was an evening full of drunken sexual tension, rampant and vicious workplace gossip, and usually there was also a well done steak involved. They both looked forward to these random, somewhat secretive nights where nothing would ever be accomplished and hopefully they stayed just sober enough not to consummate their interesting--but platonic--friendship.

"You make a hell of a mashed potato," Jim told Catherine, slathering butter onto a monstrous pile of potatoes. "I mean, seriously, where do they teach you to make potatoes like this?"

"At the Retired Poledancer's Academy," Catherine said. They both laughed, even though it wasn't that funny.

"No, really, Lindsey loves these things. Sometimes it would be the only thing I could do to make her happy after her father died."

"And what did you do for yourself when your father died? I mean...are you handling it?"

"I'm handling it," she said. "We just didn't have that much time together, and I spent most of that time accusing him of one crime after another. I just wish things could have been different, Jim. But hey, I'm from Vegas. My mom was a showgirl and my dad ran casinos. You get the cards that are dealt, so to speak."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's true."

For a moment, the two of them were silent as they ate their steak and potatoes. Catherine prepared a spoonful of potatoes when she paused and said, "Can you believe what's happening with Lady Heather? Oh, Jim, I can't tell you how much sympathy I have for that woman. I consider her a friend, and it pains me to think what she's going through right now."

"I know. It's tragic, it really is. But I know someone who may end up being the one to comfort her."

"Who?" Catherine asked, always ready and willing to play the gossip game with Jim. The two of them were like schoolgirls sometimes.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed the way Grissom gets around that woman. From the very first day he met her 5 years ago, she's had some kind of spell on him."

"Oh, well, of course I noticed. The only question is, to what extent?"

Brass looked sideways at Catherine, wondering if she was saying what he thought she was saying.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...if he comforted her during this time; if he went to her house and made sure she was okay...wouldn't he risk losing something else important to him?"

She was saying what he thought she was saying!

"Do you know something?" He asked, grinning ever so slightly.

"Do you know something?"

"Of course I do. I have for a long time."

"Me, too! Well, not that long. And it's only been a suspicion. You know for sure?" Catherine sounded as excited as he felt.

"I think I do, yes."

Jim and Catherine had been getting together for dinner for nearly 3 years, and almost every time they did, the conversation would always fall back to Grissom and Sara. Why didn't Grissom get his head out of his ass? Why didn't Sara just move on with her life? Why didn't they just do it already? But for the past year or so, that conversation was dying down. Was it because they just didn't care anymore? Or was it because they knew something and didn't want to let the cat out of the bag? They were discovering a whole new world, it seemed.

"Jim...you don't think Gil would risk his, um, relationship to be with Heather right now, do you? I'm sure he feels like he has some obligation to her, but he doesn't, right?"

"No, he doesn't. Maybe Heather makes him think that he does, but she has friends. She has people. She does not need Gil Grissom. But I think she wants him to want her for some reason."

"That's a frightening thought," Catherine said. Jim nodded.

The two of them finished their meal and continued gossiping and laughing, but both of them had a slight feeling of unrest. Both of them knew something was going to happen, and it probably wasn't going to be good.



As Brass and Catherine shared a meal together, Grissom and Sara were also sharing one. But there was no gossip. There was no laughter. There was only guilt-ridden smiles and tense small talk. They weren't used to this. They made a promise to each other when they first started this relationship that they were going to be honest with each other, no matter what the cost.

"You can go if you want to," Sara finally said, after realizing she couldn't eat another bite of her eggplant parmigiana without saying something. "You can go to Heather's. Do what you have to do."

Grissom was silent for what seemed like decades.

"Will you be here when I get back?" He asked, avoiding her eyes.

"Depends on what you have to do."

"Sara, I..."

"Gil, I trust you."

"Do you really?"

"Of course I do."

Gil knew he should say something else, something meaningful. But the words weren't coming. He knew in his heart that he was doing irreparable damage to his relationship with Sara, and if he didn't do something immediately, he may actually lose her. Still, he did not say anything. He just didn't have it in him.

Sara surprised both of them by breaking the silence.

"Like I told you before, I'm not this girl. I'm not the jealous, insecure girl with low self-esteem that you have to coddle. I'm not. But Gil, you aren't giving me much to go on here. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, I do. And I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

So he said nothing. Neither of them moved. They stared at their plates, not knowing what else to say. Because there was nothing else to say. There was only something to do, and they both knew what that was.