A/N – I hope everyone is having a fabulous 2008 so far! Mine's going great. The kids are actually listening to me. Weird.
Disclaimer – Nope. Not gonna do it.
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Sara grabbed April's arm as she stood from the couch. Guiding her back to her seat, Sara finally said in a low, husky voice, "You're right. I need to talk to my team – make them understand."
Looking into April's grey eyes, she added, "I want you to intern with me. I have loved getting to know you. Maybe part of it's selfish, because I have a kid sister who is what I always wanted to be, and it amazes me. I like having you around."
Hugging Sara tightly, April felt the tears begin to gather, and fall. "I love being around you, too. I just plain love you. And I can't think of anything I'd rather do than work for you."
"I love you, too," Sara whispered back, and exhaled a long breath.
Suddenly very tired, Sara yawned, and said, "I'm going to bed."
When she tracked down her husband, he'd fallen asleep at his desk, a journal laid out in front of him, and his reading glasses askew. Gently shaking him, she murmured in his ear, "Bed time." Groggily, he followed her down the hall, into the blacked out bedroom, and together they fell into a dreamless slumber.
Unfortunately, Sara saw little of April for the rest of her stay. Opting to arrive at the lab later than Grissom or Sara, April spent a great deal of time studying and making sure she didn't fall behind in her classes. When she wasn't studying, she spent time with Greg – going dancing, getting a tour of the city, and just hanging out.
The week came and went quickly. Sara was getting slammed in DNA, and on more than one occasion got pulled into a case for a spare set of eyes. Added to that, since they generally arrived a couple of hours before the others, she spent a couple of hours at the end of each shift working in her lab. She'd talked to Janie, and needed to get the circuit board specs out to the electronics team as soon as possible.
It was the day before she left that April pulled Sara aside.
"I'm heading home tomorrow, but I think I've got it worked out that I can be back here in about four weeks," she said. "I've worked it out with my teachers that I can telecommute for the rest of the year. My main professor, Dr. Gideon, is working out a schedule with a math professor at UNLV for a couple of summer classes."
"That's great," Sara replied, smiling.
The day after April left, Grissom and Greg got a call to a local art gallery. Detective Vega stood in the middle of the room, when they arrived. Walking in carrying their kits, Greg blew out a breath and said, "Wow. Somebody was pissed off."
Standing in the center of a large warehouse-size room, with layered partition walls hanging from the ceiling, Greg turned a full circle and examined the damage. There were dozens of paintings. "Somehow, I don't think the black paint and slices through the canvas were meant to be part of the pictures," Greg said, as he and Grissom surveyed the damage.
"The owner of the gallery came in to do some last minute checks on the exhibit, and found… this. As you can see, someone has decided to redecorate," Vega said.
"Security system?" Grissom queried.
Shaking his head, Vega responded, "The security system was still active, and there was no sign of forced entry."
Signaling, an officer escorted a short, robust middle age man to them.
"Sir," Grissom began, as the man shifted restlessly.
"Trent… Trent Davis," he replied, looking around.
"Could you tell us something about the paintings in here?" Greg asked.
"Brilliant young artist – his name was Billy Gaunt," the fidgeting man explained.
"Was?" Greg asked.
Sighing, Davis reverently said, "Yes. A brilliant artist. Died in a fiery automobile accident about a year ago."
Looking around the room, Davis's face fell and he continued, "Billy was considered good when he was alive, but in the past few months, his work has become more in demand. The abstracts he's painted are sought after by people all over the United States."
"How much would an average painting go for?" Greg asked, curiously.
"It depends on the painting, really," Davis explained. Pointing to a painting three feet by four feet, he said, "That particular painting is listed for seventy five thousand."
"Dollars?" Greg asked, surprised, and then shook his head, thinking, There's no accounting for taste.
"I hadn't realized his paintings had become that popular," Grissom murmured.
When Greg and Detective Vega looked at him, Grissom added, "Sara bought two of his paintings about four years ago. She had them hanging in her entryway at her apartment. They are in the living room at our house."
"Are you talking about the green and brown swirl-y paintings next to the book shelf?" Greg asked, recalling the similarities in style.
"Yes, she really likes his paintings. I'm not sure how much it cost back then, but I know she spent a great deal on it even then," Grissom stated. "My taste tends towards watercolors."
"That would be the trio of butterflies on the wall in the dining room," Greg grinned. "I figured that was you."
Looking around at the damage, Grissom said, "Greg, I want you to start processing on that side," and he pointed one direction. Heading the other direction, he added, "I'll start over here."
When Warrick showed up several hours later, Greg and Grissom had made significant headway in processing the paintings and surrounding walls. "Hey, Griss, I heard you might need an extra hand," Warrick called out.
Looking around, Grissom replied, "I need you to look at possible points of entry – doors, windows… everything."
It wasn't until they'd processed the majority of the suspension and permanent walls that Greg made the discovery of a small smudge of a pink substance on the wall. Indicating the overhead hanging lights, Greg hollered to Vega, "I need you to switch off the lights." Within moments, the room plunged into darkness, lit only by the exterior street lamps.
Snapping on the ALS, Greg yelled, "Hey Grissom. You need to see this!" As he waited for Grissom to cross the room, Greg pulled out a swab, wiped at the small spot he'd seen on the wall, and dripped some Leuko crystal violet over it. When it fluoresced, Greg's eyes snapped to Grissom's. "Blood."
Getting a closer look with the ALS, Grissom murmured, "There is no ridge detail. They wore gloves."
"I'd say latex or something like it," Warrick said from behind them. At Grissom's curious look, he added, "There are folds here," and pointed to where the thumb met the palm. "Thicker gloves wouldn't leave marks like that. The gloves need to be thin – so, if I had to hazard a guess, it would be something like latex."
Standing back made the ALS slightly less effective, but still usable for the purposes they intended. As Greg stepped back, aiming his ALS still at the wall, the single hand print became two, then four. Grissom and Warrick grabbed their own lights and went to work.
By the time the three finished reviewing each wall, Greg, Grissom, and Warrick had a good visual of what they would see if they had an ALS to illuminate the entire room. Every wall was stamped with bloody handprints that had been carefully wiped away.
It took them ten hours, and two trucks to collect and deliver the evidence to the lab, where it could be locked up. Grissom found Sara waiting for them, impatiently pacing his office. "Did you really collect thirty one Billy Gaunts?" she asked.
"Why hello to you too, Sara," Warrick sarcastically replied.
"Hey guys. So? Did you?"
"Actually, it was thirty two of his paintings we collected. They're currently crated, wrapped, and being stored in the garage," Grissom replied.
"We pulled dozens of fingerprints off the walls," Greg lamented. "Dozens."
"You're talking about over a million dollars in paintings," Sara stated, her face a mirror of concentration. "Four or five months ago, it would have been a fraction, but since the painter's dead, the prices have skyrocketed. The small painting we've got is worth over twenty thousand."
"Warrick, Greg – start cataloging the paintings, and log your notes. Then head home. We'll work our way through the rest tonight," Grissom ordered. "I'll drop off the fingerprints with Mandy, and the samples of the paint we collected to Hodges."
Turning to his wife, Grissom said, "We collected a large number of DNA samples we'll need tested."
Blowing out a long breath, Sara resigned herself to pulling a very long shift, but Grissom shook his head, and said, "Ecklie's already told the guy on Days to start processing. We're done for the day. Are you about ready to head home?"
"Yes," she softly replied. "I've gotten my specs off to Janie for the circuit boards I need built, and with any luck they'll be coming in, along with the machined parts, sometime next week."
After a quick, light meal, and a leisurely walk with Hank, Sara and Grissom finally made their way to their bed to relax and watch a movie. Laying curled up together, Sara murmured, "I need to talk to the team." At Grissom's questioning glance, she said, "They need to know where I came from… what I am."
When she started to pull away, he wrapped his arms more tightly around her. As her head tucked onto his shoulder, he whispered, "What you are is intelligent, witty, compassionate, and kind. Nothing else changes that – not Laura, not your father, not me."
"Thanks," she said. Sara tilted her head and Gil looked into those brown eyes. "I'm terrified. I have never been able to really talk about it. I've spent my life hiding from it, and worrying about what people will think of me when they know."
"Greg and I know," Grissom stated. "April knows, as well. People who love you will accept it, and see only your strength and will." Closing his eyes, and shuddering at the memory, he whispered, "In the desert, I was terrified. I was frozen – ineffective. I didn't know what I would have done had I lost you. Catherine was right, though. You're a survivor. That's what people see… nothing will change that."
Stroking her hand across the stubble on his cheek, Sara watched his eyes open, and the blue deepen. "I love you," she murmured as she tilted her head up, letting him meet her halfway. As he settled down from the headboard, and she joined him, she let her hands roam, and felt his own touching – everywhere. It wasn't the first time since she'd recovered from her ordeal that Sara had felt a sense of urgency pour from him. As she gave herself over, she knew it wouldn't be the last time she'd feel his hands tremble as they sought comfort through touch.
Once they'd found their solace in one another, and before she tumbled into sleep, Sara heard him whisper, "You're not just surviving. You're living. That's what matters."
Smiling, she fell asleep with her legs tangled in his, the sheet wrapped up in her feet, and her head on his shoulder. She woke the same way, with a sense of resolve.
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A/N – I hope you enjoy. Please leave me a review.