Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul.

- Henry Van Dyke

Chapter 21

He hated taking a break. While he rationalized that there was nothing more for him to process, he still felt guilty…and angry. How dare Catherine force him to take a break and eat something? It wasn't like she was going to stop. She was acting like Grissom, telling him to take a break when she had no intention of doing the same thing. She'd been going just as long as he had. He stewed over his menu, but realized that he didn't really have the energy to be mad, and Catherine was right; he needed to eat. It was just dinner, and it wasn't like he was going to allow himself the luxury of a nap afterwards, despite his fatigue. It was a quick meal, and he'd be back to work in no time.

The time was spent replaying images of the evidence. He ignored her stares and gazed off into space as piece by piece, snapshots wound through his thoughts. With each passing picture, each forced recollection, the images grew hazier. Unconsciously squinting, he repeatedly tried to regain his focus and bring clarity to his visions. He was far to tired for this, but he continued to force the images through his mind and ward off his impending collapse.

Her fingers played over his, causing him to look up from the table. Her worried features broke through his hazy gaze and he forced himself to smile. Watching her exhibit patience and understanding as she held onto his hand, he began to wonder where they were in terms of their relationship. He wondered why he couldn't just be and exist with her the way he could with the women before. Was he so broken now, that it was impossible to regain his former confidence with women? Would he only look to them for comfort…understanding? Would he ever be able to regain the man that he was? He was tired, so, so tired, and with his defenses down, her gaze sent his emotions spiraling. He squeezed his eyes shut, locking the door to his emotions. He'd already broken down once, the sight of Sara being so overwhelming. He had to get a handle on himself. He couldn't break down in front of Jessica too.

What kind of a man was he? Why was his heart so hell bent on crying out all of the time? Why couldn't he just lock that part of him away and focus on what was in front of him? He was having dinner with a very pretty girl. He'd been having dinners with her for months, without doing anything. The old Nick would have kissed her by now, the Nick he'd been before Warrick was killed and his life spiraled beyond his reach, would not only have kissed her, but took her to bed as well. Why hadn't he kissed her? Was he even a man anymore?

Resolved to clamp down on his emotions and find some of his old self, he stood and moved around the table, a man on a mission, a man with something to prove. Ignoring her startled features, he continued around the table, stopping in front of her. His heart beat in his chest, hoping that what he was about to do would help to shut off the cries screaming to get out and not open the flood gates further. He stood beside her, looking down at her, staring at her with eyes laced with determination and a bit of anger. She looked slightly afraid, but he didn't allow it to register. He reached down for her hand and pulled her to her feet. He leaned forward and without feeling, kissed her. A second later, when he first allowed himself feel, he only felt relief as she returned the kiss.

They broke apart quickly and he stared at her. She laughed and he knew the kiss had led her to the same conclusions as him. It was never going to work, ever. It had been as awkward as their first conversation together. He allowed himself to laugh as well and punched her arm lightly. "So…"

"Yeah, not going to happen."

"No." He let the work draw out before he paused. "Friends?"

"Always."

He smiled, his smile a little more genuine, and moved back to his seat, staring at her awkwardly. He pushed his food around his plate, occasionally glancing up at Jessica and noticing her doing the same thing. "Look, let's just finish our meal and forget about this."

"Yeah…yeah, okay."

He watched Jessica take a bite of her food and he followed. He avoided her eyes for the rest of the meal, the awkwardness not wearing off, though he knew it would eventually. He finished his meal quickly and pulled out his wallet, leaving cash on the table. He kissed her cheek goodbye and gave her a half hearted smile before heading back to the lab. He drove back allowing thoughts of Warrick and of the case to sink back in. While kissing Jessica hadn't accomplished much, the awkwardness of it had given his mind some reprieve from all the other thoughts consuming him.

It was information overload. It was a wild goose chase. He sat stunned as he sat in the passenger seat and listened to Catherine jabber on about the case and the Under Sheriff. It couldn't possibly be true, could it? Yet, she seemed so sure as she outlined to him, the Under Sheriff's offers to Grissom. As she continued to talk, he allowed the ideas to seed in his mind. The theory began to take root when he coupled her words with Sara's earlier in the day. The Under Sheriff had offered Grissom the lab, telling Sara of the offer. Why, if nothing was going on, would the Under Sheriff tell Sara? He wouldn't. And he wouldn't make the offer before the election either.

As it seemed he was the last to know, Greg grew angry. Grissom had some nerve to inform the rest of the team and not him. He knew Grissom, in typical Grissom fashion, probably hadn't even thought about it, but he wasn't about to make excuses for Grissom. He should have told him, immediately. He didn't care if would have been called in on his night off. No, he was only told when Catherine asked for his help on a wild goose chase. Imaging, searching for a safety deposit box on a Sunday night. There was no way they were going to trace that key that night. They were wasting time. Wasn't there something else he could be doing?

"Cath, this is a waste of time. The box isn't under Pritchard's name, or Ecklie would have found it when Warrick was killed. Besides, the banks aren't even open."

"I know that Greg, but I can't sit around the lab doing nothing. I need to do something."

"But Cath…"

"Look, we're not just driving around here. We're going to see somebody."

Greg's eyes snapped to Catherine. His mind raced through the possibilities, but he was reluctant to ask. "Who?"

"Vince DeRosa."

"No way." His eyes grew wide and he began to feel a little giddy.

"Look, if anyone can match the key to a bank, it's him."

"Okay. I assume you know the man, so what do you need me for?"

"I thought you'd enjoy this. It's right up your alley." Catherine shot him a glance half amused and half annoyed. "Besides, Grissom would kill me if I went alone. You know how he feels about my relationships with my father's less than legitimate connections."

Greg laughed in recognition. "Seedy connections. Does Grissom know where you're going?"

"No, Grissom's still in that daze, but when he does find out, at least I'll be able to tell him I brought you along."

"And Brass?"

"Same reason. You know how Grissom feels about your obsession with the old school Vegas Underworld. I'm just covering all the bases here."

Greg nodded. The car grew silent again and it gave him time to think about Grissom and the situation and the fact that he was only just finding out about it now. The excitement of the last minute faded as he thought about the reason for their trip, and everything he'd heard in the past half hour.

Unbelievable, that's what the situation was. Warrick dead two months and all along, the Under Sheriff was responsible? The Under Sheriff trying to bribe Grissom…Grissom, a man who would not bend in his convictions. And Sara back for it all, unknowingly returning only to be thrown in the middle of this crazy fire. The situation, the combination of elements, was explosive…volatile. It was messed up. The situation, what they were dealing with, Christ, what Grissom had to deal with, it was all so messed up. And, he knew he didn't even have half of the story. The part that was buried, that was still unknown, that he knew Grissom was trying to protect them from, was far worse. The Under Sheriff would have known Grissom wouldn't just accept control of the lab and leave it at that. There was something else, something else the Under Sheriff must have said to Grissom to try to ward off the investigation. There was no doubt in Greg's mind that Grissom was dealing with a potentially highly dangerous situation. Greg was still angry, but he did allow himself to feel some sympathy for his supervisor.

If Dante was right and there were nine circles of hell, he wondered which circle of hell he was traveling through. The seventh…the eighth perhaps? It was definitely one of the lower circles. It was a nightmare. It was hell. He felt so impotent, knowing who killed his friend and having nothing on the man and no place to start. Worse that the feeling of impotence was the fear, the fear of the man holding all the cards and having all the power. If only he could find something.

Grissom sifted through all of the results given to him by Catherine and Nick, looking for the minutest of clues. He worked, uninterrupted, for hours. The lab was dark and quiet…eerily quiet. Where was the Under Sheriff at the moment, and why was his spine tingling?

Despite the lack of interruptions, he was finding it hard to concentrate. The fears would rise up and take over his mind as he thought about Sara, all alone in the apartment, with an unknown threat hanging over her head. He'd picked up his phone several times, only to shake his head and put the down again before turning back to the files in front of him. Needing to hear her voice, searching for a little reassurance, he finally allowed himself to dial before closing the phone and chastising himself for letting his fears control his actions. Sara was alright. The Under Sheriff wouldn't try anything yet, not when they didn't have anything on him. It still didn't stop him from repeating the action.

Still, he had to hear her voice. He'd call once, before she went to sleep, wish her goodnight. It was a good excuse. She'd appreciate the thought. He picked up his phone and dialed again, feeling his stomach tighten when the line was busy. Sara wouldn't be calling anyone, would she? Not from his home phone. He quickly dialed her cell but the call went straight to voicemail. He hung up quickly, and without thinking about his actions, grabbed his jacket and headed out.

The house was dark when he arrived. It looked undisturbed, but that didn't offer him much comfort. He opened the door slowly and crept in, leaving the lights off. Treading softly in the dark, he moved towards the bedroom and pushed open the door, listening to the creak the hinges made. He moved towards the bed, examining the lump. As he got closer, he realized the lump on the bed was Hank and not Sara. He took a deep breath. Where was Sara?

As the panic and what he hoped was paranoia began to rise in him, he moved from the bedroom to search the rest of the apartment. He opened several doors on his quiet trek through his home, but saw no sight of Sara. He pulse began to rise, his breathing became labored. He moved to the living room and nearly fainted on the spot. Sara was curled on the couch, asleep.

Sara's relaxed form drew him towards her. He wanted nothing more than to sink into her embrace and join her in sleep. He sat on the edge of the couch and noticed her sleep wasn't as relaxed as he'd just imagined. It seemed restless. His hands skimmed the hair from her face, attempting to sooth her. Her hands came up and swatted his away before she flung herself into sitting position. He noticed her trying to calm her rapid breaths. "Shit Gil, you scared me."

He winced. "Sorry."

He watched as she rubbed her eyes and sat further up, leaving him room to sit next to her. "Is your shift over already?"

"No."

"What time is it?"

"One-thirty."

"What are you doing home?"

"I tried calling. The phone was off the hook and your cell is turned off. What are you doing on the couch?"

"I couldn't sleep in the bed. Someone kept calling and hanging up. The display read unknown. In unnerved me a little."

Grissom sighed. "It was me. I'm sorry."

"Gil, what's going on?"

"What?"

"With you. What's going on with you?"

"Sara…" He struggled for words and knew he had none to explain anything, none he could give her anyways.

"Never mind, it's okay. Are you home for the night or are you heading back in?"

He shook his head. "I have to go back to the lab."

"Gil…"

"We'll talk later, I promise. Are you going to stay on the couch?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll try the bed again."

"Good." He pulled her up and walked her to the bedroom. After she laid down next to Hank, he kissed her forehead. "Goodnight then."

"Night."

He smiled softly and leaned down to the dog that had been roused from his sleep. "Watch over her, Hank." He stood up, feeling like an idiot, an exhausted, paranoid idiot, and it was entirely his fault that Sara wasn't comfortable in their home.