Aberrations

by MrsHenry

"I find all deviant behavior fascinating in that to understand our human nature we have to understand our aberrations." - Gil Grissom. This story is an AU. Grissom and Sara will have different lives than in canon. First, Grissom is a serial killer. Second, Sara is not a CSI. Explanation and story to follow. *GSR*

4. Train Roll On, Tuesday's Gone

3: Train Roll On, Tuesday's Gone

2009

WLVU Lecture Hall

Day 2

Dr. Langston spotted her the moment she walked in the lecture hall. He walked over to her and extended a hand, "Catherine Willows, Ray Langston. Can I have a moment of your time?"

"Sure," she said as she walked with him to the front of the class.

"I'm just wondering why you are here? I know you worked with Dr. Grissom for many years."

"Sixteen, professionally. He's my friend."

He raised his eyes in surprise. "You still consider him a friend."

"Of course. I'm never going to validate what he's done, but I know him and it's hard to separate the man that I've come to call my friend from the man who is now known as a serial killer."

"Is that all? You're here for moral support?"

She hesitated before telling him, "He never told us why."

"And so you hoped with this lecture series, he'll give you an answer."

"Yes, and he already has. He spoke more about himself in one hour yesterday than all the seventeen years I've known him."

He'd been wondering about that. "Does that strike you as odd? Why do you think he agreed to do this?"

"You think he has some ulterior motive?"

"Do you think he has any ulterior motives? Has he been interested in notoriety?"

"Fame? Gil? Never. He didn't like anyone knowing him. He's always been quiet and private. In fact, he always had a distaste for being put in the spotlight."

He gave a nod and looked over her shoulder as the lecture hall was starting to fill up. "What about this girl, his love? He didn't give a name-"

"And he won't."

"You won't either." She shook her head. He looked around the room and asked, "Is she here?"

Catherine seemed to stiffen. She didn't like the question. "I haven't seen her."

"Have you met her?"

"Several times."

"And your impressions?"

She shrugged and said, "I'd call her one of those bleeding heart types. Always had some cause. She's a Wildlife Biologist, loves animals. Last I heard, she was in Africa, saving the lions."

"And their relationship?"

"They were never open about their relationship. He never mentioned he even had a girlfriend. I found out by accident. Showed up at his house and she was there."

"Any other relationships I should know about? You never know what I could use or would need to know to get him to have a response."

She was quiet a moment before saying, "I think he had a fling once. It was never confirmed. A dominatrix."

"A... dominatrix?" he asked in shock and confusion. "As in BDSM?"

"Yep," she told him.

He thought about that as he spoke to himself as she turned to walk away, "He doesn't seem the type."

That was interesting. From his research into Dr. Grissom on his own and with speaking to the psychiatrist who evaluated him, Grissom wouldn't participate in a BDSM relationship. It wasn't that he wasn't a man who didn't like control, he did, but not sexually. He was also a natural dominant personality. It was the power play that didn't fit. Also the inflicting of pain onto a partner, regardless if it was wanted or not, or for pleasure or not. Grissom wouldn't find it appealing.

He wanted to talk to Dr. Grissom about it, but not in public. Definitely not in his classroom. He knew Grissom wouldn't appreciate it. So, he would wait and schedule an one-on-one interview with Grissom at the prison later this week.

Once the class was filled and the signal for the webcam was up and running, he returned to where they left off yesterday.

"Dr. Grissom," he asked as he looked up at the man. He wasn't wearing his glasses today and it looked like he trimmed his beard.

"Good morning," he said while also signing the words in ASL. "I noticed yesterday that there are several people in the room who are hearing impaired. If you don't mind, I'll be signing our conversation."

"I don't mind. That's very considerate."

"I've noticed how inconsiderate most of society can be towards those who are different. Most do things unconsciously, not even realizing that someone could be dealing with something they aren't, like deafness. All anyone wants is to be seen and valued. You'll be surprised how many people grow up thinking they aren't."

"You grew up seeing that first hand, not just with your mother but yourself. You've called yourself a ghost. Was killing your way of trying to be seen?"

He thought about it before shaking his head. "Being a ghost allowed me to do what I do. I value anonymity."

"A girlfriend complicates things."

He looked down at him from the screen and said, "That's why you wait for the right girl."

"And you found yours. Was it by selection? Did you look for a certain person, personality? Or, did you really happen to fall in love?"

"Believe me, it was as unexpected to her as it was to me. I thought...I thought I wasn't capable of being in a relationship. I thought no one could ever love me. I never asked for it."

"You didn't want to love anyone?"

He shrugged, saying, "It wasn't something I thought about or went after. I never really dated. Wasn't interested. I, uh, I was never good with emotions. Understanding them. Accepting them. They aren't logical. Being in a relationship means allowing someone to compromise you emotionally, which compromises you intellectually. I didn't want that."

"How about friendships?"

He glanced over to someone in the room and he looked and saw he was looking at CSI Catherine Willows. "I never encouraged anyone to care about me. But...as I was told once, despite me noticing, that people I was working with were forming a family around me whether I liked it or not."

"You didn't like it?"

"Not at first. In a way, I guess...I was trying to protect them. I knew what I was doing. I knew how it could affect them. The scrutiny. Their sense of betrayal. They didn't have to ever be my friend...but," he shrugged.

"Do you feel guilty for putting your friends through this?"

He wrinkled his head in confusion. "Guilt?...No. It was their choice to befriend me, to allow me into their lives, their hearts, despite the fact that I never integrated myself into their lives or them into mine. Work was work. We never, uh...There was no hanging out. I'm emotionally unavailable and I thought that would be enough of a deterrent. And it was, for a while."

"You said "at first". How about now?"

"Over time...through my relationship, through her, she showed me the beauty in life. I learned to accept those people. To consider them friends. I miss them. I don't blame them for distancing themselves from me. I, uh, I told them once that when I left there would be no cake in the breakroom. That I wasn't the type to form those kinds of bonds with people. I would just be gone and easily replaced...It's hard to admit that I was wrong. I don't know how to deal with that."

"In being wrong?"

Looking at him with a great deal of pain in his eyes, he told him, "You asked if I felt guilt, and I told you the truth. I don't feel guilty. I'm not going to apologize for the things I have done because I don't answer to you or to them. What I feel about my friends now is...Condemnation."

"You feel that your friends are condemning you," he said with clarity only to be dismissed and Grissom cut him down.

"No," he said strictly before looking back at Catherine Willows. "I condemn them." Shaking his head, he told her, "I was wrong to have accepted your friendship. You never should have loved me. I never asked you to. Now, I fear you're going to have to pay for it."

---

GIL

Las Vegas

1990 - 1994

~"I lit out from Reno

I was trailed by twenty hounds-"~

His first case was a robbery at the Stop & Go convenience store off the strip. The night shift supervisor was driving and he kept glancing over at him before asking, "Is this your first time in Vegas?"

~"Didn't get to sleep that night

Till the morning came around-"~

He noticed the man's voice had a hint of east coast attitude, New Jersey or New York; his bet was on Jersey. Supervisor Jim Brass reminded him in a way of Mitchell, just with more of a dark sense of humor and sarcasm that seemed to flow smoothly from just about every sentence.

"I'm from L.A.. I've been to Vegas plenty of times."

"Yeah? You a card shark?"

He thought about that in confusion as he shook his head. "No. I'm Ahab." He looked over at Brass and, seeing his confusion, explained, "Moby Dick. I harpoon the whales."

~"Set out runnin' but I take my time

A friend of the Devil is a friend of mine-"~

"Just don't go after the wrong whale. You may be the one getting harpooned."

Well, he certainly couldn't disagree with that. "Are you going to work the scene with me?" He didn't think Brass would consider his credentials and experience; there would be no need.

Brass shook his head as he took a left then a right into the parking lot. "Nah, I got a hit-and-run three blocks up. If you have any problems, call me. Okay, Grissom? Or, do you prefer Gil?"

~"If I get home before daylight

I just might get some sleep tonight-"~

He gave him a fleeting look as he got out of the car. Honestly, he didn't care. The car door clicked shut and he didn't look back as his mind was already focused on the scene. Before he opened the door to the store, he slipped on a pair of booties over his shoes then took out a pair of gloves. He blew into them before pulling them over his hands. After a few studied glances over the sidewalk and parking lot, he finally picked up his kit, and with two fingers, opened the door.

~"Ran into the Devil, babe

He loaned me twenty bills

I spent the night in Utah

In a cave up in the hills-"~

Hours later he stared at the farm fresh box of eggs he received from the owner of the Stop & Go and shook his head with a smile. He had solved his first case in only five hours because it took three to process the scene and two to confirm that the victim involved in the hit-and-run three blocks up was the robber based on a positive ID from the store clerk. He put the eggs in the fridge, behind his own container of blood, and shut the door.

The townhouse he'd acquired was spacious. A tri-level open concept block building with a garage. Open spaces made him feel safe and comfortable. He could see everything. The loft upstairs was spacious and it'd work best as his bedroom better than the small constricting room downstairs. He figured he could turn that one into his office or something. The other day he had gone out to about five furniture stores and gotten a leather sofa and chair, a coffee table, and when he spotted the huge book shelf he knew that it'd look perfect in the living room.

~"Set out runnin' but I take my time

A friend of the Devil is a friend of mine-"~

The most expensive thing he bought was the stereo system. And now since the Compact Discs were taking over cassette tapes, he figured he should get the newest system they had. Since arriving in Vegas, he hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep, and it just seemed wrong to sleep during the day when he had so much to do.

The silence was starting to get to him so he went over to his stereo system and pulled out a cassette since he hadn't gotten many CD's yet. He turned the volume up as loud as he could stand it since it was noon and nobody was home next door. The Grateful Dead "American Beauty" album filled the quietness of the townhouse. The acoustics of his new stereo system and the way the sound echoed off the walls were amazing.

~"If I get home before daylight

I just might get some sleep tonight-"~

Once he refilled his cup with more coffee he picked up a nail and the hammer and went over to a wall. The townhouse was bare and empty but soon it'd be filled with all the things he needed. After pounding the nail in the wall, he picked up the butterfly casing that he'd made himself years before and hung it on the wall. With a satisfied smirk, he pounded another nail in the wall and stared at the framed casings of butterflies.

After he was finished with the upstairs rooms, he opened the door that led down to the lower level and headed down the steps. There were boxes stacked in the middle of the room and soundproofing panels laid out in bundles. Pulling out a knife, he started opening the boxes. It took him nearly a month to properly install the panels, the table, and the room around it. Then he set up his work tables, shelves, and screened in habitats that housed his bugs: ant farms, cockroaches, spiders, butterflies and moths. It was painstaking and time consuming, but by the end of it he was satisfied.

This was his home now. He figured as long as this place stayed his sanctuary then he was going to be just fine.

~"I ran down to the levee

But the Devil caught me there-"~

His phone rang. Answering it, he grabbed the notepad he kept next to the phone and wrote down the address. He grabbed his keys, jacket, and left.

~"He took my twenty dollar bill

And he vanished in the air-"~

The 420 was at a motel off the strip. The door to the room was riddled with bullet holes and there was blood and money scattered around the floor. Bloody footprints mixed with spilt beer and champagne. Everyone heard gunfire, someone screaming and then running. There were fingerprints all over the place: on the door handle, the broken bottles, and the money.

"Why leave the cash?" Brass asked.

"Gunfire came from outside the door...Not the inside. Maybe the shooter didn't see the cash."

"Random?"

He had no idea. It made no sense.

~"Set out runnin' but I take my time

A friend of the Devil is a friend of mine

If I get home before daylight

I just might get some sleep tonight-"~

He received a letter from Sara two weeks later in his P.O. Box. Waiting to read it when he got home, he put it in the middle console of his car as he headed into work. He was greeted with an assignment sheet: 419. The dead body was found in a dumpster. He looked homeless, little clothes, shoes stuffed with newspaper, dirty, and he was cold.

He didn't need the coroner to tell him the cause of death. He already knew: hypothermia.

"If anyone says you can't die of cold exposure in the desert, they are wrong. Sand doesn't retain heat," he told the new Level 1 CSI, Catherine Willows. "Temps can drop 100 degrees or more overnight. And for this poor guy, the dumpster provided little shelter from the cold. It traps the cold in, like your car. Could be forty degrees outside the car, twenty degrees colder inside it. Greenhouse effect. Air on the outside can get heated from the air coming off the pavement. The dumpster is off the ground, and with the lid closed, the trapped cold air is circling around itself with nowhere to go. It became an icebox."

~"Got two reasons why I cry away each lonely night

The first one's named sweet Anne Marie and she's my heart's delight-"~

He went into his home office and tossed Sara's letter down on the desk as he sat down and pulled out a sheet of paper. Grabbing a pen, he wrote her back, and included a subscription to a magazine she'd be interested in about wildlife conservation. Then, he grabbed his sketch pad and a charcoal pencil. Looking up at the photos of the Monarch Butterflies he'd taken during their trip to Santa Cruz, he started drawing.

Days later, he finally got around to mailing the package before heading into work.

~"The second one is prison, babe, the sheriff's on my trail

And if he catches up with me, I'll spend my life in jail-"~

He watched the sun come up from his balcony that was off his back door. There were stairs that led down to the backyard and under the balcony was a patio. He should get a grill. Finishing the cup of coffee, he went back into his kitchen and cleaned it out before going down to the first floor.

He fed his cockroaches, his tarantula, and checked in on his ants in their ant farms and his butterfly cocoons. It had been a few weeks but they weren't ready to emerge just yet.

Then he flicked on the light to the soundproof room and checked in on his house guest. Oscar De la Rosa was a violent gang banger and drug dealer. He'd beat a murder rap when the only witness had been murdered before the trial. Turning the light back off, he turned around and headed back up the stairs. He had to be at work in two hours.

~"Got a wife in Chino, babe

And one in Cherokee

First one says she's got my child

But it don't look like me-"~

Child services was called to come get the baby that was crying in the playpen. His mother and father were dead on the floor, gun in the husband's hand. The wife had been shot point blank in the face and exited out the back. The husband then turned the gun on himself. Gunshot wound went through the right side of his brain and out the left.

Murder suicide.

Wincing at the pain he felt in his back as he knelt down to pick up the gun to bag it, he saw a piece of paper under the wife. Turning her, he used a pair of tweezers to pick up the paper out of the blood.

It was a paternity test.

"I think I found motive," he called out to the detective as he bagged it.

~"Set out runnin' but I take my time

A friend of the Devil is a friend of mine

If I get home before daylight

I just might get some sleep, tonight-"~

He passed by the uniformed officers as he approached the house. Looking around, he asked the detective he saw. New guy: O'Riley. "I got an early call out for a 430? An animal complaint? Why am I here and not animal control?"

Detective O'Riley pointed to the backyard. "No longer an animal complaint. Brace yourself."

He headed to the fenced in backyard as he took off his sunglasses. He stopped as he saw the blood on the sandy desert ground. Setting his field kit down, he slipped on a pair of booties before going forward. He pulled out his camera and took photos and placed the markers that led him into the wooden structure in the back. It wasn't a barn, but it was too big to be a shed. It had a high fence and he saw paw prints.

Getting to the door and looking inside, his camera dropped to his chest as he stared in at the bloody scene. There was a man he could only assume was the owner and dogs...Well, parts of dogs.

He really didn't get people.

~"Got two reasons why I cry away each lonely night

The first one's named sweet Anne Marie and she's my heart's delight-"~

"Hey!"

He smiled into the phone as he reclined back into the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. "Hey. How's it going with school?"

As he listened to Sara talk, he finally felt some relief as he closed his eyes and listened. She was working on her Bachelor's Degree in Wildlife Biology and he couldn't help but offer her any advice he had to help. He'd sent another package to her with another magazine and drawings.

"They're great," she told him. "I read this article about the life cycle and ecology of the Rhizocephala and I immediately thought of you. I mean, if anyone wants to read about larva biology and parasites, it's you. I'm sending it your way. You're gonna love it."

He smiled into the phone. "I can't wait to read it." His pager went off. Checking the number and message, he saw it was the lab. "Hey, uh, Sara, I'm so sorry, but I have to go. The lab needs me. They've got bugs."

"Okay, I'll get this out to you today. Have fun."

"Always", he said as he hung up the phone and hurried up the stairs to his bedroom to change clothes.

~"The second one is prison, babe, the sheriff's on my trail

And if he catches up with me, I'll spend my life in jail-"~

He picked up the shovel and stabbed it into the ground. The hole didn't have to be deep. The shallower, the better it was to observe the decomposition. It was a long process but after an hour he had a big and deep enough hole to place the body into. Grabbing the tarp with the dead body of Marcus Dailey, serial rapist and murderer, he pulled it down into the hole and then climbed out.

Leon, who was a pretty scrawny guy with a greying goatee and bald head, was the property manager of the body farm that he funded. And he finally showed up with a thermos in his hand and clipboard in the other. "Sorry," he told him. "Got a phone call."

He wiped his brow on the sleeve as he lifted his ball cap off his head to relieve some of the trapped heat. It was hot as hell and Leon had a thermos. "That better be water."

Leon looked at the thermos and gestured to the body. "It's the blood you asked for."

He sighed as he dropped his head. Why didn't he think to bring himself a bottle of water? "Leon-"

"I'll go get some water," Leon said as he left the thermos at his feet before scurrying off down the long trail through the woods that led back to the management office.

~"Got a wife in Chino, babe

And one in Cherokee

First one says she's got my child

But it don't look like me-"~

It was always hard when the victims were children, and even harder when the suspect was a kid; then they became both victim and perpetrator. A kid too young to be drinking let alone doing drugs. His 407 had turned into an overdose as the suspect bought heroin with the property he'd stolen. Standing in the doorway of the rundown apartment, he watched as a couple of police officers fought to restrain the distraught parents.

The father suddenly punched one of them, Officer Sanchez, as the mother went for Officer Cortez's gun. He stepped back as he watched as the officers wrestled around. Officer Sanchez got the father handcuffed and then a gunshot went off.

Grabbing his radio, he radioed in the 444 as he saw Officer Cortez stumble backwards from the impact. His hand went to his gun on his hip. He pulled it but kept it at the ready as he watched the scene unfold.

Officer Sanchez had his gun trained on the mother. He yelled out for her to drop the gun in Spanish. She didn't as she turned towards him. He fired.

Staring in at the scene before him, he shook his head in confusion and disbelief as he radioed it in as he went to assist Officer Cortez.

Luckily, the bulletproof vest stopped the bullet from killing her, but she would be down for a few weeks with a cracked rib.

~"I set out runnin' but I take my time

A friend of the Devil is a friend of mine-"~

He dropped his keys on the table, his case on the floor, his jacket on the chair and headed to the kitchen. He prepared the coffee machine and turned it on. Then he grabbed a beer out from the refrigerator and twisted the top off and took a drink before heading up the stairs to his bedroom. He finished half the bottle as he stripped his clothes off and got into the shower.

As the water washed off the dirt, sand, sweat, and blood of the day, he rested his head against the wall as the hot water eased his sore muscles. He was so tired. Once he was clean, he got out and toweled off and dressed in a nice suit and tie.

He went back down to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He drank it as he went through the files on his table, gathering up what he needed and threw them into the briefcase.

He grabbed his jacket, briefcase, and keys and then left the house. He had court.

~"If I get home before daylight

I just might get some sleep, tonight."~

---

SARA

Los Angeles

1994

She took her coffee on the balcony, leaning against the side wall, her leg up on the railing as she watched the sun come up over the mountains to the East. Movement caught her attention on the sidewalk below and she waved at Mike as he headed off toward the gym with a basketball tucked under his arm. He then bounced the ball around, between his legs and then twirled it on his middle finger as he headed for the corner and then was gone.

It was a beautiful morning with a crisp cool breeze in the air. A great day to get in a walk before she had to be at work, and then classes that evening. Finishing the coffee, she got up and went to the kitchen, but stopped on the way at the stereo system.

Selecting a CD, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, she put it on and turned it up.

~"Let me run with you tonight

I'll take you on a moonlight ride-"~

Mike had left the blender dirty in the sink, again. Banana peel on the counter along with what missed the blender: some berries, spinach leaves, and protein powder. Shaking her head, she cleaned up and then went to take a shower.

~"There's someone I used to see

But she don't give a damn for me-"~

She turned on the water and as it heated up, undressed as she averted her eyes from the mirror. Then she got in under the hot spray. She washed her hair and body, ignoring the bruising on her arms.

~"But let me get to the point, let's roll another

joint

And turn the radio loud, I'm too alone to be

proud-"~

Once clean, towel wrapped around her body and hair hanging damp, she put on some makeup to hide the dark circles, dressed in a pair of black slacks and long-sleeve shirt, and grabbed her bag as she headed out the door.

~"And you don't know how it feels

You don't know how it feels to be me-"~

It didn't take long for her to get into it with the manager. The moment she walked in the door, she heard her words.

"You're late again."

She was like a broken record. It was the same thing every day. Going to her locker, she opened the door as she told her, "And you know I take the bus-"

"Kathy takes the bus and she's never late," Tess said as she leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms over her chest.

"Well, that's because Kathy lives-"

"Sara," Tess said, cutting her off. As they stared at one another, she told her, "if it happens again-"

"What, you're going to write me up?" she said as she threw her purse in the locker and grabbed her apron.

"No, you'll be fired."

Turning to face her, she looked at the hard look on her face, the disappointment is what got to her the most.

"This isn't you-"

Looking away, she let out a breath as she tossed the apron down, grabbed her purse and the lock off her locker as she said, "You know what, it isn't. I quit."

~"People come, people go

Some grow young, some grow cold-"~

She returned to the apartment and Mike wasn't back yet. Tossing her bag down, she paced around the apartment, looking at the worn down furniture, the movie and band posters and photos of the two of them on the walls, some covering holes from Mike's fists, and pulled her hair back as she felt like screaming.

How'd she get here, again? She was smart and resourceful; she could do anything. And yet, there she was, once again working tables and living with a man who's anger matched her own. They met in a bar two years ago. He was the bouncer who had to physically restrain her after she'd been tossed out for threatening to break a beer bottle across some asshole's face.

Next thing she knew they were in his truck. Mike got fired that night for having sex with a customer while on duty. Neither cared. They went back to his place that night and she never left. A week later she got all her stuff out of the apartment she'd been sharing with Kathy and moved in.

Mike went to work with his best friend. First carpentry, and then commercial painting, and then selling weed on the side to bring in extra cash.

~"I woke up in between

A memory and a dream-"~

She sat on the couch and grabbed their stash from under the coffee table and filled the paper, rolled it, lit it up, and took a long pull off it as she thought about what to do with her time now that she quit her job.

~"So let's get to the point, let's roll another joint

Let's head on down the road

There's somewhere I gotta go-"~

She was attending community college three times a week, trying to actually graduate this year. It was taking her longer than most due to her on again, off again ability to keep going. There was always something interfering, always something happening: money, her car breaking down, Mike quitting his job so she had to work more hours.

Now, she was the one who quit. It left her more free time to study, she supposed. Grabbing her book on Integrated Principles of Zoology, she reclined back on the couch and took another drag.

~"And you don't know how it feels

You don't know how it feels to be me-"~

A while later, she heard the front door open then shut. Mike was back from the gym. The basketball went rolling by the couch as he walked over to her. Leaning over the couch, he snatched the book out of her hands, looked at it, and then tossed it on the coffee table.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Leaning her head back, she peered up at him as she told him, "I quit."

He didn't react to that, only leaned down to take her lips into his as he kissed her. Then he pulled back and said, "Sweet; then you can come with me."

"Go with you where?" she asked as she picked her book back up. "I really need to study-"

"You don't need to study," he grabbed the book again and tossed it across the floor. "I'm going out to Las Vegas to see a buddy of mine. C'mon." Grabbing her arms, he pulled her to her feet.

The five hour drive out to Las Vegas was nice; the windows were rolled down, a cool breeze in her hair, music on the radio, and he let her sleep. She was so tired.

~"My old man was born to rock

He's still tryin' to beat the clock-"~

Mike's friend Paul had a pool and his girlfriend Amy lent her one of her swimsuits to wear despite waving it away. She was always highly self-conscious about being half naked in front of strangers; that was until Amy changed and she saw the old scars on her arm, in the crook of her elbows.

"Heroin?" she asked as she saw the scars.

Amy gave a nod as she grabbed a beer and headed out onto the back patio. Taking the swimsuit, she went to change as she tried not to worry too much about her scars.

~"Think of me what you will

I've got a little space to fill-"~

Mike grabbed her the moment she was standing by the pool and they both went crashing into the water. She pushed him away as he started laughing and swam to the side of the pool. She rested against it as she was offered a drink; a Bloody Mary. She pushed herself up and sat with her legs in the water as she sipped the drink.

~"So let's get to the point, let's roll another joint

Let's head on down the road-"~

The day was gone in a haze of uncaring. She felt numb and distant. Passive, as the day seeped into darkness. Then a bonfire was started, another drink in her hand as she chatted with Amy as a joint was passed her way.

~"There's somewhere I gotta go

And you don't know how it feels-"~

Amy was a tattoo artist and sometime in the middle of the night-as she sat on top of the dining room table-she watched as she tattooed her ankle. Taking a long drag off the smoke in her mouth, she watched as her white skin formed into a beautiful orange and black butterfly. A Monarch. It matched the drawing she'd received in the mail a few weeks ago.

~"You don't know how it feels

No, you don't know how it feels to be me-"~

Another drawing of a beautiful insect to add to her collection. Sometimes they were bees, or lady bugs, or spiders, but mostly they were butterflies. They were drawings that Mike never saw, and if he did see them, had no opinion about them. They weren't important to him because to him they were just drawings of bugs.

She knew the truth. She knew the man that sent them to her and knew the reasons why. He saw the beauty in them and wanted to share what he saw with the only other person he knew who would also see the beauty in them: her. And she did. Every picture was beautiful to her, because she knew that they came from his mind and were specifically drawn for her, and that was what made them beautiful.

If Gil saw her now, her state of uninhibited drunkenness, smoke in hand, he would be so disappointed. Story of her life. Everywhere she went, someone was disappointed. She would let them down. But it shouldn't have been such a surprise, she was damaged goods.

It was no wonder she was with Mike; no wonder he would get so upset with her all the time, and why they argued. She was unloveable and undeserving of love, especially of Gil's odd expression of love. Looking over at Mike who was passed out on the couch, she didn't feel anything towards him. Not love, not hate, not anything.

If they weren't fighting, weren't yelling, she felt nothing. There was no happiness, not even sadness. Taking another puff off the smoke, she looked down at the butterfly tattoo and smiled.

~"You don't know how it feels-"~

The next afternoon, Mike was in her face. He was upset with her because he wanted to have a night on the town with Paul and she wasn't invited. It was outside the Mirage, with people watching them as they got into a shouting match. She didn't know half of what she said other than he was a fucking asshole.

And she was a bitch.

She slapped him. He pushed her.

Then the security got involved.

Luckily, she wasn't arrested but they made them go their separate ways. She headed off down the strip as Mike and Paul went into the casino. Amy hadn't gone with them so she had no one to hangout with and also no ride. Mike had the keys. She could've gotten a taxi but at the moment she couldn't even remember the address to Paul's house. It was off of Red Bird Lane or some stupid name like that.

She couldn't believe that he wanted to ditch her in the middle of the Vegas strip because he decided to have a guys night. It was probably because he wanted to hit on some other girls, or go to the strip club. She didn't even know why she even tried or bothered with men. It all ended the same. In shame and heartbreak. In hot anger and even hotter tears.

Standing on the corner, she looked around once she cooled down and stopped walking, and noticed she was surrounded by neon lights and hotels and casinos. On her right was a huge water fountain. The Eiffel Tower. The Bellagio Hotel.

Leaning on the wall separating her from the water, she watched as it lit up in blue and gold as the sunset. Staring at the water, she felt like falling inside of it and letting it inside of her until she was taken away. A sweet release into nothing.

~"You don't know how it feels-"~

Wiping the tears off her face, she stepped away from the fountain and stuffed her hands into her jeans pockets as she walked away. She walked for what felt like hours through a haze of neon and alcohol. She hit every bar along the strip until she was kicked out and too drunk to know up from down.

And until she was broke as hell.

All she had left in her pocket was her ID and a quarter. She could make a phone call.

Going over to the pay phone, she tried to figure out how to even get a hold of Mike. She had no idea where he was, and had no phone number to call. She knew no one in the city.

Gil. She knew Gil. He lived in Vegas.

Thinking about him, she remembered his number. It was etched in her brain, or in her heart, and it came to her easily as she hit the numbers. Leaning against the phone booth, she listened to the ringing and wondered if he'd even be home at this time of night. He could have been at work. Or asleep. Or out with someone better than her.

Just when she thought he wasn't going to answer, the ringing stopped. "Hello?"

"Gil," she asked, surprised that there was an answer.

There was a moment of silence before he said, "Sara? Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Again, he was silent before saying, "Have you been drinking?"

"So what if I have?" she angrily asked, like it was his fault. "I have every right to get fucking drunk if I want to-"

"Wait…I'm not trying to argue. You called me. Where are you? I noticed the number was local. It's from a pay phone?"

Caller ID. She forgot all about caller ID. "I'mma...Where am I?" she asked herself as she looked around. She had ended up at the northside of the strip, hoping to find Mike. He wasn't there. She had no idea where he was. "There's a clown and a circus tent."

"A circus...Circus Circus?"

"Yeah. I can't find him. I think he left me. I don't know anyone, or where to go. He's such an asshole-"

"Okay, okay, listen, uh...Stay there, okay. I'm on my way."

"Gil…" she felt herself start to tilt a little and had to find her balance before she told him, "thank you."

"Stay there. Don't go anywhere."

She hung up and sat down inside the phone booth as she waited. She wasn't going anywhere. Time seemed to swim in waves of movement around her. People walking, talking, laughing and her legs felt like Jell-O. There was banging on the door and she had to slam it shut a few times as someone tried to come inside.

"I need to make a phone call!" some guy called out.

She pushed the door shut with her feet and held it shut as she told him, "I'm using it."

"You're falling asleep on the fucking ground. Get up, bitch and le-"

"Hey!"

Sara looked up and saw someone slam the guy from behind into the phone booth. His face bounced off the door as blood exploded from his nose. Then he was yanked away and nearly thrown to the ground.

"Back off," she heard the man say with such anger and authority that she had to blink back to make sure she was actually seeing the man clearly. The man was Gil. And he looked pissed.

The guy threw up his hands over his bloody face and nose as he hurried off down the street.

Turning to look down at her through the glass in the door, his anger disappeared. Tapping on the glass, he said, "Sara. Sara, you have to move your legs so I can open the door."

She did as she was told and he opened the door and knelt down in front of her. She saw his concern but not much else as he held out his hand, asking, "Are you okay?"

She grabbed his hand and he helped her to her feet. "Yeah, 'm fine," she said as she got a better look at him.

His hair was cut shorter than she remembered but he still looked very much the same. He had a beige jacket over a black dress shirt, dress pants, and blue eyes that lit up the night. Right then those eyes looked troubled as he looked her over. A fear bubbled up into her throat as she suddenly thought he would turn away and leave her. She knew she hadn't been sleeping much nor eating, but she didn't think she looked that bad. She could have been too thin with dark circles under her eyes, but she could take care of herself.

Reaching out to her, he touched her arm lightly as his hand moved a strand of hair out of her face. His eyes moved from her face down to her feet then back up. "I've missed seeing you."

"Yeah, well, who's fault was that," she shot back as she took a step and stumbled as the sidewalk moved. Feeling his hands grab her, she jerked away from him as she slapped his hands away. "I can walk by myself." After a couple of steps she nearly tripped and he grabbed her again.

"Sara-"

"I said don't touch me," she yelled as she twisted out of his hand and smacked him on the chest. "I don't need your help, or anyone else's."

He stared at her and she knew he was thinking exactly what she knew he was thinking: she wasn't worth it. She wasn't worth his time or his niceness. He was probably regretting her calling him. She was disappointing him and that made her angry.

He made her angry.

She went off on him without a thought to what she was even saying. But, she knew how she felt. Angry. And lied to. And worthless. And why was he even bothering to help her? She was such a wreck. Lastly, men, men were assholes. Every last one of them.

Then, she nearly fell into the street.

He wrapped his arms around her and despite her slapping him in protest, he guided her to his car and into the passenger seat, making sure her legs were inside the car and the seatbelt was clicked into place. Once he got into the driver's seat, she was trying to take it off.

"You need to keep that on."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Sara, keep it on. You can take it off when I get home."

Glaring over at him, she asked, "Home? You're taking me where?"

He only looked at her as he started the car before driving off. She leaned her head on the window and watched as the Vegas strip disappeared as it faded into a stretch of highway, and then into the desert with mesquite trees and houses. Then a neighborhood of townhouses and condos. Garages and balconies. It looked normal. Trees looked like they were planted by a landscaper.

The drive seemed to have calmed her down enough to where she had no more fight left in her.

He pulled into a driveway and into a garage and parked. Getting out, he helped her out of the passenger seat and into the door that he opened using a security code. She heard noises in the dark room, weird flapping, and hissing and clicks…

What was clicking?

Then they were walking up some steps and out another door into a small hallway. She saw a door leading outside, and then the kitchen, and then a couch that he helped to ease her down into. He looked her over then, as if he was checking her for any damage, before going into the kitchen.

Resting her head on the top of the couch, she looked around his house. It was very white. Black and white photography and paintings were on the walls along with butterflies casings. A lot of butterflies. All dead and framed. There were also a lot of books and odd things-souvenirs, maybe. She didn't see a television, but he had a big ass stereo system. Record players, cassette players, and CD players. All he was missing was an 8-track player.

A glass of water, aspirin, a banana, and a pack of crackers was handed to her. She swallowed the aspirin down with the water and looked at the banana as she started munching on the crackers. Her stomach did not like the thought of her eating a banana. She watched as he moved around the kitchen. He put a kettle on the stove, grabbed things out of cabinets and the refrigerator. He hadn't said anything. Didn't speak a single word.

He sat down next to her on the couch and handed her a cup of tea.

She looked inside and asked, "What the hell's in this?"

"Alcohol blocks the production of a hormone that helps our bodies hold onto water which leads to dehydration and loss of electrolytes like potassium and sodium. I'm trying to get those back into your body. Eat the banana."

"Gilbert, what's in the tea?"

"It's a specialty mix of mine; it contains green tea, lemon, ginger, cinnamon and-"

She kissed him.

He froze but unlike last time, he eased into it and kissed her back. When she ended the kiss, he let out a breath as he looked at her. His eyes took in her face, her lips, before he said, "Honey."

"Is that in the tea or a nickname?"

He blinked and looked off as he thought about it. "It, uh...Both?"

She nearly laughed as she picked up the banana and started eating it, just to make him happy.

He gave a nod. "You need to get some sleep. You can have my bed. I work nights, so...I won't be needing it."

"Why aren't you at work tonight?"

Looking away from her, he said, "I'm tapped out on overtime. I'm also the expert witness at a trial tomorrow. My supervisor didn't want me to catch a case and not be able to testify."

"Guess I lucked out, huh?"

He looked over at her and smiled slightly. "We both did."

She watched as he stood and went over to his bookshelf. He had a ton of books. They were piled into the shelves and on the dining table that wasn't used for eating meals. It was littered with books and...Was that an animal skull? The hell?

He walked back over with a book in his hand and sat back down. Flipping open the book, he leaned back and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "William Shakespeare, Where the Bees Sucks. "Where the bee sucks, there suck I, in a cowslip's bell I lie. There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, after summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now; under the blossom that hangs on the bough"."

She laughed. "Shakespeare really wrote that?"

"It's from his play The Tempest," he told her before reading another one. ""Take, oh take those lips away, that so sweetly were forsworn, and those eyes: the breake of day. Lights that do mislead the Morn; but my kisses bring again, bring again, seals of love, but sealed in vain...Sealed in vain"."

"Now we're getting somewhere," she said as she pulled her legs up under her. "Is that how you feel about my kiss?"

"Hey, I didn't write it," he said as he flipped a page.

"Read me a sonnet."

He obliged. "Sonnet 73," he told her before he started to recite the sonnet. "'That time of year thou mayst in me behold. When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang, upon those boughs which shake against the cold, bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day as after sunset fadeth in the west, which by and by black night doth take away death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, that on the ashes of his youth doth lie, as the death-bed whereon it must expire; consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, to love that well which thou must leave ere long"."

She listened as she leaned up against him, resting her head on his shoulder as she sipped on the tea. His voice was soothing, easing her into peace and a lightness she hadn't felt in a long time. She tried to stay awake but it was getting hard to keep her eyes open.

He took the cup for her hands and put it on the table along with the book. Feeling his arms around her waist, he helped her up to her feet and then he lifted her light body up into his arms. He carried her up some stairs and into a bedroom. It was dark and quiet. She could hear the hum of the air conditioner.

She felt the softness of the bed, the cool sheets under her palms, as she was covered with a blanket.

"Good night, Sara," she heard him tell her before she fell asleep.

~"No, you don't know how it feels...to be me."~

She woke that morning to her head on fire and an aching bladder. She had to go pee. Stumbling up to her feet, she squinted into the dark room and saw a glow coming from the bathroom. It was the master bath off the bedroom. It had a walk-in shower, tub, and some very bright lights. She moaned when she turned them on and the brightness hurt her head.

On the counter were a couple of towels, a brand new toothbrush still in the package, and a white long sleeved blouse and jeans. She checked the tags and saw they were her size and brand new. He must have gone shopping.

After she cleaned up and changed, she headed down the steps. She smelt coffee brewing but didn't see Gil anywhere. Going into the kitchen, she tried to remember what cabinet she remembered seeing him open to get down the mug last night. She opened a cabinet, closed it, and then opened another. Ah, coffee mugs. She took one down and then opened the refrigerator.

Then she closed it.

Then, she opened it again.

What the hell? Between the cartons of takeout and milk were labeled metal and plastic containers, and vials, and what looked like-...Was that-

"Good morning."

She shut the refrigerator and turned to look at him as she pointed to the refrigerator. "Do you have blood in your refrigerator?"

He gave a nod. "Yeah."

She went to ask why but nothing came out but air.

He just shook his head and said, "So many reasons." Grabbing a cup out of the cabinet, he poured them both a cup of coffee. "Do you like omelettes? I was going to make breakfast."

She nodded as she took a sip of the coffee as she leaned against the counter. She watched him move around his kitchen, focused on his tasks of putting pans on the stove and grabbing out a carton of eggs and a container of oats. A package of blueberries. He diced up a tomato and avocado.

Then she noticed something on his face, under his left eye. She reached out and touched his cheek where it was bruising. "Did I do that?"

He stopped dicing and looked up at her. Moving his head back slightly, making her drop her hand, he told her, "I've had worse."

"I hit you?"

"It was more like your flailing elbow hit me."

"Gil, I'm serious. I'm sorry. For whatever I did last night. I didn't do anything or say anything that may have hurt you, did I?" Looking at him, she felt so guilty. Here he was, helping her, and she hit him.

He didn't say anything as he went back to preparing them breakfast. She didn't know if he was going to say anything or not and went to leave when he said, "We all have, um-...We're fine."

She gave a nod and took a drink as she turned to walk away. The world tilted slightly and she had to steady herself on the counter.

"Dizzy?"

"That and my head feels like it's on fire."

He opened the refrigerator and pulled out another carton and opened it. Offering it to her, she looked inside.

At what she saw, she looked up at him and asked, "Are you a real person?"

His brow wrinkled in confusion as he said, "I often wonder that myself."

"I'm not eating grasshoppers."

"They're covered in chocolate."

"No way," she said as she shook her head. "Not in a million years."

Putting the container back, he pulled out another glass one and handed it to her. "It's a fruit salad, no insects. Just bananas, oranges, strawberries, kiwi, and pineapple."

"See, you can be normal." She grabbed the container as she left the kitchen. Going over to the couch, she sat down and started eating the fruit and sipping on the coffee.

A while later, he sat several plates and bowls on the dining table that he'd cleared off. He pointed to the plate on the table. "I made you an omelette with eggs, green onions, tomatoes, and avocado. Research shows that tomatoes contain compounds that protect against liver damage. There's also oatmeal, and toast," he said as he went back to the kitchen and grabbed the plate stacked with toast and brought it over.

She looked at the spread of food as she sat down. "I can't remember the last time someone else cooked for me that wasn't at a restaurant."

"And you don't even have to leave me a tip," he said as he took a drink of coffee.

She took a bite out of the omelette and nearly moaned. "This is...This is delicious."

"It took me many mornings waking up with my head on fire to develop the perfect omelette for the occasion."

"Hangovers?"

"Migraines."

It didn't take long for Gil to finish eating. She hadn't even eaten half the omelette before he was cleaning up his dishes. She watched as he hurried up the steps to his bedroom. Then she heard the shower.

She looked around the house again as she ate, thinking about what she was going to do. She had to figure out where Paul lived. It was on Red Robin Lane. That was all she knew. She'd slept most of the drive, and didn't think that Mike was going to ditch her in a strange city. She should have gotten their phone number or at least the address before leaving. But, she'd been smoking and hadn't been thinking.

By the time she finished eating and cleaning up her dishes, Gil was walking back into the living room. Looking at him, she said, "You wear the hell out of a suit."

He was dressed in a dark navy suit, white dress shirt and navy and white striped tie. At the moment, he was trying to tie the tie. He got it knotted and once done, looked up at her and smiled. "Used to be my Sunday best, now it's reserved for court."

"When do you have to be there?"

He checked his watch and said, "Two hours. I was going to give you a ride."

"That would be great if I knew where I was going."

She then told him about Mike and Paul and what had happened.

He listened and then left the room, going into a room off the living room. He was in there for a good five minutes before coming back out with a sheet of paper in his hands. "There are only five Paul's or Amy's who have residences on Red Robin Lane. I can drive you to all five and see if any look familiar."

It was the second address on the list. As they sat in his car, she stared at the house as she didn't want to go in. She didn't want to see Mike anymore. She didn't want to go back to Los Angeles.

Looking over at Gil, she saw him watching her. "Do you…" he trailed off as he looked away.

"If I stayed, what'd you think would happen?" She didn't know what she was expecting him to say, and she should have known that if he did say anything it would take a long time.

He shook his head and shrugged. Then he said, "I don't know. What I do know is that I can't make your decisions for you."

There was no emotion. No declaration of love. Just, reason. "If I stayed, you'd let me, wouldn't you."

"Is that what you want to do?"

"It's not my decision."

He seemed to consider that before telling her, "Yes, it is. I won't ask you, or...tell you want to do, Sara."

She tried to understand what that meant. He wouldn't ask her. It was her decision. She didn't know what she wanted. Part of her wanted to stay. Part of her wanted to run away. She couldn't make up her mind. She didn't know anything other than uncertainty.

It was as if she was standing at the edge of a precipice, looking out at her life, her future, and all there was was the ground at the bottom of the dark abyss before her. She felt at times as if she'd fallen into the darkness but never hit bottom. She was falling, and the ground never got any closer. If it did, she'd hit it and die.

That's all that was waiting for her with Mike. The darkness and death.

"I quit my job." He looked at her. "I couldn't handle it. That's why I was free to come out here with him. Otherwise, I think he would've come without me. I would've been wondering where he was for the entire weekend. I don't want to live with him anymore. I don't want to see him-"

"Sara." When she looked over at him, he told her, "Tell you what, I'll wait out here for you to go get your stuff. You can stay with me a few days until I can take time off work, then I'll help you figure something else out. I can always drive you back to L.A. myself."

She stared over at him in surprise. "You'd do that?"

"Of course."

She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. "Okay," she said as if in a daze. "I'll be right back."

She got out of the car and went up to the house.

---

1995

Sitting under a tree on the UNLV campus, she tried to study but it was proving difficult. A stereo sat on the ground, softly playing Dave Matthews Band. A couple of skateboarders went by on the sidewalk, a group of people started tossing a frisbee, and Jennifer "Jen" Wyatt kept yammering about her boyfriend, Karl. It was non-stop with this girl.

~"I remember thinking

I'll go on forever only knowing

I'll see you again-"~

Looking over at her, she said, "Jen, your boyfriend isn't going to help us pass our chemistry final."

Jen sighed and rolled onto her stomach to look up at her. They had tossed a blanket down on the ground with the stereo, and had brought food, snacks and all their notes and books in order to study. So far all that had been accomplished was that they were now out of chips.

"How soon is too soon to marry someone?"

"Oh, God, don't be stupid. Marriage should always wait until after you get your Ph.D.. That way, you're making your own money and when you divorce, you don't have to depend on him for anything."

Jen stared up at her with a frown and said sarcastically, "Aren't you the romantic."

"I'm a realist," she said before going back to trying to study.

~"But I know the touch of you is hard to remember

But like that touch I've known no other-"~

"I don't know why I'm asking you, you don't even date or have a man."

She didn't say anything as she tried to focus on the equations. She didn't even know why she decided to do this with Jen in the first place. Was she that desperate for a friend? When she was nearly hit by a frisbee, she threw down her notebook and glared at the guy who ran over to retrieve it.

"So sorry," he said as he grabbed it and tossed it to some girl across the quad.

"That's it," she said as she gathered all her things into her bag and got up.

"Where are you going?" Jen asked.

"Someplace quiet."

She left the quad and got into her car and then drove away from the campus.

~"And for sure we have danced in the risk of each other-"~

She stopped to grab lunch from a taco truck not far from the house, getting two orders of the carne asada tacos with a side of beans and rice, and not forgetting the red and green sauce this time, she got back into her car and headed home. Pulling up, she saw his work truck parked in the driveway.

Using her key, she entered through the garage and into the bottom level of his house. This level used to be full of his bugs and workstations and a soundproof room. He had renovated it for her after she decided to stay in Las Vegas. Now there was only one room dedicated to his pet tarantula and ant farms. Everything else had been moved, he said, to a warehouse he'd purchased. That was when he told her that he funded his own body farm and the warehouse was for his entomology research and experiments.

He was also a pretty good carpenter. She had her own kitchen, master bedroom and bathroom with a walk-in closet, and a sliding door that led into the backyard. She placed her food on the counter in the small kitchen before taking the other container up the steps.

Entering the hallway, she heard music slowly playing. She spotted Gil sitting on his couch, head in his hand, as he talked on the phone. Checking the time, she wondered why he was still awake. This was usually his bedtime. He saw her and she pointed to the container. He waved her over. She grabbed a fork out of the drawer before walking over to him.

As she sat the container down on the coffee table, he said into the phone, "I'll be there tomorrow night to make sure everything is ready. Then Saturday evening will be the opening. That's right...Okay, I'll see you then." He hung up the phone and then opened the container. At spotting the food, he hummed his delight as he grabbed one of the tacos. "What are you doing this weekend?"

"Trying to study. What are you doing?"

He looked up as he told her, "I have to be in Sacramento. Do you want to come?"

~"Would you like to dance around the world with me?-"~

She thought about that and finally said, "Sure. I can get most of my studying done today, and do more on the flight. Why'd you have to be in Sacramento?"

He didn't look at her as he answered, "Art gallery."

"Art gallery?"

"Yeah," he said before he started eating as he picked up a book he'd had open on the seat next to him.

~"I'll be falling all about my own thing

And I know you're the heaviest weight-"~

She knew him well enough to know that was all she was going to get for now. Leaving him alone, she went back down to her floor and grabbed her food off the counter. Taking it with her into her room, she sat at her desk and opened her bag.

The room was filled with all her stuff; things she'd bought for herself, her closet was full of her own clothes, things she liked, and her walls held frame butterflies that Gil had made for her and some of his drawings along with some of her paintings. She had potted plants and colorful rugs, and quilts and blankets.

This was her space. He never came down unless she needed him for something. His presence was felt, though, and it was comforting. As she ate her food and turned on the radio, she realized that this was what stability felt like. It was quiet. It was calm. It was safe.

But underneath, she still felt the urge to run. The quiet at times became too quiet. The calm became untrustworthy, like a slack tide out at sea before the storm. The safety in the void where there used to be anger felt like a lie.

It wasn't him. It was her. She didn't know how to trust it.

She hoped it would get better but it didn't. With each passing day and night, it kept growing.

~"When you're not here, that's hung around my head-"~

Friday evening he took her hand in his and led her over to the rental car. It had been a short one hour flight from Las Vegas to Sacramento and he was dressed unusually nice. He was actually wearing a suit and it wasn't for court. He opened the passenger door for her and then got into the driver's seat.

Looking over at her as he started the car, he asked, "Dinner?"

"Sure."

"Seafood okay, or would you prefer something else?"

He must have had someplace in mind if he actually knew what food he wanted. Normally with the both of them neither one could make up their minds on where to eat unless one of them had a particular craving. "That's fine," she told him as he pulled away from the hotel.

Twenty minutes later he pulled into a parking lot to Sammie's Fish and Chips and walked around to get the door for her. Taking her hand in his, he pulled her to her feet but then let her hand go once they started walking toward the restaurant.

"I heard they have the best calamari in town."

She didn't feel much like talking, but she couldn't help telling him about her dreams of working in Africa with the various endangered animals like the rhinos, elephants, and lions. Through it all, he barely spoke. It was common. She realized early on that he wasn't much of a talker. He liked to listen and come up with a solution if she needed one, but mostly he was always in his head. Thinking.

When she started talking about ecosystems, his face suddenly lit up. He lived to educate her on all things science related. So she sat and listened as he talked about the ecosystems and how they all played a part in the world, in the grander scheme of things, and then he started in on the bees.

"Bees are a sign of a well functioning ecosystem. They are vital for the preservation of ecological balance and biodiversity in nature. They provide one of the most recognizable ecosystem services: pollination. That's what makes food production possible. By doing so, they protect and maintain ecosystems as well as animal and plant species, and contribute to genetic and biotic diversity. Their presence, absence, or their quantity tells us when something is happening with the environment and that action is needed. By observing the development and health of bees, it is possible to ascertain changes in the environment; and it's up to us entomologists to spot these changes so we can implement the necessary precautionary measures in time."

"In time for what?"

He shrugged as he said, "To stop the disruption, or...the complete downfall of humanity which starts with the killing of the bees."

She stared at him a moment and smiled. "Humanity will collapse without bees?"

"Absolutely," he said before finishing his beer and then pulled out his wallet to pay the check. "I mean, we're already on a sinking ship anyway, and mankind doesn't know how to patch the holes, but at least we can try to prevent the extinction of every other species on the planet before we die out."

"I have a feeling that the planet will be just fine without us."

He tossed the money down as he smiled over at her, saying, "It'll thrive. We are the only ones killing it. I'm surprised Mother Nature hasn't already wiped us out, but it will...One day."

"One day," she agreed as she grabbed her bag and stood.

Leaving the restaurant, he again opened the passenger door for her and helped her into the car. She had a beer with her meal as well and felt a little light-headed. It had been a long day. He got into the driver's seat and started driving with the windows down. She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, feeling the breeze on her face. Then she felt his hand on hers as he took a hold of it.

She opened her eyes and watched as he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her palm before intertwining their fingers. He didn't let go for the rest of the drive.

The act of what he'd just done surprised her. It'd been a year and aside from her surprising him with a kiss every so often, he never initiated any contact with her. She remembered once asking if he was gay to his shock before he quickly recovered. No, he'd said. And that was it. The only thing that Gil ever asked for was privacy. He liked to be left alone for the most part.

Minutes later, she was staring up at the tall, abstract white building. "This is an art museum and it's ten o'clock at night. I'm pretty sure it's closed."

He gave her a look as he said, "Nothing is ever really closed," before opening the car door and getting out.

Again, he got the door for her and helped her out of his car. Then walking hand in hand, to the front door, she saw they were greeted by a man who knew him by name as he let them into the building. The lights were dim and there was no staff, only the man who told her that she could call him Andrew, before he disappeared.

"Are you a wealthy donor or something?"

"Not a wealthy donor, no, but I have donated. This...is why we're here," he said as he led her up to the second floor and she saw the name on the art exhibit they were about to enter into.

"Betty Grissom? It says "In Memoriam"."

"My mother. She died," he told her as he opened the door and let her enter first. She walked into the vast open room and looked around at all the artwork on the walls. "This was her exhibit. She wanted to donate it to the museum. It's having its grand opening tomorrow. I get to see it first, with you as my guest."

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder and saw that he wasn't looking at the paintings. His eyes were on her. "I'm sorry about your mom. You didn't have to bring me."

He looked confused as he told her, "Who else would I bring?"

Not knowing how to answer that, she went back to looking at the paintings. He took her to each one, explaining them to her, the technique used, the story his mother told him about the paintings, even why she chose the colors she'd used. She didn't say much, just looked, absorbed it all in, and listened to his voice. It was oddly detached, like he was speaking of things he'd recited over and over for so long that they meant nothing to him by now.

Then he told her, "I used to speak for her, at her gallery openings in Santa Monica and Venice Beach. She was deaf, so...she needed an interpreter. I was her interpreter. I must have spoken all this a hundred times before."

"You have a good voice for it. You kept me captivated." He looked at her and she saw the light in his eyes at her appreciation. He didn't tell her thank you, but he didn't have to. She heard it in his look. Smiling, she asked, "Was she the reason you're an artist?"

~"And your lips burn wild

Thrown from the face of a child-"~

Looking away, she saw the blush heat up his neck and she reached out to touch his cheek. He turned into her hand as he brought his eyes back to hers, surprised but also anticipating. His eyes rested on her lips before he leaned down and kissed her. For a moment, she was shocked but then wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him back. Her hands moved into his hair and that was when he ended the kiss and leaned back slightly.

His lips twisted up again into a smirk as he told her, "Thought I'd be the first one to do that this time."

She grabbed his neck, pushed up on her toes, and kissed him again. "What else have you been thinking about?"

~"And in your eyes

The seeing of the greatest view, hey-"~

An hour later, she regretted her question.

"You know, Gilbert, this was not what I thought you had in mind," she said as she kept the spotlight out in front of her and looked at him over her shoulder.

They had briefly stopped back at the hotel so they could change. He had thrown on a ball cap and given her the windbreaker that he had in his luggage. She was thankful for the jacket as it was getting colder, and the jeans and tennis shoes that she decided to pack. Using the paddle, he eased the canoe over some marshland at the Liberty Island Ecological Reserve, and then brought it to a halt.

Looking at her, he said, "You're studying aquatic ecosystems. This is gaining practical knowledge."

She nearly smiled at that as she went back to observing the bubbles in the water. "It's one o'clock in the morning, and I'm out on some lake, in a canoe, with Bill Nye the science guy."

"Who?"

She looked back at him and asked, "You don't know who that is?"

He shook his head.

She saw a tiny fish pop up out of the water before disappearing back under the surface. "That was a Delta Smelt. They're endangered."

"Do you know why they're important to the ecosystem?"

"They feed directly on the planktonic base of the food chain, and in turn are food to larger fish and water birds which need them to survive."

He gave a nod as he looked around, saying, "This reserve was acquired to protect critical habitat for the Central Valley Fall-run Chinook Salmon, the Delta Smelt, and the North American Green Sturgeon, along with preserving the wetlands and habitats of all the game species and-...What?"

She was looking at him with a smirk on her lips. She really couldn't get enough of how much of a geek he was. "Is there ever a time when you're not thinking about something science related?"

He thought about that for a while, too long of a time, and she started laughing. "I'm not thinking about it now," he said, which made her laugh harder.

They spent another two hours on the water before they finally called it a night. Once back at his car, she waited until he was in the driver's seat before climbing over into his lap. Grabbing the brim of his hat, she turned it around so she could lean down to kiss him.

"What're you doing?" he asked startled when she ended the kiss.

"I realized that the only way we're going to have sex is if I took the lead."

He seemed oddly surprised by that before saying, "Oh." She smiled and kissed him again. "Wait, wait," he said as he grabbed her by the waist. He took a breath, before saying, "We are not having sex in my car."

She was about to kiss him again when she heard a noise and then saw lights. Red, blue, and white lights. "Are-are those police lights?"

She scooted off his lap and back into the passenger seat just as a flashlight shined through the window with a police officer standing behind it.

~"Do what you will, always

Walk where you like, your steps-"~

"One of these days, we're going to laugh about this," she told him a few minutes later as they stood outside his car in the parking lot waiting to either be let go or arrested.

Gil looked over at her and huffed out a laugh, "Yeah," before he went back to watching the cop.

"We technically didn't do anything wrong. They have no reason to arrest us."

"Well...we were trespassing."

She jerked her head to look over at him and said, "You didn't get permission first?" She could not believe him.

"Don't worry. The property manager is a colleague of mine."

"A colleague? How well do you know each other?"

He shrugged slightly, saying, "We met at a seminar once."

"That's...that's not a colleague. That's an acquaintance."

"Semantics. He still knows who I am."

She stared at him in disbelief and shook her head. "We're going to jail."

"We are not going to jail."

"An acquaintance is someone you know in passing. A face and a name, that's it. A colleague is someone you work with professionally. You have a rapport."

He looked at her and asked incredulously, "Do you read the dictionary?"

"I can't believe we're going to jail because you don't know the difference between an acquaintance and a colleague."

"If anything, since I'm an LVPD criminalist, Officer Littleton will extend us a little professional curiosity."

The police officer walked back over and handed Gil his ID back as he said, "Relax, you're not going to jail. Everything checks out. You're free to go, Dr. Grissom."

"Thank you," he said as he took his ID and smiled over at her.

"This doesn't change anything. If the property manager hadn't recognized your name-"

"Professional curiosity, ma'am," said Officer Littleton with a laugh before walking away. "You two have a good night."

"Did he just call me ma'am? He's older than I am."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Get in the car. Not everything has to be a confrontation, you know." When they got back into the car, he looked over at her and asked, "Now...where were we?"

Looking at him, she said with a smile, "I think you were about to take me back to our hotel room."

"Was I?" he playfully asked before starting the car.

~"Do as you please, I'll back you up-"~

Once back at the hotel room and he didn't waste any time getting her undressed. His hands were slow with his own clothes, as he didn't even remove his shirt. Reaching out, she touched him. At first on his neck and then his face before she kissed him. Her hand yanked out his shirt and she felt over his stomach.

Gil let out a deep sigh as his muscles quivered under her palm. She went for his belt and he stopped her with a hand on hers and a shake of his head.

She couldn't stop herself as she asked him, "What'd you want?" as she was so used to giving to every man she'd been with.

Both hands were placed on the sides of her face as he looked her over. They went down to her feet and then back up, before he spoke, "'The still waters of the air under the bough of the echo. The still waters of the water under a frond of stars...The still waters of your mouth under a thicket of kisses'. That's what I want."

~"I remember thinking

Sometimes we walk

Sometimes we run away-"~

He eased her down onto the bed, on her stomach, as he kissed her neck and then her shoulders, her back. It was like once he sparked a moan from her, he fixated on that one spot until she couldn't take it any longer and was squirming under him. Then he moved on and did the same with another spot, and then another. She had to close her eyes as she let out a deep breath in order to get her body under control.

Choking back a curse as Gil licked her sweet spot, she dug her nails into the sheets. He used his mouth, touch, and fingers to bring her to climax as she came choking back a sob. She expected him to undress and take her from behind but he turned her over instead and kissed her chest. Gil's patience was torturous, but playful, much like a game. She wondered if that was what it was like for him, what he wanted this to be: a game. Either way, it was going to be a long night.

She was reminded of her thoughts from earlier about not being able to trust this safety, this calm. And with getting to know his talented mouth, she wondered how many others he'd been with before. It had been a year of living with him and this was the first time he put his hands on her. He was also older than her. She wondered if he did have someone else back in Vegas and she was just a fling.

Before Gil, sex always added to her pain. It never satisfied her physically and only seemed to inflict more damage intimately. Now, as her hands grabbed his hair, kneaded his back and shoulders under the shirt, it felt as if his hands were soothing all the damage away. His hand caressed her leg as he pulled it up to his shoulder and placed a kiss against her thigh. Then he licked and kissed the butterfly tattoo on her ankle.

He never really spoke. Never gave her any real compliment, but the way he did things and what he did say told her everything. He valued her, appreciated her, and mostly he accepted her. In all her mess and flaws and scars.

She never had anyone make her want them as badly as he did. She wanted him so bad, it hurt. But he took his time, making her squirm and twist in her need as he brought her to orgasm multiple times before he finally kissed his way up her body. He only stopped long enough to remove his shirt, his belt and to slip on a condom before sliding inside her. His breath caught as he closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers as he froze for a moment. Then looking down at her, he took her hands into his, and held them above her head as he started to move.

Not being able to hold back what she needed from him, he went faster, and harder, deeper until she was screaming out, her body shaking and clenching as she came again. Burying his face into her neck, he fisted her wrists as his body stiffened and then shook against hers.

She couldn't say that she honestly had better. With anyone else, she had to pretend to enjoy it, sometimes everything was faked, and most of the time she never experienced any real pleasure. She hated every man who ever laid a hand on her except for him. But with Gil, it had always been different.

Love wasn't anger, traumatic and loud. It was calm, patient and silent. They didn't just have sex. They had made love.

She fell asleep in his arms knowing that she could trust him to not wake up suddenly and hit her. That he wasn't going to turn something beautiful into something ugly. She trusted him to hold her in the middle of the night if she woke up screaming or in pain from her nightmares.

The next morning she woke up to the sound of a picture being taken.

She blinked back the sleepiness in her eyes and the tiredness in her head and saw the camera in his hands as he peered over it to look at her. Then she smiled. He was always taking her picture.

He turned and put the camera on the nightstand next to the bed and then faced her as he let out a sigh. His eyes never stopped moving over her face and she had no idea what he was seeing or how he saw her. She was a mess. Her hair probably was a disaster and her arms were too thin and scarred, and she was certain her ribs were even showing. A doctor she saw twice a month at the UNLV clinic told her it was her eating habits. She had to take better care of herself. Eat more often a day, exercise, stop drinking and smoking. She had to change her ways or else.

He didn't say anything about how she looked as he gave her a kiss before getting up, saying, "I'm going to shower. You can look over the breakfast menu. I'll have coffee and um...whatever you get is fine."

She watched him go into the bathroom and close the door. After a moment, when she heard the shower running, she grabbed the menu and looked it over. An egg, bacon, and cheese croissant, side of fruit and toast, and a big glass of orange juice sounded amazing. She ordered enough for two and a pot of coffee.

By the time it arrived, Gil was dressed and she was just getting out of the shower and pulled on a robe when the door opened and the waiter left. Using a towel to dry her hair, she walked into the room and saw him sitting at the small table by the balcony door. He was sipping on a cup of coffee and chewing on a piece of toast as he picked up the paper that he must have called down to the desk for, and started reading it.

Tossing the towel onto the bed, she joined him.

He picked up a pencil off the table and folded the paper over a few times. She noticed it was a crossword puzzle he'd been reading. She watched him for a moment as she prepared a cup of coffee and ate some of the fruit and toast. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was even in the room.

After a while with neither of them speaking, she said, "Can I ask where you learned to please a woman?" Getting a reaction was her only intent for the question. He'd been so quiet.

Glancing over at her before going back to the crossword, he said, "Read a few books."

She hadn't expected to get an answer, especially not that answer. "You read books?"

He gave a nod as he picked up some fruit and ate it. "I wanted to be well informed."

"So, it wasn't from trial and error from trying to please other women?" she asked light-heartedly, but she was curious if he did have someone else.

They never talked about any relationships. She never mentioned Mike once since moving in with Gil and he never once mentioned anyone. However, he was gone a lot. Sometimes he didn't come back home for days.

He looked at her, again with the confusion, as he went to speak and then stopped. She could tell he was having difficulty expressing whatever it was he wanted to say. Maybe he did have someone but didn't want to come out and say so.

"Is that what you think?" he asked instead of answering.

"I don't know what to think. But, you have had sexual relationships with other women."

He looked away as he thought some more. "Is that a requirement?"

She nearly spat out her coffee before laughing, asking, "A requirement of what?" She suddenly felt like she had no idea what they were talking about. Now, he had her so confused.

He looked at her and said, "I don't know...Life? Me? You're assuming something without evidence." He then looked back at the crossword and said, "A five letter word for "Without it, things remain theories"."

She smirked and shook her head. "Proof."

He wrote it down.

She stared at him for a very long time and realized she had to be very direct when it came to Gil Grissom. "Is there another woman in your life? A girlfriend?"

His mouth snapped shut as if he'd been smacked across the face. He looked insulted and shocked by the question. "No." Then he looked away. "Is that what you want to be?"

"Is that what you want me to be?" she asked. He tilted his head at her as if he was trying to figure something out. "You won't hurt my feelings if that's what you're wondering."

He shook his head slightly as he said, "It wasn't."

"Well, that was honest."

He was quiet a moment longer before putting the paper down on the table. Giving her his full attention, he went to speak and then stared at the table in silence. She watched him and wondered if it would be another twenty minutes before he spoke again.

She decided not to rush him as she went back to enjoying her breakfast. Turning her attention out the balcony, she admired the afternoon sky. It was blue with white clouds hanging in the air. Rays of sunlight were spreading up over the building next to the hotel. They were facing east-

"Bald eagles."

She looked over at him in confusion. "Is this a pop quiz? Haliaeetus leucocephalus," she said, stating the scientific name for a bald eagle.

He smiled. "Very good. As a Wildlife Biologist, you're going to learn a lot about animal mating behavior. One is the monogamous species. Most are birds. The bald eagle mates for life with one mate. The only time they change mates is when one of them dies or disappears. The males are mostly loners. They fly hundreds of miles alone, never mating with any other female bald eagle. He returns every mating season to his one, special mate. If both live out their lives, they'll mate, just the two of them, for twenty or more years."

Never in her life has she met anyone quite like Gil Grissom. She listened to what he said and the only thing she could come up with was that he was trying to make a comparison. "Are you saying that you're a bald eagle? Or that I should be one? You know, some people don't believe in monogamy, they think it's unnatural."

He finally lifted his eyes off the table between them as he said, "The human species exhibits every type of sexual behavior that's been observed naturally in all other species on the planet. It's illogical to say that anything we do, sexual or otherwise, is unnatural."

She smirked, saying, "Says the Catholic."

"Lapsed Catholic," he reminded her. "But, yes, I was implying that the, uh-...I was referencing myself. Like the bald eagle, I, uh, I only want...that one, special mate."

He didn't look at her when he said it, but she realized what he was implying. She wanted to hit him for the way he suddenly made her feel. It made her angry to think he was trying to make her feel special. She wasn't special.

"Don't do that," she told him. "Don't fucking do that. You can't be serious."

He went to speak but stopped. There was nothing but confusion and sincerity in his eyes and she almost couldn't take it. Shaking his head, he looked away.

"You're honestly telling me that I'm the only woman you've ever been with? That I'm special?" That word sounded dirty on her lips as she spoke it.

He blinked back at her anger and she would have preferred a smack across her face instead of the pained look on his that told her everything. That yes, she was, in fact, the only woman he had ever been with.

Shaking her head, she got up and got dressed. She couldn't take his truth. It hurt too damn much. He sat dumbfounded as he watched her.

~"But I know no matter how fast we are running-"~

He didn't grab her and yell at her for being irrational and impulsive. Nor did he try to stop her with any harsh words or condensation, or his fists, as she opened the door and left.

All he did was watch her go. That felt more painful than any violence ever committed against her because it impacted more than her skin, it impacted her heart. Maybe she wanted him to fight her. Maybe she wanted the anger. Or, maybe she just wasn't able to accept the truth.

Because it wasn't true, she told herself. She wasn't anyone special. He was lying.

~"Somehow we keep, somehow we keep up with each other-"~

He had to be.

---

1996

~"I'll be falling all about my own thing

And I know you're the heaviest weight-"~

The man had rituals. They weren't the usual rituals people had, at least none that she thought of when she thought about rituals.

He didn't do holidays. He worked most of them and if he did happen to have one off: on Halloween, old black-and-white horror movies; the ones starring Vincent Price, Boris Karloff, and Bela Lugosi. Thanksgiving was hiking and camping in the mountains. On Christmas, he spent the day preparing dinner while listening to music, always The Beatles, and then he would read.

He read a lot.

After a really tough case, he rode roller coasters for a few hours, then ate dinner alone, and then came home and put on a pot of tea. Japanese tea ceremony, he told her; every human encounter was a singular occasion which could never recur again in exactly the same way. He said it helped to cleanse his mind.

When he had the night off, he watched bad sci-fi and old westerns. The only television in his house was in his bedroom. They would stay up all night, eating ice cream for him and frozen yogurt for her, and popcorn, and watch together until she fell asleep. It was easy to fall asleep in his bed. There was no pressure or expectations of sex. He did like to kiss though, and they did that a lot, but he only let it go as far as she wanted it to go.

Every Sunday he made dinner at home without fail. It didn't matter if he worked that night or not, dinner would always be served.

~"When you're not here, that's hung around my head-"~

It was Sunday night and he didn't have to go into work. There was music softly playing, something with a string orchestra. She had no idea. A bottle of red wine; he only had a glass before he started drinking water. He made a Mediterranean lasagna, garlic chicken, salad and garlic bread that was to die for.

And, without fail, she felt like she had to apologize to him. It was all too perfect. He was too perfect.

He never went out to bars or clubs. He never yelled. He never drank to excess. He never told her that she was lying. He never called her any derogatory names. Hell, the man never even really cussed except for when he happened to stub his toe or something.

Yet, she didn't feel happy. She should have been happy. Gil was nice. He was polite. Not a bad bone in his body. And maybe that was why she felt like apologizing. It was also why at times she felt like hitting him. He would say something so rational and completely innocent, and to her it felt like an attack. Like he was trying to blame her. Or put her down for not being so perfect.

It made no sense. She didn't know why it felt that way or why she couldn't be happy. All she knew was that she wasn't. And right then, as he looked over at her from across the dining room table as they ate dinner together, she felt like knocking his head off his body for being completely logical.

~"And your lips burn wild

Thrown from the face of a child-"~

"It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. I know who I am. I don't need to explain myself to anyone."

"Even if it's all over the news-"

"Sara, stop watching the news," he told her as he picked up his glass of water and took a drink.

"The Mayor-"

"I do not care what the Mayor says about me. I know I'm right. He's just being a politician. Making himself look good at the expense of others is practically a job requirement."

"I can't believe you're willing to let him throw you under the bus for a mistake he made."

He shrugged as he took another drink. "Brass is getting the most heat. He's the supervisor. I'm just the lowly CSI, and as they say, shit rolls downhill. In this situation, I'm at the bottom."

Hearing him cuss almost took the wind out of her tirade. It was so rare that she heard him do it that she almost smiled. "I don't know how you do it. I could never put up with that bureaucracy. I would have to defend myself every day."

"Why? Besides, giving them any thought is giving them power. I don't let my emotions be ruled by the irrationality of others. I control them. I don't let them control me."

"That's easy for you, you don't feel anything." She realized her mistake the moment she let those words out of her mouth.

He stilled as he stared over at her.

"I didn't mean that."

Shaking his head, he asked, "Then why did you say it?" It wasn't an accusation. He was just curious. Yet, she heard it as an accusation.

She went to speak and when nothing came out, she sighed and said, "I'm sorry." She was apologizing again. Damn it. "You know what, I'm not sorry. I said what I said because at times you appear to be a stoic robot, that's why."

He sat the glass down and looked at his empty plate as he thought about that.

"And you think too damn much."

He actually rolled his eyes at her. She slapped him on the arm for it and he stared at her in shock. Then, he almost smirked as he said, "Ow. I felt that."

She wanted to hit him again. Instead, she grabbed her plate and went to the kitchen.

"It really bothers you, doesn't it? I don't understand. Why do you feel the constant need to defend yourself to people who either don't care or want nothing more than to manipulate you?"

"I don't know, Gil," she said as she cleaned her dishes, "maybe I think people should know me or like who I am."

It was quite a long time before he spoke again as he picked up his dishes and walked into the kitchen. He cleaned his own plate and glass and handed them to her to dry before asking, "Do you need the validation?"

"Validation for what?"

Looking at her, he asked, "Your thoughts and opinions? Validation for who you are?"

She didn't know. Her head was starting to hurt and she was getting angrier by the second.

"If you know yourself, then why do you need other people's approval-"

"Maybe I don't know myself. Maybe I don't even like myself," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

There. She said it.

He looked at her with the most perplexed expression she'd ever seen on his face. She thought that maybe she had broken him. It would have been funny if she didn't feel the truth in those words hit her like a ton of bricks.

She didn't like herself. Sometimes, she downright hated who she was. It wasn't Gil that made her so unhappy. She made herself that way.

"I don't even know why I said that. It's not like you can understand. Not everyone can be as perfect as you," she told him as she threw the hand towel into his chest before walking away.

~"And in your eyes

The seeing of the greatest view, hey-"~

She went down to her room and pulled her hair back as she felt like screaming. She wasn't angry with him. Inside, she felt so empty. Looking around at her things, she felt she didn't deserve any of it. Least of all him.

Turning around, she nearly jumped as she saw him standing in the doorway. "Jesus, you scared me."

He looked around the room as he walked in. Going to her bed, he sat down and stared at the floor.

Sighing heavily, she said, "I'm-"

"Stop apologizing. You never have to apologize to me."

Tears sting her eyes and she wiped them away. Going over to the bed, she climbed on top of the blankets and grabbed a stuffed animal she'd won for herself at an amusement park in Santa Cruz. She remembered that Gil had taken her there nearly a decade ago.

If anything, he was her friend. Her oldest and dearest friend. She really was sorry. He didn't deserve any of this. He didn't deserve her and her anger issues. "Gil, maybe I should leave. You don't have to put up with me and-"

"I'm not perfect," he told her as he kept his eyes on the floor. "I'm deficient in a lot of ways. What you see is...if anything, it's repression. I do it on purpose. I have to. I may not look as if I feel but I feel very deeply. Sometimes everything hurts." He was silent a moment before looking over his shoulder at her.

She gripped her stuffed bear tighter to her chest like some little girl as she listened. She figured in a way she was. There were times when she felt like she was still that scared little girl in San Francisco. Waiting for a nightmare to come.

"You had to have realized by now that I don't trust people easily. That you're the exception."

Putting the stuffed bear aside, she went to him. Wrapping her arms around him from behind, she rested her head against his. He wasn't much of a hugger. He really didn't like being touched at all.

~"Do what you will, always-"~

"I only want for you to be happy," he told her as he kept his eyes forward. He always had a hard time looking at her. "I will be here if you need me, but you have to do what is best for you, Sara. I told you that you can stay for as long as you like, but...you can also leave if you want. Explore the world like you've always talked about doing."

She finally did start to cry then. He turned his head and kissed her. Then he went to stand up to leave the room. She grabbed his arm to stop him. It was always her decision.

~"Walk where you like, your steps-"~

It always had been since the moment they met. He never demanded anything from her, not her presence or her body, not her heart. She gave him what she wanted when she wanted to give it. He didn't ask for anything. He told her he wouldn't.

She didn't know how it took her until right then to realize that she was the one in control of their relationship. He responded to her, did what she wanted him to do. Even without asking those questions, he gave her what she wanted: freedom and the ability to choose. He valued her opinion. Respected her and her privacy. Listened. He saw her and held no judgement. It was all the things she wanted but could never ask for.

The same with sex. He didn't initiate anything. It was always her decision and when she wanted it. Getting up onto her knees, she reached up and grabbed him behind the neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

~"Do as you please, I'll back you up."~

---

GIL

1998

Entering the bar, he frowned at the horrible smell of cigarette smoke that filled his nose. It may have been ten in the morning, but the place had its share of customers. Making his way across the floor, past the tables and booths, and around the pool tables and dart boards, he finally was able to slide up to the bar and leaned over the top of it.

The bartender spotted him and asked, "What're you having?"

He was taken back by the brashness of the tone as he looked around. The bar was scarce and he knew the back room was busy with the dancers getting ready for the show that night. "Seen Catherine Willows? I'm supposed to meet her here?"

"The only Willows I've seen is Ed, and he's in the back." The bartender told him before walking away to help an impatient customer down the bar who'd been hollering for another drink.

He stiffened at that before he ventured around the bar and toward the back room. He'd only been back there a few times before, and only with Catherine in tow. Stopping just at the door, he gave a few knocks before he slowly opened it. "Hey, Eddie, have you-" What he saw made his mouth go dry.

The showgirl was pulling her skirt down and trying to hide behind Eddie. And Ed was buttoning his shirt and giving him an annoyed yet scared glare. His fists clenched tight with his jaw. "Do you mind?" Eddie said, clearly annoyed.

He blinked back and had to will the anger away so not to do something stupid, like murder the man in front of him. "Does Catherine know?" He didn't know why he asked that, and it wasn't like didn't know the answer. Of course, she didn't.

"No. And she's not going to. Is she?"

He frowned and studied the man before turning around and leaving the room. If he wasn't married to Catherine-He didn't stop walking until he was outside. He leaned against the entrance door and closed his eyes and took in the fresh air. His head was spinning from the anger that'd rushed through him.

"Grissom?"

He opened his eyes and his heart dropped when he saw Catherine walking up to the door. "Hey," he said softly.

Catherine was giving him a weird look before stopping in front of him. "Everything okay? Wait, don't tell me, someone threw their drink in your face again when you asked for a DNA sample, right?"

He wanted to laugh at that, and the memory of that event, but he couldn't muster up a smile. "Uh…" he trailed off as he tried to think of something to say. She couldn't go in there. He didn't want to go back there. He wasn't scared of Ed, but himself. If he witnessed Ed putting his hands on Catherine in any way, it would be very hard for him to not do something rash. "How 'bout we go somewhere else?"

Catherine stared at him before shaking her head. "What's this about?"

He wanted to tell her, to explain what just happened. And deep down he wanted to hear her yell at that bastard and tell him off and throw a drink in his cheating face, but…she was happy. For some odd reason she was happy with Ed, and they had a daughter, and he didn't want that look of happiness in her eyes to vanish and fill with hate and loathing. She'd find it out one day, or maybe Ed would tell her himself since he'd been busted.

Tonight, they were supposed to be celebrating.

With restrained anger and biting of his tongue, he stepped away from the door and finally gave a small grin. "It's just I don't feel like sharing this with...with, Ed. So, I was thinking, we could go back to my place. I have plenty of alcohol and if we get too drunk then we don't have to worry about driving."

Catherine didn't stop staring at him as she thought that over. She finally crossed her arms as she said, "I'm not going to sleep with you."

For a moment he couldn't think. He just stared at her in disbelief as he tried to form a response.

Catherine suddenly smiled before giving a laugh. "God, I was only teasing. I think that's a good idea. We can celebrate and talk without all the noise."

He felt the relief all the way to his bones as he took out his keys and stared for his car. "Are you going to follow me?"

"Yeah," Catherine called out as she walked to her car.

"What's your pleasure," he threw the question over his shoulder as he walked into his townhouse.

"Do you have any tequila?"

He winced and shook his head. "That's my pain."

"Oh, uh…Bourbon?" Catherine sat down at the kitchen counter and watched him.

He pulled down two glasses and searched for the bourbon; he found it on top of the refrigerator and filled both glasses. He sat one in front of her and raised his own. "To, uh, you, for your promotion to Lead CSI, and for the recommendation to the day shift supervisor position."

Catherine smiled wide at him, clicked the glass against his, then downed her drink. "Thank you. I still think that you should have been the one who got the recommendation."

He struggled with a laugh and leaned across the counter after refilling the glasses. "Me? On days and a supervisor? You're more cut out for it than I am. Plus, I'm happier in the field; give me a decaying corpse over paperwork any day. Ecklie, despite his…uh-"

"Annoyance? Horrible leadership skills? Political-ness?"

"Right, political-ness, he's actually a really good guy. Besides, my life goal isn't to be Director of the lab." He downed his drink then debated if he wanted another or to start making coffee. Well, he could do both.

"Yeah," Catherine leaned closer to him. "But I'm not the one who brought the lab from number 14 in the country to number 2. You did that," she said as she pointed at him.

He went over that statement in his head as he poured them another drink. "I alone didn't do that. Everyone contributed."

Catherine smiled and was so close that they could kiss if they wanted too. Neither of them wanted to. They were just that comfortable with one another. Their friendship could be considered that of something resembling siblings, even the rivalry. It'd been a while since he had someone remotely interested in him for something other than his intelligence, not since Sara left. Catherine wasn't interested in him, not even for his intelligence. She just liked him for him, and without the remote possibility of a romantic relationship.

It was the perfect friendship. He didn't even try to create one. It just happened.

"You're just being modest. And you're not going to tell me for a minute that Conrad Ecklie contributed to any of the lab's success."

He chuckled as he said, "Okay, yeah…Tell me again why they took him over you?"

"Because he's an ass-kissing, mindless, drone they can control and I still can't believe you sold him your Mercedes as a 'congratulations' present. Grissom, when you give someone a gift, you don't ask for payment." Her smile grew wider as she stared at him.

"He owed it to me," he said while shrugging it off before he thought of how much he owed Catherine. And part of owing her was to tell her the truth about her husband, but he didn't. Ed wasn't the only one keeping secrets; who was he to rat him out? That thought alone caused him to step away as he told her, "I'll start making coffee."

Catherine sighed heavily as she asked, "Are you through with the 'celebration' already?"

He eyed the bottle on the counter and nodded. "I'm not much of a drinker, you know that." He rubbed at his finger again before grabbing the bottle and putting it back on top of the refrigerator.

"Yeah, I know," Catherine said with a sigh. She suddenly looked like she was contemplating something before asking, "Why do you do that?"

He frowned and shook his head. "Do what?"

Catherine took his left hand into her right and looked down at it. She tapped his finger. "Fidget and rub at this finger."

He thought about it as he tried to remember when and why he had even developed the habit. "Nervous habit I've always had since I, uh...was a kid." He pulled his hand away and rubbed it. "It helps to ground me in the present so I don't lose focus while...socializing." All that was the truth, and it did help to keep his mind from drifting too far into the past.

"Oh." And that seemed to be the end of the discussion. "Just letting you know, as a friend, it's not working. Come here," she said right before warm arms wrapped around his neck into a knowing hug. He tried not to tense too much. Sara used to hug him all the time. It was okay, he had to remind himself. Breathe. Then he heard her whisper in his ear, "If the new guy saw us now, he'd have a heart attack. I think he has a crush on me."

He laughed into her shoulder. "Everyone has a crush on you. Warrick has no choice; you're an amazing woman."

"Oh, am I?"

He straightened and looked at her. "Yeah, and I know an amazing woman when I see one."

"Uh, huh, then how come you're avoiding Helen from Swing and Charlotte in prints."

He froze and didn't know what to say. "I'm not avoiding anyone." God, how come she always wanted to talk about relationships.

"I'm the first one to warn anyone about fishing off the company pier, but you need more people in your life. And by people, I mean a woman."

He was broken from the awkward moment when the phone rang. "It's probably the lab," he mumbled as he reached over and answered it. "Grissom." He looked over at Catherine and mouthed, "Eddie."

Catherine grabbed her light jacket and purse. "Thanks, Gil," she said as she started to turn to leave.

He half listened to the voice on the other end of the line as he grabbed a pencil and paper, writing down 'Want me to follow you?' "Huh, huh Ed…" He watched as Catherine shook her head 'no'. "No," he asked her in confusion but said it into the phone. "Uh, I'm sorry. What? Yeah. Okay…Bye." He hung up the phone and watched as Catherine opened the door. "Tell me again why you married him?"

"Love, it's a crazy little thing," Catherine said with a grin as she left.

He smiled. That was a reference to a Queen song. Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

That got him thinking.

Pushing off the counter, he went over to the table by the bookshelf and grabbed his mail that's been sitting in his P.O. Box for the past week and found the envelope addressed to him from Sara. He ripped it open as he headed to his office. She was in her final year of obtaining her Master's degree, currently studying Animal Biology abroad as a work-study thing. Opening the letter, he sat down in the chair and leaned back as he read it.

Dear Gil,

I don't know how to start this because I know how it ends. I'm writing this to tell you that...I'm not coming back. At least for a while. I need time and space to think. Mostly, I need to find myself. I'll miss you. You're the only person I can count, rely on, for anything. I will miss that the most.

I appreciate everything you've done for me. Your words, the advice, and the pictures. I'll cherish them.

When I dreamed of my future, it was always with you in it. But, reality is crashing down again and I realize that my whole life has been filled with lies. Lies I've been told and lies that I've been telling myself.

I need to figure out who I am in this world. And I can't do that with you. I can't do that in Vegas.

I'll leave you with these parting words to think about: For it is only in truth that we find closure. I believe you told me that once. Now, I know that no truer words have ever been spoken.

I will write and call when I can. Please, don't worry.

Truly Yours,

Sara.

He stared at the letter in his hands and felt the weight of her words hit him in the chest. It was only then that he realized an undeniable truth of his own: he loved her. He knew because his heart was breaking.

Question: Would it kill him?

He tossed the letter on the desk as he looked at the first photograph he'd taken of her all those years ago in Santa Cruz, California. It'd been in a hotel bathroom. She'd been in the tub, naked and scared but so angry and broken. Through all that he thought she was so beautiful.

Shakespeare had written that "Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; a shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; a flower that dies when it begins to bud; a doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour."

He'd believed those words because he'd only seen beauty in death.

Sara had changed all of that. She made him see the beauty in life. She bought him color. Vibrant colors with more than her smile, but her spirit and her mind. Thinking back to when they had first met, he turned to his work table and grabbed a sketch pad and charcoal pencil and started to draw.

As his thoughts wandered, a song played in his head as he sketched the image in his mind. A face and a smile that had been burned into his memory. The first time he'd seen her in a restaurant in Los Angeles. She wore a ponytail. Dark circles under her eyes from working two jobs and an abusive boyfriend. She had looked broken and beaten down and tired.

Then she smiled.

~"When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide-"~

And like riding a roller coaster, he'd been drawn up that long hill to the top, stopped, hung over the edge looking down at the drop before him but-unlike a roller coaster-he couldn't see where the track was or where it would take him. It was terrifying.

~"Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride-"~

And then, he plummeted.

~"Till I get to the bottom and I see you again!-"~

It'd been exactly like he'd been told it would be. Chaotic.

And it didn't take one moment for him to fall. It was every moment.

~"Do, don't you want me to love you?

I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you-"~

He wasn't good at looking inward. His emotions were like a case that he didn't know needed investigating so it rarely grabbed his attention. They were there, obviously, but the moment he realized he was reacting more with his heart than his head, that was when his mind took over and pushed his emotions away. It wasn't something he did on purpose, it was just the way he was built. It was how he functioned.

He was a thinker, not a feeler.

~"Tell me, tell me, tell me, come on tell me the answer

Well, you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer-"~

His love wasn't the kind that tripped over itself and fell for just anyone with a pretty face. Sure, he's been infatuated before with the prospect of developing a connection for a very short moment, but never love. Never a commitment. Never someone he could truly care about and who was worth the risk to lose himself, or to be hurt, or worse yet, left.

He liked not having personal commitments. It gave him the ability to leave. It kept him open to flexibility and possibilities and options. A commitment was something that terrified him. It meant no more just him and his wants and needs. It meant he had to be there for someone else.

~"Helter skelter

Helter skelter-"~

That sounded awfully selfish, and it was, but for him that had been his way of life since he could remember. He'd always been alone. The only person he knew he could always rely on was himself. After his father's death, he became the only child to a single deaf parent. Solitude came with the territory. His mind also kept him at a distance. He practically lived in his own head. He didn't do small talk and "getting to know you". His mind drifted and all he could and wanted to think about was the problem, or the solution, or the next thing he could experiment with in order to understand.

He needed to understand everything. But the one thing he could never understand were people. Human behavior was illogical. It was harmful and uncontrollable.

~"Will you, won't you want me to make you?

I'm coming down fast but don't let me break

you-"~

His time and energy was always spent on the next thing: project, case, hobby, or book. It was never personal. It was never spent on people. It was never the next date, or feeling, or relationship milestone. He forgot personal details, forgot birthdays and marriage ceremonies, and didn't say "how are you feeling" often enough. His time was only dedicated to what he wanted it to be used for and the thought of putting effort into anything else, including relationships, was exhausting and hardly worth the effort and never worth the risk.

That was why when it came to Sara, he was so confused. Despite his heart telling him one thing, his mind was slow to understand it. His mind was what told him he was in love and it wasn't instantaneous. It took time. It took years. It took every moment. Moments that at the time it happened didn't add up to love. But moments that over time collectively added up until he was more than just comfortable. Moments that built into mutual respect, understanding, interest, but most of importantly, trust.

~"Tell me, tell me, tell me the answer

You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer-"~

Trust was the key to everything. He couldn't love someone if he didn't trust them; not only with his life but his time, his personal boundaries, and his heart. Trust was hard to come by for anyone, but especially for him. It had to be worked at, developed, crafted, and finally accepted and itself trusted by him.

He had to trust not only the other person, but himself with them.

~"Look out

Helter skelter, helter skelter

Look out, 'cause here she comes-"~

Regardless of the confidence he displayed in his work, on the inside he had tremendous self doubt when it came to relationships, people in general, but also himself. How could he possibly be what someone else needed in an intimate personal relationship? He was too aloof. Too wrapped up in his work and his own head to pay a decent amount of attention to anyone else's priorities. He was horrible at relating to other people. Horrible at relating to and understanding his own emotions. Verbalizing his own feelings was a struggle and, in a relationship, he was expected to not only be open to but also receptive to another person's feelings.

How?

He didn't understand at most. Yet, he wanted what most people wanted: a connection. Someone to love. Someone who could love him in return. Someone who didn't judge him or make him feel less than for not understanding.

It took a long time for him to stop being so confused. It took every moment for him to add it all up and put the pieces together. It took every moment for him to realize how in love he was. And she had been worth it.

~"When I get to the bottom I go back to the

top of the slide

And I stop and I turn and I go for a ride-"~

He just hadn't been able to verbalize it. He was telling her by doing. His love language wasn't the same as other people's, but he thought she understood that. The words that he couldn't get from his head to his mouth were told in other ways. When he looked at her and tried to speak, she paralyzed him.

~"And I get to the bottom and I see you again!

Yeah, yeah, yeah-"~

There were so many questions, so many why's that she presented him that no logical answer could be found. He realized now that it was because he was trying to find the answers with his head instead of with his heart.

~"Well do you, don't you want me to make

you?

I'm coming down fast but don't let me break

you-"~

And now he didn't know if it was too late. His head suddenly felt heavy, like he'd just pulled a triple and needed to sleep. He was so tired. Setting the pencil down, he looked at the drawing of the face of Sara. If there was one thing he wanted most in the world for her, it was for her to be happy.

~"Tell me, tell me, tell me your answer

You may be a lover, but you ain't no dancer-"~

And if it meant being away from him, and halfway around the world, he would have to accept that. She was looking for closure, and that was something he could never give her.

~"She's coming down fast

Yes, she is

"Yes, she is

Coming down fast."~

---

1999

He left his townhouse a few hours before he needed to be at work and instead of taking the interstate toward the city of Las Vegas, he took the 215 over to I-15 and then shot down at the Blue Diamond road exit and went toward Arden. Turning off and going down a long road, he passed the Union Pacific railroad yard and several vast lots of industrial buildings and lots, a roofing service, a crane service, a manufacturer building, until he got to the last fenced in lot before the railroad cut it off.

Using the keypad, he typed in the code and watched as the light on the gate security box turned green as the gate opened. Attached to the gate were three signs posted. One informed people that the property was under video surveillance and was protected by a security system. The property had motion sensors and lights. The second sign said "No Trespassing", and the third sign stated:

Entomology Research Facility

State Forensic Entomologist

For Information Call

Dr. Gilbert Grissom

702-555-BUGS (2847)

He drove through the open gate and watched as it closed behind him. Once it was closed, the light on the gate box turned red, locking the gate. He pulled around to the back of the building and parked. As he got out, he saw the sun starting to set out in the West, toward Red Rock Canyon. To the east, south, and west all he saw were mountains. To the north was the city of Las Vegas and the strip. A train rolled by behind him and he watched as it disappeared out of sight as it headed west to California and the Port of Long Beach.

He had purchased the abandoned industrial building after Sara had decided to stay in Las Vegas. He'd sold the warehouse in Los Angeles that he'd bought with poker winnings decades ago, and had held onto the money hoping to find himself a replacement. Then he saw this up for sale and after seeing the property, he knew he had to buy it.

The warehouse was big and wide, with a twenty foot ceiling, a foreman office up above the main floor accessible by a staircase. He kept the office as it was and used it for his research books and notebooks, journals, and all his documentations. There were three trailers on the property as well. One had been used as a conference room with a communal kitchen. He kept the kitchen and turned the conference room into a room for him when he slept over, which was often when Sara still lived with him. It had a pullout couch, table, a television and radio. The other two trailers in the back were gutted and he fenced them in and covered them to use for his bee habitats.

The warehouse held a few water tanks, fresh and saltwater with some fish, piranhas, jellyfish, and marine insects played around on top of the water: coleoptera, odonatas, ephemeroptera, scorpionflies, and water striders. He had built an ecosystem around the water tanks using the soil and plant life that flourished in those habitats, including water lilies, pond plants, and lotus flowers.

Moving along, he came upon his cockroaches and heard them hissing at him from their cages. He also had an area for butterfly terrariums with milkweed plants that was enclosed using nets. There were several potted trees where he spotted several cocoons on a few limbs. He had a station for his ant farms, beetles and maggot farms. Going through the garage door at the back, he walked out onto the platform and saw the sun setting in front of him.

Roaming the large 4 acres of securely fenced in property was a Komodo dragon. He caught movement in the shadow of the trees he had growing: ironwoods, mesquites, anacacho orchids, and acacias. As he watched as the Komodo appeared out from the shadows, he thought of a poem by Lewis Carroll.

""Beware the Jabberwock, my son

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!"

The platform he stood on was enclosed on only three sides, leaving the back area open for assembly, or a work area, and to load and unload cargo. There was a crane loading area off to the side and it had been one of the main selling points. He'd seen the crane and had so many possibilities going through his head of what he could hoist up in the air. Currently at the moment the hook was occupied. A body was hanging two feet above the ground.

Aston Schmidt had kept his victims, all children ranging from ages 4 to 7, in a dark cell in his basement for months. He abused them and let them die of starvation and dehydration.

"The Komodo dragon is the most dominant predator in its habitat; it has no natural predators, besides humans. He eats rats, pigs, goats...I saw him take down a coyote last month. They can weigh up to 300 pounds and grow to 10 feet in length, and run up to 12 miles per hour. Massive lizards. At 250 pounds, Lewis can eat up to half his body weight in a day, about 125 pounds. You weighed 200 pounds, sixty percent of that was water. Your skeleton is about fifteen percent, leaving sixty-eight pounds of muscle and organs."

He could have let the court take care of the case, but life in prison would have been heaven compared to the hell Schmidt put those children through. So, he would put Schmidt through the same hell while documenting his decay and side effects of being starved to death. He took his vitals, noted his muscular decline, and even the tint of his urine due to dehydration. Schmidt's breathing was getting shallow by the day.

Looking up at Schmidt, he asked him, "Have you ever seen fire ants attack a human body? It's remarkable, and what God, and nature, intended. Fire ants, they, uh, bite to get a grip and then sting and inject a toxic alkaloid venom called solenopsin. It's where they get their scientific name Solenopsis. Anyway, it's a painful sting, very similar to how it feels to be burned by fire. The after-effects of the sting can be quite deadly to humans who are allergic. Unfortunately for you, I tested your reaction to the venom and you are allergic." He saw Schmidt's eyes go wide in fear as he told him, "That's how you're going to die. Then," he pointed over his shoulder to his Komodo dragon, telling him, "I'm going to feed you to Lewis."

He left Schmidt alone as he walked toward the trailer with the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He still had some red ants in his refrigerator that he could put on his eggs.

---

As he entered the break room, Gil was surprised to see a new face. The man talking casually to Warrick looked nervous yet anxious, shifting from the balls of his feet to the heel and back. The man was about his height with brown hair, a square jaw, and wore a black suit with a grey shirt. The younger man turned and locked eyes with him.

He looked away and headed over to the counter. As he fixed himself a cup of coffee, he turned his head as he realized someone was standing next to him. The young man shifted uncomfortably for a few moments before extending his hand. "Nick Stokes."

He stared at the hand a moment before putting his cup down and shook it. "Gil-"

"I know who you are, Doctor Grissom." Nick was slightly blushing then looked around the break room like he had to see if anything was different than how it'd been a minute ago.

He blinked back, a little off guard that this new guy knew who he was. "Okay." He glanced at Warrick then back to Nick. "If you'd excuse me, I need coffee."

"Yep, sorry," Nick quickly stumbled out as he moved away.

Returning his attention back to the task at hand, he picked up the pot full of freshly brewed coffee and filled his cup, ignoring the other men in the room.

Brass came through the door with assignments and cleared his throat before calling out, "Okay, it's time to stop socializing and get down to the nitty-gritty. New guy, Trick Roll. Grissom, you can drive him. Warrick, 4-20 in Henderson, take Cath…" he trailed off and looked around the room. "Where's Willows?"

"Here! I'm here!"

They turned toward the door just as Catherine came in with a tired looking Lindsey on her hip.

"Catherine, you can take Lindsey to my office. She can stay there until your sister gets here."

"No offense, Gil, but that's a horror movie. I'll put her in Brass's office." Catherine started down the hall then stopped and turned back. "Whatcha got for me?"

Brass looked back at the sheets. "You're with Warrick; 4-20 out in Henderson."

"Lovely. Hi, new guy."

"Nick Stokes," Nick said with a faint wave and smile.

Gil watched the interaction between the new guy and everyone else with curiosity. With everyone else, Nick looked at ease and friendly. Once he turned to him to get instructions on what to do next, he seemed tense and awkward but ready to charge. He briefly wondered why he'd got stuck with the new guy, but figured since he had to stay at the lab and go over evidence from his on-going 4-19 from yesterday, he was the logical choice to show Nick around on his first night on the job.

But first, he would need a blood donation.

After his first case with Stokes, he was confident in the young man's abilities as a CSI. His only issue was with the way he held his heart on his sleeve. Nick Stokes left himself too vulnerable at times that could become a liability. Only time would tell.

He returned home and parked his work truck in the garage next to his mango green 1980 Mercedes-Benz 300 TD wagon. He'd had the car since he'd bought it brand new in Los Angeles. After getting his Master's at UCLA, he drove it across the country to Illinois, and onto Minneapolis, and then back to California. When he first moved to Vegas, he listened to his old cassette tapes with the windows rolled down and everything he'd owned had been stuffed into it like sardines in a can. He kept it well taken care of and clean, especially the back cargo area which was currently lined with heavy plastic.

He went into his kitchen and put a container of Nick Stokes blood next to his own, and Catherine's, and Warrick's, before heading down to the ground floor. Pulling out his keys from his pocket, he found the one that unlocked the padlock on the door. As he walked down the steps, he passed the small kitchen and Sara's room that hadn't been used in two years. In the room at the end of the hall, where he used to keep his tarantula and ant farms, was a metal door that was locked on the outside. There were switches on the wall next to the door and a viewing window in the door. He flicked on the light as he peered into the room and at the body on the table.

Jasmine Weeks was ready to be transported. She was what he considered scum that dealt death to kids, and in her case one of the kids had been her own child. He printed out the necessary and required documents, signed off on all of them and took the file folder along with the dead body out of his house-with the use of a wheelchair-and into the cargo area of the wagon. He returned the wheelchair back to the corner of the garage before shutting the door that led from the garage directly into the bottom floor hallway. He reset the security alarm before getting into the driver's seat.

During the drive, he grabbed one of his old cassettes and pushed into the player. As The Allman Brothers sang "Midnight Rider", he remembered his first long drive out from Los Angeles to Las Vegas in that car.

~"Well, I've got to run to keep from hidin'

And I'm bound to keep on ridin'

And I've got one more silver dollar

But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no

Not gonna let 'em catch the midnight rider-"~

The sun had set behind him and in the sky, a mixture of a deep purple and orange over the desert mountains. Like a painting his mother had painted, it caused him to stare out into it and imagine his future. As the wind whipped through the open windows and the thick, dusty, and salty air of Los Angeles left behind as he crossed the border from California into Nevada, he couldn't help but think of the lights of Sin City. The anticipation of possibilities. A clean slate. Whatever burdens that had been held within his tightly controlled body were gone.

~"And I don't own the clothes I'm wearing

And the road goes on forever

And I've got one more silver dollar

But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no

Not gonna let 'em catch the midnight rider-"~

He hadn't been wrong. Back then he'd come to Vegas to play cards. He stayed because he fell in love with the place. Every night was something new, different, and exciting. It wasn't just the cases he worked but the people he met. The good and bad, and the ugly. He really never wanted to leave.

~"And I've gone by the point of caring

Some old bed I'll soon be sharing

And I've got one more silver dollar

But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no

Not gonna let 'em catch the midnight rider-"~

Seeing Las Vegas from a distance for the first time, he couldn't help but think of Tom Wait's description of the city in his song "Mr. Siegal". Sin City had looked like shard pieces of glass sticking up out of the desert, like a broken bottle in the headlights. It was the city where you lived hard, died young, and left a good looking corpse, but as he learned from experience, not every time. But Mr. Waits was right about one thing, Vegas was where the wicked lived. And it was also where they went to die.

~"No, I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no

Not gonna let 'em catch the midnight rider-"~

He pulled up in front of the body farm and parked as Leon approached his car. As he got out, he heard Leon say, "Doctor Grissom, welcome back. This is your second time back here with a body this month."

"What can I say, Leon, it's been a busy month." He went to the back of the car and opened the hatch. Grabbing the file folder off the top of the body, he handed it over to Leon. "Everything's in order."

Leon took the file without even looking at it as he handed over a clipboard for him to sign-off on the body transfer. "Wouldn't expect anything less. A woman this time. Nice birthday surprise." He waved over Michael who pulled along a stretcher to place the dead body on.

"It's your birthday?" he asked as he handed the clipboard back to Leon. "And here I thought it was just another Tuesday."

He accompanied Michael and Leon as they wheeled the stretcher through the gate and down a dirt path. It was a wooded area not far from several natural bodies of water, mountains, and grassland. All the various different ecosystems within the hundred acres of the fenced in private property.

"You know," he told Leon as they walked along the dirt path, "I financed my first body farm in Los Angeles when I was in college. Bought it with my winnings from a poker game."

"Oh, yeah," Leon said. "How many bodies did you get donated back then?"

Thinking about it, he told him, "Well, averaging about one or two a month over the course of the first six years I had it, from 1976 to 1982, I think the grand total was 147."

"That's impressive."

"When I went back to California in '87 and until I left at the end of '89, another forty bodies." He suddenly smirked as he said, "One hundred and eighty-seven in total. 1-8-7 is the California penal code for murder."

Leon looked over at him as he said, "Have anywhere special you want to put her?"

He felt himself smirk as he said, "Matter of fact, I do."

He felt the wind pick up once they got the body down in the sewage drainage pipe. Looking up, he removed his sunglasses as he saw the storm gathering, moving in from the mountains, as the sun disappeared behind grey clouds. In the distance, he heard a train horn blaring as it rolled down the line. Closing his eyes, he felt the wind on his face as he heard the train horn blow as lyrics to a song entered his head.

~"Train roll on, on down the line

Won't you please take me far away.

Now feel the wind blow, outside my door,

means I'm, I'm leaving my woman at home-"~

"You know what Lynyrd Skynyrd said, don't you, Leon?"

"What's that, Doctor Grissom?"

"Tuesday's gone with the wind," he told him as it he felt the first sprinkles of rain hit his face

In his head, he couldn't help but hear the Lynyrd Skynyrd song playing as he hurried down the trail, jumping over mud puddles, to get back to his car as it poured down rain.

~"And I don't know where I'm goin',

I just want to be left alone.

Well, when this train ends, I'll try again,

I'm leaving my woman at home-"~

He got to his car and pulled out the keys as he heard a noise behind him. It sounded like a whimper. Turning to look behind him, he saw a dog standing in the rain. It was a Boxer breed. Brown, black and white. It hopped on three legs, holding one of its hind legs up close to its body, as it looked at him and whimpered again.

Mixing into the rain puddle on the ground was blood coming from the dog's injured leg.

~"Tuesday's gone with wind…My baby's gone

with the wind-"~

He looked up and down the street and didn't see any cars coming or any stopped on the side of the road. After opening the back hatch, he approached the dog slowly, kneeling in front of it and held out his hand so it could smell him. The dog sniffed at his hand, and then bowed its head as it hobbled forward into his arms. He picked the dog up and placed it onto the plastic in the back of his car. He checked for a collar and there wasn't one.

He closed the hatch door and got into the driver's seat. Looking into the rearview, he saw the dog looking at him. The dog panted and turned its head to look out the window.

~"Train roll on. Tuesday's gone-"~

A week later, he picked the dog up from the vet. Until the leg healed the dog would have to wear a cone on his head, and hobble on three legs, but he managed just fine. At first he let him outside in the backyard until he was ready to run around, and then they went on walks, and then hikes in the mountains. He'd never had a dog before and was surprised at how much he enjoyed his company.

Dog's were "man's best friend" as the saying went.

"Train roll on

A many miles from my home, see I'm

I'm riding my blues away, yeah-"~

It took time, and a lot of work, but he had his dog trained after about four months. He also finally chose a name: Edmond. After Edmond Locard, the founder of modern day forensic science. He also got a kick out of calling him "Ed" or "Eddie" as a nickname, seeing how Catherine's husband was the only other dog he knew. During times when he thought he was so tired he couldn't move and didn't have the energy, Edmond jumped on top of him on the couch, or in his bed, and forced him to play fetch with a bouncy ball he'd bought him, or they would roll around on the floor as he tackled him.

~"Well Tuesday, you see

Oh, she had to be free, Lord

Somehow I got to carry on-"~

Sara's absence had left a void in his house that Edmond couldn't possibly fill, but it was better than the emptiness. He never thought his house would feel so empty. Before, when she was there, he always left her alone because he wanted to be alone. He didn't want his space imposed upon, his privacy violated. He wasn't used to anyone in his house.

And now that she was gone...

~"Tuesday's gone, with the wind

My baby's gone with the wind-"~

He laid down on his bed as Edmond jumped up beside him and laid down with his head on his chest. Picking up the remote, he turned on the TV and tossed the remote onto the table by the bed. As he mindlessly watched the movie, a western he'd seen exactly 23 times before, he couldn't help but wonder where she was and if she was happy.

He really hoped she was.

~"Train, roll on."~

TBC...

Disclaimer: Songs used/mentioned: "Friend of the Devil" by The Grateful Dead. "You Don't Know How It Feels" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. "I'll Back You Up" by Dave Matthews Band. "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" by Queen. "Helter Skelter" by The Beatles. "Midnight Rider" by The Allman Brothers. "Mr. Siegal" by Tom Waits. "Tuesday's Gone" by Lynyrd Skynyrd.