A/N: Is this chapter late? Oh, yes. Is it long? Definitely. I'm hoping that one will make up for the other!

I am sorry about the tardiness of my work. It's been a really busy, stressful couple of weeks. But, the finals are graded, the books are packed and the seniors are graduated! So, school is most definitely out for summer, and I'm hoping to be able to update more frequently for awhile.

I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

I don't own CSI. Some inspiration and dialogue for this chapter come from episode 615, "Pirates of the Third Reich."


Slapped by the Past

"Hey, there you are!"

Sara gave Nick a tired smile as she walked back into the lab after what felt like days in the hospital. "And there you are."

"Did you get the full story on Captain Jack?" Nick asked.

"Yeah. He was definitely lobotomized."

Nick flinched slightly. "Recently?"

"Recently," Sara confirmed.

"Oh, man. Could they tell you anything more?"

"Nothing aside from the fact that the lobotomy was done according to standard medical practices from the 1930s." She shook her head. "That poor man."

"Well, I'll tell you one thing – I'm never signing up for a sleep study," Nick said. "Not after what happened to Jack and Zoe."

"To whom?" Sara asked.

"Oh, that's right; you've been at the hospital, so you wouldn't have heard. We identified our Jane Doe as Zoe Kessler," Nick said, giving Sara a significant look.

Sara sighed. "Nick, I have spent the past eighteen hours at a hospital waiting to make sure that Jack was placed in an appropriate group home. If there's something I should know about the name Zoe Kessler, I have no idea what it is. Stop hoping that I'll remember on my own and just tell me."

Nick smiled. "Her mother is Heather Kessler. You may remember her as Lady Heather."

Sara's eyes widened. "The dominatrix?"

"Yup." He grinned. "Told you you'd be jealous after you didn't get to go to her house last time."

"Jealous?" Sara asked. "No, I wouldn't say that. Okay, so, do you need me to interview her, or …?"

"No," Nick said, his eyes showing a bit of disappointment. "Actually, you and I are going off on a different case."

"What?" Sara asked, clearly shocked.

"I know," Nick said. "This one looked far more interesting. But, we've got a homicide of our own. Looks like it might be a trick roll."

"A … Nick, wait. Who's taking Zoe Kessler's murder?"

"Grissom and Catherine."

"But …"

"I know," Nick said. "I was the first one on scene, I'll have you know. And, Warrick and I were the ones who found the suspect's house. But, you know, we have to do what the boss says. And, right now, he's saying that we have to take this trick roll at the Mirage."

Sara gave him what she hoped was a look of resigned acceptance. "Okay. Let's get going."

She was going to have to do a fabulous acting job. Because, right now, she felt anything but resigned acceptance. All she felt was that Grissom was trying to keep her as far away from his former girlfriend as possible.


"So, what have I missed?" Sara asked as they drove to the Mirage.

"Missed?"

"I've been with Captain Jack forever. What did I miss on the case?"

"It's not our case anymore," Nick said slowly.

"That doesn't make it any less interesting," Sara insisted.

Nick nodded his agreement. "I don't know what's wrong with Grissom. We were both on the case; we could have helped."

"Yeah, but someone needed to deal with this, too," Sara said fairly.

"It could have been Warrick," Nick said. He shook his head. "Anyway. Wendy tested the material found in Zoe's teeth and discovered that it was from her own hand."

"She chewed off her own hand?" Sara gasped.

"Yeah." Nick sighed. "That girl was seriously trapped, Sara. I'm guessing that she was handcuffed or bound in some way. Apparently, biting off her hand was better than whatever was in store for her."

"Yeah, considering what happened to Jack, that's a safe bet." Sara shivered. "Have we found the hand?"

"It became a priority, given that it had to be near the primary crime scene. Warrick and I went out with a bunch of cadets to find it. We pretty much followed the smell of decomp to the only house in the area. It's owned by Mr. Wolfowitz; he's the same man that runs the sleep studies at the Betz Clinic."

"Well, that's an interesting coincidence," Sara said.

"Mm-hm," Nick agreed. "We took a sample of dirt that could have had her hand buried in it, but to do much else without a warrant …"

"Case-icide," Sara said. "Everything would have been inadmissible."

"Exactly. So, we went around to the house, thinking that maybe we'd find the owner – at that point, we didn't know who lived there – only to find that Lady Heather had broken in."

"What?" Sara gasped. "Why?"

Nick shrugged. "She's at PD now. Maybe we'll get more on that later."

"Right," Sara said. "Right after we wrap this homicide."

"Okay, we need to adjust our attitudes," Nick said with a smile. "So what if we're off the most intriguing case we've had in awhile? We do get a homicide of our own, and it could be just as interesting."

"Yeah, you're right," Sara agreed. "We'll have to see what's waiting for us at the Mirage."


"What happened, Jim?"

Brass shook his head. "Nick and Warrick caught her breaking and entering," he said.

"Why was she breaking and entering?" Grissom asked.

"Apparently, to steal an etching," Brass replied.

"An etching?"

"It's Wolfowitz's," Brass said. "We found it in her purse."

"Why did she want it?"

"She didn't say. She wouldn't tell them much. At this point, she's so messed up over her daughter, I have a feeling you might be the only one who will be able to get anything out of her."

Grissom sighed and looked into the observation room, where Heather sat, apparently quite at ease. "I can try."

"Okay, good. You take Lady Heather, and I'll talk to Wolfowitz."

"Jim …" Grissom said as he started to walk away. "We really need for him to press charges. Warrick said that place could very well be an evidence gold mine, but without probable cause for a warrant …"

"I'll do my best," Jim said.

Brass walked to his office, where Jacob Wolfowitz awaited him, and Grissom looked back into the observation room. He drew a deep breath. It was time to face the music that had been waiting him for over two years.

"Hi," he said quietly as he entered the room.

"Hello," Lady Heather said, looking not the least bit surprised to see him. "How are you?"

"I think I should be the one asking that question," Grissom said.

She shrugged. "At this point, I'd say you can tell me how I am. I'm in your custody, aren't I?"

"Heather …"

"Grissom?"

He decided to just begin the interview. "Are you and Mr. Wolfowitz acquainted?"

"No."

"Then why were you in his house?"

"Breaking and entering."

Well, she certainly got to the point on that one. "Is that why we found this etching in your handbag? You were stealing it?" Grissom asked.

"Yes."

The word was said without remorse, which was rather telling to Grissom. It was as if she had completely shut down all her emotions, and, along with them, her sense of right and wrong.

"Why?" he asked.

"Multiple reasons."

"Which are?"

"You told me Zoe was having tests done at Betz," Heather began, each word coming out with a measured quality, almost as though Grissom should have figured this out for himself. "I found out who oversaw the tests. Mr. Wolfowitz. He lives close to where you found Zoe. If I'm caught stealing, he may want the police to investigate."

"However," Grissom said, "if he refuses to press charges …"

"I'd have to ask myself what kind of person would do that."

"Someone with something to hide," Grissom acknowledged.

"Precisely," Heather said, pleased that Grissom understood.

"Why steal this?" Grissom asked, indicating the etching that sat on the table between them.

"It's one of the earliest illustrations of the Romulus and Remus myth," Heather explained. "It's printed from a plate. Must be worth thousands."

"So?"

"Well, it looks like a page from a book. I find that people who don't respect books have a general disregard for keeping things whole." Venom seeped into her words as she thought of Zoe, without her hand, without her eye, without her hair … She fought once again to remain in control, to master her emotions.

"So you think he stole it?" Grissom asked.

"I think a pencil pusher in a pharmaceutical lab couldn't afford it." Heather wouldn't actually say the words, but it was obvious that she did, indeed, think that he had stolen the page.

"Even if all this is true, we still don't know if he killed your daughter," Grissom said.

"Too many coincidences," Heather said.

Grissom knew that she was right, he knew that this man was the most probable suspect they had. Even so, he felt compelled to continue, "You have to stay away from him."

Heather looked at him for a moment, nodding slightly. "You forfeited the right to give me advice some time ago," she said, "but, thank you."

Grissom held her eyes, knowing what she was saying, even as she knew what he was saying. "Heather, the investigation …"

"I won't compromise it," she assured him.

"You'll keep your distance?"

"I won't compromise your investigation," she said again.

"You have to trust me with this," he said, leaning forward a bit.

"Yes," she agreed, her eyes clouding slightly. "I'm well-aware of that." She stood. "Are we done here?"

"Until Mr. Wolfowitz presses charges, you're free to go," Grissom said.

She gave him a twisted smile. "Don't worry. I won't go far."

Grissom watched as an officer escorted her out of the room and down the corridor to the building exit. He sighed and stood up, sliding the etching back into the evidence bag. He'd need to get it to the lab, but, first he wanted to talk to Brass.

By the time Grissom made his way to Brass's office, Mr. Wolfowitz was leaving it. Brass leaned against the doorframe and shook his head.

"He's not pressing charges?" Grissom asked.

"No," Brass said. "He said that she's disturbed by her the loss of her daughter, and, because he was the last one to see her alive, Heather is desperate to establish a connection with him."

"Under different circumstances, I'd say that his theory could be right," Grissom said. "But, Heather knew exactly what she was doing."

"She wanted him to press charges so we could go into the house and investigate?"

"Yes." Grissom looked at the evidence bag in his hand. "She even took something that she assumed to be stolen, hoping that we'd have to investigate him."

Brass exhaled. "That woman has an amazing mind. She could work for you."

"Hm," Grissom said, remembering how the conversation had turned toward the flirtatious when he had made a similar comment to Heather years ago. "You talked to Wolfowitz. Do you like him for this?"

"He's a strange one," Brass said. "He seems genuine, but a bit too jumpy. If you ask me, he's hiding something."

"That could be a very big 'something,'" Grissom said. He held up the evidence bag. "I'm going to get this to Rambar. If anyone can tell me if it's authentic and if it's been stolen, he can."

"Good luck," Brass said.

"Yeah," Grissom replied. "Thanks. I'll let you know what we find."


Sara and Nick did not find their case to be nearly as intriguing as Zoe Kessler's murder, but it still required a good deal of attention. Sara was glad. She needed something to keep her mind off Grissom's attitude toward her and Heather.

She walked into the lab with samples to drop off with Hodges and Wendy, while Nick was getting the autopsy report from Robbins. She had nearly made it to the Trace Lab when Grissom came toward her. Sara smiled.

"Hey," she said. "I haven't seen you in awhile."

Grissom returned her smile and shrugged. "It's the job."

"Do you think you'll get off on time?" Sara asked. "We could go out for breakfast …" Or stay in. Although she did not voice that invitation, it was written all over her face.

"I don't think that I can," Grissom said. "I just got called out to another homicide."

Sara raised her eyebrows. "You're done with Zoe Kessler's homicide?"

The words were innocent enough, but the undercurrent was clear. She knew exactly what was going on. Knowing that he'd have to just wait and deal with it later, Grissom shook his head.

"This one is related," he said. "I have to meet Brass at the scene right now."

"Right," Sara agreed. "Well, I'll see you later, then."

Grissom nodded. "See you."

He walked off, leaving Sara alone in the hallway. She shook her head, marveling at the lengths he would go to in the name of keeping her away from Lady Heather.


Discovering that Jacob Wolfowitz was dead in his car at the Betz Clinic was surprising, to say the least. Discovering that his frozen-to-the-core condition meant that he had been dead for at least two days was shocking. Discovering the brand on his arm that indicated that he was test subject number one was horrifying.

Grissom left the morgue and found Catherine in the lab. She raised her eyebrows as he approached her.

"That doesn't look like a happy face," she said. "Doc didn't have good news for you?"

"Doc had confusing news for me," he replied. "It would appear that Mr. Wolfowitz has been dead for at least two days."

"Well, that doesn't make sense," Catherine said. "Greg and I interviewed him yesterday. Jim interviewed him yesterday."

"I know."

"So, then how …?"

"He also has a number one branded onto his arm."

Catherine stopped and stared at him. "Wait. None of this makes sense at all."

"It would appear that he was our killer's first victim," Grissom said. "And, my guess would be that he was killed and then frozen – or, frozen to death. Either way, Robbins said it would take at least two days to get him to his current condition."

"Gil, I saw him," Catherine said. "Yesterday. He wasn't frozen."

Grissom looked at her silently as they walked down the hall.

"I mean, maybe he knew too much," Catherine rationalized. "Someone at Betz sensed that we were getting to close, and …"

"So, what?" Grissom asked in disbelief. "They dumped him in liquid nitrogen? Cryogenically froze him?"

"Well, I know what I saw," Catherine said.

"You've got to find some explanation," Grissom said.

"I'm on it," Catherine replied.

They parted ways. Catherine headed into the garage to process Wolfowitz's car, while Grissom headed for the parking garage. It was finally time to go home.

He got onto the elevator, thinking that perhaps he wouldn't go straight home. He could stop at Sara's place first. Although he wasn't in the mood for a fight, he knew that he needed to explain to her what was going on with the case, and, more importantly, with Heather.

Deciding that this was the best course of action, he stepped off the elevator and walked toward his car. His steps slowed and stopped as he realized that his car had company. Heather stood next to it, waiting for him.

"What are you doing here?" He mentally cringed at how abrupt his words were. Sara had accused him of being abrupt when he was half-asleep. Apparently, he could add when he was tired to that list.

"I think I might be able to help you," she replied, undeterred by his tone.

"I'm listening," Grissom said in a softer, gentler voice.

Heather stepped around the car to be closer to him. "You would have liked Zoe," she said. "She was a lot like you. Thoughtful, pragmatic, patient. She was studying psychology." She swallowed, her words becoming choppy. "I appreciate that it would have been difficult to have someone like me as a mother. But, if I stressed anything, it was empowerment and independence."

Sorrow changed to anger as she continued, "So, when she called me from Boston last year to tell me that she was pregnant with her therapist's baby, I got angry. Not with her, with him. He violated an oath. Not only was he married, she was a patient. A junior in college with her whole life in front of her."

"And you didn't want him to screw it up," Grissom observed.

Heather nodded in acknowledgement of the truth of his statement. "I called the AMA, filed a complaint, they revoked his license. Zoe stopped speaking to me."

"Did she have her baby?" Grissom asked.

"Your coroner couldn't confirm." Heather fought against the tears that lingered just below the surface. To think that she had a grandchild, a little piece of Zoe, somewhere, was almost more than she could bear. She needed, desperately, to change the subject. She reached into her purse to fish out the true reason she had come to Grissom. "I assumed you might need a DNA sample from Mr. Wolfowitz."

Grissom took the plastic bag holding a used condom and stared first at it, then at her. "How did you get this?" He feared that he already knew the answer to that question.

"The rage was stronger than the repulsion."

Grissom stared at her, trying to see past the rage in her eyes, trying to see into her soul. How could she have made such a decision? Done such a thing?

"People have used sex for much less-worthy causes," she continued, anger practically sparking off her.

Shoving aside his own repulsion, Grissom slipped back into investigative mode. "When did you …?"

"Last night."

Grissom remained silent, staring at her, his mind in over-drive. Catherine, Greg, Brass, Heather … how could so many people have interacted with a dead man on the same day?

Misinterpreting his silence, Heather began to speak, rationalizing all she had done. "You may not approve, Grissom, but you can't arrest me for sleeping with him. He was consenting. I am playing by your rules. But, if I had it my way, this man would die the same way my daughter died."

"He's already dead," Grissom said.

"What?" Heather asked in shock.

"He's been dead for two days."

"That's not possible."

"We don't know what happened yet, but he most definitely is dead," Grissom said. "He's in our morgue right now."

"Grissom … I saw him yesterday."

"Yeah," Grissom acknowledged, "there seems to be a lot of that going around."

Heather glanced at the bag in his hand, then back into his eyes. "I didn't kill him," she said. "I slept with him in the hopes of getting you a DNA sample, but I didn't kill him. I just told you that I was following your rules. I meant that."

"My rules, Heather, were that you stay away from him. Look, I appreciate your efforts, but we would have gotten this anyway. You were right; the etching was stolen from a book. It was enough to get a warrant to go into his house."

"What are you saying?" she asked, anger jumping into her eyes. "That you don't need my help?"

"No, Heather, that's not what I –"

"This is my daughter, Grissom! She's not some nameless, unknown homicide victim. She deserves justice!"

"And, we'll find it for her," he assured her. "Just … Heather, please, let me do this. Let me and my team do our jobs."

She held his eyes for a moment, then turned and left without a word.

Grissom sighed and watched her go. Once she was out of sight, he looked back at the bag in his hand.

So much for leaving. He turned to go back into the lab.


Catherine, after hours of work, finally made sense of the madness. She discovered that Jacob Wolfowitz was a twin. He and his brother, Leon Sneller, had been adopted as babies by a Jewish couple. While Jacob had remained in the United States, Leon had joined the Army as a medic and was stationed in Berlin. Catherine theorized that Leon had come home from Germany, killed his brother, put the body on ice, and then spent a year impersonating him.

"All right," Grissom said at last. "You're right; it's a little out there, but, in a way, it makes sense. We've got to get to that house and see what we can find."

Accompanied by Brass and a veritable army of cops, Grissom and Catherine went to the house. After the police had cleared the empty house, Brass entered with Grissom and Catherine. They stepped inside, and stared around in shock.

"Well, this isn't a torture chamber," Grissom said, "it's a time capsule."

"Wolfowitz inherited the house from his parents," Brass said. "He took over the deed about ten years ago."

"Love what he's done with the place," Catherine said sarcastically.

Grissom smiled. It was obvious that Wolfowitz had kept the house exactly as it had been during his childhood.

While Catherine found an unmarked bottle of pills that Brass referred to as "the company candy," Grissom uncovered a hidden door in the floor that led to the basement. They descended the stairs, all feeling nervous anticipation. Brass went first, his gun raised. Grissom and Catherine followed, both shining flashlights that illuminated the torture chamber they had all expected to find from the very beginning.

Walking slowly around the room, staring in shock at the outdated medical instruments and organs kept in jars, they maintained their silence. It was enough to just take in all that they saw; they couldn't bring themselves to comment.

Grissom was the one to break the silence as he looked at the notebooks on the desk. "It would appear that he was meticulously documenting experiments," he said.

Catherine glanced at him, understanding in a moment how he had found his tongue. Experiments and documentation were two things they could understand. As for the rest …

"I think this is a gynecological device from a hundred years ago," Catherine said in shock, stopping in front of the piece of equipment.

Grissom glanced up and caught sight of Nazi symbols hanging from the walls, along with the German words that he translated to mean, "Work will set you free."

"These words hung over the gates at Auschwitz," he said.

"Zoe Kessler would have made the perfect uber-woman, except for her one brown eye," Catherine said, raising her hand to tap the side of a jar that held an eye swimming in, presumably, formaldehyde.

"So," Brass said, reaching out to pick up a hand saw, "I guess what nature couldn't fix, our Doctor Mengele could, is that it?"

Catherine and Grissom noted that the face of clock was blank; without saying the words, they were both sure that the metal numbers that should have been used to tell time were instead used to brand the doctor's victims.

A muffled groan split the silence that had fallen again. With barely a glance at one another, Grissom and Brass pushed aside the clock to reveal another room. A man was lying in the middle of the floor, clearly in agony. He was naked, with a bloody sheet covering something behind him.

They rushed forward. Brass grabbed the man's wrist to feel for his pulse, while Catherine began talking to him, trying to get his attention. Grissom crouched down behind him and pulled back the bloody sheet. A second man lay under it. The two men had been fused together, a series of stitches connecting their backs. Catherine started in horror, tears filling her eyes. Brass rushed from the room to call the paramedics. Grissom reached down to feel for a pulse, then looked at Catherine, knowing that the shock and horror in her eyes were reflected in his.

"This one's dead," he said quietly.

Catherine exhaled, struggling not to let the tears fall.

The paramedics arrived quickly, and took the two men to the hospital. Catherine and Brass rode along with them, leaving Grissom and his guard of uniforms at the house.

Grissom began to carefully process the torture chamber. He sat at the desk and read through some of Sneller's notes, staring at the words of Hitler that he had copied onto the page. In his journal, Sneller asserted that his work was no different than the government's, citing various examples of human experimentation throughout history.

Knowing that he had reached the point of reading all he could, Grissom left the journals and began documenting the various rooms. He discovered a room that had a long, low iron pole running its length. Handcuffs dangled from it, obviously used to hold their victims in place until the doctor was ready for them. As he began snapping pictures, Grissom noted that all but one handcuff were open. He lowered his camera, realizing that the closed handcuff must have been the one that held Zoe. After chewing off her hand, she would have been able to escape without opening it.

In the corner of the room, Grissom found the numbers from the clock, along with a fire pit and pokers. He took pictures of the instruments used to brand the victims, then lowered his camera again.

He had reached his limit. He couldn't take in any more. Without looking back, he went back up the stairs to the rest of the house.

Being on the first floor of the house was a massive relief. As Grissom closed the trap door, the sense of horror and nausea that had nearly overpowered him in the basement began to lift.

He glanced forward, his eyes falling on a necklace that lay on the floor. He clicked his flashlight on and stepped closer. He picked up the necklace, recognizing it at once.

Heather.

"Have you guys secured the entire perimeter, the house and the barn?" Grissom asked.

"Yes, sir," Officer Metcalf replied. "All clear."

She was gone, but she had been there, in the house. Heather was gone, Sneller was gone …

Grissom dropped the necklace and nearly ran from the house. He jumped into his SUV and began the drive that he was sure would lead him to both of them. Back down the highway, back to where they had found Zoe …

Grissom could see them before he reached them. Sneller was tied to the front of an SUV, its headlights illuminating Heather, who stood several feet in front of him, lashing him again and again with a leather whip.

Grissom turned off the road and drove to them, his own headlights adding to the illumination that cut through the darkness. He jumped out of SUV.

"Heather!" he yelled, advancing toward them. "Stop it!"

"Let me finish!" she growled.

She swung her whip back, ready to strike him again. Grissom caught it, pulling her around to face him. She gasped as she turned.

"You cannot do this," Grissom yelled, using the whip to pull her closer.

She struggled against him, trying desperately to free her whip from his grip of iron. "Let go!" she nearly sobbed. "Let go!"

"No!" Grissom yelled.

"Please!" she begged. "Please!"

"Stop!" Grissom yelled. Realizing the one way to get through to her, he lowered his voice. "Heather," he said slowly and firmly, "I'm saying stop."

His words cut through the haze of revenge and pain that surrounded her, and she looked up at him, truly seeing him for the first time. She stared him as he moved closer to her, keeping a firm grip on the whip. When he was finally close enough, Heather began to sob, collapsing against him.

Grissom held her tightly, letting her sob out her grief and anguish. When she finally had herself at least somewhat under control, he pulled back enough to look at her.

"Heather, I want you to go sit in my car. Can you do that for me? I'll be right here, and I'll join you in a minute, but I want you to sit in the car for now."

She nodded slowly, and released him. He waited until she was safely in the passenger seat, then pulled out his phone. He needed to call for help.

"Brass."

"Jim, I need your help," Grissom said. "I found Sneller."

"Where?" Brass asked in shock.

"Where we found Zoe Kessler, off Highway 55."

"Returning to the scene?" Brass asked incredulously.

"Sort of," Grissom said. He paused. "Heather found him first."

A pause. "Is he alive?"

"Yes. I stopped her before …"

"Okay. I'll call the paramedics and be there as soon as I can."

"We'll be waiting."

After putting his phone back in his pocket, Grissom stepped closer to Sneller.

"I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab," he said. "I'm going to untie you. "But, if you try to escape, I will handcuff you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Sneller gasped.

"Good. The paramedics are on their way now."

"Okay."

Grissom untied his bonds, and the man fell to the ground. Grissom helped him into a seated position, and offered him water. He looked him over, noting that while he had many open, bleeding wounds, none were life-threatening. He was sure that he would be fine.

The paramedics arrived and took over with Sneller. Brass, just a step behind them, joined Grissom.

"What happened?" he asked.

Grissom nodded toward the whip that he had dropped on the ground.

"How did you know?"

"I found her necklace at the house," he said. "Metcalf told me that the entire perimeter was clear, and this was the most likely spot for her to have taken him."

Brass nodded, and looked back toward Grissom's car, where Heather sat in the front seat, shivering slightly.

"Take her home," he said. "I'll call Warrick and Greg to take the scene."

"You don't want to question her?"

"It's pretty obvious what happened," Brass said. "I'm sure the DA won't press charges. No jury is going to convict a woman for beating up the man who killed her daughter and twenty other people. If I need a statement, I'll call her in later."

"Okay," Grissom replied. He took his phone out and turned it off. He had a feeling that Heather was going to need his full attention. "If Catherine asks, tell her where I am."

"She's at the hospital with the men from the torture chamber right now," Brass said. "Somehow, I have a feeling she'll be busy enough without worrying about you."

Grissom smiled slightly. "Thanks, Jim."

"Anytime."

Grissom left Brass and went to his SUV. He climbed into the driver's seat and looked at Heather. She was staring straight ahead, oblivious to the fact that he had joined her.

Grissom backed out slowly, and began the drive to Heather's house.


Hi, you've reached Gil Grissom with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I'm not available to take your call right now. Please leave me a detailed message. I'll get in touch with you as soon as I can. Thank you.

Sara slammed her phone closed in utter frustration. She had been trying to reach Grissom for over three hours, but his phone was turned off.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. She wasn't being very rational. She knew that he and Catherine had gone to Sneller's house, which was in the middle of nowhere. Chances were that he didn't have service.

Feeling comforted by that thought, she left the break room and walked down the hall. She walked past the locker room, just barely catching sight of Catherine, who was sitting alone on a bench. Stopping short, Sara backed up and stepped inside the room.

"Cat? Are you okay?"

Catherine looked up at her slowly. She gave her a small smile. "This one may take some time to get over."

Sara sat down next to her. "He really did have a torture chamber, then?"

"Yeah." Catherine shook her head. "It's funny, Sara, how different things affect you. I really thought that I had been on this job for enough years that nothing could shock me like this anymore. But, seeing those medical instruments, the human organs in jars, his notes on human experimentation, those poor men he had tried to fuse together …" She shuddered. "It was horrible. I'm going to tell Grissom that I need a day off after this one."

Sara frowned slightly. "Where is Grissom? Still at the house?"

"No, not anymore. He was there far longer than I was, though." Catherine shivered. "Brass said Grissom found Lady Heather exacting her revenge on Sneller."

Sara's eyes widened. "What?"

"She went all dominatrix on him." Cold anger filled Catherine's eyes. "In her place, I'd have done the same. Grissom stopped her before she could kill him, and, according to Brass, he took her home."

"Is he coming back here?"

Catherine shrugged. "I don't know. For his sake, I hope not. I'm sure he needs a break as much as I do."

"Yeah," Sara said quietly.

Catherine stood up. "I need to get out of here, Sar. Thanks for letting me talk."

"Sure," Sara replied. "I'll see you later, then."

"Right." Catherine picked up her purse. "If you talk to Grissom, tell him that I'm not coming in tomorrow."

With that, Catherine left. Sara stared after her for a minute, then took out her phone again. She hit the Talk button twice to redial Grissom's number.

Hi, you've reached Gil Grissom with –

Sara closed her phone and held it against her lips for a moment. She closed her eyes, then slowly opened them. Before talking to Catherine, she had been trying to call Grissom for an update on the case. After talking to her, she wanted – no, needed – to know that he was dealing with everything. She needed to know that he was all right.

"Where are you, Griss?" she whispered. "Why won't you take my calls?"

Deciding to go with the most logical option, she figured that he had likely gone home. Thinking that she'd go over to check on him, she pulled her purse from her locker and left the lab.


Heather finally broke her silence as they pulled up to her house. She glanced at Grissom.

"You brought me home."

He nodded. "And, now, I'm going to take you inside."

Heather nodded her agreement and unbuckled her seatbelt. Grissom helped her from the car and led her up the walkway to the front door. Heather had the presence of mind to unlock it, and allowed Grissom to lead her inside.

"Come on," he said, taking her back to the kitchen. "You need some tea."

Heather followed him meekly, sitting down at the table. Grissom worked his way through her kitchen until he had found everything he needed to make the tea. After putting the kettle on the stove, he joined her at the table.

"You stopped me," she said, letting her eyes bore into his. "Why?"

Grissom thought for a moment. "You taught Zoe empowerment and independence," he said slowly. "Killing Sneller would have shown neither. You gave your power, independence and strength away. Anger, rage and pain took their place. You gave your power to him, and let him control you. Zoe wouldn't have wanted to see you like that – and, you wouldn't have wanted for her to see you like that."

Heather nodded slowly. "He deserves to die for what he did."

"A judge and jury will decide that," Grissom said. "We have to play by the rules, Heather. Remember?"

The tea kettle began to sing, and Grissom got up to rescue it.

"I don't like your rules," Heather said, watching him as he pour the boiling water over teabags.

"You don't have to like them," Grissom said. "You just have to play by them."

Grissom brought her a cup of tea, careful to make sure that it didn't have sugar in it. Heather lifted it to her lips automatically. She took a sip, and tears filled her eyes.

"Why Zoe?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper. "Why my little girl?"

Grissom pulled her into his arms as she dissolved into tears, letting her cry against his chest.

He sat with her while she cried herself to the point of exhaustion, then helped her to bed. Once she was settled, he turned to leave the room. Heather grabbed his hand, holding him in place.

"Don't leave me," she begged. "Please, Grissom, stay."

Grissom nodded, and sat down on the floor next to her bed. "I'll be right here. I promise."


Sara lay stretched out across Grissom's couch, flipping from one show to the next, trying to find something that would keep her awake. She was fighting exhaustion with each passing minute. The fact that Hank had finally wimped out on her and fallen asleep next to the couch didn't help.

The dog's deep, even, breathing, combined with the canned laughter of the sitcom on tv, finally lulled Sara to sleep.


When Heather awoke several hours later, Grissom was still sitting on the floor next to her bed. She gave him a small smile.

"You stayed."

"Of course," he said, moving closer to her. "I promised that I would."

"You could have come into the bed with me."

"Ah … no, Heather, I couldn't."

Her eyes clouded momentarily. "You're in a relationship."

"Yes. I am."

"Is it serious?"

Grissom nodded, realizing, perhaps for the first time, just how serious he was about Sara. "Yes."

She nodded. "How does she feel about the fact that you spent so much time with me?"

"I'm sure she won't mind."

"Then, you've found yourself a very understanding woman."

Grissom smiled. "She's certainly special."

Heather nodded. "You should be with her now."

"I don't want to leave you alone."

"I'm fine now."

Grissom looked at her silently.

"Perhaps 'fine' is going a bit far," she acknowledged. "But, truly, Grissom, I'll be okay on my own. You don't have to babysit me anymore."

He looked at her closely. "You're sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes. I'll be fine. You need to rest, anyway. You've probably been awake for a week by now."

Grissom smiled. "You'll call me if you need anything?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

She smiled slightly. "I promise."

"Okay, then," he said, standing up. "I'll call to check on you later."

"Don't," she said with a shake of her head. "I'll be fine."

Realizing that she didn't want him to see her in her state of grief anymore, Grissom nodded. "Okay. Well, good bye, then."

"Grissom?"

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to face her. "Yes?"

"Thank you. For everything."

He nodded. "You're welcome."

"Good bye."

"Good bye."


Grissom walked into his house, feeling the weight of the day slip from his shoulders. There was something about being home that always made things seem less horrible.

Hank skidded across the hardwood floor to meet him at the door. Grissom smiled at the dog, and patted his head.

"Hey, buddy," he said. "Miss me?"

He walked further into the house, stopping short at the sight of Sara sound asleep on his couch. He looked at the dog.

"When did she get here?"

Hank looked up at him and licked his hand. Grissom patted him again, rather absentmindedly this time, and crossed the room. He leaned down over Sara's sleeping form, and brushed a kiss against her forehead.

Sara stirred, struggling to open her eyes. She smiled up at him. "Hey."

"Hi, sweetheart," Grissom said. "How long have you been here?"

Sara sat up straight, suddenly remembering everything that had happened. "Where have you been?" she asked.

"With Heather," he replied, sitting down next to her. "Didn't Brass and Catherine tell you where I was?"

"Did you tell them to?"

"Sara, you know I couldn't do that. It would give too much away."

She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. "You should have called."

"Sara, I couldn't exactly leave her alone. Did they tell you what happened?"

Sara sighed. "Yes, Gil. Catherine told me that you stopped Lady Heather from killing Sneller, and that you took her home."

"Well, then, why did you ask?"

She shook her head. "Catherine was a mess when I saw her, Griss. This case really screwed with her mind. She told me that she's going to take today off to distance herself. I needed to know that you were dealing better than she was. That you were okay. But, no matter how many times I called you, I just kept getting your voicemail."

"I was with Heather, Sara," Grissom said slowly. "She needed support far more than I did."

"And, you couldn't have just called to tell me that?"

"Are you mad that I was with her?" Grissom asked.

"Not exactly …"

"Sara, come on. She had just lost her daughter in the most horrific way I could ever imagine. She needed me."

"Yeah, well, I needed to know that you were okay," Sara said, her anger truly beginning to show. "Would it have been so hard to call me and let me know where you were, rather than assuming that Brass or Catherine would think to tell me? It's not like they know that I'm your girlfriend and that I'd be concerned. Or, here's a thought, maybe you could have just turned on your phone long enough to know that I had called and was worried about you?"

"Okay, I'll admit that I may have handled this badly. But, I need to know why you're so upset. Is it because I was with Heather? Because, you have to know, nothing happened between me and Heather." As soon as the words were out, Grissom knew that they weren't entirely true. "Well, something did, but it was years ago … long before you and I were dating."

"Well, then, why is it that you made such an effort to keep me away from her?"

Grissom stared at her.

"Look, Gil, I'm not the jealous type. Maybe I should be, after everything that happened with me and Hank, but I just can't make myself worry about that. I trust you. I trust that you'll be faithful to me. I trust that our relationship is strong enough to withstand something like this."

"Okay …" Grissom said slowly.

"But, that doesn't make me any less concerned about you. It doesn't mean that you're allowed to intentionally hide parts of your life from me." She smiled slightly. "We're both adults. We've both been in relationships before. We both have romantic pasts. We both have to accept that."

"Okay," Grissom said again.

"But, you can't just shut me out. Tell me that your former girlfriend is the mother of a homicide victim! Don't hope that I'll hear it from Nick after you've taken both of us off the case and assigned us another. I won't be nearly as upset if you're honest and upfront with me as I will if you distance yourself." She shook her head. "You're a CSI, Gil. You know that when someone acts like he's hiding something, it's usually because he's guilty."

"I'm not guilty of anything," Grissom said. "Look, I did have a physical relationship with Heather. It was years ago, and it ended very quickly." He touched her face. "She's … she's not you, Sara. She could never hope to be. But, she is my friend, and, last night, she needed me."

"Your former lover needed you?"

"You don't have to make it sound like that."

Sara sighed. "Can you just … call and tell me where you are from now on? Please?"

"Yeah," Grissom said, smiling at her.

"What's with the smile?"

He smiled wider. "It's just nice to have someone who cares where I am."

"Well, I do care." Her eyes clouded. "And, Griss?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you swear to me that nothing happened last night?"

Grissom caressed her face again. "Sara, I sat on the floor next to her bed all night long. I swear to you, nothing happened."

"You weren't … tempted?"

He smiled. "How could I be? I have you. I don't need her, or anyone else."

Sara sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Okay, then."

"We're okay?" Grissom asked a bit tentatively.

"As long as you never do anything like that again … yeah, we're okay."

He smiled and pressed a kiss against the top of her head. "Good. I won't, so we're okay."