Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All others belong to me, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.

Spoilers: through "Bull"

Note: this story includes the non-graphic deaths of children.

This chapter especially belongs to Laura27md, for betaing above and beyond the call of duty, and Cincoflex, who gave me the key to the chapter. Thank you, ladies.

My deepest apologies for not getting this up yesterday. I got home late after a lovely evening out, began preparing to post, and discovered that my Internet connection was down. (sigh) Not my week, I guess...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The food was good, but Sara wasn't really tasting her soup. "You guys are going to be short on sleep tonight."

Nick gave her a smile across the booth's table--a genuine one, despite the worry in his eyes. "Relax, Sar. We're big boys."

Warrick snorted softly and dipped a french fry in ketchup. "We're too damn busy right now for anybody to notice anyway." He shot her a look that was part amusement, part apology. "With your sweetie in the clink and Greg on Swing, we're all swamped. I think the only thing keeping Catherine under control is Grissom's paperwork."

Sara rolled her eyes at him, knowing he was just teasing. Meeting them unexpectedly at the jail had been a boost to her spirits; Grissom needed all the visitors he could get. "Is she still pissed at me?"

"Yeah," Warrick answered, but Nick shrugged.

"Kinda." Warrick arched his brows at his friend, and Nick tilted one hand back and forth. "You know how she gets. Intellectually, she knows it's not your fault, but Cath always leads with her emotions."

"They've been friends a long time," Warrick added, as if to excuse Catherine. Sara nodded.

I can't blame her for being angry at me. Hell, I'm angry at me. "I hope she goes to see him too."

The two men exchanged another glance, both starting to smile. "Well--that's why we asked you to come eat with us," Nick explained. "She said she'd be at the jail right behind us."

Sara had to laugh, and it felt good. "Good. He'll be glad to see her."

Nick shook his head, poking at his sandwich. "This whole thing is so messed up." He looked up and saw her smile vanishing, and hurried on. "Not what you did, Sara, I mean it. It's just--Grissom can't have done it."

"No way," Warrick agreed somberly. "We see all kinds of things on this job, but him--"

Sara looked at her friends, grateful for their faith. "The evidence--"

"Screw the evidence," Nick said sharply. "Somebody's trying to get him in trouble."

She shook her head, ruefully amused. "What did Grissom say when you brought it up?"

Warrick chuckled, equally rueful. "What do you think? He told us not to worry about it, that in the end the evidence would show who really killed those kids."

Typical Gil. Sara dipped up a spoonful of soup. "Do you believe him?"

Nick blew out a breath. "Dunno. But there's not a lot we can do--Nightshift can't touch the case and we've already had Ecklie threatening to fire us if we come anywhere near it."

"Even Greg won't say anything," Warrick added. "And he's not even on it."

Nick leaned back, abandoning his plate. "It's not like we care what Ecklie says," he went on, his eyes serious. "But there's not a whole hell of a lot we can do, you know? Not without access to the case file."

Sara understood, and smiled at them both, her heart aching a little for the love they bore their supervisor. "I think you're already doing plenty."

"What did Archie say?" Sara asked.

The three members of Operation Save Grissom were ranged around Greg's kitchen table, both the younger CSIs looking somewhat worn about the edges. Greg sighed.

"Mostly a lot of four-letter words related to the city's IT security budget."

Sara's stomach sank. "The lab's intranet got hacked?"

"By an expert," Greg confirmed. On the other side of the table, Ronnie was working on a report; Greg had been the only one to speak to Archie. "He says there hasn't been any activity for at least three days, but prior to that someone was in and out of the more accessible stuff."

"Including the lab's calendar," Sara guessed darkly, and Greg sighed, idly spinning his half-empty glass of orange juice.

"Yep. E-mail and lab reports are all on a higher-security server, but the non-confidential stuff is, and I quote, 'easier than a drunk on Rohypnol'." He grimaced. "Archie's planning on submitting some kind of report about it."

Sara frowned. "I thought you told him this was a secret!"

Greg waved a hand placatingly. "All I told him was that I was running a little unofficial check on some stuff, and he glommed onto it like it was the latest spy flick. Don't worry--he said he'd come up with some kind of excuse."

Sara sighed, and pushed the plate of sandwiches closer to Ronnie, who took one absently. "Could he trace who was doing the hacking?"

Greg's face fell. "He said it was too late, that we'd have to wait until the hacker came back. I didn't mention that whoever it was doesn't have a reason to show up again." He snorted. "When I left Arch was rigging some kind of electronic trip wire or something."

Rubbing her temples, Sara thought for a moment. The confirmation of an information leak was a plus, but they still had no thread to follow. It's not like we could have used the lead officially, but at this point I'd settle for just about anything if it would just lead us somewhere.

"At least, if the intranet was hacked, it means it's not someone in the lab," Ronnie spoke up, capping her pen.

"This is true," Greg agreed, but his expression was unhappy.

Anger sparked. "We've got nothing--we need a lead, a crumb, something." Sara smacked her palm on the table in frustration, ignoring the sting. "Nobody's perfect. The killer had to fuck up somehow."

"They probably did." Greg scrubbed a hand through his hair wearily. "We just haven't caught it because it's not in context."

Ronnie bit her lip, staring at her half-eaten sandwich, and Sara focused on her, recognizing the signs. "What is it, Ron?"

The rookie shifted in her chair. "Um, you know, something occurred to me last night..."

"Yeah?" Greg sat up.

"Well..." Ronnie was blushing, Sara realized. "I was, was thinking about your, um, abduction." She nodded at Sara. "I mean, that wasn't somebody trying to get at you, it was somebody trying to get at Grissom."

"Yeah, but Natalie's locked up in the nut house," Greg said inelegantly, and Sara blinked, taken by the beginning of an idea. But it dodged back into hiding when Ronnie's phone rang.

Ronnie retrieved it from her belt. "Lake."

Neither Sara nor Greg could hear the voice on the other end, but they watched Ronnie's eyes widen and flick towards Sara. "Right," she said after a moment of listening. "I'll be in as soon as I can. Twenty minutes."

She closed the phone, looking baffled. "What is it?" Greg asked. "Something's happened?"

Ronnie didn't look away. "They've found another body."

Sara felt a jolt run through her, half hope, half disbelief. "What, another kid?"

"Yeah." Ronnie started to gather her paperwork. "It looks like it fits the previous dumps, but that's all Vartann said."

Greg shook his head, looking baffled and delighted both. "But that means that Grissom's off the hook--"

"Maybe," Sara cautioned, thinking furiously. "Maybe. It could be just something similar, or even a copycat."

"Or someone trying to prove him innocent?" Greg asked, raising one brow.

Sara hid a wince at the thought of another baby killed in Grissom's name. "We won't know until Ronnie does."

The CSI in question stood and picked up her folder, smiling at both of them despite the fatigue in her posture. "I'll let you know as soon as I can."

Greg saw her out. Sara began wrapping up the leftover sandwiches, trying to summon back the glimmer that Ronnie's comment had sparked, and started slightly when Greg touched her arm.

"You're out of it, Sar, I said your name three times," he informed her cheerfully before taking the covered plate from her hands.

"Sorry," she said absently. "Greg, remember what Ron said just before Vartann called?"

Greg put the sandwiches in his fridge and closed the door. "Natalie was trying to get revenge on Grissom when she kidnapped you."

Sara swore that she could feel her synapses beginning to glow with revelation. "So her theory is that the killer is after me."

He snorted, grinning. "The idea is to make the list shorter, not longer."

Sara scarcely heard him. It's more than a theory.

With a sudden, burning certainty, Sara knew who was framing Grissom, with the intent of getting to her. Ronnie had it exactly right; this was precisely Natalie's motivation.

Precisely.

Sara stood. "Excuse me," she told her co-conspirator. "I need to do some research."

The smile that curved her lips was triumphant. "Thanks for lunch, Greg."

As she walked out, she heard Greg's aggrieved mutter behind her. "I hate it when you do that. You're just like Grissom."

She threw him a wave over her shoulder, and let herself out.

The ride home didn't take long, but it felt like forever to Sara. She parked in the garage and all but ran into the house, barely taking the time to lock the door behind her.

Technically what she was about to do fell into a gray area, but as Sara booted up her laptop she just didn't care. As law enforcement officials, CSIs had access to all kinds of databases, not just criminal ones, and while they did the majority of their research at work, Grissom and Sara both would work from home on occasion. Usually when they had maxed out on overtime, but that was immaterial at the moment.

What mattered was that they had passwords.

It didn't take long to look up Hannah West. Sara knew about her lawsuit against the county, but hadn't heard how much the settlement had totaled, and the figure made Sara whistle softly. I guess they didn't want that one made too public. Going up against a thirteen-year-old orphan whose brother died in custody wouldn't have looked too good.

The settlement meant that regardless of whatever funds she might have already had--and Sara figured that Hannah had been far from poor--she was now modestly wealthy. And if she wanted to use that money on an obsession, as an emancipated minor there was no one and nothing to stop her.

Hannah was still listed as a student at the university, Sara found, but her status was "inactive", and a quick call to the school revealed that the term could apply to someone who was taking a semester off.

Sara sat back and considered the problem. Motive was obvious, as was the intelligence needed to carry out the murders. She's not a criminalist, but she's smart and she's careful. And Hannah was nothing if not detail-oriented.

Transportation was an issue, but not an insurmountable one. She's not old enough to drive, but I bet that with the right makeup and careful driving she could get away with it.

Or she might have hired someone to do the driving for her. Sara knew quite well that there were plenty of people who would do anything, and look the other way, for enough money.

Even coming from a teenage girl.

As Greg had said, obtaining Grissom's fingerprints and hair wasn't that much of a challenge. Sara did a quick search, and found that Googling Grissom's name turned up a mention of his lecture in Seattle.

All but two of the victims were taken within the city. And finding out that Grissom was going to McGill could have been as simple as putting a tail on him.

Hannah made more sense as a suspect if she was working with an accomplice, but Sara was already certain, based on intuition alone, that Hannah was the killer.

It fits, it totally fits. She sees me responsible for her brother's death, so she's taking away the person I love in revenge.

Her mistake.

The sunlight pouring in through the windows waned as the day went on, but Sara didn't move from her seat on the couch. Her laptop lay closed on the coffee table, abandoned in favor of pure thought.

Intuition was not enough. There had to be some evidence that pointed in Hannah's direction.

This is all backwards. Grissom often warned his people about making the evidence fit a theory instead of the other way around. But all the evidence does is lead back to Grissom. We need another way.

The murder scenes shifted in her mind's eye, back and forth, photos and reports and small pathetic bodies on Dr. Nat's spotless tables. There's nothing there. I need...I need a fresh angle.

Sara had been able to put herself inside Hannah's mind before, though it had not been a pleasant experience. It was an effort, this time, but Sara stared at the opposite wall and thought about what it was like to be fourteen, and brilliant, and lacking an adult's experience.

She'd been there, after all.

Hannah had to teach herself forensics. Even if she took college courses, she couldn't have learned enough in a couple of semesters to set up these murders so perfectly.

A slow smile curved Sara's lips, and she knew it was not a kind one. Even a genius has to take the time to become an expert.

She rose and went to find her keys.

The university's library was open to anyone. Sara headed straight for the reference section she wanted; she still had the call numbers memorized, thanks to the forensics classes she'd taken in San Francisco.

There was a fair number of books available, some more advanced than others, and Sara grinned a little when she spotted one that Grissom had co-authored. She skipped the most basic volumes, choosing six that seemed the most likely, and took them to a quiet back corner, well away from librarian eyes.

Her voluminous shoulder bag was big enough to hold a small printing kit. Sara pulled on latex gloves and took the first book off the stack, riffling through it to look for an illustration page.

The glossy paper showed fingerprints even to the unaided eye. Sara smiled again, opened a jar of powder, and began to dust.

Forty-five minutes later, she had a stack of slightly grimy books, a pile of smeared dry wipes, and a memory card full of completely inadmissible photos.

All I need is a start. If I can put Ronnie on a legitimate trail...

She replaced the books and walked out of the library, carrying that fragile hope. Just as she beeped open the locks on her Prius, her phone chimed.

It was Ronnie's personal number. "What did you find?" Sara asked.

Ronnie sounded exhausted. "The body's been out there at least a week."

The weight that had lifted slightly with the revelation about Hannah returned. "So it doesn't clear Gil."

"Well, we just got back to the lab. Something might turn up." But her voice held little hope.

"Yeah." Sara let out a slow breath. "How old?"

She could envision the sorrow on Ronnie's face; the rookie's soul was not yet calloused to tragedy. "Four. A little girl."

Sara closed her eyes, accepting the burden. "Get some sleep, Ron," she said after a moment. "And thanks."

She clicked off the phone, and got into her car, wondering if she should call Greg or just stop by his apartment.

She had a memory card to give him.