Author's Note: I've started the final installment in this saga. I don't wanna talk about it (for spoiler reasons) but its title is "Phoenix" so keep an eye out for it. It will be short and sweet (or not so sweet). Read and review, as always, my darlings.

Catherine was kneeling down by the pool of blood on the floor, her gloves on. Her fingers waded in the mess and she closed her eyes, an expression of repulsion scuttling across her face like a cockroach.

"I thought I told you," Nick said from behind her, making her jump. "We don't need any more evidence here."

"It never hurts to try," Catherine replied without looking at him. She placed her hand palm down in the blood, then took it out and stared at it as though in a daze.

"Where's Warrick?" Nick asked.

"Backyard…" Catherine said, still staring at her hand. "He left shortly after you guys. Hasn't been back since."

"Alright…" Nick said with a slow sigh. "Cath, when you feel you're done here, you should talk to the neighbors, ask why they didn't… do anything."

"OK," Catherine agreed. She was speaking in quiet tones that held no emotion to them whatsoever. It worried Sara slightly.

"And…"

Sara turned to Nick, wondering at why he stopped.

"Never mind," Nick said, shaking his head. "I'm going to go check on Warrick."

Catherine and Sara were left alone in the hallway. Catherine straightened up and took off her gloves. "Nick's right, there's nothing here," she said with a sigh. "If we want to really nail Sasha, we'll need something else to do it."

"Let's go talk to the neighbors," Sara suggested.

They started with the folks living right next door. A woman answered in curlers.

"Another noise complaint?" she asked as she balanced a baby in her arms. "Those Russians are always causing such a ruckus. Bad for the neighborhood."

"Ma'am," Catherine began, taking out her bag. "I'm Catherine Willows, this is Sara Sidle. We're from the Crime Lab. We were just wondering—"

"Willows…" the mother said, frowning. "Any relation to Lindsey Willows?"

Smiling, Catherine nodded. "Yes, I'm her mother, I live across the street."

The woman laughed. "Huh. Little thing never mentioned you worked for the Crime Lab. Rarely mentions you at all, actually… I kinda thought you were dead."

Catherine tried not to look annoyed. "Yes, well I just wanted to ask you a few questions about your neighbors."

"I'm Susan, by the way," the woman said, shifting the baby to one arm and extending the other with a smile. "Susan Reed. Lily drops Lindsey off here sometimes to baby sit for me."

"Hm," Catherine said with a forced smile as she shook the woman's hand.

"Oh, tell Lindsey congratulations on landing Clara, Peter and I are so proud of her."

Catherine looked confused. "Ma'am, I…"

Susan seemed to notice that she didn't know. "Oh… didn't Lindsey tell you? Clara… Um, the Nutcracker, coming up this Christmas, she's been cast as Clara."

Catherine looked pale, so Sara took over. "Ma'am, please, we need to know about your neighbors."

"The Russians?" The woman raised a skeptical.

"The Volkovs, yes," Sara nodded. "Haven't you ever heard… screaming, or seen strange behavior coming from that house?"

Susan rolled her eyes and readjusted her hold on the baby. "Yeah, all the time. But… they're swingers. You know? Kinky stuff. Always having… friends over. Always screaming."

"You think it was sexual?" Sara's eyebrows were raised in horrified surprise.

"Oh, I know it was," Susan said, nodding vigorously. "Everyone does." She looked at Catherine pointedly. "You would, too, if you were here more often."

Catherine's eyes went from wide to narrow in seconds, but Sara held her arm. "How do you know that?" Sara said quickly.

"We complained, obviously," Susan said. "I went over there myself once and Vera answered the door wearing it. Leather and whips and… It's just not appropriate behavior for this kind of neighborhood, with children around if you know what I mean."

"When you were over there, did you hear any screaming?" Sara asked.

"Of course," said Susan. "We hear it all the time. Screaming to stop, or whatever, but, we all know what that means." She began to chuckle.

Sara's eyes narrowed now too. "Ma'am, you've been living next door to a couple of serial killers," she said flatly.

To her surprise, Susan laughed and shook her head. "Oh no. No, no, you've got it wrong. Apart from being loud at night, they were the perfect neighbors. Always waved, always stopped to chat. It's one reason we didn't insist they move. They were active in the community—hell, when Lindsey was busy, I'd leave Laura with Vera and Sasha. They'd take good care of her. She loved them. So we as a community figured whatever happened at night behind closed doors was none of our business."

Catherine and Sara exchanged looks. Sara looked too revolted to continue. Catherine turned on the woman.

"Mrs. Reed—"

"Susan, please," she interrupted politely.

Catherine grit her teeth and smiled. "Susan. Has… has Lindsey ever been over there?"

"Oh, no, I don't think so," Susan laughed. "Only time she's over on this side of the street is to look after Laura."

"Good," Catherine said with a nod. "Because unlike you, I don't feel secure leaving my daughter with a pair of serial killers." She turned to Sara. "I think we're good here, Sara, don't you?"

"I think so," Sara said, still seeming to be in shock. They turned and made their way down the walk way.

Susan Reed looked like a fish. "B-b-but Ms. Willows— Catherine, are you… are you serious?"

Catherine stopped and looked at Susan. "Oh I'm always serious when it comes to my daughter. And my job. And I'll send Lindsey your congratulations on her role, although I think she'll be confused because Lindsey has been too excited over a vacation we're taking into the mountains this Christmas. And they did the Nutcracker last year— this year it's Swan Lake, and because of this vacation Lindsey has decided not to participate this year." She smirked at Susan Reed. "I love my daughter, Susan. I love my work. And I don't need a soccer-mom like you judging me because I don't bake cookies all day." She tipped her head politely at her. "Have a nice day, Susan."

Susan watched them leave, stunned. Sara couldn't help but smile.

"Nice job," she said, approvingly.

"Yeah, well, she was a bitch," Catherine said. Her phone began to ring. She frowned. "It's Grissom."

Sara's smile disappeared. "Oh God."

"Relax," Catherine said. "I don't think it's about you. It could be about Greg." She held the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

But the way all the color drained from Catherine's face did nothing to quell Sara's nerves.

Nick walked out in the backyard only to see Warrick had opened his kit too. He was standing in a hole in the middle of the lawn, bent over.

"What are you doing?" Nick called over to him.

Warrick looked over his shoulder at him. "Bodies!" Warrick cried as he straightened up. "Three… maybe four of them. Only one of them is intact. I saw a finger sticking out of the ground, so I started digging." As Nick came over, he looked down in the hole, about two feet deep. "As you can see, I haven't gotten very deep yet. The hand is over there." Warrick nodded at a piece of tarp he had laid out, upon which a hand with multi-colored nails was placed.

Nick blanched. "Warrick…" he said, crouching down by the hand. "That's not an adult's hand."

Warrick didn't speak for a moment, but when he did he sounded like he was going to be sick. "Little girl from the looks of it," he said. "Don't know many boys who'll paint their nails those colors even on a dare."

"Jesus…" Nick muttered, straightening up. "And there's more. What kind of lowlifes are these people?"

"I wasn't fond of them when they held up Sara in the sewers," Warrick said. "When they took and mutilated Greg, I hated them. When I found that… I don't know, man, what is there beyond loathing?"

"Disgust," Nick replied, jumping down in the grave. "Pity."

"I sure as hell don't pity them," Warrick replied. "Damn. I hit another skull. That confirms it. Four bodies."

Nick crouched down in the hole and dusted away the dirt. He closed his eyes and sadly shook his head. "The little girl," he said. "Can't be more than… seven years old."

Warrick sighed. "Shit, man."

Nick jumped out of the hole. "Where did you find that shovel?"

"Tool shed," Warrick replied, nodding towards the end of the yard. "I saw it had been used, too. Took prints off it, but I don't know how admissible they'll be. Even if Sasha's are on it, he could just say he used it for gardening."

"He's an accessory," Nick said. "He knew all this was going on right in his backyard. Apparently literally. Even if he says he didn't kill anyone, he still didn't go to the police. We got him."

"Yeah," Warrick said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, not before he got them." He gestured at the hole.

Nick bit his lip. "I'm gonna go see if there's another shovel."

"Warrick? Nick?"

Both men stopped at Catherine's voice. She stood on the porch looking out at them, her hair blowing softly in the wind. Her silhouette in the first rays of morning was hauntingly beautiful, but the expression on her face was grim.

"What is it?" Nick asked, walking over to her. "Where's Sara?"

Catherine gestured over her shoulder. "Oh, she's, uh… in the car. Nick… the DA couldn't go forward with the accessory charge. Sasha Volkov's lawyers swooped in, said he should have had a lawyer the whole time. He's saying he's been trying to rehabilitate his wife. He says he loves her very much, but she's sick. He says that he confessed to her crimes to protect her. I mean, we got him for obstruction, but his lawyers just paid the bail again. We have no evidence to show he had a hand in the killings, just that he knew about them, which he admits... He's like butter, Nick, he just keeps…"

"Wait," Nick said, grabbing Catherine's shoulder. "You mean he's… he's out? He's on the streets?"

Slowly, Catherine nodded. Nick turned to Warrick, who was leaning on the shovel and staring at both of them in disbelief.

"Now, I'm a little far away from you guys," he said slowly. "So maybe I misheard. Volkov is… out?" Upon Catherine's nod, Warrick threw the shovel into the ground. "Then what the hell are we wasting our time here for? Nothing we do can help."

Catherine's lips were pursed as she shook her head, feeling helpless.

Sara was the first to step into the station, and was therefore the first one Grissom saw. He immediately regretted coming out to meet his incoming team. It was just approaching eight o'clock now. Most of them would probably be pulling a double today, it seemed. But not Sara. He intended on sending her home, for so many reasons.

But upon seeing her, he closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. But she wasn't one to miss an opportunity. She walked right up to him and made him look her in the eye. "Gil…" she whispered, pleadingly. "I know you must be… really upset with me right now." She slipped her hand into his and squeezed it. While he didn't pull away from her, he didn't squeeze it back. This saddened her more than she cared to admit. "But I need you right now. And I don't mean just professionally. I'm scared for so many reasons, and I just need to know that you're there. I'm asking you to be there for me, Gil. And I know I have absolutely no right to ask anything of you right now, and you have every right to sneer at me or tell me to go fuck myself, because I deserve all of that. But if you just say that you'll hold me, if you just kiss me and tell me everything will be alright, it will make me so happy, you have no idea."

It took all of Grissom's effort not to tell her to go fuck herself. But he couldn't do what she asked either. He just had nothing left. He was completely emotionally drained. What Sara was asking of him, he simply couldn't give her.

"I'm sorry, Sara," he said, as though he were speaking with an acquaintance. "I just can't do that right now."

Sara nodded. "I understand," she said simply. "But you're still so incredible, Gil Grissom. I don't deserve you." She pulled his hand to her lips, still looking him the eye, and kissed it softly before letting it drop, which it did, like a dead weight. Grissom barely even felt her touch. "I am so sorry that I hurt you."

"Sara…" he began, but at that moment Catherine and the others entered. Nick marched up to Grissom angrily.

"You let him go?!" he exclaimed.

Grissom sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Nick, it wasn't my decision." He sounded defeated, and the tone threw a bucket of cold water on Nick's fiery anger.

"I know," Nick said. "I'm sorry, it's just— You should have seen what they did to Greg."

"I did," Grissom replied. "I just got back from the hospital. I took his crime scene photos."

"Oh Grissom…" Sara was breathless. "You didn't have to…"

"Somebody did," he told her, matter-of-factly. "Did you think I just stayed behind, sulking? I fought my ass off to try and keep Sasha in custody, but loopholes and politics…" He trailed off, too exhausted to even think about it. He looked at Catherine and Warrick. "I hope you guys found something at the scene? Something we can maybe hold Sasha on."

"Nothing that can't be explained away," Warrick said, disappointedly. "Possible prints on the shovel used to burry the bodies in the backyard…"

"Testimonies from the neighbors saying the screaming at the house happened often," Catherine put in. "No evidence that Sasha was actually in the house when it did. Everyone only ever saw Vera when they went to complain. They only heard one person screaming, they always just thought it was her husband."

Grissom was tired. He could only imagine that the rest of his team was too. He made the split decision that none of them would be working doubles after all. Except for, maybe, him. "Alright then… You all go home, get some rest. If you need me, I'll be here, looking over Greg's photos and the cases of the Volkov's other victims, trying to figure something out."

"Grissom, no," Sara said firmly, taking his arm. "You're exhausted, baby."

Grissom pulled his arm away and closed his eyes. Sara took back her hand, searching him with her eyes. "Don't… Not now Sara," he said with a sigh. He looked at the others. "Listen, I want this guy behind bars as much as the rest of you. And I've already tried sleeping, it doesn't work. So instead, I'll work. Day shift just got in. We don't need you here. Go home, see Greg, get some rest, do whatever you want." He looked at Sara now. "You're not on my time anymore."

With that, he turned his back on him and marched down the hall. Sara's shoulders slumped as she stared after him, half in a daze. "I really fucked up, didn't I?" she said dully.

None of her friends said a word.