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*

11. Special Unspoken Without a Sound

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews and for reading. Also, catsinhats, I absolutely have a playlist for this story. However, I do not have a GSR playlist.

Also, I seriously hate autocorrect. I really need to stop writing this mostly on my phone and then not quadrupling checking it before posting. So many errors.

---

Ch. 10: Special Unspoken Without a Sound

2009

Nevada State Penitentiary

After he'd eaten dinner, he grabbed a book and was about to settle in for the evening on the bed when he heard Officer Rahm tell him, "The Warden's coming."

Now? Even though he didn't know the time, he knew it was late in the evening. He heard the door to the hallway open and then he saw Rahm pass the cell door with a chair and he sat it down next to the door.

Then two people appeared in the window. One was the Warden, Daniel Cross. The man behind him was Father Powell. He sat the book down along with his glasses as he stood to greet the two men. He hadn't requested to see the Father that he'd only met once during the course of an investigation and had no idea why he was there.

"Good evening, Warden, Father Powell, what do I owe the honor?" he asked.

Warden Cross smiled slightly as he said, "I apologize for the late night visit. Father Powell wanted a visit and I have news for you."

There was one thing he learned about the Warden since before he was an inmate in his prison, and that was Daniel Cross was a good man. He actually believed in rehabilitation, even for those in a maximum security prison. Though, he wasn't a push over and there was a reason why he was a Warden, he wasn't a hard-ass either. He was fair and treated everyone with respect, especially if they treated him with respect.

"I wanted to tell you myself that I agreed with Dr. Langston's request for you to have an on-campus visit tomorrow. I've informed the Mayor and Governor. The Sheriff. The official go-ahead hasn't been granted yet, but I don't see why it wouldn't be. I've already discussed it with Officer Rahm and Officer Arvington to be your escorts, along with two others. I'm not sure if you know Officer's Jones and Farnsworth."

Shaking his head, he told him, "I'm not familiar with either of them. Will Officers Rahm and Arvington be my personal guards with the others securing the classroom?" He knew the procedure. Two guards with the inmate, two guarding the perimeter.

"That's correct."

He gave a nod as he thanked him and then Warden Cross left, telling him, "Have a good night. Enjoy what little freedom you'll have tomorrow in the sunlight."

He watched as he left the hallway before greeting the only other person besides Officer Rahm left. "Father."

Father Powell smiled at him as he said, "Grissom. Thank you, Officer Rahm, you can go now. Whatever we say to each other is considered privileged."

Rahm glanced back at him as he gave a nod and left, leaving them alone.

"I was here for another matter and thought I'd give you a visit. Priest's aren't restricted to visiting hours." He sat down in the chair in the hallway as he sat down in the chair at the desk that was on the other side of the door.

They were facing each other; he could see part of Father Powell's face through the open slot, like a confessional booth. He had no desire to confess to Father Powell. "Are you hoping to hear my confession?" he asked.

Father Powell smiled slightly as he said, "I'm always hoping to hear a confession so I can offer forgiveness. I heard that you had a visit from Dr. Langston today."

"He wanted to find out if I was insane or not. You know what's insane? Thinking that you can't believe in science if you have faith, or, if you have faith then you can't trust science. Granted, I've never told anyone to read the Bible if they wanted to learn about entomology, physics, or astrology, but, I have told them that if they want to learn about God to look in a science book. God's in the details."

Father Powell said, "One of my best parishioners is a doctor specializing in treating cancer. He says he sees God every day in the recoveries. He doesn't know a doctor who doesn't pray. Yet, there are some who will try to say that all scientists are atheists. That science is false and that all they need to do is pray, instead of even considering the possibility that God works through the doctors and scientists."

He nearly smiled. Father Powell was proving to be someone he not only enjoyed talking to intellectually but also someone he could respect. "And there lies the problem with religion. I have nothing against faith, Father. Religion, however."

"Was that your discussion with Dr. Langston? Religion?"

"No," he said as he shook his head. "He thinks I'm evil because he can't understand how someone can kill and still be good. I had a philosophy professor once who said that God can't exist if there is no evil in the natural world. He wanted us to prove or disprove God based on that point alone."

Father Powell chuckled as he said, "Whether evil does or doesn't exist in nature is inconsequential to whether or not God exists."

"That's what I said. Nature has no concept of the soul. Right and wrong. Morality. He tried to tell me that because we can't see our souls, that they didn't exist. I told him that we can't see air either, but we breathe it. We humans need air to live the same as we need faith. If we don't have faith, hope, we will lose our way. Only humans need to be taught right from wrong. No other species has a need to develop a moral compass."

"You've killed and you don't consider that evil or sinful? Or even wrong?"

He thought about that and his memories took him back to a case he worked involving a priest, Father Frank. "I had a case once, involving a priest. He wrote a letter to the bishop. In it he wrote: "The spirit has left my vocation. I've crossed a line in my discipline and committed an act unfit for the priesthood." The act he committed was falling in love with a woman. He put his love for her above his love for God. He prayed about it and what came to him was that God is love. He said, "Wherever there is true love, God is, as well." When he was with her, he found a man inside him who could be a husband and a father through his love for her. And in order to be those things, he thought he had to choose between her and God. The priesthood. The detective on the case said to him, "In my world, Father, you're either guilty or innocent." The priest replied "Well, in my world, you can be both." So, Father, am I both guilty and innocent? If I killed to protect the innocent, if I killed out of love, then is God not in those acts?"

Father Powell was silent for a long moment as he thought of an answer. "I believe God is in every act if a person believes themselves to be acting out of love or compassion or doing good works. As for killing in the name of God, I think we've had this discussion before," he told him. "And if I remember correctly, you didn't think anyone should kill in the name of God."

He smirked then as he told him, "Sometimes, Father, I take the opposite side of the debate to see what someone truly believes. It's called playing the "Devil's Advocate"."

"Then what do you believe?"

He took a breath as he thought about that before telling him, "Killing happens in nature and it isn't an act of evil. Evil is unique to humans because we are the only species with a soul. Evil is someone who is profoundly immoral and wicked. It's not a sin to kill evil, Father. And it doesn't make what I have done evil if I only wanted to kill the wicked."

"You believe that the only people you killed were evil, therefore you haven't committed a sin and haven't broken a commandment. Taking lives is murder."

"I've only murdered one man. He had no intention of ever killing anyone else, except maybe himself."

"Then why did you do it?"

That was a good question and one he's thought about and worked over for years since committing the act. He thought he knew the answer before...He still didn't know the answer. All he had was what he felt.

"Selfish love and hatred. When I visualized his crime, due to the fact that the woman resembled the woman I love, and because I understood him so well, I didn't fantasize about killing his victim. Instead, I killed the woman I love. I hated him for making me see myself as her killer. I was blinded by that hate. I tried to reason it as self-giving love, but...I knew it wasn't. It was selfish and unnecessary. He wasn't evil. He was just...heartbroken. I actually blamed him for it. Blamed him for making me see myself for what I was. It was highly irrational…" He shook his head with the uncertainty he felt. Love had compromised him. "I don't know why."

"Are you seeking forgiveness?"

"No," he said as he looked at Father Powell through the slot in the door. "I don't need your forgiveness."

"A person who has sinned can still find deliverance-"

"Even the immoral and wicked?"

"Yes. Even those we consider evil," Father Powell told him. "They also deserve a chance at redemption."

No, he thought, they didn't. "Have you seen evil, Father? Pure evil?"

Father Powell gave a nod as he said, "I believe I have, yes "

He remembered what Father Frank told him as he said, "It's Christ's mandate for you to forgive. Not mine. I've looked into the eyes of pure evil, Father, there is no redemption."

Father Powell was quite a moment before asking him, "You believe you're doing God's work?"

He leaned back against the wall as he stared at the wall opposite him as he thought about that before answering, "Yes, I do."

---

SARA

2005

She laid in their bed, her book forgotten, as she watched him mindlessly move around the bedroom. He was lost in deep thought, a cup of coffee in one hand, his other rubbing at the back of his neck. That was the spot where he liked to be touched when he needed comfort. He didn't look like he needed comfort; he looked nervous as he took a sip of the coffee and then as if remembering something suddenly, he put it down on the dresser and went into the closet.

Sixteen years. That was how long she's known Gilbert Grissom. He was the odd man who tipped her his poker winnings, who took her to Santa Cruz to ride a rollercoaster and then to a butterfly grove to show her all the hundreds of thousands of Monarch butterflies that migrated there over the winter. He was the man that taught her so much about life and love and patience. He respected her, listened, and gave her what she needed without asking for anything in return.

Despite the time they've spent together over the years, he still hardly talked to her about what was going on inside his mind. It didn't matter. He didn't need to speak for her to hear him.

She's been hearing him in the silence since they first met.

~"I can only speak for those that do not know me-"~

Gil had told her once that with his job he did God's work by speaking for the dead. He gave them a voice and delivered justice to those who killed them. Now she knew that he also killed some of those murderers who killed the people he spoke for. And in his belief, that was justice.

The night she found out he'd been killing criminals, evil people, had been the first and so far the only time he's talked about anything. It surprised her, finding him at his warehouse with a man hanging from a hook, just as it surprised her that he could put a gun to a man's head and pull the trigger. After the shock had worn off, after she came home and was able to think about it and search her heart, she realized that she'd known it since Hank's death.

Maybe it was something in his peculiarities, or his apathy, or the darkness in his eyes, but she had always known something was there hidden underneath. It was in how he flinched at the slightest hug. His detachment. How he didn't really have any friends. The secrets he kept and his belief that evil needed to be confronted. It was how he never judged her for anything she'd done in the past. He didn't judge her for killing Justin in self-defense, or her mother for killing her father. He didn't judge her for shooting Hank.

She'd always known. She just never knew what to call it until that night.

It was also in his art: the paintings and drawings.

~"I can only write the words that would not show me-"~

He didn't expose himself, his feelings, with words. That wasn't how he expressed himself. Everyone lies, he said. Gil never lied to her with words, his only lies came from his silence.

She realized that now. Words and verbal expressions were extremely difficult for him. His mind was a labyrinth, and from what he'd drawn, it was a confusing, chaotic, and painful place to be all the time.

It was why he painted. For him to try to put all that he felt into words was like her trying to piece together what she saw on those canvases. It was impossible. She didn't know the context.

Until now, but only after she knew the truth. Not until he stood in front of it with her, and like he'd done for his mother all those years being her interpreter, he explained the painting.

Her paintings weren't anywhere near as torturous as his were. In fact, none of her paintings depicted pain or anger. She always tried to focus on the opposite of what she was feeling. The world she lived in was sharp and jagged, rough and full of anger. So, like only reading fantasy novels to escape, she painted bright colorful abstracts. Orange and pinks and sky blues and light purples. Nothing dark or real.

Gil didn't paint abstractly. His paintings were very real, and dark, and devoid of happiness. There was no joy.

She was one who brought joy and happiness and color into his life.

~"I will never quite explain what I've been doing-"~

He showed her how he valued her in his actions. Words were words and they were meaningless at times. Since Gil hardly spoke, he did things. His actions spoke louder than any words ever could.

And so, she started doing things for him. She showed him her love through actions and with words because she knew the context when he didn't. He had a hard time understanding emotions, and people, and reasons why she thought with her heart and not with her head at times. She wasn't like that, she understood.

He lost track of little things and big things. Birthdays and speeches. Once he got started on a project or case or a book, everything else was forgotten. There was no room for the things he had no interest in. There were reminders on his board at home in the hallway by the backdoor to pay his bills on time, court date reminders, vet appointments, doctors appointments, all so he wouldn't forget.

She nearly caught him once almost leaving the house without changing into his work clothes first because he was so caught up in something he was thinking about.

Now, she set his reminders and made his appointments. She took care of the bills and had them set up to automatically withdraw from his bank account. She texted him his grocery list and made meal plans for his lunch and dinner if they weren't going out or if neither of them were cooking. Bought him clothes that actually fit him and that made him look better. He never cared about clothes or fashion; it was all about comfort.

She took care of him. And it made her happy. It was something she wanted to do.

It had surprised her at first because she never liked taking care of any of her previous boyfriends. She hated doing things for them. It was always an annoyance, always a chore. It caused bitter fights and yelling and resentment.

With Gil, it caused her to feel loved. She did it out of love. She felt special knowing she was doing it for him. That he appreciated her actions. There were no fights, no bitter resentment, and no yelling. And it was because he wasn't asking, or expecting, her to do any of it. He could manage it, and had been managing it, for decades all by himself.

But, now he wasn't alone and neither was she. They had each other.

Getting up, she walked over to the walk-in closet and saw him pulling on a suit jacket as he looked at his ties. It was his scheduled day off, actually. One of the few on a weekend, so there was no court in session.

"Got a date?" she teased because there was no reason for the suit that she knew of.

"As a matter of fact, I do. My friend Heather wants me to be the photographer at her wedding. You're my plus one."

He decided on the red and black tie that she had gotten him and tossed it around his neck before looking at her. She was confused as she asked, "When's the wedding?"

"Today."

"Today! Why didn't you tell me?" she asked in surprise.

He wrinkled his head in confusion as he said, "I just did."

"Before now." She couldn't believe it. He always did this. He didn't tell her about the promotion banquet for that Ecklie guy he worked with until the day of. Now, a wedding. For his friend Heather. And who in the hell was Heather? Walking into the closet, she started looking through her clothes that were on the opposite side of his, and asked, "How long have you known?"

"Does it matter? Are you coming?"

"Yeah, I'm coming, just...You really don't care, do you?" she asked as she spotted a dress. It was red and black, matching the colors in his tie. She hardly got a chance to wear her fancy dresses and heels unless she just really wanted to dress up when they went out to dinner.

"Care about what?"

"I could've had plans," she told him as she looked at him in annoyance. "Or, you know, some people like to go shopping before a wedding. Buy a new outfit-"

He looked at the dress she had in her hands and asked in confusion, "What's wrong with the clothes you have?"

She sighed and shook her head at his question. That wasn't the point. "Nothing-"

"Then why is this an issue?" he asked before slipping his feet into the dress shoes.

He could be extremely frustrating at times, but it was how he was. This was just part of being with a man too wrapped up in his head sometimes that it was hard for him to see the world around him. And that world around him consisted of her. "It's an issue because the wedding's today and you just told me about it. What time do we have to be there?"

He checked his watch and said, "One hour, thirty-five minutes. It'll take me thirty minutes to get there."

She stared at him, shook her head, and walked away as she muttered under her breath as she went into the bathroom. Then she shut the door and looked at the dress and felt herself smile. She wasn't really angry. She'd get over it.

She got ready and was trying to zip up the dress when he walked in and without asking zipped the back of the dress up for her. Then he dropped a necklace out of his hand and put it around her neck.

~"I am you and you are me but we are nothing-"~

It was new and it held not a pendant, but a ring. Touching the ring once it hit her chest, she looked at it and felt the weight of it in her palm as she eyed him through the mirror.

He ran his hands down her arms and kissed her shoulder, her neck, before saying, "I thought I would never have you again after you married Hank."

~"My heart broke and rose to go but I'm not going-"~

"I respect that union, between husband and wife. It's supposed to be sacred. Even though you were gone," he said as he caught her eyes in the mirror and she saw his love for her in them. "I never stopped loving you."

~"'Cause I loved you long before the day I told you-"~

She stared at him in the mirror, stunned, but full of joy. She had to be sure this meant what she thought it did, but she knew. He had told her. "Is this what I think it is?"

He looked confused a moment as he glanced around, thinking. Then he said, "If you're thinking it's an engagement ring, then yes."

She turned and looked at him as tears filled her eyes. Her hand was shaking slightly as she fought to control her happiness. He looked worried, like he wasn't sure he'd done something right. This was why he was so nervous. He wanted to propose but didn't know how. "I'll marry you."

"Yeah?"

She nearly laughed as happiness filled her heart and pushed back the tears in her eyes. "Yeah. Let's do it."

He let out a breath, relieved, before he leaned down to kiss her.

~"And it's you and it's me

And it's time on our side-"~

The drive was nearly thirty minutes as they made their way to the outskirts of Las Vegas. As he drove them, he told her about his friend Heather and her lover, Sally. It didn't surprise her in the least that Gil had friends who were lesbian, and it didn't surprise her that he never mentioned them before now. He never talked about his personal life, even with her. His co-workers didn't know about her until the circumstances happened to introduce them.

She knew he wasn't hiding her, or them from her, it was just that he didn't do personal small-talk. He didn't like people knowing him or his life. He kept everything compartmentalized. His inner world was separate from his real world, his private life was separate from his work life, and so forth.

He wouldn't go out of the way to take her anywhere to meet anyone. It was her choice as it was their choice. Warrick's choice if he wanted her at the funeral. Her choice to go to the banquet celebration for Conrad Ecklie's promotion to Assistant Director of the Lab. Heather's choice to tell him to bring her as his plus one to the wedding.

Gil was all about people making their own choices in life. It was his belief and his own desire for freedom that made him think that everyone should have the same freedom.

"Then why take freedom away from the people you've killed," she asked.

He was quiet for a moment as he thought about it. She saw the way his eyes darted behind the sunglasses; they were confused and wondering, before he said, "Just as any criminal gives up their right to be free when they get convicted of a crime, and go to prison, everyone I've killed gave up their right to be alive once they murdered, and raped, and destroyed innocent lives. And most of all, I did give them a chance. I gave them a choice. But, evil doesn't change. Some went to prison, got out, and then killed again."

"How about those that are mentally ill?" she said as her thoughts went back to her mother. "My mother killed a man. I killed–"

"Neither of you are evil. And the men you killed, whether they were evil or not I don't know, but I do know you both did what you had to do to save yourselves. If someone proves themselves to be mentally ill, they need help. I would never kill anyone who needs help."

She looked out the window, saw the flat desert that laid out before them and the mountains in the distance. She was surprised he was being so open with her about his belief and why he did it. He no longer had any reason to lie by omission. She knew his secret.

Not only that, he wanted her to know. He wanted her to help him make the decision.

~"Tonight I want you to be my safety rope

But tonight you've got a heavy load-"~

He asked her if she was okay making the decision on whether or not he went through with killing someone or not. It had surprised her, but then she realized why he was asking. He had told her he tried to stop several times but couldn't. The weight of the act, the burden of not doing it and risking further victims, and the compulsion to do it was too much for him at times. It had to be.

He needed something, a life line, to help him back from the brink. She was his light, and he needed her to guide him through the darkness. He still went after them, but he stopped killing them. He could incapacitate them, but leave them alive. He said he could make sure they never saw who he was, that he could put them in the hospital for life. Get them out of society and away from the innocent people. He was willing to do that.

But, he couldn't stop completely. He didn't know how, he said.

"My only fear, Gil, is that you'll get hurt, or killed, or end up in prison."

She felt his hand on hers, gripping it tightly. He raised it up and kissed her palm and then all her fingers as he kept driving. He didn't say anything after that, but she knew he understood her concern. Gil didn't think he was invincible. He wasn't an idiot. And she didn't know what precautions he took or how he did the things he did, but she had to trust him.

Like how he trusted her. He trusted her to confront Hank all by herself in the hotel room; trusted her to take care of herself. She would worry, because that's what people did. They worried about those they cared about the most.

And she cared about him more than anyone else in her life. She loved him more than anyone she's ever loved before. Deep down, she knew that she only truly ever loved him and that she was the person he truly loved in his life.

~"We both shine for morning time we'd spend together–"~

They got to the big Victorian house and she took it all in as she followed him up to the porch. In his hand was the camera along with the camera bag. The door opened and she was greeted by a woman with dark hair and green eyes.

She saw them and smiled. "Grissom, you made it. This must be Sara. Come in. Thank you both for coming."

"Thank you for asking me to be your photographer," Gil said as he walked in.

Heather smiled and said, "I knew the only way to get you here was to give you a job."

He smirked at her. There was a fondness between them, a familiarity. A spark of jealousy rose inside her and she had to quickly bat it down. She trusted Gil and knew that she was the only woman he wanted. That his heart was a faithful one. Also, Heather was about to have a wife. She had nothing to worry about.

Upon entering the house, she was greeted to soft music playing as she heard the lyrics being sung by the Irish singer:

~"And we don't pine or cross the line or go one better-"~

She saw a fire in the fireplace in a sitting room and smelt the food cooking in the kitchen. There were several guests, but not a whole lot. All the furniture and decor were antique as were most of the paintings and drawings. She saw two on the wall above the fireplace in the sitting room and walked closer. They looked familiar.

He had a certain style. Dark, haunting, with sharp and striking images. "These are yours."

Stepping up next to her, he looked at them and said, "They were an apology."

"For what?"

"I suspected her of murder. She was innocent, obviously, but…She's my friend and I, uh–...I didn't trust her. I made a mistake."

She looked around the house as she asked him, "What does she do?"

"She's a dominatrix."

Looking at him, she realized there was still so much she didn't know about him, or his friends, but what she did know was enough for her to know that she wouldn't, and didn't, judge him.

The ceremony took place in the garden, and it was full of beautiful colors from the various plant life and decor. They were introduced to Heather's daughter, Zoe, who Gil was even surprised to find out existed.

"College was an interesting time," was all Heather said as a way of explaining why she had a daughter.

Heather was of Jewish-German descent and Sally was half Scottish, half Irish, and they incorporated both traditions into the ceremony. Throughout the entire ordeal, she watched as Gil took great care and incredible interest in taking pictures. His eyes were on everything, took everything in from the lighting to positioning, to what was in the background. He was a natural.

Photography was something he loved to do aside from studying bugs and riding roller coasters. She was more than her job as well, she enjoyed wildlife but also was an amateur artist, though nowhere near as good as Gil was with his art. She loved making her own pottery and paintings. She made necklaces when she couldn't find the one she wanted. She was studying botany and Gil was teaching her about entomology. She took kickboxing lessons and Yoga now along with her regular exercise routine.

She caught Gil's eyes during the reading of the vows. His eyes were on hers as he raised the camera and took her picture.

She smiled. He dropped the camera as he winked at her and went back to taking photos of the ceremony.

~"And we would sing to those who'd bring us stormy weather-"~

A week later they were in San Francisco. Gil had taken two weeks off from work and told her that he'd drive her up to San Francisco so she could visit her mother and then they could vacation for a while. She liked the sound of that, but first she had to prepare herself to see her mother for the first time since she was fourteen years old.

Sitting in a reception waiting room, she let out a deep breath as she tried to calm her nerves. She didn't know what it was, either the smell or the look of the place, white cedar brick walls and gated windows, but it brought up painful memories. Memories of her mother with a bloody knife in her hand. Her father, dead on the kitchen floor, with blood everywhere. Cutting herself during the times when all the pain and anger seemed to be too much. All the blame and guilt she carried.

Looking over at her, Gil asked, "Are you okay?"

"Crazy people do make me feel crazy," she said before looking over at him.

He glanced away, thinking about that as he fell silent. She could tell that he wanted to say something but stopped him as he remained silent. Taking her hand in his, he rubbed his thumb over the back of it as he looked at the floor.

Deciding that he wasn't going to say anything, she told him, "The last time I was here, I was fourteen. I haven't seen my mother since. I don't know what to feel, or what to think. Her schizophrenia made her kill my father. At least, that's what they say. I don't have a mental illness, but I killed a man."

His eyes remained on the floor as he said, "John Nash, the mathematician, he's schizophrenic and when asked how he could believe that extraterrestrials were sending him messages, he said that the messages came to him in the same way that his mathematical ideas did. So he had to take them seriously. I don't know about your mother, but…I do know that your father's abuse wasn't imaginary. It was real. And so was yours."

She looked around at the pictures on the walls, the ones drawn by the patients of the mental institution. They were on display like drawings from school children. "When I was in fifth grade, I drew a picture of a harpooned whale. Everyone thought I was crazy. But I had just read Moby Dick. Sometimes a dying whale is just a dying whale. Have you ever taken the Rorschach test?"

"Once. All I saw were insects."

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "When did you take it?"

He shrugged, saying, "During college. I knew a girl studying psychology. She was curious."

"Was this the same girl you thought you were in love with?" she asked, inciting a smirk from him.

He leaned against the chair, getting closer to her, as he said, "It was, actually."

"Could it be that the reason she started dating your roommate was because all you saw were bugs?"

He got really quiet as his mind drifted. Then, he shrugged and said, "Possibly. You know, the most famous administration of the Rorschach test was to the 22 defendants in the Nazi leadership group prior to the first Nuremberg trials."

"I didn't know that. What were the results?"

He went to speak when the door opened; she stood along with Gil as the doctor walked in. She introduced herself as Doctor Amanda Ryan. She was her mother's psychiatrist. Before they left the room, Gil placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a rub before dropping his hand to take a hold of hers.

~"And it's you and it's me

And it's time on our side-"~

As they walked through the halls, hand-in-hand toward the office, she listened as Doctor Ryan told her, "Your mother has come a long way. There was a time when we didn't think she'd ever be able to have a normal conversation, let alone write a letter to send to a family member. She suffers from paranoid schizophrenia with auditory hallucinations, delusions, disorganized thinking, and suffers depression."

"Any suicide attempts?" she asked.

"Several over the years."

They got to the office and sat down in the chairs in front of the desk as Doctor Ryan took a seat behind it. She felt a familiar fear grip her and she gripped the ends of her long sleeve jacket and pulled it further down over her palms. Doctor Ryan couldn't see through her clothes to the scars she had on her arms, but the knowledge of what they were and why they were there was at the forefront of her mind. She never cut herself to try to end her life. It was a release from the pain. Still, she didn't want them to be seen by anyone who didn't know her or who wouldn't understand.

The first time Justin and Mike saw them, they both thought she was crazy but said they thought the scars looked cool. Hank had simply told her to cover them up, he didn't want anyone else seeing them. That they were embarrassing.

Gil saw them; the first time he did he told her that he'd seen a lot of dead bodies and didn't want her to be one of them. He told her it was her decision, if she felt that she had to wear long-sleeves to hide them then to go ahead, if not, don't. He would trace over the lines while they laid together in bed; her head on his chest while he read to her. During sex, he would kiss them.

~"Tonight I want you to be my safety rope

Oh, but tonight you've got a heavy load-"~

He made something she'd always felt self-conscious about into something that didn't matter. If anything, he made every part of herself, the perfections and the scars, feel beautiful. Gil had told her once, when she asked about how he felt about her scars, "I find beauty in things that are flawed and imperfect…They're much more interesting. Everyone has scars. Some on the inside, some on the outside, or both. And those who say they don't, are lying to hide theirs."

She was reminded of his scars, both internally and externally. The scars on his back that he never explained to her, but she suspected the source after meeting his dominatrix friend Heather. She had cut her arms to release pain that she didn't know how to release any other way. And she felt that he had done the same, but with a whip. Gil could never tell her the pain he was suffering, but she knew he was. It was in his paintings and drawings, like the ones on that wall in the waiting room.

He wasn't crazy, though. And neither was she. They both just hurt, were hurt, damaged, and they didn't know how to cope or deal with it properly. Then over time, their coping became more than coping. It became an addiction. It was a way to move forward.

She didn't know if he was stuck now that she prevented him from moving forward. Was he really okay not killing murderers and rapists? Was he okay keeping them alive? He said he was. And maybe he was for now, but she also knew how some things at first could appear to be the answer. Sometimes rage could be camouflage as love. Love was blinding. Veils of fantasy hiding reality until reality crashes down, ripping the veils away.

It was her choice. She was in control. He responded to her. Gil didn't want to lose her, he loved her, so he would stop when she told him to stop. Even if it hurt him to do it.

His hand was covering hers as Doctor Ryan left to get her mother so they could meet. She felt his thumb rubbing small circles over the back of her hand. The same hands he used to inflict pain and kill evil people were the same hands he used to take all her pain away.

The fact that she felt okay with that should have startled her. It should have made her runaway from him. Instead, it made her want to run towards him. She couldn't explain it. She just understood it. Understood him. She got him long before she realized it.

She understood how he showed his love long before he did.

~"And she said "I want my innocence man

I want my confidence back

I don't wanna feel like this no more"-"~

Talking to her mother had been too much. Hearing her voice telling her how sorry she was for everything. Seeing her tears as they talked. Somehow, she'd held it all in, believing that she had to be the strong one like when she was young. She had to be the one to take care of things; the bed-and-breakfast, her parents, and herself.

But she couldn't take care of herself. She had been only a child acting like a parent and the adult. Then men abused her, taking any innocence she had left away. It hadn't been her mother's fault; she was ill. She couldn't see the truth.

Her father could. He saw and ignored it. Called her a liar. Hit her for it.

Maybe that was why she didn't get angry at Gil. Maybe that was why she understood. He felt the anger she felt at the injustice of it all and instead of being like her father, or all the other men in her life, he showed her he understood her.

Gil took care of her. He saw the abuse and accepted it. He believed her. He kissed her for it. He loved her for it and despite it. And instead of taking advantage of it and inflicting more abuse, he gave her freedom, strength, and confidence. How could she run away from that?

Once they got back to the hotel room, he let her take a bath as he made some phone calls. He let her sit out on the balcony alone and brought her a cup of hot tea when she asked for it. And as they laid down in bed together, she laid her head on his chest as he lifted the book he held in his hand and started reading out loud.

Closing her eyes, she listened to his voice as his fingers rubbed over her arm, her scars, and made all the pain go away until eventually she fell asleep.

~"Pull up they push and play you

Now you're this fool they've made you

I don't wanna feel like this no more-"~

They took Highway 1 heading south out of San Francisco; he didn't tell her where they were going, she was fine with wherever it was they were headed. She'd be okay with anything, knowing it was with him. She kept looking at the ring on her necklace and thinking about there being one on his hand, and still couldn't believe it. He wanted to marry her. He wanted her to be his wife and he her husband. Engaged. It was all so...right. It was what should have been all along.

He pulled a CD from the case he always kept in his car and put it into the CD player, and she nearly laughed when she heard The Grateful Dead's "American Beauty" album start playing.

"The Grateful Dead?"

"Do you remember when we first listened to this together?" he asked as she rolled the window down, letting the Pacific Ocean breeze into the car.

"Let me see, it had to be on the drive up to Santa Cruz. You wanted to ride that roller coaster, the uh…"

"The Giant Dipper," he said.

She laughed as the memories came back to her like they happened yesterday. "That's right. This was the only cassette tape you had in your car. I thought about tossing it out the window after listening to it for the fifth time."

"And yet, you sang every word to it."

"Didn't mean I wanted to keep listening to it. Thank God we stopped at that gas station when we did or else it would have been out the window."

He got deep in thought and then said, "You said the tape deck tried to eat it." She started laughing as she saw his disbelief. "I believed you," he said before looking over at her with a soft, teasing smile on his face. "Anything else I should know about?"

Thinking about it, she said, "Yeah, I love you."

He smiled as he took her hand in his before turning his attention back to the road.

They arrived in Moss Landing and as she stepped out of the car, she shook her head at him as she saw the signs for Elkhorn Slough Safari. They were on the coast of Monterey Bay, near Moss Landing Wildlife preserve. After putting on her sunglasses, she took his offered hand as they walked over to the building that booked kayaking tours of the bay and the wildlife. Specifically, the sea lions.

"You remembered."

He glanced back at her with a smirk before telling the woman behind the desk, "I made a reservation. It's under Grissom."

There was a shop nearby and she stepped into it and looked around at the various gifts and things to buy. It was a hot day, with no cloud coverage, and Gil hadn't thought to bring anything to wear for sun protection. They had sunscreen and sunglasses but that was it. There were some sun hats made from straw and she went through them and found two of them that she liked and paid for them.

Meeting Gil outside, she put one on her head and the other on his. He glanced up at it on his head, a smirk forming on his face. "You like it?" she asked. "All their hats are handmade and the proceeds go to the wildlife preserve."

"I love it. I'll keep it in my work truck."

The kayaking tour was over two hours; it was amazing. The sea lions were out in the water, playing and coming up to the kayaks, while others basked in the sun on the shores and around the moored boats and docks. Since it was mid-summer, most were in the water and swimming all around them. Gil had his camera as always and was taking plenty of pictures, mostly of her, but she didn't complain. She never did.

They spent the day at the Elkhorn Slough National Estuarine Research Reserve. The visitor center featured a variety of different exhibits and the reserve had five miles of trails through the salt marsh and wildlife area. They saw sea otters, seals and various species of fish, along with a leopard shark, and of course all the birds, bugs, and butterflies that made Gil feel inclined to educate other visitors on as they ventured along the paths.

She watched him as he knelt down next to a couple of kids, brother and sister, and fully educated them on the spider they were both initially scared of. By the time he was done, they thought it was so cool.

"Can we have a pet spider," the boy asked his mom. The look the mother threw at Gil made her smile.

"I have one," he said innocently as he shrugged. "His name's Peter."

"Like Peter Parker?" the boy asked. "Spiderman?"

Gil gave a nod as the mother thanked them and then led the kids away from the spider. She barely held in the laughter at his confused look until they were well out of ear shot and told him, "Their mom did not want her kids to have a pet spider."

"Why not?" he asked in confusion.

She took his hand as they continued along the trail.

"They're harmless," he continued saying as they started walking. "Just don't scare them and they'll leave you alone. Spiders only bite humans when they feel trapped or if you accidentally step on them, otherwise, they don't attack. And most, when they do bite, can't penetrate our skin–"

~"And it's you and it's me

And it's time on our side-"~

Later that evening they found a camping site nearby. He'd always kept his camping gear in the trunk of the car unless he had reason to take it out, which was never. They laid under the stars for a while, Gil pointing out all the constellations to her and telling her all the stories about them before she silenced him with a kiss. When it ended, he was staring at her and she could tell that he had something on his mind. He'd been so quiet lately. More so than usual.

Turning to look up at the sky, he took her hand in his as he said, "Did you know that self-solemnizing is allowed in both California and Nevada? I got ordained to do it…I didn't know where or when...but…I think I want to do it now."

She looked at him in surprise. His hand in hers tightened as he waited for an answer. He wanted to get married now? There?

"We can legalize it later," he was saying; he still couldn't look at her. "I just don't want to go another day without being able to call you my wife."

Opening her mouth, she said, "Okay," almost as if in a daze. Then she smiled as he let out a breath and the haze was gone. Inside, she felt happy.

He looked over at her, smiled, and then leaned over to kiss her. They sat up on the blanket, the fire crackling next to them and faced one another. He took the ring off the necklace that she wore around her neck.

"I unfortunately don't have one yet," he said.

"It's okay."

He asked her if she wanted to say her own vows or not. There was so much she wanted to say to the man in front of her. She gave a nod as she finally settled on telling Gil everything that she's been meaning to say to him for years.

"Sixteen years ago, you asked me what I wanted. I lied and you knew it. But you saw it. Everything I wanted and couldn't ask for. I didn't know that I could ask for those things. Love. Value. Respect. Gil, you gave me all that and more. You gave me my strength and confidence. Every day you take my pain away. I just want to thank you. And being your wife, there is no greater honor." The look on his face was something she had never seen before. He had to look away. "Gil?"

He shook his head as he looked up and said, "All I have are song lyrics…I don't want to make you upset." He sounded disappointed in himself. He had been angry at himself for only thinking of song lyrics.

She frowned at him as she asked, "Why would you think I'd be upset?"

"Because, they aren't my words…" He stopped and she saw how hard this was for him. The struggle he always went through to speak what was on his mind, or in his heart.

She realized that's why he's been so quiet. He didn't know that she understood him now. She knew how he expressed himself. It was the only way he could.

Reaching up, she grabbed the back of his neck as she told him, "Gil, if all I ever hear from you for the rest of our lives together are quotes or song lyrics, it's better than the silence. I know it's coming from you, whether they're your words or not. It's okay."

His eyes lit up in surprise and relief. That meant so much to him, she read it in his eyes and on his face. Giving a nod, he took a moment to gather himself and then said, "As long as I have you near me, bright are the stars that shine, dark is the sky…I know this love of mine will never die, and…I love you."

The song was The Beatles "And I Love Her" and she couldn't help but smile at him in amusement. He was so happy that she let him say it, he nearly grinned but he fought it down. The man had a hard time letting himself feel joy. It broke her heart.

As he finished the officiating, his eyes met hers as he said, "...I, uh...I'm your husband."

Feeling the tears in her eyes as reality finally hit her, she reached out and touched his face as she said, "I'm your wife," before kissing him.

He could talk science and space and astrology with her any other time, but right then she wanted him on top of her, her hands in his hair, on his back, as she felt his mouth on her mouth, on her skin.

Making love for the first time as husband and wife, under that dark starry sky, was as stunning as the first time she'd laid next to him under a eucalyptus tree as hundreds of butterflies flew around them. She felt tears in her eyes as he moved in her, his hands on her skin, lips kissing her neck, her face, and his eyes locked onto hers as she shuttered under him. Resting his forehead on hers, he breathed out as he tensed and came right along with her.

~"And it's you and it's me-"~

They had spent the week taking their time driving back to Las Vegas. They could have easily been there in eight hours, but Gil decided to take the scenic route. Most other people probably spent their honeymoon doing other things, like sex in hotel rooms and going to Vegas. They spent theirs in nature.

They made constant stops at various places along the route, taking their time at Mono Lake Tufa State Natural Reserve. Mono Lake, which had been formed by an ancient inland sea, was surrounded by tufa towers made of limestone. They walked the shores and snapped pictures of the unique landscape that could only be described as landing on Mars. And then it was onto Yosemite where they viewed the waterfalls, mountains, sequoias as they hiked.

They stopped at Mammoth Brewing Company for the unique beers they brewed and the food. Not to mention the view of Mammoth Lakes, the redwood trees, and mountains.

As the host approached, she asked, "How many?"

"Two," Gil answered. "Me and my wife."

His wife. Gil had a hard time saying girlfriend, but he had no problem calling her his wife. It sounded perfect, like it's always been.

"How long have you two been together," the host asked as she led them to their table.

"Two years," she said.

"Sixteen years," he said.

They looked at each other and she saw his confusion. She started laughing as she thought about it and said, "Los Angeles?"

"That's when we first met." His eyes searched her face, lost in thought. "You were wearing a ponytail." Then he smirked as he said, "And, if I'm not mistaken, and I'm not, it was when you first kissed me."

He was right. It was. She kissed him in the parking lot of the restaurant where she used to work. It was when and where she first knew that she loved him.

They have been together, and in love with each other, for sixteen years. Between that time, she'd been with several other men. She'd been married. But for him, he's always been with her. He never strayed away, never put any other woman before her or even had anyone else, not romantically or even sexually. He didn't want anyone else. She was his one special mate. And today, and every day after, she would be his wife.

Smiling, she turned back to the woman as she told her, "We've been together for sixteen years."

After that it was on to Death Valley National Park. "Next time we do this, we've got to bring Edmond," he said as they walked across the salt rock formations and took in the surrounding mountain range of the Panamint Mountains.

"Most definitely," she said as she took in the view of the unique sand and rock formations in Zabriskie Point. She'd never seen anything like it before in her life. And she's been to Alaska. Mother Nature never ceases to amaze her.

They spent several days there, camping out every night before heading home. On the drive, as she leaned her head on the door, window rolled down and watching the scenery of the desert and mountains go by, she asked him, "Do you want to have children?"

"I had a vasectomy."

That surprised her. She stared over at him in shock as he kept his eyes on the road and asked, "What? When?"

"Before I stopped using condoms," he simply told her. "And since we don't sleep around, and I trust you, I had it done."

"And you didn't think to talk to me about it first?"

"It was my decision." His mind was thinking, she could tell by his face, and then his curious eyes met hers as he asked, "Do you want children?"

"No," she said.

"Oh, okay," he said. So, what was the point, was the look she read on his face as he looked at her before he returned his attention back to the road.

She let out a breath as she shook her head. She had no idea what the point was, other than the fact he made the decision without talking to her about it first, but he did have his own reasons.

"I want you to pick out my ring."

Smiling, she laid her head back down and told him, "I'd do it as soon as we get home."

They didn't do much talking after that. She felt exhausted. It'd been a long couple of weeks. As she viewed the cactuses, mesquite trees, and desert, the same view she'd seen for months, she felt a longing again in her heart to go. It wasn't the man next to her in the car that caused the longing, it was quite the opposite. He pulled her to him and made her want to stay. It was the desert. It was the same thing every day.

She needed a change. She needed a job. "I want to go back to work. Thinking of someplace less…Vegas. Is that okay?"

He glanced over at her and said, "If that's what you want to do, darlin', you know I'll support you."

"I know. I just hate leaving you again, but…" She had to. She was getting restless, and she was afraid if she stayed that she would take it out on him.

He was quiet for a moment, thinking, before he said, "Aristotle said, "Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies". Wherever you go, wherever I am, we'll be together." Taking her hand in his, he brought it up to his lips and gave it a kiss and then kept it in his hand for the rest of the drive.

As she looked at him, hearing those words, she didn't question how she could ever stop loving him. He always made her feel special, and wanted, and mostly loved. Despite her fear for him, and her longing to leave, she knew no matter what, they would never stop loving each other.

Once back in Vegas, Gil stood in the bathroom as he got ready for work. His vacation was over. Knowing him, and how he valued his privacy, how he separated his worlds, she expected that he wouldn't be able to wear his ring to work. He wouldn't want anyone to know.

Surprising him, she held the ball chain necklace up. At the end of it was the ring she'd gotten him. She put it around his neck and clipped it in place.

He looked at it before tucking it under his t-shirt. Then he buttoned up the long-sleeve shirt as he glanced over his shoulder at her and said, "Thank you."

She left the room to get his stuff ready for him. She poured him a thermos full of coffee, gathered his briefcase and jacket and the hat she'd bought him, and his keys by the door. He grabbed everything up and headed out; she and Edmond followed him out since she had to take Edmond out for a walk.

"I love you," she called out to him as he opened the door to his car.

Smiling at her, he threw up his left hand and formed it into the ASL sign for "I love you" before getting into the driver's seat. Watching as he left, Edmond at her side as he whined a little at Gil leaving, she petted him on his head as they watched him drive off down the street.

~"And it's time on our side."~

---

GIL

2006

~"I'm on the corner, waiting for a light to come on

That's when I know that you're alone–"~

The music Nick was listening to awoke him from his nap in the backseat of the truck as they headed out to Lincoln County to the McBride Residence. There was a quadruple murder. An entire family, gone. He was exhausted. It wasn't just the work but mentally, emotionally, he was drained. He felt depleted, like every drop of blood in his body was draining out of it.

What worried him was that he didn't know why. That was his only question. Why?

He knew that social interaction, that being constantly around people, was draining. And he often needed time alone to recharge and to rest. He wasn't a sociable person; he never has been. However, lately, he'd been spending more time with members of his team. Nick invited him out for a drink with him and Warrick a few mornings ago to celebrate being back on the same team together and even though Warrick gave him a knowing look, letting him know that he didn't have to go, he went anyway.

Then, he, Catherine, and Jim had dinner one night together. Catherine was still Day Shift Supervisor, and the reason Warrick was on graveyard shift again was due to Sofia deciding to transfer once again to the law enforcement side. She was a detective now, working under Brass.

When she handed in her transfer papers, he invited her out to dinner. He wanted to talk with her much like he had wanted to talk with Warrick when he left. He wanted to make sure she knew her purpose, where she stood in life, and making sure she was making the right decision. She was. And now, with her experience in forensics, she was a great detective.

He heard Warrick in the front seat suddenly as he said, "When this song ends, we're listening to something else."

"Alright, Rick," Nick said. "I have some Waylon Jennings–"

"We are not listening to Waylon Jennings. It's bad enough I gotta hear Kings of Leon. Look, you have a Bob Marley CD right there."

"C'mon, now, you know you like it when I play some ol' Waylon. I see it–"

"Shut up, man."

"You can't fool me. You may act all tough, looking like Lenny Kravitz–"

"Please put in some Lenny Kravitz, put in anything–"

"-but underneath–"

"You think I'm wanting to cry in my beer while listening to songs about heartbreak?" Warrick asked. "That's you, country boy. Who hurt you, Nicky? Whose ass am I gonna have to kick–"

Nick started laughing as he said, "Don't touch the radio! It's the rule. Whoever drives–"

"Picks the music. I know."

"Who started that rule anyway?" Nick asked.

"Who ya think? Grissom," Warrick answered.

His eyes opened upon hearing his name. Watching the night sky go by out the window, he listened to their friendly banter in the dark truck.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think it was because he really wanted to listen to the Mystery Science Theater on the way to a scene one night up in northern Nevada. They called him because there were bugs. Anyway, he had to come up with a rule for everyone. So, he said, whoever drives, picks the music, or in his case, Mystery Science Theater."

Nick kept laughing as he heard him say, "I bet that was a long, long ride through the desert."

Warrick huffed out a laugh, saying, "I listened to half an hour of it before falling asleep. Slept the whole way. Much like Mr. Sunshine is right now."

"Mr. Sun-Shine," Nick repeated with humor in his voice. "Gris has been a ball of light lately, hasn't he? Not quite like he used to be, but, uh, what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Chipper?" Warrick offered.

"Chipper! That's it."

"You noticed, huh?"

"I noticed the hat," Nick said. "He's lost some weight. He's not as angry. It's a girlfriend, isn't it? You know, I know you know something, Rick. I heard rumors. A woman at Ecklie's promotion celebration. Sofia let it slip over lunch one day. You met her?"

"Even if I did, I ain't sayin nothin'," Warrick said. "You know how Grissom is about personal matters."

"Huh-huh, I know. She's fine, though, right?"

"Oh, yeah, she fine. And smart."

"Never thought Grissom would be into women who weren't as intelligent as he was, Rick. Good for him." Then Nick asked Warrick, "You called Greg, right?"

"Yeah. He'll be up in the morning. We got this; let him enjoy his night off. Hey, it's just me, you, and Grissom, like old times. Well, minus Catherine."

"She deserves to stay on day shift. Is her relationship with Lindsey getting any better?" Nick asked.

"I think so. She seems happier, it could just be the normal hours, though." Both of them were quiet for a moment and he thought the conversation was over, but then he heard Warrick say, "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, you have that look."

Nick started laughing. "I'm just lookin', Rick."

"Out with it. Say it."

"Fine, since you're twisting my arm." Nick was silent for a moment and then asked, "You and Sofia?"

"Knew it," Warrick said, but he heard a smile in his voice.

Nick said, "Admit it, you're happier you're on nights again. Sofia's on nights–"

"Enough talk. We're here. New rule, no talking about relationships while we're at a crime scene."

He felt the truck make a couple of turns, a quick right and then left, before swirling police lights lit up the night sky outside the window.

"Hey," Nick said as he parked the truck and turned it off, "until I get someone special in my life, I'm living vicariously, alright. I want all the details."

"Fat chance, lover-boy. I don't kiss and tell. Hey, Grissom," Warrick said as he turned in the seat and tapped him on the leg. "We're here."

~"It's cold in the desert, water never sees the ground

Special unspoken without sound–"~

He got up and opened the door into the desert night air. Grabbing his jacket, he pulled it on as the temperature dropped. The inside of the house was pools of blood. All there was was blood. No bodies. Warrick took the perimeter while he and Nick went inside. The McBride's were all home one night and then the next day–They were gone.

"You're the lead on this, Nick," he told him as he slipped booties over his shoes before entering the house. There was so much blood.

Nick glanced back at him as he gave a nod. "Alright."

They went through the house one section at a time, one room at a time, as they tried to piece together what happened. Cassiy McBride, the ten-year-old daughter, was the only victim unaccounted for in the blood they found. A possible motive was the plants of marijuana that they found in the basement.

Then Nick found cough syrup in a shoe under the bed in Cassiy's bedroom. And gum. He believed she was alive. He believed that the girl was leaving them a trail.

Everything in his body was telling him that she was gone. The evidence, the blood, the killer would not have left her alive. Whoever did this, whoever slaughtered an entire family, had no remorse. The girl was gone. It broke his heart. But, it broke him more to see Nick's hope.

They were eating lunch on a bench at an outdoor park near the house, Warrick and Greg already took off to go run some evidence. He stayed behind to talk with Nick.

"I know you think she's alive."

Nick gave a nod as he said matter-of-factly, "And you don't. Grissom, I know I should only put my hope in the evidence, man, but…None of her blood was found at the house."

"Exactly. You found cough syrup under the bed. She was taken. All the bodies were taken. And whoever took them, got rid of them. This was done by a remorseless killer. Maybe he couldn't shoot her, or the gun jammed, or it ran out of bullets. Or worse case, he wanted the girl. Either way–"

"Either way, we don't know," Nick countered back. "And I don't think she was drugged. She's a smart little girl. She hid that cough medicine in her shoe; that's like…hiding green beans in your napkin, you know?"

~"You told me you loved me

That I'd never die alone–"~

He sighed and rubbed his head. It was starting to hurt. Nick had been changing over the last six months. They all were. Nick nearly dying had been like he nearly died. They all felt it. Anything could happen to any one of them at any given time; that was life. And they were all changing in their own ways.

The change he'd made in his life was the ring he felt against his chest under his shirt.

~"Hand over your heart, let's go home–"~

Sofia had made the decision to get back to what she truly loved and that was police work. Warrick, though he didn't say anything, he'd seen him get into Sofia's car after shift one morning. And Nick. He was trying to find out who he was. But one thing that didn't change for Nick was wearing his heart on his sleeve and his hope. He had told Nick once that they didn't need another him on the team. They didn't need another Grissom. If anything, they needed more people like Nick Stokes. It was one of the reasons why he promoted him.

"I can't give up," Nick told him as he looked over at him and shook his head. He was determined. Unwavering. Dedicated.

He just didn't want the discovery of Cassiy's body to destroy Nick. He didn't want Nick to lose something that he'd lost a long time ago. Hope in humanity.

"I'm not giving up, Nick. I just…I don't understand why you think we're going to find her alive–"

"I was rescued," he heard Nick's voice as it almost broke as he told him that.

He felt for Nick, he really did. And that was what was draining him. He couldn't stop feeling. And these emotions were killing him. A drop of blood from his heart, every day, until it was leaving him dead. Not numb like he used to be, but a painful death. Everything hurt. He didn't know how to mend it.

~"Everyone noticed, everyone has seen the signs

I've always been known to cross lines–"~

Luke Daniels had killed an entire family. He was only a teenager, but he used a gun and put all it's bullets into a husband and father, a wife and mother, and son. Cassiy's body hadn't been found yet, but Nick was searching for her on the lake. But he knew, looking into Luke's eyes as he sat down next to him in the police department, he knew that he'd been right.

Luke was remorseless. He had no guilt.

Resting his head on his hand as he leaned his arm against the back of the chair as he stared over at Luke, he told him, "You don't have to confess. We know what happened. The evidence told us. All I want to know is how? How can you kill a ten-year-old girl?" When Luke only glanced at him in anger before turning his eyes back to the wall, he said, "I talked to a killer once, he'd murdered dozens of people over the course of several years. What got him caught was an eyewitness he left alive. A nine-year-old boy. You know what he told me? He wasn't a child killer. He said that only someone truly evil could kill a kid. This from a professional killer. He believed that. I believe that. So, Luke, am I looking at someone who is truly evil?"

Luke glared at the wall. His eyes dark, his jaw tense with hate. He wasn't sorry.

"Yeah, keep that up. You're going to need it where you're going, and I don't just mean prison."

Luke huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "You don't know anything. You don't know where you are. Me, this place, "Sin City"." Turning to glare at him, he said, "Your God doesn't exist here."

He felt his jaw tense. "Maybe, maybe not, either way...That's why I'm here," he told him. "To do His work."

The police officer came to escort Luke Daniels away for booking. The teenager would be tried as an adult. His entire life, gone. Shaking his head, he got up and left the police station.

The text came through when he was walking toward his truck. It was from Nick. Cassiy McBride had been found alive. They were air lifting her to the hospital now. Closing his eyes, he let out a breath of relief.

As he got into his work truck, he called Sara. She was currently overseas at the moment, in Thailand, volunteering at one of their wildlife conservation groups. It was a fifteen-hour time difference. She answered on the first ring, "Morning, darlin'."

"Evening, babe. How's the case?"

"We found Cassiy alive." He had talked to her about the case, and Cassiy being missing, along with Nick's belief that the little girl was still alive.

"Thank God, I'm glad," and she was. He heard it in her voice. "How are you?"

He sat in the truck, staring at the night sky before him as Luke Daniels's words echoed in his head. "You don't know where you are. Me, this place, "Sin City". Your God doesn't exist here." How was he? "I'm…still here."

And so was Cassiy McBride. And so was Nick. They were all still here.

She talked to him for a while about her work, about how beautiful Thailand and the people were as he sat and listened to her voice. Then, he heard her tell him, "Happy New Year."

He looked at the clock and saw it was twelve oh-one, January 1st, 2006. What did John Lennon say, "Another year over, a new one just begun…War is over"? Looking out at the desert in front of him, he knew his war was never over. Breathing out, he told her, "Happy New Year."

---

~"I've never ever cried when I was feeling down

I've always been scared of the sound–"~

Three months later Brass walked into his office. Earlier that day they'd been out in the desert at a crime scene. A woman had been murdered; her body nearly buried in the desert sand. She was alone. Her head shaved, hand missing, and a branding on her shoulder like she was cattle. A number 19.

He was searching through one of his books and found what he was looking for: eye-socket lobotomies. He'd performed a lobotomy on Hayden Michaels. Though, not through the eye-socket. Captain Jack had endured a brutal procedure.

"The, uh…" Looking up at Brass, he saw his hesitation before he continued, "The Jane Doe is Zoe Kessler. Her mother saw her picture on the news and identified her as her daughter–"

Zoe Kessler? He stared at Brass as that name filled his head.

"I did a DMV check, and I have the victim's last known address."

He sat the book down as he leaned back in the chair as he looked at Brass. "Zoe…Her mother, was it Heather Kessler?"

"Yeah."

He felt a breath leave his chest as he stood. Grabbing his jacket, he said, "I'm coming with you."

A couple of hours later, he waited outside the autopsy room as Heather talked to Doc Robbins as she identified her daughter's body. Sally was there with him in the hallway. She sat in the chair, tears in her eyes, as she told him, "I'm not sure when Heather last saw her. I haven't seen her since the wedding."

He gave a nod as he felt his heart ache and throat tighten as the door opened and Heather walked out. Upon seeing him standing there, she stopped as her eyes widened but then appreciation filled them as she smiled. "I'm glad you're on the case. You need to ask me some questions."

He never said "I'm sorry for your loss" while on a case. It wasn't what they said. It wasn't what he said. He didn't offer condolences to family members of the victims. It was about the evidence, getting to the truth, so he could provide closure. He never had to work a case before involving a friend or a family member.

But now that he was, and as he looked at her, the only thing he could think to say was, "I'm so sorry for your loss," because he was.

His heart broke for her, for Sally, and for Zoe's life being gone too soon. And in the manner in which it was taken. She'd been abused. Her wrist rubbed raw, one missing, head shaved, and branded. Given a number. His mind brought up a lot of evil things. One of them were Nazi's. Heather was Jewish and of German descent.

The pain he felt as he sat down beside her and Sally was enormous. Getting his mind back on track, he said, "I'd like to know some things about your daughter." He couldn't say Zoe's name, he had to keep a distance. He had to try to shut this out. His wall was broken, there were gaps and holes, and he couldn't close them all up. He tried, but couldn't stop the ache as he asked, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"The wedding. She was supposed to go back to Harvard in the Fall, but she didn't. They told me she withdrew from her courses. I didn't even know she was in town."

"So, you weren't in contact with her at all after the wedding?"

"No," she angrily said.

That wasn't like Heather. She hardly gave away her emotions. She always kept everything close, like him. She was usually hard to read, but right then, he could read her very well. She wasn't just in pain, and angry, but hiding something from him.

"Can you tell me why?"

"What difference does it make now?"

"Grissom," Sally said from beside Heather, "maybe we can do this later?"

"No," he and Heather both said in unison. They looked at one another and he saw her close her eyes as she tried to gather herself. Looking over at him, she said, "I need you to find out who–"

"I'm doing my best," he told her as he continued with his questioning. "Did she have any medical conditions?"

She shook her head, saying, "Not that I know of."

Opening the file in his hand, he read it over to ensure that he remembered correctly; he did. Looking at the information he had, he told her, "Because in November, she participated in a medical study at the Betz Clinic. Right after that, she went missing."

Heather was quiet for a moment, taking that in as she shook her head. "Where was she found?"

He hesitated a moment but saw no reason not to tell her where they had found her daughter; dead and half buried in the sand. "In the desert."

The tears finally slipped from Heather's eyes. "Just out in the middle of nowhere?" she asked, her voice broken.

He swallowed the tightness in his throat down as he gave a nod. "Off highway 55, near Sparks."

They left him sitting alone on the bench a few minutes later, he didn't get anything else from them, but he didn't need anything else. As he watched Sally and Heather walk away, arm-in-arm, he rubbed his eyes as he fought back the emotion that filled his eyes.

Breathing out, fought against the urge to find out who Zoe's killer was so that he could kill him himself. He actually wore his gun for the rest of the investigation, just in case he was given the chance to pull it so he could shoot him.

He never wanted something so badly. It burned inside him for the rest of the investigation.

~"Jesus don't love me, no one ever carried my load

I'm too young to feel this old–"~

They found Zoe's killer. Tracked down his house in the desert. Wolfowitz, aka, Leon Sneller.

As he snapped photos of the chamber in the basement of the house, he couldn't help but to visualize the last days of Zoe Kessler's life. There was a metal pipe running across the lower half of the wall with several handcuffs hanging in intervals along the pipe. Some of the handcuffs are open; some were closed.

He snapped photos of it all, visualizing Zoe kneeling on the ground, her right wrist handcuffed to the pipe. Dropping the camera to his chest, he saw her in his mind's eye; she was handcuffed to the pipe, and then turning, Zoe looked out the open door to see Jack Landers on the table face-up. Leon Sneller stood over him as Landers screamed.

How many times had he been the one standing over someone restrained to a table and made them scream? He did it so he could see it now. The murderer so he could stop them. But now, he was seeing the victims.

Seeing Zoe look at her bound wrist and out of fear and desperation, start gnawing at her own wrist.

Looking around the small chamber, he found the branding iron with interchangeable number plates next to a metal pit with charcoal and burnt wood chips inside. One of the iron rods still had burned flesh stuck to the end of the rod. This was beyond anything he'd ever seen. And he'd seen a lot of horror in his life.

He didn't know if it was due to the fact that Sneller identified with Nazis, if it was the fact that Zoe, his friend's daughter, had been a victim, but either way what he saw told him one thing: Leon Sneller was pure evil. He didn't deserve to live.

He climbed back up the stairs and out of the basement to the main part of the house. Officer Metcalf was still in the living room, waiting. After he closed the trap door for the chamber, he spotted a familiar necklace under the couch. Shining his flashlight on it as he walked to it, he knelt down and picked up Heather's black and silver Gothic cross necklace.

She'd been in the house? Sneller was gone. The necklace on the floor...There had been a struggle.

Metcalf was looking the other way, looking out into the other room. As he pocketed the necklace, he asked him, "Have you guys secured the entire perimeter? The house and the barn?

"Yes, sir," Metcalf said as he looked back over at him. "All clear."

They weren't here, so where…?

She would have taken him to where Zoe had been found. Where no one could hear him scream. In the middle of the desert. Leaving the house, he got into his truck as he picked up his police radio. "Dispatch, Charlie-01, 463 complete," he radioed in.

Then, he put it into drive and headed down the highway toward Sparks to where they had found Zoe's body. A part of him hoped he was wrong, but another part hoped they were there. Picking up speed, he sped along the dark road, not a single other headlight in sight for miles. With the desert roads being so flat and void of life, it was easy to see in the distance for miles. It was easy to see and feel how alone you were in the desert. Not a single person, car, or house or a spark of life around for miles.

Passing the sign that read "SPARKS 2", he spotted the taillights and headlights of a vehicle off the side of the highway. In the lights, he saw her. Heather stood in front of her SUV, the lights from her vehicle shining on her as she moved her arm in wide arcs as she swung her whip.

Damn it, he thought as he pulled off the road, into the dirt and sand, and pulled up a good distance away from them. In the spot where her daughter's body had been found, Heather unleashed her rage and grief on Leon Sneller who was bound to the front of her car as she whipped him. Sneller's face and chest were cut and bloodied, and with every crack of the whip, he cried out in pain.

Getting out of his work truck, he watched as Heather didn't let up her whipping even though she knew he was there. "Heather! Stop it!"

"No," she said as she pulled her whip back. "Let me finish."

She was angry, and hurt, and devastated. Her pain was unimaginable. He couldn't imagine it. He had no children. But he knew if Sara was ever taken from him, especially in that manner, he'd be doing the same thing to her killer. So, why couldn't he let her go through with it? Why was he even trying to stop here?

He caught the end of her whip and grabbed it tightly, pulling it towards him. She spun around and yanked it back, trying to get the whip out of his grasp.

"You cannot do this," he told her as he saw the pain on her face. The grief. She was so broken.

Begging him, she said, "No! Let go! Let–"

"No," he shouted back. She was breaking. Tears started falling from her eyes.

He wanted her to stop. He was her submissive; he could get her to stop.

"Please…" she begged again, yanking the whip between them as she struggled to get it free.

It was the only way to get through to her. He had to take control. "Stop. Heather. I'm saying stop."

She stopped. Her eyes on his, as she took in a deep breath before breaking completely. Pulling the whip closer, he pulled her towards him until she collapsed against him as she started to cry. Letting out a breath, he hugged her as he stared over at Leon Sneller.

He didn't stop her in order to keep Sneller alive. He stopped her from being the one that killed him. Heather was like him in a lot of ways, but in one way she wasn't, he knew that she wasn't a killer. Even if she'd gone through with it, the knowledge of the act would have destroyed her. Killing someone in cold blood would have ruined her and her life.

He couldn't let her ruin herself for someone like Leon Sneller. She didn't need that in her life; that kind of darkness was something someone didn't come back from. It changed a person.

Walking her back to his truck, he opened the passenger door and helped her inside. Shutting the door, he glanced back at Sneller before walking to the back of his truck and opened the hatch door. He removed his jacket and pulled on a pair of crime scene overalls over his clothes and then pulled on a pair of latex gloves and booties, even though footprints didn't matter with this wind. Grabbing his scalpel and sheet of plastic that they put down on floors to collect evidence, he walked around his truck and headed for Sneller.

Putting the plastic down on the sand, he moved it under Sneller's feet. It was about six feet wide by ten feet long, big enough to collect evidence. Or a body.

He used the scalpel to cut the bounds on his left hand, moved behind Sneller to cut the bound on his right wrist as he wrapped his left arm around Sneller's body, holding him in place against him. Once he had the bounds cut, and he felt Sneller nearly drop forward, he held him tightly against his chest as he grabbed his head up using his left hand as his right hand swung around and placed the scalpel against his neck.

~"Is it you, is it me–"~

His eyes found Heather's. Her eyes went wide in shock and surprise as he felt the growing need fill his chest and head. His mind had always been a cold desert. Devoid of life and full of death. He'd always been alone in the desert. And for years he'd been content in his solitude.

~"Or does nobody know–"~

Now, he wasn't alone. There was life in the desert. Life in his life. A ring around his neck. He didn't know what Sara would tell him. If she would tell him to stop or not. But right then, he saw Heather's eyes. Her pain and suffering, and knowing she wasn't the one control, he made his choice. Heather was his friend and Leon Sneller was the reason her daughter was dead.

~"Nobody see–"~

He had to kill evil. And the Nazi Leon Sneller was pure evil. His right hand stabbed the scalpel into Sneller's neck and then yanked across his throat as hard and fast as he could.

~"Nobody but me."~

Arterial spray flew out from his neck over the plastic before spilling down the front of Sneller's body. He let go and watched as Sneller dropped to the plastic, dead. Staring down at him, he closed his eyes as he felt the spark of life fill his chest before it faded into anger.

His grief didn't come out in tears of pain. He never cried. It came out in rage.

And in his rage he severed Sneller's head from his body and dismembered him. If there was one thing he learned from Dr. Lurie, it was how to dismember a body by severing the ligaments. He didn't dismember Sneller completely, just his limbs to make him easier to move. Then he wrapped up the pieces in plastic and threw the body parts into trash bags. He put the bags in the back of his truck and then walked to Heather's vehicle and turned off the engine. He removed the bounds from the front of her SUV and threw them into a trash bag.

As he got into the driver's seat, she didn't say anything. She was probably in shock.

He drove his truck further out into the desert, until he could no longer see the road or her SUV and stopped. Getting out, he opened the hatch door and grabbed a shovel.

The hole he dug didn't have to be deep, just deep enough. He wasn't planning on burying the body. Once he got a big enough and deep enough hole, he dumped in the bags of body parts, the bounds, and his gloves and the coveralls. Then he siphoned out a gallon of gas from his truck's gas tank and poured it over everything in the hole.

Striking a match, he dropped it and watched as a fire roared to life as everything started to burn.

As he stood there, watching it, he felt her come up beside him. He owed her an explanation. He didn't know what to say to her. How did he explain this? She watched him murder a man.

"Heather–" he went to say as he kept his eyes on the fire. He felt her hand slip in his and give it a squeeze. Turning his head, he looked down at her next to him.

She was shaking but not from fear, but of grief and anger as she looked at the fire roaring in the pit. Burning flesh was a horrible smell, and he didn't want her to have to have that smell burned into her memory. Stepping away, he walked her back to the truck and once she was in, he walked over to grab his shovel.

He'd come back later to bury it, but right then, he had to get Heather home. Sally would be waiting. Tossing the shovel into the back of his truck, he spotted his jacket and grabbed it to pull it on. As he patted the pockets, he felt something in the left pocket. Pulling out the Gothic cross necklace, he walked around to the driver's side and got in. Handing it over to her, he told her, "I found this."

She took it without a word and held it in her hand as he started driving. The meaning behind the Gothic cross necklace was extremely different than the ones worn by people of the Christain faith. Heather was Jewish, and the Gothic cross in his hand was from the Germanic culture and its meaning ranged depending on the style or what the wearer believed the meaning to be. He never asked her what the meaning was behind the necklace was to her. It could have simply represented all that was dark and mysterious, or it could have a deeper meaning. He was reminded once again with how similar they were, and he couldn't help but think of what he'd first thought when they'd met. How she was reflective of his own innerself, his heart. The darkness that was inside of him.

"Are you able to drive?" he asked as they approached her SUV. She gave a nod. "Then follow me. I'm going to stop by a car wash first." He didn't want her to be surprised by the stop enroute to her house.

She got out and stopped from closing the door. Looking over at him, he saw the gratitude in her eyes as she told him, "Thank you."

He watched as she walked over to her SUV and got in and started the engine. She followed him the entire way into the city, to a car wash where he paid cash to have both their vehicles cleaned, and then drove to her house. Picking up his radio, he said, "Charlie-01, code 494." He'd be out of his vehicle.

Walking inside, he was greeted to the smell of coffee and food, as he spotted Sally coming in from the kitchen. As Heather and Sally embraced, he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. Heather's eyes were on him and he didn't know if she was still in some sort of haze, or if she was coming out of one. He didn't know if she'd suddenly lash out at him, or she would decide to call the police. Then, he realized he had nothing to worry about. They were friends. She knew him.

She knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.

And when Catherine and Jim showed up unexpectedly to talk to her about Leon Sneller's disappearance, she didn't say anything. She'd been there all night with Sally, going over funeral arrangements for Zoe.

He had listened from the other room before walking out into the sitting room.

Catherine and Jim both stared at him as he appeared from around the corner, sipping on another cup of coffee. His truck was out front, so he didn't know why they appeared so surprised by his presence.

"Grissom, what are you doing here?" Catherine asked.

Nodding to Heather, he told her, "My friends are in mourning. I wanted to be here." Heather looked at him and smiled. "I also promised her that I would keep her up to date in the investigation, as much as I could." He took another sip of the coffee as Catherine and Jim glanced at one another.

"Can we, uh…talk outside," Catherine said to him as Jim already left the house.

He sat the cup down and then followed her out. Jim was over by his truck, using a flashlight to look over the front of his vehicle. Staring at Jim, he asked, "What're you doing?"

Jim lowered the flashlight as he told him, "Just checking."

He watched as the detective walked over to his car where he leaned on it as he turned back to look at Catherine. "What's going on?"

"Sneller's disappeared," she was saying.

"I got that. And you think…he's here?" he asked in confusion.

Catherine sighed and nearly rolled her eyes at him. "He's responsible for the death of Heather's daughter, and now he's missing, Gil. She's a viable suspect."

"You're assuming there was foul play. I was at the house, Catherine, I didn't see evidence of foul play." He stared at her and asked, "Unless I'm missing something? It's possible he left on his own."

"It's possible," she said.

He gave a nod as he looked from her to Jim and back. "So, unless you have reason to suspect anything else, you can let her grieve for the death of her daughter in peace. She doesn't need this right now."

They both stared at him in near shock. He didn't know why. Heather was his friend, and if it were one of them, he'd do the same. He would protect them, even though Jim kept looking at him with a suspicion in his eyes for the rest of the week and the next month.

Jim appeared to be a little antsy around him from that day forward. He didn't seem to trust him anymore, and he didn't know what to do about that. Or if there was anything he should do about it. Jim was right to suspect him. He was a killer, and he had killed Leon Sneller.

It all went sideways again when Jim was shot.

He had a choice to make, and he made it without hesitation. Jim was his friend, and despite his suspicion, he saved his life. His only question was if the roles had been reversed, if Jim would have put his suspicion away in order to save his life. He had no idea. It didn't matter.

Jim was still breathing. He was still breathing, and so were all the members of his team. So was Heather. And so was Sara. They were all still there.

Question: But, for how long?

TBC…

Disclaimer Songs used/mentioned: "Safety Rope" by Mick Flannery. "And I Love Her" by The Beatles. "Cold Desert" by Kings of Leon. "Happy Xmas (War is Over)" by John Lennon.