Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this up... I struggled with parts of, off and on, all night. :) I love, love, love all the reviews. Keep them coming. And for those who are concerned, I don't need to take any time away except for the time I've already warned you about--my wedding is over a year away. :) So no worries. It was nice of you all, though, to worry about me. Aaand, I finished the last of my finals yesterday, so the middle of my days should be free for writing. I'll see what I can do to increase the output of these chapters to prevent being stuck at a cliffhanger when I leave.

GSRMania--You're very funny. Jace screws up, and you call him every name in the book, and some that aren't in the book... some I don't even understand. But Grissom screws up, and you call him an egg, before assuring him that you still love him. :P

What did I say about all you readers showing favortism?

Alright, I'm heading to bed now... I was up late studying last night, and I'm beat.

Chapter Sixty Five:

I was already online, looking up flights to Boston when Sara answered Jace's cell phone—the number that had been on the crumpled message I'd thrown away and had to retrieve from the garbage and flatten out in order to call her back.

"Hello?"

"What happened?" I demanded, in a near panic.

"…She's been kidnapped."

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. She spoke for me.

"…You have to come help. …Assist in the investigation. …Gil," her voice broke over my name and I understood her anguish because it was my own. My baby was missing. I unfroze, turning frantic eyes to the computer screen… the soonest flight wasn't for hours.

"I… the next flight leaves at ten tonight." It was still early morning… My shift was just finishing. That was far too long to wait… Ayla didn't have that long.

"Jace." She said, pleadingly, and I hated the way her voice implied how much she needed him. I heard the sound of the phone being passed and then the man himself was on the phone.

"I can have a private jet ready to leave McCarran in just under an hour, if you can be ready by then."

"I'll be there." I said, without a second thought. I might hate the man, but in this moment, he and I were in the same position. I hung up without another word, practically running down the hall to find Catherine in the locker room, getting ready to leave for the day.

"I need you to run shift tonight… and tomorrow night. …For as long as I'm gone."

She narrowed her eyes. "…What's going on, Gil?"

"Ayla," I gasped out, frantic. "She's… she's been kidnapped, Cath. I… I have to go. I have to… Shit!" I looked at my watch. "I have less than an hour to catch my plane!"

I pushed past her in blind panic, ripping open my locker and realizing with relief that I had several changes in a duffle bag, resting on the bottom. I grabbed it and my migraine prescription bottle and slammed my locker closed. "Thanks Cath!"

"…Call and let me know!" She yelled after me, and though I heard her, I didn't stop to respond—I was already halfway down the hall. I made it to the airport with time to spare, but having never flown in a private jet, I didn't know where to go… by the time I'd been directed and found my way, it was pushing the hour mark. I noted as I climbed aboard and fell into a seat with a huff that this was a company plane rather than a personal plane… I should have expected as much. Sara would never let Jace own his own plane. …And it wouldn't be readily accessible in Vegas, either. It must be the new company he was working for…

It was the longest plane ride of my life. When I had been flying to see Sara almost a year before, for Ayla's birth, I had been able to relax once we'd taken off… once I could feel like we were moving forward and I was getting closer. I did not feel that way today—I couldn't settle down, couldn't sit still. I got up once the seatbelt light turned off and paced the aisle, simply because I was going to lose my mind if I stayed in my seat. I was offered a drink, and had 'scotch on the rocks' on my lips, but I held it back, shaking my head instead.

As much as it might calm me down, I didn't want anything to be distracting me. Sara had said she wanted me there to find Ayla… she wasn't working with the Crime Lab. She would have to wait, absent any information, for Ayla to be found. …But would they just let me step in and help? Surely they'd be suspicious of my relationship to Sara and Jace and Ayla… As a 'person of interest,' in this case, I could compromise the investigation.

I picked up the phone in the back of the seat in front of me, not even asking if I could use it, dialing and waiting while it rang.

"Los Angeles Crime Lab, Can I help you?"

"I need to speak to Dave Wilson, please."

There was a click as I was put on hold and transferred—I needed to find a forensic scientist in the country who had a personal relationship with Mark Foster, Boston's Lab Director. Someone to vouch for me…

"Wilson."

"David… Gil Grissom."

"Gil! It's been a while… How are ya'?"

"Actually, not well. …I'm calling in a favor."

I could hear his chair creak and imagined he'd gone from reclining in the office chair, his feet on his desk, to sitting upright in apprehension. "…Well there's something I never thought I'd see: Gil Grissom playing politics."

"How well do you know Mark Foster?"

There was a frown in his voice now. "From Boston?"

"The very same."

"…Not well. Although, you know, I think my Assistant Director worked under him right out of college. …Why?"

"The daughter of… some friends of mine… was kidnapped this morning. They're having me fly to Boston because they want to make sure nothing's overlooked or… misinterpreted."

"…But your personal relationship with the prime suspects makes you a liability in their lab?"

"Exactly," I said, glad that he'd picked up my drift so quickly. "Now, I'm not saying I want access to the evidence or to even touch it… I just want the opportunity to be a fly on the wall. …Not that I doubt their abilities, but it would really give them a little peace of mind, which they could use right now, you know?"

"Hey, you don't have to tell me, Gil. If I weren't in the job and had to pick someone to look for my kid, I'd probably pick you too. You're probably the best criminalist in the country, and the way you go after people who try to hurt kids…" He stopped and I waited, thinking that overspeaking would simply make it easier to say no. I needed to keep the pressure high. "…Let me talk to Liz. I'll explain the situation, and I'm sure she'll be able to put in a good word for you…"

"Thank you." I gasped, relieved—the L.A. number was the only one I knew without my rolodex. I would have been on the phone the entire flight just trying to track people down.

"Can I call you back…?"

"I, uh… I'm not sure. I'm on a plane, actually, heading to Boston. …I'll call you in twenty, yeah?"

"Yeah." He hung up without worrying about the niceties, something I'd always appreciated when we'd worked together in L.A. He didn't do things just because it was expected.

I was up and pacing again, counting the minutes, sweating profusely I was so nervous. I went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, practiced measured breathing, and then came back out, trying to keep up the breathing until twenty minutes had passed.

I couldn't do it—I called at eighteen and a half minutes, agonizing over this because it was the only thing I had right now… I needed to be doing something and this was the only way I could feel like I was doing something for Ayla. …She was probably so afraid. …She was under a year—did that mean she was still nursing? Wouldn't she be hungry? …I refused to let myself believe she was in worse shape than that—I couldn't even think it.

I was directed, once again, back to Dave's office, and it rang and rang and rang… until he picked up, on the sixteenth ring. You would have thought some sort of messaging system would have kicked in, but it didn't, and so I counted the rings, waiting, waiting. "Gil?"

"Dave." I responded, wiping my forehead with my forearm.

"She just called him—he's not happy about it. Liz says he's pretty territorial… Anyway, your reputation is really what did it. A man who is known for willingly calling his own evidence into question while at trial is fairly low-risk, but you're still not allowed to touch or process anything. …You're eyes only."

"Fine. Great. Perfect. Oh thank God, Dave!"

"…Glad I could help. Are we… we're good now, right? Square?"

I managed a thin smile—he had lost a body, in L.A. while I was the coroner… I'd covered for him until he could figure out where it had been mistakenly transported to. It could have cost him his career… and it could have severely damaged mine. "Square. Hell, if they find her, I'll owe you one…"

He sighed. "Okay… Glad I could help, Gil. I hope you find her."

"Bye, Dave." I said, hanging up.

I still can't tell you how I managed to survive the rest of the flight without pulling my hair out—all I know is that I did not calm down the entire time… it was at the suggestion of the woman who had been offering me drinks every hour or so that I changed my shirt shortly before our descent—I hadn't stopped sweating since I'd heard the news. I expected to hail a cab and call for the address when I landed, but there was already a driver waiting for me. He told me 'Mr. and Mrs. Wendt' were at the police station, answering questions, and asked whether I would like to go there to see them or whether I'd like to see the house first.

I wasn't ready to see Sara in pieces, and the sooner I started helping, the sooner we could find Ayla and get her home safely.

I was uncertain whether I'd would be allowed under the tape, but a flash of my LVCL ID and I was let through, directed to a man I didn't know—he introduced himself as Calvin Reynolds, the supervisor of the shift that was working Ayla's kidnapping. He didn't ask questions or challenge my right to be there—he just handed me two pairs of gloves and advised me not to touch anything. If I saw something, I was supposed to bring it to one of their CSI's attention, not attempt to retrieve or document it myself.

I followed him inside the home, taking it in for the first time—when I had been in town for Ayla's birth, I'd never been taken inside. It had Sara written all over it—the front entry was beside a living room filled with natural light and infant's toys. But of course, Sara being the woman she was, they were all organized and put away neatly. I stepped through the living room, into an airy kitchen painted in warm tones, so that you felt simultaneously uplifted and cozy. It was open to a small dining area with a round table, a highchair pulled up in lieu of one of the four chairs. The right side of these rooms was more or less a walkway, and turned just past the dining table into a hallway, where I assumed I would find bedrooms. The remaining space of the long, open room was another living room that looked a little less formal, and which had far more toys present. …Ayla was well loved.

I turned down the hallway, glancing into doorways—bathroom, guest room—I hesitated then. Ayla's room was to the right—it was painted in sweet, lulling pastels, and there was a fluffy white lamb on the door with her name in colorful letters beneath it. To my left, was another open room that I recognized to be Sara's… everything was neat and tidy, the bedspread as she had described it, several books stacked on her desk—the only thing out of place. I moved on, unable to go into either just yet, and found the Master… A quick cursory glance showed that this was the one room in the home in which Sara had had no interest. The walls were white and sparse, the furniture nice but utilitarian—a few pictures of Ayla and one of Jace and Sara in San Francisco adorned it, but there was no rhyme or reason for their placement. And it was a messy.

There was no way Sara had been in here. It pained me, but then… I knew what I had heard. Just because they were still sleeping in separate beds didn't mean they hadn't slept together that night. I had already been around and around this issue in my head—even if it had been a foolish mistake, never to be repeated, it was more than I could handle. Still, I looked in the master bathroom—only men's toiletries—and glanced through the closet and dresser drawers—only men's clothing—and finally into the drawer by the nightstand—nothing to indicate the man was having sex, with Sara or anyone else.

If it didn't matter, why was I looking?

I moved out of the room, stubbornly telling myself that I was just curious. If they were still fighting over Ayla, that could give either one of them motive.

I couldn't handle Ayla's room yet, so I forced myself into Sara's. A glance around told me basically the same story—only her clothes in her closet and dresser, only items that seemed blatantly Sara in the room. But there was something noticeably different—she had taken the time to decorate. Pictures of Ayla covered the walls, picture frames lined the top of her desk and framed a candle on her dresser. I felt a deep pang when I realized that many of the pictures on her desk were of the two of us, on the cruise. There was even one the doctor had taken, in the hospital. Sara said that her doctor must have sensed something, because although she'd said she had to try to take a second one of all three of us with Ayla because Sara was blinking, when Sara had looked at the pictures, she was not blinking. And the second one was just the two of us, with Ayla.

I closed my eyes, focusing my breathing again, and checked the drawer by her nightstand as well—nothing to indicate that she was having sex with anyone, although there was a prescription bottle. I wondered briefly if I shouldn't call it to someone's attention, but I wanted to see it first… They were antidepressants. How long had Sara been taking them? Had it been recent, or long-term? …Wouldn't she have told me about it, if she'd been on them for a long time?

I put them back, moving now with purpose to Ayla's room, because I had this deep and desperate feeling threatening to overtake me that I might have been wrong about what had happened. I didn't know how him sleeping in her bed could have a reasonable explanation, but clearly she had not jumped back into having a life with him after I'd stopped speaking to her… Did that say something?

…I needed to get back to the matter at hand. Ayla. One step into her room—the first of the bedrooms to be occupied when I entered—told me a clear story. The window was open. It was on the ground floor. Things were disturbed—a blanket over the edge of the crib, a teddy bear on the floor, the rocking chair pushed out, away from the wall it was clearly meant to be tucked again, near the window. Sara would never have left the blanket or the chair or the bear like that…

I had seen enough. I needed to see Sara… I needed to see where they were on the case… I needed to see how close we were to finding Ayla. …And once she was safe, I needed to know what had happened between us… I needed to know if I'd made a terrible mistake. I needed to know if she still loved me.

I peeled the gloves off and gave them to Calvin, who promptly bagged and tagged them, before making my way out to the driver who was still waiting for me. "…Are they still at the station?"

"I haven't been told otherwise, Mr. Grissom."

"Can you take me there, please?"

He opened the door for me, which made me uncomfortable, but I allowed it, making the trip in silence, because the man's attempts at small talk were falling on deaf ears—I couldn't even pretend to care about the weather or the flight or how much warmer it was in Vegas. And when we finally stopped and I hurried inside, I expected to have to wrestle my way through red tape to get to see her… but she was right there, in the lobby. She had looked up in surprise when the doors opened, and when our eyes met… I knew.

I knew that she had never cheated on me, I knew that she still loved me, and I knew that she had never in her life been more afraid of anything. I wanted to sweep her up in my arms, whisper words of reassurance, promise that I would do everything within my power to get her back… but in a moment, everything changed again. Her eyes hardened and narrowed, her body stiffened, and she turned her head away from me, breaking our gazes.

And then Jace stepped out of a doorway accompanied by a man who reminded me strongly of Brass, took the seat beside her, placed a comforting arm around her shoulder… and I watched her lean into it, drawing comfort from him instead of me.