"Gil!" The soft shake of his shoulder caused a mumble of discontent and he turned over, burying his head deeper in the pillow. "Gil!" Another shake, more forceful this time, followed. "Gil, it's Captain Brass on the phone for you."

The urgency in Laura's voice finally permeated his subconscious and he woke, sitting up with a start and rubbing his face. His first thoughts were of Sara, worry that something had happened to her immediately creeping into his consciousness. His right hand was still clutching the house phone and automatically he brought it to his ear but the line was dead. Slowly he came to the realisation that he had fallen asleep, fully dressed, atop the bed covers, lulled by the rhythmic sound of her breathing. Giving his head a shake he lifted confused eyes to Laura.

Smiling she held his cell out to him. "I wasn't sleeping," she said in an apologetic voice, and he couldn't help noticing in the dim light shining from the corridor that she was wearing a robe over her night clothes, "and the phone wouldn't stop ringing. When I checked the display Captain Brass's name was flashing so I picked up. He says it's important."

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth Grissom gave her a nod and a quiet, slightly disorientated "thank you," and sitting up straighter took the phone off her, his eyes flicking to the alarm clock on the bedside table. The blurry digits showed 12.38 am and he brought the phone to his ear with a sigh while Laura quietly left the room.

"Jim?" he said hoarsely, and cleared his throat.

"Sorry to wake you, Gil," Brass said, cutting short the pleasantries, "But I got a bit of a situation."

Knowing that Brass wouldn't be calling in the middle of the night without just cause Grissom swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed. "What is it?" he asked, as images of insects and decomposing bodies came to his mind.

"It's not what you're thinking," Brass said, before taking a deep breath and blurting out, "It's…Sara's brother. He's at Desert Palm's. A cruiser found him dazed and confused in a back alley off Fremont Street. He got beat up, Gil."

Grissom looked toward the bedroom door, making sure Laura wasn't still hovering nearby. "Badly?"

"Enough for my men to call for an ambulance."

Scratching the two-day growth on his right cheek Grissom let out a long breath and pushed to his feet, headed for the bathroom. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked, wincing as he flicked the light on before cradling the phone in the crook of his neck to unzip his jeans and avail himself of the facilities.

"Yeah," Brass replied. "The EMT's don't think it's as bad as it looks – a couple of broken ribs and a nasty gash to the head most likely when he fell to the ground. Well, that's what they told my guys anyway. He's in the ER now, waiting to be seen."

"Shit," Grissom muttered, "that's all we needed on top of everything else."

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I thought you'd want to know."

Brass paused and Grissom pushed down the lever to flush the toilet. "CSI's on the scene?"

"Not yet. Shift's tapped out. But from what I gather there isn't much to work with."

"Make sure the scene stays secure anyway. There might be trace evidence, blood, anything. And get them to check out nearby CCTV too, we never know."

"Sure. There's something else you should know," Brass said hesitantly. "He'd…he'd been drinking."

"Drinking?" Grissom repeated with surprise as he did himself up, and sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Enough that you could smell the alcohol on his breath anyway."

He moved over to the sink to rinse his hands, catching sight of his dishevelled appearance in the mirror, and taking the phone off his shoulder ran his free hand through his hair, smoothing down the worst of the damage. "I really can't get a measure of him, Jim," he said, "I really can't."

"Do you want me to tell Laura?"

"No, I'll do it." He paused. "You're there now?"

"No, I'm at PD, but I told my guys to hang around."

"Okay. I'm on my way over," he said, stepping back into the bedroom. He was about to disconnect the call when he said, "Thanks for the heads-up, Jim. I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it. I'm just sorry I had to make the call."

Grissom gave a scoff. "You and me both."

Grissom stopped at the entrance, wincing as though in pain himself at the sight of Matthew in the third bed over to his right. Not quite at death's door but certainly in bad shape, he was half-sitting half-lying against the pillow with his head hung to the side. His face was bruised and battered, his left eye swollen shut beyond recognition, the thick gauze on his brow damp with fresh blood. He got beaten up alright, Grissom thought, to a pulp. And for the first time since meeting Sara's brother Grissom glimpsed a broken, troubled and unhappy man underneath the battered exterior, who now that the hard shell had shattered was left exposed, vulnerable and…human.

Knowing he shouldn't get involved professionally he'd left his kit in the car, a decision he now regretted. Matthew looked up suddenly, his one good eye widening slightly as it met Grissom's pained ones before looking down dejectedly, his ensuing shake of the head rewarded by an obvious stab of pain. Sighing at the shame he briefly saw in Matthew's gaze Grissom closed the distance, stopping at the foot of the bed. His hands hung by his sides, his fingers clenching and unclenching hesitantly.

"They called you," Matthew said in a low incredulous whisper. His small smile raised a wince and slowly, shakily, he brought the back of his hand to his cut lip. "How did they know to do that?"

"The officers who found you said you didn't want to report the attack," he said.

"What is it to you?" Matthew retorted quietly but there was no mistaking the hostile tone.

"Why not?" he went on softly, ignoring Matthew's animosity, "Don't you want us to catch whoever did this to you? I understand they stole some of your belongings." Getting no further reaction Grissom paused, opting for a different approach. "Do you want me to call someone?" he asked, casually shoving his hands in his pants pockets, "And let them know?"

Matthew's gaze snapped up and he stared at Grissom with surprise for a moment, and smiling the smile of someone realising he would always be a few steps behind gave him a small shake of the head in reply. "Despite what you see I'm not a drunk or to be pitied," he said.

"But you're a gambler."

Matthew's face contorted in a wry, defeated smile, his eyes averting. "We all have our crosses to bear."

"Indeed. But some are heavier than others, aren't they?" Grissom remarked without bitterness or malice.

"Why are you here?" Matthew asked quietly, glancing up with puzzlement.

Grissom lifted a shoulder. "I'm here because you're Sara's brother and she cares about you."

Matthew let out a scoff of disbelief. "I don't think so. And anyway, you've done your duty. You can go now; I don't need or want your help."

"Let me give you a ride back to your hotel. It's the least I can do."

Matthew's eyes lowered. "I'll get a cab, but thank you."

Unsure whether Matthew was being sarcastic or not Grissom simply gave a nod, lapsing into silence as Matthew turned his face away. Swaying on his feet he scanned his eyes around the room, taking in the three other beds and doctors and nurses milling around, and he could well imagine any trace evidence on Matthew's body would already have been obliterated. Still, he took a few steps closer the bed, his eyes focusing on the injuries on Matthew's face before slowly moving down his bandaged torso to his still bloodied hands and fingers. What were the chances that Matthew had caught a piece of his attackers?

"What happened?" he asked finally, looking up.

Matthew sighed, his eyes briefly meeting Grissom's before looking away. "Isn't it obvious?" he said. "I got mugged. They took my wallet, my watch, my cash, and bolted."

Grissom waited for Matthew to lift his gaze again to say, "Did you get a look at them?"

Matthew gave his head a small shake, wincing at the pain the movement caused. "It was dark, they came to me from behind."

"What were you doing there?" Grissom asked. There was no accusation in his tone, just genuine enquiry. "It's a little off the beaten track and a long way from the Monaco."

A grimace spread over Matthew's face. "I was taking in the sights and got lost."

Grissom held the younger man's unwavering gaze for a few seconds before blowing out a breath and nodding his head, accepting that it probably was as much as he'd get from Matthew. And if that's the way he wanted to play things, fine with him.

"I'd understand if you don't want me to do it, but I'd like for you to be processed."

"Processed?" Matthew repeated with disbelief.

"I mean, we would photograph your wounds and swab them for DNA and foreign blood. Maybe your attackers left a bit of themselves on you."

"Is that what Sara did too?" he asked.

Averting his eyes Grissom nodded his head. "Yes," he said, looking up, "And she's very good at it."

"I don't think so," Matthew said dismissingly in reply to Grissom's suggestion, and Grissom nodded again, knowing that insisting would be futile.

"What about your clothes?" he said using the same soft coaxing voice he normally used when dealing with victims of crimes. He indicated the bunched up shirt and jacket in the plastic bag at the foot of the bed with his hand. "Would you let me take a look at them? I could do it here if you'd prefer."

The two men stared at each other for a moment and relenting, Matthew finally gave Grissom a grudging nod of the head.

"Thank you," Grissom said.

He was about to take the bag and leave when Matthew said, "Did you mean what you said before?"

His eyes narrowed. "When?"

"When you said Sara cared about me. Did she tell you that?" Matthew's eyes wouldn't meet his; his voice was soft, almost pained, exposing his vulnerability, and Grissom realised then that his lawsuit wasn't just motivated by money from a potential settlement or by spite, but by feelings that ran much deeper than he could imagine.

Opting for honesty he shook his head. "No, she didn't. I'm sorry I shouldn't have spoken on her behalf."

"Why did you say it then?"

Grissom's shoulder lifted. "Because I believe it to be the truth," he said simply. "Because I know that if it was at all possible she'd be here herself now."

His words gave Matthew pause and he lowered his gaze.

"Shall I tell Sara you won't be coming this afternoon?"

Matthew's nod was imperceptible, beaten. A nurse came by carrying a trey with a suture kit which she placed on a table nearby. She pulled the partition curtain around the cubicle shut before reaching for a stool on wheels which she dragged over to sit on. Glancing over at Grissom she smiled, her eyes flicking down to the CSI ID badge hanging around his neck. "Sir," she said, "you're going to have to wait outside until I'm done to continue. But this is going to take some time."

He flashed a soft smile and a nod of understanding. "It's okay," he said, "we had finished." He picked up the bag of Matthew's clothes, about to go when he stopped and set the bag back down onto the bed. "I'm sorry about what happened," he said, reaching into his jacket pockets and transferring their contents into his pants pockets. "My guys are working the scene as we speak and I can assure you we'll do our very best to catch your attackers."

"I won't hold my breath," Matthew said, screwing his eyes shut with obvious pain as the nurse pulled the dressing off his forehead.

Matthew made the effort to reopen his eye and Grissom gave a stiff nod and then removed his navy sports jacket which he neatly placed at the foot of the bed before grabbing the bag of clothes. "For when they discharge you," he simply said, indicating the jacket with his head and leaving.

Grissom strode into CSI and after logging in Matthew's clothes into evidence headed straight to his office. His visit to Matthew had left him perplexed and uneasy and Maddy's note was burning a hole in his pocket. He still couldn't get a true measure of Matthew and he hoped talking to Vanessa would shed a little light. It was still early though, too early to call the east coast, but he'd shied away from going home, knowing that Laura would most probably be up and CSI and his office had been the obvious place to retreat to.

He was walking past the locker room door when Warrick called him and he stopped, doubling up on himself. "You finished processing the alley?" he asked with surprise, biting back the 'already' that almost escaped.

Warrick gave a nod. "There wasn't much to process. We did find his wallet though in a dumpster nearby. What CCTV footage we could get of the vicinity is with Archie."

"Can I take a look at the wallet before you print it?"

"Too late," Warrick said with a wince, "it's already with Mandy. I put a rush on it as per Catherine's instructions. The money was gone, but it looks like they left everything else."

"Anything caught your eye?"

Warrick stepped back into the locker room and pulled his jacket off the hanger, shrugging himself into it. "Nah. The usual stuff, you know? Driver's licence, a few photographs, receipts, that kind of stuff."

"Okay."

"Sorry, Griss, I got to head out," Warrick said, stepping past him.

"Thanks, Warrick. I'll catch you later."

Grissom paused, then turned back on himself headed toward the print lab. Mandy was hunched over her workstation studying a print on a piece of glass and silently he joined her side, peering over her shoulder at what she was doing.

"I thought you were off tonight," she told him without looking up.

He smiled. "I was missing you."

A smile of pleasure lit up Mandy's face. "If you're after the results on the wallet Warrick recovered it's only just come in." She shrugged and met his eyes, "It's my next job."

"It's okay," he said, glancing toward the evidence bag containing the wallet. "You mind if I take a look at it myself?"

"Be my guest."

Reaching into the open box on the shelf he took out a fresh pair of latex gloves and after slipping them on cut the seal off the evidence bag before carefully extracting the wallet which he placed on a trey. Slowly he examined the outside for any latent trace evidence and finding none proceeded to empty its content. The driver's licence and receipts he set aside, concentrating his attention instead on the two photographs hidden in its midst.

The first one was of Matthew hugging a young girl from behind he assumed to be Sarah. Vanessa stood slightly to the side, watching the pair and he wondered who had taken the picture. His eyes lingered for a moment on the young girl, a tall and lanky, smiley younger version of her mother. The second picture was much older, an early colour snapshot faded and torn in places. And yet there was no mistaking the two children on it, dressed in shorts and matching Star Wars T-shirts. A fond smile spread on his face as he stared at a laughing Sara on the left. It was a bright sunny day at the beach and he could only imagine the shot had been taken well before the unravelling of their childhood.

He blew out a breath, then glanced at Mandy from the corner of his eye, pausing hesitantly when he caught her staring. "I'm going to borrow these for a minute," he said, quickly averting his eyes and slipping the photographs in separate evidence bags. And before Mandy could object he lifted a finger at her and whispered, "I won't compromise them, I promise," before turning on his heels.

Grissom's heart beat faster as he listened to the three long rings before the phone got picked up. "Hello," a young female voice said, and his eyes on the first photograph he'd scanned into the computer and printed Grissom swallowed.

"Hi," he said cautiously, hoping his voice didn't betray his nervousness, "Could I speak to Vanessa please?"

"Mom?" the voice called, "It's for you!"

The phone got put down only to be picked up a few seconds later. "Hello?"

"Hi," Grissom said. "My name is Gil Grissom. I'm sorry to be calling so early on a Sunday morning but I…huh… I'm calling from Las Vegas. I'm Sara Sidle's…" The line got cut off abruptly and frowning, he paused and shook his head before cancelling the call and once again dialling the number Maddy had written down for him.

This time the phone got picked up on the first ring, Vanessa's curt, almost angry voice filling the silence. "Listen Mr…"

"Grissom. Gil Grissom," he repeated softly.

There was a lengthy pause and Grissom wondered whether she'd hung up on him again. He was about to speak when she asked, "How did you get this number?"

Vanessa's hostile tone caught him off guard. "I'm a crime scene investigator with the Police Department," he explained, hoping his credentials might mollify her a little, "and I really need to speak with you about Matthew."

"Matthew?" she repeated with surprise, and then, "I have nothing to say about him. I'm sorry but I can't help you."

"Wait!" he called, before she could hang up, "Please wait. I'm not calling on his behalf if that's what you're worried about." He blew out a breath, unsure how best to start explaining the situation. "His sister, Sara, she got…she was attacked a few weeks ago." His eyes locked on the smiling eight or nine-year-old Sara on the photograph and he closed them at the wave of searing pain that washed over him. "I'm sorry," he then said, "but I'm…I know this call comes out of the blue but I really need your help."

"I don't see how I can help you," she finally said, her voice calmer, softer as she broke the lengthy silence, "Matthew and I are divorced, and aren't in contact. Haven't been in close to two years."

"I know, but I was hoping you could fill me in on a few background details, that's all." He leaned back in his desk chair and rubbing the tiredness in his eyes went on to explain that Matthew was currently in Vegas and more importantly why.

When he finished his account including the fact that Matthew had been assaulted and was in hospital Vanessa sighed, lapsing into silence. "Matthew picked Sarah's name," she said out of the blue after a moment, "Said he liked it, and it is a pretty name so I went with it…and until last year when she called I didn't know the reason why."

"Who called?" he asked with puzzlement.

"Sara. Your Sara."

He straightened up in his chair, his hand moving to his mouth and wiping its corners. "Sara called you?"

"Yes. She wanted to know about Matthew too. When I said we were divorced she asked if I had a number for him. Explained that they'd lost touch and…"

"And did you?" he cut in earnestly. "Did you give her a number for him?"

"Yes. She was insistent. I gave her the number of the school he's principal at."

Could Sara have called Matthew then, and not remember it now? And if she had, how had the conversation gone? Could whatever had transpired between them then have prompted this sudden interest in her and her care?

"I warned her about him though," Vanessa said, drawing him out of his thought.

"How do you mean?"

"For the fourteen years Matthew and I were together I never saw it until it happened."

"I'm not following," Grissom said, his brow creasing in confusion. "You never saw what?"

"Matthew's dangerous, Mr Grissom. He's got a violent streak, which for a long time he kept well-hidden but which a couple of years ago he unleashed on Sarah and a fourteen year old boy."

"Did…did he hurt them?" he asked.

"No," she said in a small voice, and he could tell she was emotional just talking about it, "I stopped him just in time." She paused and cleared the constriction in her throat. "But he was like a mad man and if I hadn't put myself in the way he would have, and he knew it too."

"Did he hit you?"

She took a breath and didn't reply, which he took as affirmative. "The look in his eyes," she went on, "he hated himself for what he'd done, but he couldn't stop it. He couldn't control himself, and that scared him. He was very sorry afterward but the harm was already done."

"Do you know what triggered this…attack, if you don't mind my asking? Surely it's not just because Sarah was out with a boy."

She laughed. "Don't get me wrong; Sarah's a good girl, Mr Grissom. She's bright and popular but she picked the wrong boy to have a crush on. She told us she was going to one of her friend's house for the evening when in fact she was out with this…tearaway from Matthew's school. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we found out, and Matthew saw red. We went to find them. They weren't doing anything wrong; well, that we knew of but… Matthew lost it. He totally overreacted."

"And that was the first time it happened?"

"The first and only time," she said positively. "Things weren't too good between us by then anyway and I guess that was the last straw. I mean, Matthew had always been guarded and watchful, wound-up and very controlling. Everything had to be on his terms, always, but up to then he'd never been violent." She paused, maybe expecting a rejoinder from Grissom, but when none came she added, "That day, I saw a side of him that scared the hell out of me, so I took Sarah and we left."

Grissom nodded into the phone and rubbed his face. "And this is what you told Sara when she called," he stated cautiously.

"Pretty much, yeah. I was still very raw from the break-up, and she didn't seem all that surprised to tell you the truth. Said it fitted the profile. When I ask her what she meant by that she apologised for the trouble and hung up. I never heard from her again – until now."

"Matthew never spoke of his family?" he asked, wondering where his surprise came from since Sara herself had kept her past well hidden from everyone. "Never once mentioned Sara?"

"No, he never did. All I know is that both his parents are dead."

He was about to mention Laura when he bit his tongue, thinking it not his place or the right time to tell her. "Well, thank you Vanessa," he said instead, "I appreciate your candour."

"What about…Sara?" she said hesitantly. "Will…she be okay?"

Smiling through his pain he swallowed the tightness in his throat. "Well, we've got a long road ahead but she's…a force to be reckoned with. I just hope we can get Matthew to change his mind before we have to go to court."

"You know," she said musingly, "Matthew and I met in grad school. There was something about him that attracted me, his intensity, his drive…I don't know. He was very different from all the other boys; working all the hours God sent in a crappy restaurant just to make ends meet and pay for his studies. He was never very demonstrative with his affection but he was attentive. We were happy at first and it's only when Sarah came along and we got married that he began to change." She paused, and gave a little laugh. "I don't know what else to tell you. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

"Oh, on the contrary, Vanessa," he said, "you've been of great help."

After hanging up his eyes dropped to the two photographs on the desk and he picked them up. The five smiling people staring back at him were the key to understanding Matthew and his motivations for the lawsuit, he knew it.