A big thanks to WalkerTRngr for beta reading for me!

Thank you for the reviews!

When Grissom was called out to a body in the desert, the last thing he expected was it to be Heather's daughter. The girl was starved, shaved, branded with the number nineteen, and missing her hand. Nick went back with the body, and during prelim they learned someone had removed her eye, and gave her another one. Both eyes were sent to DNA. She also had necrotizing fasciitis.

Before Grissom knew it would lead to Heather, he brought in Sara to help with the case because it only kept getting weirder. Especially when Sara came back and told him that the eyeball not belonging to the victim belonged to a sex offender named Jack Landers. They found him wondering about the streets babbling nonsense. Someone gave him a lobotomy. They also branded him with the number eighteen.

He was in his office going over paperwork when Brass walked in and told him the victim was Heather's daughter, Zoe Kessler. His first thought, after the shock wore off, Heather must be devastated.

The second thought, He couldn't let Sara and Heather in the same room if he could help it. Heather was eerily perceptive. She would look at Sara and him and know instantly they were sleeping together, and she was the kind of woman who would view it as an abuse of power on his part. He supposed it was cowardly, but he told Catherine to send Sara to work on processing fresh evidence in a cold case. Citing that they had more than enough help. If it upset Sara, he didn't hear about it. In fact, it was almost three days before he saw Sara again.

When Grissom and Catherine went through Zoe's apartment, it became clear she was missing for about ten weeks, and the last thing she noted was an appointment at Betz Clinic.

Grissom waited for Heather outside of autopsy, while she saw her daughter's body. He didn't know, given the last time they'd spoken three years ago, if she'd talk to him or not. When she came out and saw him, she came to an abrupt stop.

"Hi. I'm so sorry about your loss." He told her, keeping his tone low and comforting.

"But you need to ask me some questions."

"I'd like to know some things about your daughter. When was the last time you saw her?"

"She dropped out of school about a year ago. I didn't even know she was in town." She was emotional. He could see she'd been crying, but he saw she was angry.

"So you weren't in contact with her?"

"No."

"Can you tell me why?"

"What difference does it make now?"

"Did she have any medical conditions?"

"Not that I know of."

"Because in November, she participated in a medical study at the Betz Clinic. Right after that, she went missing."

"Where was she found?"

"In the desert."

"Just out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Off highway 55, near Sparks."

She was quiet for moment, "I have to go."

She brushed past him, and Grissom didn't stop her. He hoped she didn't do anything stupid.

Catherine talked to Betz clinic, who told her Zoe was there for chronic insomnia and took part in a sleep study the last night they last saw her. Dr. Wolfowitz told her, Zoe got up in the middle of the night and left, and that it wasn't uncommon. It turned out Jack Landers was also there for a sleep study. They also figured out she chewed off her own hand to escape wherever she was being held.

Nick volunteered to take Warrick and a bunch of cadets out to the desert to locate the hand, and instead found a house belonging to Dr. Wolfowitz. When they called out to whoever was in the house…. Lady Heather answered.

It forced them to bring her in, and Grissom asked to be the one to interview her. Knowing he would be more considerate than the others, especially Brass, who was talking to Dr. Wolfowitz about his house and Lady Heather.

"Are you and Mr. Wolfowitz acquainted?" He asked as he sat across from her in the interrogation room.

"No."

"Why were you at his house?"

"Breaking and entering."

"Is that why we found this etching in your handbag? You were stealing it?" Grissom moved the picture Nick took off her, closer to her.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Multiple reasons."

"Which are?" I can't help you, if you don't talk to me.

"You told me Zoe was having tests done at Betz. 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."

Ah… She was a very smart woman. "However, if he refuses to press charges… I'd have to ask myself what kind of person would do that."

"Someone with something to hide."

"Precisely."

Grissom nodded, "Why, uh, steal this?"

"It's one of the earliest illustrations of the Romulus and Remus myth. 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."

"So you think he stole it?"

"I think a pencil pusher in a pharmaceutical lab couldn't afford it.

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

"Too many coincidences."

"You have to stay away from him." He warned her, hoping she'd listen.

"You forfeited the right to give me advice some time ago. But thank you."

She got up and walked out the door. He sighed, unless Dr. Wolfowitz pressed charges, which by his and Heather's assessment, was unlikely. Brass confirmed moments later, Wolfowitz wasn't pressing charges, and that the illustration Heather stole from him was real.

Three hours later, after talking with Catherine about getting a warrant, he got a call about a dead body at the Betz clinic. He'd been dead for at least six hours, or so he thought. When Doc Robbins called him down to look at the body, he hadn't expected to find that Wolfowitz had been frozen to the core, which would have taken a minimal of two days. He was also branded with a number one. Cause of death was still pending. But his bigger concern, if Wolfowitz was dead, who was walking around pretending to be him?

He'd been on his way to his vehicle, hoping to get some sleep, when he saw Heather standing by his vehicle. He hoped this meant she was willing to let him help her. Things may have ended badly with her, but he still cared about her and for all her clients and employees… Grissom suspected she had few real friends.

"What are you doing here?"

"I think I might be able to help you."

"I'm listening."

She moved closer to him. "You would have liked Zoe. She was a lot like you. Thoughtful, pragmatic, patient. She was studying psychology. 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. 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."

She nodded. "I called the AMA, filed a complaint. They revoked his license. Zoe stopped speaking to me."

Grissom thought Heather had done the right thing, even if Zoe hadn't seen that. "Did she have her baby?"

"Your coroner couldn't confirm. I assumed you might need a DNA sample from Mr. Wolfowitz." She reached into her purse and pulled out a bag with a condom in it. She handed it to him.

"How did you get this?"

"The rage was stronger than the repulsion. People have used sex for much less worthy causes."

Grissom had handled condoms hundreds of times before in cases. But he was pretty sure this was the first time in years, he was disgusted by it, even if he understood her feelings of helplessness. "When did you…" For a moment, he considered she had killed him. He saw the rage in her eyes. But for Heather, control over herself, her emotions, was everything.

"Last night. 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."

Although he understood her rage, there was one slight problem, "He's already dead."

"What?"

"He's been dead for two days."

"That's not possible."

"He's frozen solid in the morgue." He told her.

"Then who did I.."

Grissom felt slightly uncomfortable having this conversation but tried to remain calm. "That's what we're trying to find out. The good news is, since he's dead, we no longer need a warrant to search his house."

She shut her eyes for a moment, trying to contain her emotions. Without another word, she turned and left. Grissom looked down at the condom in his hand. He glanced at his Denali and turned and walked back to the elevator to the lab. He needed to solve this case before Heather did anything else stupid. His phone vibrated in his pocket, but he didn't pull it out to look at who was calling. He had a feeling he knew who it was. It wasn't the first time it dinged in the past hour.

Finger prints in Wolfowitz's car led to a man named Leon Sneller, Wolfowitz's twin. They went to arrest him and found the home empty, but what they found instead was a basement turned into a laboratory where Sneller performed his own personal experiments. Two of his experiments were still there. He'd sewn them together. They had to call both the paramedics and the coroner.

An hour later he was climbing out of the basement, physically and mentally exhausted by the horrific things he saw in the basement and aware his phone (now on vibrate) was ringing again, when he saw something on the floor. Lady Heather's black and silver cross, she wore it nearly all the time.

His mind flashed to their earlier conversation. She said if I had it my way, this man would die the same way, my daughter died. Grissom had a bad feeling. He ran out of the house.

"Brass, I need you to follow me." He yelled as he jumped into his Denali. Grissom sped down the road to the spot where Zoe had been found. He saw her before he'd even gotten close. The lights on her vehicles were on, highlighting Sneller's body as he was tied to the vehicle. She was whipping him.

Grissom parked his vehicle and jumped out, shouting, "Heather! Stop it!" He moved towards her.

She cried out, "No. Let me finish." She continued to whip Sneller.

Grissom saw rage and grief had taken her beyond reason. Grissom stepped forward without thinking. He caught the whip. Ignoring the sting, he held on with both arms as Heather tried to tug it away. She whirled around and Grissom saw the tears streaking down her cheeks. Rage bright in her eyes.

Trying to get her to listen, he shouted, "You cannot do this!"

"No! Let go! Let ... !"

"No!"

"Please…" she begged him, struggling to free her whip still.

Grissom felt a part of his heart break for her, and couldn't believe what he was seeing and hearing. She begged him. Begged him!

Finally, in a firm voice, Grissom stated, "Stop. Heather."

"Please ..." she sobbed.

"I'm saying stop."

And she stopped. She looked up at him, and Grissom saw she was finally aware of the situation. She lost the one thing she valued above anything else. Control. She gasped and started sobbing for an entirely new reason. Sensing the threat was over, he pulled Heather closer, and held her while she cried.

Grissom didn't look when he heard another vehicle pull up, nor when the door slammed. But he felt a decided shift in the woman in his arms. The sobs quieted, her breathing slowed, and the trembling lessened. With the arrival of Brass, she was pulling herself back together. He heard Brass calling for backup and the paramedics. A few more minutes passed and Grissom let go of her as she stood up straight. She didn't look at him, but he saw her trying her best to keep herself in control.

She didn't turn around to look at Sneller either, who was begging for help. To both Grissom and Brass's surprised she walked straight to Brass, turned around, and let him cuff her and read her, her rights.

She looked at Grissom then. Still shaking, with mascara streaked cheeks, she met Grissom's gaze with cold eyes. In that moment, he understood no matter what happened, she would never forgive him for this. Not for stopping her from killing Sneller, but because he saw her lose control.

When he finally looked at his phone, thirty minutes later. He had about five texts from Sara, and four missed calls over of the past six hours. He frowned, feeling like he forget something. Exhausted, Grissom didn't even go back to the lab. He went home, knowing there was nothing he could do for Heather now, except try to be there for her as a friend. He doubted she would let him.

He tried calling Sara in the SUV, but her phone went straight to voicemail. He tried to remember if she was at work or home. She was off last night. As dawn rose over Las Vegas, something wriggled free from his memory. An appointment or a meeting. He pulled his phone out again and looked at the text messages for the first time.

Hey, how come I'm getting removed from the case?

Are you coming home?

What's going on?

Gil… we're supposed to meet with the realtor in the morning. Will you be home in time?

Don't worry. I canceled the meeting.

Grissom sighed. There was nothing he could do about it now. He was almost home. He was tired, to the point he was wondering if he should even be driving. It wasn't like that morning he had Brass drive him home because of the Debbie Marlin's case made him think of his solitary life without Sara. Though, now… he wondered what he was so afraid of. He felt like he wasted so much time. No, this time it felt like playing a game of beat the clock, trying to save Heather from herself.

He pulled into his driveway, hit the lock button on his key fob, and stumbled into the house. He was halfway to the bedroom, ready to collapse fully clothed, when he stopped. Sara was asleep on the couch, her phone clutched in her hand. Hank lay on the floor, awake but barely acknowledging him. As if even Hank knew he screwed up.

Shame washed over him. Here he'd been running around all over the place trying to help Heather, and Sara was at home waiting for him to call. He trudged towards her, reached down, and slowly took the phone from her hand. It was dead. He put in his pocket, figuring he'd put it on the charger on Sara's side of the bed when they got there.

"Sara?" He reached out and touched Sara's arm.

She bolted upright, starling both him and Hank. "What?" She looked at him, "Gil?" She blinked. "What's going on? What happened?"

He frowned. "I owe you an explanation, but right now I'm tired. Can we talk about it later?"

She rubbed her eyes, "Yeah… yeah." He helped her to her feet, and they walked silently to the bedroom. He put his phone on his charger and handed her, hers to put on the charger on her side. They crawled into bed, and Grissom fell right off to sleep.

A few hours later, or maybe ten, he wasn't sure. His phone started ringing and blindly reached out without looking, and answered.

"Grissom." He mumbled.

"Huh… that's weird. I thought I was calling Sara." Brass stated.

Grissom bolted upright, fully alert. Fuck! "I must have grabbed her phone by mistake in the break room, yesterday." Grissom wasn't prone to the excessive use of expletives but all his brain kept doing was screaming, FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

Sara mumbled something next to him, "Gil… wutssss goin onnn…" He tapped her on the shoulder, and she looked at him. He made a gesture for to be quiet as Brass started speaking.

"Sure, sure. Mistakes happen. Why don't you, uh…. Call your phone and tell her there is a four-nineteen with her name on it at the strip-o-rama. Join her. Two heads are better than one." The phone went dead. Grissom felt sick. He wasn't prone to lying, but self-preservation and sleep deprivation kicked in. He knew Brass was no fool.

He turned to Sara, "Sorry."

"What?"

He swallowed, "I uh…." He showed her, her phone in his hand. "I must have put your phone on my charger and answered it when it rang."

All the color drained from her face. "Who was it?"

"Brass. Four-nineteen at the strip-o-rama."

"Oh god."

"Yeah." He looked at his watch. It was five in the evening. An early call out for Sara. Swings must have been busy. "He uh… told me I might as well join you."

They were silent getting ready, and the entire time in his Denali on the way there. When they stepped out of the vehicle, Brass seemed un-phased by them arriving together. Sara walked right past him without a word, but Grissom noticed Brass smirking.

Figuring he might as well face the music, Grissom walked to him. "Hey Jim." He kept his expression neutral.

"Grissom. You… uh… get that phone swap fixed?" Brass was trying not to laugh.

Grissom said nothing for a few seconds, "Yeah."

"That's good. Hate for that to have happened with Catherine or the Undersheriff." He looked away, his tone serious. "In all seriousness, I'm not one to judge, but a word of caution…. you and Sara. You've been working the bulk of your cases with her for the past several months. Might uh…. want to break it up a bit, before someone notices anything that might appear unprofessional." Brass gave him a pointed look.

Grissom gave a quick jerk with his head, "Dually noted."

Brass pointed to the body that Sara was taking pictures of. "So the bouncer found her…."

Grissom stood there for the next few minutes, listening to Brass tell him about the body. He didn't bring up Sara, or the phone, again. And Grissom could not have been more grateful for Brass being his friend.

The next morning, when he and Sara were crawling back into bed, Sara cuddled next to him. She didn't give any sign throughout their shift that she was upset with him, or particularly bothered by anything. Then again, they were pretty occupied with Brass being let in on their secret. Therapy was helping her deal with her anger, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing at the moment, as he knew he'd hurt her.

When they were finally comfortable, Sara asked, "Why did you take me off the case?" She didn't look at him as her head rested on his chest.

He considered his words carefully for a minute. "Heather's ability to perceive things is uncanny. The first case I worked that led me to her, I gave her a photo of a couple, without telling her who they were, to see if she could identify them. She turned around and told me it was clear they were married, and unhappily at that. She said the wife was insensitive, and the husband was needy. That it was clear that the woman was turning away from her husband to present herself to the alpha male, because she was tired of being in charge. All from a photo."

"Was she right?"

He nodded, "Turned out the wife was sleeping with her boss and the husband killed one of Heather's employees because he lost control during a session where he was pretending the girl was his wife, and he suffocated her."

Sara said nothing, so he continued. "The most important thing to Heather is empowerment and control. She also takes serious issue with men who abuse their authority."

"So you were worried she'd take one look at me, and know we were sleeping together?"

He nodded.

She took a deep breath. "Did you sleep with her?" She must have sensed his hurt. "Not now, I mean years ago."

He hesitated, "Yes… but shortly afterwords, I had her taken to interrogation when it looked like she was a suspect in the case. A different one. She hasn't forgiven me for that, nor do I think it's likely she ever will."

"Well, if I'm ever suspected of murder, I hope you treat me better than that." She joked, lifting her head up to look at him.

"Oh honey," He teased. "I think if you ever committed murder, we would never know…" He trailed off, as if lost in thought, then added "Come to think of it… I haven't seen the other Hank in a few years."

She smacked his chest playfully and snorted, "You'd probably know how to kill someone and hide the body better than I would. Are you sure you didn't kill him?"

He laughed, "No, but I gave the guys an idea or two when they were plotting his demise."

Her mouth fell open. "No?"

He nodded and smiled before pulling her up to eye level. Grissom met her eyes, "I did." He grazed his lips on her jaw.

"Mmm… what did you tell them?"

He didn't pull away, "Maggots." He moved to bite her ear.

She did a shape intake, "I… uhh…"

Whatever she was going to say was lost as his hand ran up her nightshirt. She moved her head to kiss him again and straddled him. That was all the invitation he needed.

Yesterday morning, he may have come home to find her hurt and waiting for him because of his thoughtlessness. All he needed to do was pick up the phone. But this morning, she understood, and he showed her with his body what he found it so hard to tell her in words.

She was the only one that really mattered.

The only one he loved.

The only one he'd risk it all for.