A/N: I really want to thank everyone for your reviews, follows, and just everything, including your patience. I truly appreciate the support.

Ch. 8

It'd been hours since they all split up. Catherine had gone to Gil's house while Warrick had been going over financial records. Her and Nick had gone over all of Julia Holden's personal effects, and now, she was trying not to pace but failing miserably. Nick was across the hallway, going over trace evidence with Hodges that they had found in Julia Holden's purse. The pictures she'd taken were still in the A/V lab and once Julia's car got towed in then she and Nick were going to go over it. A while ago, Warrick was called out to Gil's house to assist Catherine. Brass had obtained a search warrant.

Catherine hadn't kicked her off the case, yet, but she was only to help process and wasn't to handle any of the chain of custody on the evidence. Nick was the primary. Catherine had given her the option to go home and get some sleep, but as long as they had something to process then she wanted to be there to help. They had police searching for Julia and a news broadcast asking the public for any leads.

So far there was no sign of Julia Holden anywhere. Her cell phone had been in the house so they couldn't track the phone and so far there's been no bank transactions or activity since yesterday. The only interesting thing Archie had on Julia Holden's home phone was a call around 12:09 that morning to Gil's cell phone. The call lasted a little more than a minute, enough time to leave a voicemail.

Hodges grabbed a sheet from the printer and handed it to Nick. Nick's eyes widened. Looking up at her through the glass, he smiled slightly before walking her way. He held up the sheet and said, "That substance we found in Julia's purse? Positive for cocaine."

Snatching the sheet from his hands, she read it over as they started down the hallway towards the garage. Julia's car should be arriving any minute. "She has a drug habit, which could explain her behavior. The outbursts of anger—"

"It could have been why she left her child alone at times. You know, this could be a drug deal gone wrong."

"The only lead we have so far that isn't pointing to Grissom."

"As long as Warrick and Cath don't find evidence of cocaine in Grissom's house or car."

She handed the sheet back to him and said, "Where's your faith in your fellow co-worker?"

Taking it from her and slipping it into the file he had in his hands, he told her, "I'm just saying, you never know with people. Isn't that Grissom's own motto? Everyone lies and you never know anyone. We all have secrets."

"In the past five years since you've worked with him, have you ever thought that Grissom was on drugs?" she asked as they stopped at the doors to the garage.

Nick shrugged and said, "The man barely sleeps—"

"I barely sleep," she countered as she felt suddenly defensive.

"Do I think he's not all here sometimes? Yes."

"Being socially awkward and zoning out isn't a symptom of drug abuse."

"It's a symptom of something," he said as he pushed open the door. They saw the tow truck driver waiting for them with a clipboard.

Smiling, Nick went over to her and signed his name and chatted her up a bit before the car was released into their custody. Then once they had the doors shut and lights on, she suited up into a pair of coveralls as they got to work fuming and processing the car for any evidence missed during the initial search of the car.

Before he left to conduct a search of Julia's office at the university, Detective Rodriguzes was true to his word and by the time he was outside his house, letting the police conduct their search, the press was halfway down the block. They weren't gone, but they weren't right in his face either. It didn't matter; Charlotte was no longer there. There wasn't any concern he had at what the police and Catherine and Warrick might find because he knew he didn't have anything to hide.

Leaning against Brass's car in the street, he saw Catherine walking his way, field kit in hand as Warrick prepared to search his car that was in the driveway. As she got closer, she asked, "Anything you want to declare before we start pulling skeletons out of closets?"

''I've got nothing to hide."

"You had plenty to hide, and you did. Your family, dating Sara—"

He let out a breath and shook his head, saying, "Hypothetical question: If you were dating a guy who you knew had personal boundaries and that talking about his personal life was a violation of his boundaries, a violation of trust, would you do it? Or would you know that he would consider it disrespectful and keep quiet?"

"I would question why the guy had such strict boundaries."

"And you questioned him, he told you why, and you understood. You love him. Now, would you still violate his trust by talking about things he wouldn't want you to talk about, even to friends or co-workers?" Catherine was growing annoyed with him and didn't say anything so, he went on, saying, "I don't bring my work life home, Catherine, just as I don't take my home life to work. They stay separated. I liked them separated. That's who I am and have always been. I don't know why you're so—"

"Upset that you didn't mention anything about the fact that you have a family?"

"Hey, hey," Brass said as approached Catherine. "Knock it off you two. I really don't know what the big deal is. No one knew about Ellie until two years ago, and she's a teenager."

Catherine regarded Brass as she said, "The difference is she didn't even live in the same state—"

"She's still my daughter," Brass said in defense. "Grissom's always been a private guy," he said as he took out a pack of gum from his pocket and offered him a stick. "Since you're not having a smoke, I thought you might like a stick of gum."

Catherine turned back to him and said, "And since when do you smoke?!"

Waving the gum away, he answered her, "Not always; only at times when I'm drinking…It's not often." Only when he felt like he was losing control and spiraling down into the pit of hell, like he did now.

"Gil, you're not helping yourself here—"

"I don't know what you want me to say, Catherine. I already told you that I'm deficient in a lot of ways, and that I don't compromise the work we do with personal stuff, because I don't bring personal stuff to work. How many police detectives and probation officers do we know who take their wedding rings off when they go out on assignment? How many don't keep pictures of their kids on their desks because they don't want rapists and killers to look at them—"

"They do that to protect their families—"

"And I'm protecting my daughter," he said as he pushed off the car and took a step towards her as he thought about his daughter and the world she lived in. "You're part of the hearing world, Catherine, my daughter isn't. It's called the "deaf community" because that's what it is. A community separated from the rest of the population. There is real fear, and distrust, and an "us versus them" mentality. The hearing world is still a very scary place for Charlotte to be in and to navigate. I've been trying to teach her how to be a part of that world through baseball and doing things outside of the community, but it's still hard for her. I won't push her, or make her uncomfortable. She's eight years old—"

Catherine held up her hands and took a breath, saying, "You're right. You should be able to protect her how you see fit. But to not at least let us, or me, know—"

"If I had mentioned to you that I had a daughter, you would want to know who her mother was, why weren't we together…The questions wouldn't stop. I didn't want to talk about my personal life with you, Catherine. I still don't. The only people who I need to discuss my personal life with are the people in it. Just like no one needed to know about my relationship with Sara, except for me and Sara."

"And the woman you cheated on her with," she shot back at him and he felt his jaw tense.

Brass, at that moment, held up his hands and went to walk away. "You're on your own pal," he told him. "Better throw in the white towel while you still can."

Trying to relax the tension he felt, he let out a deep breath and told her, "You can be angry all you want, but I don't answer to you." He was really done talking with her. "Why are you taking this so personally? I'm not in a relationship with you—"

"I can be angry with you for Sara. At least she's willing to tell me the truth—"

"Keeping my private life private isn't a lie. I have a right to privacy, or have you forgotten that?" She let out a deep breath and looked ready to start sparring with him again before he said, "Go be angry with me for Sara over there," he said as he pointed towards his townhouse, "while you're clearing me as a suspect."

Catherine shook her head at him, giving him that death glare of hers that usually worked to make him scared of her but now only made him annoyed, as she said, "My job isn't to clear you as a suspect, Gil, it's to find out what happened to your wife."

He leaned back against the car, letting out a breath as he tried to ease the anger out of his body. "I know. And thank you."

Catherine also seemed to deflate, if only briefly, as she told him, "We're going to do our best," before she headed towards his townhouse.

Brass leaned against the car next to him. Once Catherine was inside, and Warrick was looking over the outside of his car, he asked, "Can I see your cell phone?" Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he handed it over to Brass who flipped it open. He went through his contacts and caller ID before saying, "What did Julia want last night?"

He stared over at Brass as he shook his head in confusion. "I already told you."

"I'm referring to this 12:09 phone call. Did she leave a voicemail?"

He had no idea. "She called me last night?" He had no reason to check his phone because he had no missed calls nor any new voicemails waiting for him to check. "Any other calls?"

Strolling through his calls, Brass told him, "Four in a row from an unknown number. A little before 2 in the morning."

There were phone calls on his phone that he had no memory of occurring. He had been drinking last night, but he'd never not remembered anything. He vividly remembered going to sleep in Heather's bed. He vaguely remembered driving home from…somewhere; it had to have been her house, or at least he thought it had been. It'd been hazy, but cleared as he got closer to home, as if his mind was waking up.

"Gil," Brass said as he pulled out an evidence bag from his pocket and dropped the phone inside. "I have no idea what's going on, but I do know one thing: you're not this absentminded. So, either you really have no idea that Julia called you last night, or…I would hate to think that you're lying to me." He wasn't lying to Brass. He also wasn't absentminded. "Which is it?"

Working his jaw, he felt his head start hurting again. "I wouldn't lie to you." That was all he could say at the moment. He knew that his best defense was to stop talking. He was still waiting on his lawyer.

Brass put the evidence bag with the phone in his suit jacket pocket and asked, "How about you tell me how you got that bruise on your face? Catherine or Warrick, one of them, is going to take pictures. The search warrant isn't just for the house and your car, but for your person. That includes your clothes, your body—"

He pushed off the car and paced as he rubbed at his head while he tried to breathe. It wasn't working. His chest was hurting and his head was pounding.

"Did she smack you?" Brass waited a second and then asked, "Did you smack her?"

"Julia didn't do this." He lifted his head as he tore his eyes off the pavement as he told him, "Heather did. We, uh…It got rough, and we both…enjoyed it."

Brass was watching him and gave a nod as he pushed off the car as he said with a slight chuckle, "O-kay. I will have to verify—"

"I told you that I would never lie to you. The evidence will speak for itself."

As Brass went to walk away, probably going to help canvas the neighborhood and get statements from his neighbors, he said, "Let's hope the evidence starts pointing towards someone else. So far, your is the only one it's naming."

A twisting feeling filled his gut as he watched Brass head toward his neighbor's house. In his driveway he saw Warrick sitting in his driver's seat going through his car. That was when he remembered what he had kept in the middle console. His mind started thinking about all the ways it could hurt him and he realized quickly how it could look. How something so innocent, and joyous, could be twisted and turned into a motive.

Grissom was Grissom, and for Warrick, that was enough. The man was who he was, and he respected him for a lot of different reasons. One of those reasons was that he was able to keep a private life separated from the job. It was hard to do, and he understood the need for it, especially with their job. They saw the worst of society, and they encountered the worst of society, every day. It was hard to trust people, trust relationships, when people killed each other over the pettiest things. He also knew that if he were ever suspected of a crime, Grissom would have his back no questions asked. So, he wasn't going to ask Grissom questions. He was going to have his back. It was that simple.

As he was searching over Grissom's car, he was glad he was coming up empty. There had been nothing visible on the outside and as he opened the front door and took a glance around, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Spraying luminol in the front seats, he was rewarded with nothing. No blood and no evidence of any kind. Not even trash or—

"Nothing," he said as he looked over the car again. "It's too clean."

Sitting down in the front seat, he glanced in the rearview mirror at Grissom who was leaning against Brass's car watching him. He'd been so happy to not find nothing that he hadn't realized that the lack of evidence itself was evidence. The car was too clean. There were no trace amounts of anything on the floorboards from normal usage. Grissom had a kid and there was nothing in the back except for the booster seat.

Opening the middle console, he saw a small box and sighed heavily as he took a picture and then picked it up and opened it. Inside was an engagement ring. "Damn."

He took a picture of the ring, bagged it, and thought about his Devil's Advocate theory that he'd tossed around earlier that day. Grissom was in love with another woman, wanted to marry her, and when Julia refused to grant him a divorce…It was a theory. That was all it was. And until proven, that would be all it remained.

Feeling under the seats and checking the space between the door and driver's seat, he spotted a cell phone. A cheap disposable flip phone. He flipped it open and checked the caller ID and saw four repeated calls going out to the same phone number. The phone number was Grissom's cell phone. Checking the contacts, he saw several numbers programmed into the phone, all women's names. He would have to get it back to the lab to fume it for prints.

He bagged the cell phone and got out of the car. Going over to the SUV, he put both the small box with the ring and disposable cell phone into the evidence storage box. Glancing over at Grissom as he walked back over to his car, he saw how worried he looked as he stared at the ground. Then he opened the trunk and lifted the lid. Same story. He could even see the vacuum marks in the carpet. Leaning over to get a closer inspection, he smelt cleanser. He opened his field kit and pulled out the luminol and sprayed it around and got no results. At least there was no mixture of blood in with the cleanser.

Walking over to Grissom, he waited for him to straighten up against the car before asking, "When was the last time you cleaned the inside of your car?"

Grissom gave it some thought before shrugging, "I don't know. Probably a few months ago."

"Do you let your daughter eat in the car?"

He shook his head. "Not really, no. Warrick, why are you asking about the cleanliness of my car?"

He glanced around, making sure no one was listening, before telling him, "It's been cleaned recently. Floorboards and trunk vacuumed. There's not a speck of dirt anywhere. I can still smell the cleanser."

Grissom was staring at his car with a very confused look in his eyes. He was also rubbing at his bearded jaw, where the bruise was on his face. He trusted him, and had his back, but the man had a lot of explaining to do about his appearance.

"Your lawyer's on the way?"

"Yeah," Grissom said and he could hear how distant he sounded. He was off in his head somewhere, thinking.

"Griss, you know I believe you, but none of this is looking good. Do you think, maybe, someone's setting you up? That you're being gaslighted?"

"For what?"

When he turned his pained and worried eyes to him, he had to clear his throat to tell him, "Murdering your wife."

Shaking his head, Grissom said, "We don't know that she's dead—"

"But we don't know if she's alive either."

"Schrödinger's cat," he said as he drifted off again.

Maybe that'd be the spark that got Grissom to the answer of this mystery. They were going to need all the help they could get and even though Grissom couldn't work the case seeing how he was a suspect, that wasn't going to stop his mind from trying to solve it.

He spotted a car pulling up beyond the police line and a man in a suit got out and started for the crime scene tape. "Your lawyer's here."

Grissom looked over his shoulder and pushed off the car as he headed toward the police officer who was stopping the lawyer from crossing over the yellow tape.

Five hours of nada. Nothing. How could they have nothing? Walking into the A/V lab, Nick found Archie nearly passed out in his chair from visual overload. "Wake up," he said as he shook the back of the chair.

Archie jerked upright, yelling, "I'm up! I'm up!"

Trying not to laugh too hard, he said, "I bet you've stayed awake longer watching porn. If Catherine catches you sleeping on the job, you'll be playing backup behind Hodges."

Archie rubbed his eyes as he said with a yawn, "How'd you know my porn watching habits?"

Crossing his arms, he told him, "Your girl told me," as he peered at the monitors that showed time stamped files scattered over the multiple computer screens.

"Ha, that's funny seeing how I don't have a girlfriend." The moment Archie said it he realized his mistake.

He saw him rolling his eyes as he said, "See, Archie, if ya had one, you wouldn't be watching porn, now would you?"

Archie glanced around, asking "Where's Sara?"

"I finally got her to agree to take a much needed nap," he said as he uncrossed his arms and leaned on the counter, pointing to the monitors. "Now, what'cha you got for me, Hoss?"

Archie sighed and shook his head. "Besides a bad back, muscle stiffness, and dry eyes? Take a look at this." He grabbed the mouse and pulled up an image taken from a neighbor's security camera that was down the street from Julia Holden's house. It had been handed over to the police by the neighbor a few hours ago once they were able to check their footage. Given the time of arrival of Grissom's car last night at Julia's house, Archie was able to go through the police CCTV camera footage on the street to pick up the route he'd taken to the house and where he went after. "Grissom left Julia Holden's house for the first time at 9:25 last night." As Archie spoke, he watched as the garage door opened and saw Grissom's car pulled out of the garage and turned right, driving away from the security camera, to head down the street. "Cameras verify he stopped at the Stop N' Go convenience store at 9:32. Left at 9:57, after he called his side chick—"

"Cut it out. They weren't together, and Julia has a boyfriend."

"Had a boyfriend," Archie said as he showed another clip from the neighbors' security footage.

He watched as a Porsche pulled up into the driveway and Dr. Vincent Lurie got out and went to the front door. The neighbor's camera had a great view of the house. He could see the front door and driveway pretty clearly. The doctor arrived at Julia's house at 11:34 exactly. He didn't stay long. Thirty-five minutes later and Dr. Lurie was rushing out the door with Julia clearly visible in the doorway as he left. He wasn't slowing down as he got into his car and peeled out of the driveway.

"Did that peel out leave tire marks?" he asked.

"Yep," Archie said as he handed him the photos Sara had taken of the perimeter of the house including the driveway and street. "That looked like a breakup."

"He said that's what the fight was about. Where'd he go?"

"Lost him en-route somewhere southeast of Julia's house, back near the direction of the hospital. He never came back to the house."

He realized what Archie had said earlier and felt his chest tighten. "But Grissom did. You said, "the first time"."

Archie didn't say anything as he pulled up another time stamped recording from the neighbor's security camera. At 2:15 A.M., Grissom's car pulled up in front of the driveway as the garage door opened. It reversed up the driveway and parked inside. The garage door closed. As the seconds ticked by to minutes, he started to get nervous. A gnawing ache filled his gut as less than ten minutes later, at 2:23 A.M., the garage door opened and the car left the garage, turned right, and headed away from the security camera and out of sight.

"I followed the car until I couldn't. It got on the beltway, heading north."

He sighed as he shook his head. All roads were leading back to one suspect: Grissom.

Leaving the A/V room, he spotted Warrick in a print lab and he was using a fume hood on a cell phone. He walked into the room and smiled, "You're back. Where's Cath?"

"She's at the PD with Grissom. It's not looking good, man. What'd ya got?"

Shaking his head, he told him, "The strikes against Grissom just keep coming."

"Hopefully this isn't strike three," Warrick said as he watched as a single print, a thumbprint, was revealed on the back of the cell phone. "That seem right to you?"

"A single print, on a cell phone? That's all kinds of wrong. Not even a smug over the numbers."

"Someone wiped it clean then planted a thumbprint. Any guesses on who it'd match?"

They looked at each other and said in unison, "Grissom."

Several minutes later, after Warrick photographed the phone and lifted the print, he ran it through AFIS and got a perfect match to Grissom's thumbprint. He picked up the printout from the printer and handed it over to him, saying, "Get this, Grissom's car had been cleaned, detailed, to remove all evidence except for the engagement ring box in the middle console."

He felt his heart drop as he said, "Ah, man, he was looking to propose? To who? That woman he was with last night?"

Warrick shook his head, "Nah, man, he wasn't dating her." He looked around the lab room, making sure they were alone and no one was eavesdropping before telling him, "Sara."

"Sa—" He caught himself before he could blurt it out loud for the whole lab to hear. "Sara?" he whispered as he felt surprise and then happiness filled his gut. He was happy for them. He knew they were into each other, with all the gifts that man had been giving her over the years, but…He realized the facts of the case and the wife and the woman from the night before, and all the happiness was gone. "He did have a side chick. Two in fact."

"Nick, we can't assume their relationship—"

"We're not assuming anything. It's all laid out in front of us. Grissom's been stepping out on her—"

"They could have an agreement, or she knows about his indiscretions. We're not here to judge. Their relationship is their own—"

"Normally, I'd agree with you, Rick, but this is Sara—"

"As much as I appreciate the support, Nick, I don't need it."

Turning towards the door, he saw Sara standing there with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked tired, but mostly ready to knock them both out. He knew she could do it too; he'd seen her in the gym, kickboxing the hell out of a boxing bag.

She dropped her arms and walked over to him and grabbed the printout from his hand. "Grissom's print found on another piece of evidence. What was it?"

Warrick took the printout from her and said, "Sara—"

"Look, Catherine hasn't kicked me off the case—"

"It's not about that," Warrick said as he slipped the sheet into the evidence file and handed it over to him. "How're you doing?"

Sara always got closed off and defensive, even if all anyone was doing was asking her how she was. This was no different. "I'm fine."

"Huh-huh," Warrick said as he looked her over. "Zero sleep—"

"I've slept," she said but he knew it'd only been half an hour since he got her to agree to lay down on the couch in the breakroom. He sighed and she shot him a glare. "Neither of you have slept and this isn't a conversation we're having."

Clearing his throat, he told her, "We're only concerned—"

She cut him off, saying, "I know you are, but you don't have to be. Look, I really do appreciate the concern from the both of you, but you know who I'm worried about? Grissom. His daughter, and the well-being of his wife. That's who we need to be focused on. What did Archie find?"

He glanced over at Warrick who shrugged and leaned back against the counter as he waited to hear the answer to that himself. "He went back."

"Who went back?" she asked.

Letting out breath, he told her, "Grissom went back to Julia's house last night around 2 o'clock."

She shook her head in disbelief. "He said he never did. He wouldn't lie."

"I know what he said, and I know what I saw. It was his car. Security camera proves it," he said, feeling a sinking in his gut at the look on her face. It was the same one on Warrick's. "Everyone lies."

She shook her head again, saying, "You're wrong—"

"Sara—"

"The evidence is wrong," she said before she turned around and left the room, heading down the hall towards the locker room.

He spotted Greg watching her, along with Archie and Hodges. The whole lab was watching. Judging and making their own assumptions. Warrick was right. They all had no right, but even though they didn't, they all felt it. The same pressure and looming storm brewing. This was only going to get worse unless they came up with some evidence that made a lick of sense. The evidence was there, right in front of all of them, and it all pointed to the one person who he knew couldn't be guilty.

The evidence was right, but so was Sara. It was wrong. They just had to prove it.

He gave Catherine the clothes that he wore the night before, which had been the same clothes he'd been wearing all day seeing how he never had time to change or anything. He'd showered at Heather's house and when he got home with Charlotte after giving their statements at the police department, he'd been too busy to think about something like changing his clothes. A choice between Catherine and Warrick to take pictures of him without a shirt on was quite an easy choice, he had Catherine do it. She would have to see the pictures anyway since she was the supervisor and the lead on the case.

Where it all happened hadn't been his choice. Instead of letting him stay home, he was taken once again back to the police station where they used a private room for the processing. He'd never felt more like a suspect than at that moment. There was no longer any courtesy, which in a way he was glad, but in another, he was annoyed. Due process. They didn't want anyone to come back and say that they hadn't done something right, hadn't done their jobs right, because they were processing one of their own.

Then there were the looks. He never cared much about what anyone thought of him, but he felt exposed and on display as he entered the police station. Before, there had been no reasonable suspicion of his guilt from anyone. Now, that was all there was.

He didn't think Catherine thought him guilty, or Brass, or the rest of the night shift CSI's and lab techs, but it was everyone else.

That was until Catherine saw him without a shirt on and started taking pictures. He really was bruised. Nothing too severe or violent, but enough to say there was a struggle and he'd taken a few hits. He'd asked Heather to fight back and she hadn't held back. He would never ask Sara to do the same. What they did together in bed was about more than just sex, it was about giving each other what they needed because they cared about one another. They loved one another. It was different and felt different. They connected and grew closer together.

Catherine snapped a few photos and didn't say much of anything until she was done. "Does Sara know what kind-of sex you're into?"

Without answering, he re-dressed in the clothes he'd brought from his house. He'd been alone when he'd undressed and was able to slip on his boxers before Catherine came back in to take the pictures. There were no bruises or abrasions on his legs but it needed to be verified with photographic evidence.

Pulling his shirt on, he asked, "Is that it?"

"For now. You're free to go."

Checking his watch, he noticed the time. His daughter's call came in at 6:03 that morning, it was now seven o'clock at night. Thirteen hours and still no sign of Julia.

"Gil?"

He shook his head and said, "With each hour lost, she's slipping further and further away. Normally, we have something to go on. The only thing you have to go on is me…and I can't help you. I've done a lot of things in my life that I regret doing, but…I didn't do this, Catherine. Whoever did wants everyone to believe that I did. I don't know why or who—"

"You think you're being framed?"

"The timing, the circumstances…Whoever took her had to have been watching us, picked the perfect time to do it—"

"Aren't you being a little paranoid? It could have been a coincidence."

Staring at her in disbelief, he said, "My car had been cleaned. I didn't clean it. I can't explain how I got home this morning. I remember everything, even when I've been drinking, and I know I didn't drink a lot last night because I had to work tonight. I was fine, yet, I don't remember waking up. I don't remember the phone calls. I want you to take a sample of my blood and my hair and do a full tox screen. Check for everything. Put Greg on it."

"But Hodges—"

"I want Greg," he stressed. He didn't know Hodges very well yet, and he trusted Greg's work.

A deep frown settled on her face and he knew she was at a loss. They all were. Then she opened her field kit and removed a vial and needle to take his blood and then she took hair samples. Once the samples were secure in her field kit, she told him, "I've been talking to the Director and he's conflicted about putting you back on duty—"

"He can't keep me on administrative leave forever. If I'm cleared—"

"And if you're not…I'm just letting you know now that even if they can't prosecute due to insufficient evidence or Julia isn't found, he's conflicted."

"Are you warning me that I might lose my job?" he asked, confused, as that possibility entered his head. He hadn't considered that, hadn't had the time to consider it, and now he was faced with it, he realized just how bad this all looked for the department. "Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

Catherine grabbed up her kit and said, "Was there really ever such a thing? All they're thinking about is reputation. Reputation of the lab, the integrity, and the public's confidence."

"Real integrity would be for them to let me keep my job until I'm proven guilty in the court law," he said as he opened the door and held it for her.

She stopped in the hallway and turned to him, saying, "Integrity. There's a concept," she scoffed at him. "I thought you had it."

He stared down at her as he thought about that word, and what it meant. Smirking slightly, he told her, "Still throwing stones, I see. There are two meanings to that word: to be honest and have moral principles, the other, togetherness and unity. I guess, it depends on your perspective whether or not I possess those things, but to be human is to be fallible. I've made mistakes. No ones perfect, but we all try to be and think we are, except I know I'm not and I never once tried to say otherwise. I've always admitted when I was wrong, admitted my faults. I've always been honest. As for me and Sara, you don't know how together we are. Like I said, I'm not in a relationship with you, Catherine, so, you'll never know."

"No, but I can assume—"

"There you go again," he said as he walked around her, "assuming when you should be asking questions."

"I have been—"

"Not the right ones," he called back over his shoulder as he headed for the exit.

He knew she was watching him leave, as was the rest of the police department. Trying to take his mind off their looks, he focused on what he had to do. First thing was, he really needed to see his daughter.

Then, he had to see Sara.

"What'd you want out of this relationship?"

His eyes were shut, mouth gaping open, hands were on her hips, squeezing her skin, as she slowly moved on top of him, riding him. Her hand was massaging over his chest, feeling the slickness under her palm and the steady beating of his heart as he steadied his breathing. Gil never did ever want to come too soon. He always wanted to stretch it out and wait until she was satisfied.

This probably wasn't the best time to talk, but Gil had been a hard man to talk to recently. It felt as if he'd been withdrawing from her and putting distance between them. They were dating but then again, they weren't. He called their "meetings" dates now, and they had breakfast and dinner together when they could. He brought her lunch at work. They did date stuff. But, the one thing they hadn't really done was talk about their relationship.

It was changing, had changed, since she became his girlfriend. Sex was still good, but it was more like couple sex than secret lover sex. She really missed the secret lover sex. It'd felt forbidden, and dangerous, and held a level of excitement that was now missing.

She didn't think that he heard her. "Are you married?"

Not even a flinch. He definitely did not hear her.

She was reminded of the trial of an actor suspected of murder. It'd been several months ago. Gil had been on the stand, he'd been giving his testimony. All had been going smoothly until the defense attorney asked him a question. He had asked her to repeat herself several times before he gave his answer, each time she spoke, he had watched her lips.

His eyes opened and he was looking up at her face. When she spoke this time, his eyes narrowed and watched her mouth. "Are you losing your hearing?" He almost stilled under her, caught himself, and he went to flip her over when she grabbed the headboard to stop him. Leaning down, she kissed him then asked again, "Are you losing your hearing?"

His breathing was really shaking now as he let out a breath to stop the quake in his chest. Gripping her hips tighter, he sat up, kissed her chest up to her lips as she ran her fingers through his hair. Placing a kiss on her ear, which tickled, and she hated it and he knew it, he chuckled slightly and then answered, "Yes."

Her lips found his as the pace quickened. Pushing him back down into the mattress, she rode him hard until they both gasped and came. She was still moving on top of him, working herself up into another release when he grabbed, flipping her over onto her back, and drove into one last time as she came again. His breathing was hard against her neck as she coaxed him back down. Lips on his neck, his jaw, until they were against his mouth. Then he was laughing, a deep chuckle that rocked her body, making her smile into the kiss. Breaking the kiss, he leaned his head on hers as he gathered himself, laughing slightly. He always laughed after they had sex together. Rolling over, he laid down and stared at the ceiling as she rolled onto her side and stretched out beside him.

"It's hereditary. Deafness." She reached out for him, feeling her heart hurt for him. As her hand touched his chest, rubbing over it, he said, "I'm going to have surgery to correct it. It'll be fine."

"Surgery is never fine."

"It's an outpatient procedure, but…I'll need time off work. Couple of months."

"Does anyone else know?"

"No," he said before leaning up to give her a kiss. Moving away, he got out of bed and headed for her bathroom.

Laying back down, she listened as he turned on the water for the shower. It was hereditary. That meant someone, or several people in his family were deaf. It explained why he knew sign language. Thinking back, she realized that it had to have been happening for a while now, probably a year or more. All the times she thought he was just ignoring her and brushing her off while at work, or in her apartment, he wasn't. And he hadn't told anyone, not even her. That man either really did like to keep secrets, even when they weren't in his best interests, or he had a really hard time trusting anyone. Not even her.

The sound of the steady spray of water from the shower against the tub changed, she heard splashing, as he was now in the shower having let the water warm up. Sliding out of bed, she went to join him.

A while later, she sat at her kitchen counter while he made breakfast. It was six in the evening, and he was making her pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, and eggs, and oatmeal with the fruit that was on her counter that she was munching on while she waited. It seemed as if he was lost in his own world again.

Testing her theory, she told him, "I slept with Hank." He stilled, lifted his head, and looked over at her. Okay, he wasn't deaf that time. Now she had to explain because he looked very confused. "You said that I can date other people. I didn't want to date other people, still don't, then I met Hank and I, we, uh, were flirting, he was attractive, so I went out on a date with him. We, uh, saw each other a few times and then you asked me on a date. An official date-date. Before I could tell Hank, you know, "it's been fun, nice knowing you", I, we…I had sex with him before we broke up." His confusion had changed to amusement as he listened to her, eyes on her lips, and he was now trying not to laugh. Or something. "This isn't funny."

"I think it's a little funny."

"I slept with someone else."

He shrugged and went back to flipping the pancakes, and asked, "Do you love him?"

"What? No, of course not," she rushed out in disbelief.

"Do you want to be with him? Date him?"

"No. If I did, he would be the one standing in my kitchen shirtless making pancakes."

"Mine are better," he said with a slight smile and wink before removing them from the pan and placing them on the plates next to the toast on her plate. She didn't eat bacon or eggs. "It doesn't matter."

She knew that would be his reaction. She knew he wouldn't be upset with her for sleeping with Hank while they were together because she knew about the wedding ring he kept in his car. She wanted to ask him the question again, the one he didn't hear in the bedroom, but held back. Fear gripped her chest and it wasn't because she thought Gil would leave her, but because of what his answer might be.

They always met at her apartment. They never went to his townhouse. The only time she was close to going inside his home was during the Syd Goggle case when Gil had been kicked off it for disagreeing with the FBI and getting into a heated argument with the Sheriff and Mayor right in front of the press. Instead of going over the case in his townhouse, he locked it up, slid into the passenger seat of her tahoe, and they went to the diner down the street to pour over the case while eating breakfast.

Her fear was that he was not only married but had a family. The knowledge would confirm to her the reality of their relationship, of what she really was to him: a mistress. Not knowing made her think that he really did want a future with her, that they could be together one day. That their dating was a step in that direction.

"I also slept with someone else."

That admission brought her out of her musings. "When?" she asked in surprise. Not surprised that he'd been with someone else because he'd already told her before they started dating that he had an addiction problem, but surprised that he actually told her. "Who?"

"When was three months ago. And who was Teri Miller," he told her as he placed her plate in front of her and then sat down beside her at the counter.

"I knew it," she said because she did. They had been flirting, and she'd seen the way he looked at her. "You like her."

"Sara, I don't like her. I was sexually attracted to her," he said that as if it made a difference. And she figured for Gil it did.

She picked up the slice of toast and took a bite of it as she said, "Can I ask you why you went ahead and slept with her?" He was quiet for a moment, thinking. Or he hadn't heard her. "Did you hear—"

"I heard you." He sat the coffee cup that was in his hand down as he stared at the plate of food in front of him. "You know how I said once that best intentions are fraught with disappointment? When I told you it was okay to date other people, I actually thought I was telling you that for your own good. I only had the best intentions in mind, to spare you. Thinking, you deserve better, someone else, to make you happy. Then I saw you with Hank…and—" He rubbed at his head like it was hurting. As his head filled with pain, so did her heart. "There's a saying that "Despair is a narcotic. It lulls the mind into indifference". In my despair, I stopped caring and I told myself it was for the best. In the end, I'm always left disappointed, mostly in myself."

It was hard to speak after that. He was sharing, really opening up, for the first time since he drunkenly confessed to her after falling into her bathtub that he loved her and about his addiction. This time he was sober, and very much aware of what he was saying. She also realized that he really wanted to be with her. If he didn't, it wouldn't have pained him so much when he saw her with Hank.

"Since despair is like a narcotic, I wonder if someone can become so addicted to it that they don't know how to be happy?"

"Gil?"

He finally looked over at her and she saw the pain in his eyes. She was a forensic scientist; her job was searching for clues and putting it all together to see the bigger picture in order to find out the truth. She's known this man for almost six years. The clues told her that his biggest fear was being judged. What he wanted from their relationship was for her not to judge him. Best intentions were fraught with disappointment. That had been Gil's saying long before he met her. He's always been trying to do the right thing only to be told that he was wrong.

If he was married, he couldn't be with her the way he wanted to be with her. He couldn't make promises he didn't know if he'd be able to keep. He didn't think he could make her happy. So, he told her she could date other people. He wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn't with him.

But, he did make her happy. And she only wanted to be with him, even if he was married or had a family. She was probably his mistress, but she was definitely his girlfriend. He never judged her, so she wouldn't judge him. Never. She accepted this relationship, she had accepted him, all those years ago in that hotel room in San Francisco. This was who he was and she knew that it wasn't going to be easy being with him. She had known that from the start. She wasn't going to abandon him now when he needed her the most.

"You're not a disappointment. Not to me." She grabbed his hand and held it in hers as she told him, "I'm not going anywhere."

He stared at their intertwined hands as something played across his face she couldn't quite figure out. Then his hand squeezed her as he smiled slightly and shook his head. "I really don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do. You know why?" When all he did was shake his head, she told him, "We love each other. That's all that matters."

Giving her hand a squeeze, she saw him smile slightly as he leaned against her and gave her a kiss on her neck.

She had texted him, telling him to meet her in room 151 at the Grand Hotel at 2 am. Catherine had given her the rest of the night off. Everyone has taken shifts off in order to get some rest, and it was her turn for the break. She could have gone home and slept for a day and a half—she was that tired—but she wanted to see him and she knew that he wanted to see her.

There was a knock at the door at exactly 2 o'clock but she knew he'd been standing out there in the hallway for the past five minutes. He needed the time so she let him have it. Opening the door, she saw his face, the concerned look in his eyes, as he went to speak.

He stopped himself and let out a breath as he walked inside the room, shut the door, and then wrapped her up into his arms. She gave into the hug, felt him bury his face into her neck, and felt her heart ache for him. This was a living hell for anyone, but especially for him. Running her hand into his hair, she felt something wet against her skin before she heard his intake of breath.

Her hand gripped his hair tighter as she tried to hug him just as tightly. Then his voice was in her ear as it broke, telling her, "I'm sorry."

She turned to face, meeting his lips, and kissed him.

Waking up a few hours later, she felt the bed cold as she rubbed the sheets where he'd been lying. On the nightstand she saw the pack of cigarettes and whiskey that she'd bought for him unopened. Rolling over, she looked toward the balcony and saw him sitting out there in the chair. Bottle of beer in his hand, naked from the waist up, and barefooted. The bright lights of the Strip lit up behind him as a palm tree swayed in the wind coming off the mountains to the west.

She had realized that something had been lost between them for a while, and it all started when they started to officially date. They started to become a couple, which entailed more than just a fun night. Commitments and talks of hopes and dreams and a possible future. Everything they both said they didn't want and to not expect.

Now she fully understood why he had his rules. Why she had to be his escape and nothing more. Since she became his girlfriend, she stopped being his escape and started to become something he had to escape from. There was no room in his life for another commitment. The best thing she could do for him, she decided, was to take the pressure of a committed relationship off his shoulders; at least for right now. She didn't need hopes and dreams anyway. She knew where she was going and who she wanted to end up with in the end, after all the pain was gone.

She needed this more. She needed to be his escape.

Getting out of bed, she pulled on his shirt and then joined him on the balcony. She slid the sliding door open and heard the traffic down on the street and honking of horns as he leaned back in the chair and looked up at her under dark and heavy eyelids. A smile pulled at his lips but never reached his eyes. They were sad, and lost, and scared.

He was so scared.

Sitting down in the chair across from him, she asked the only question she could think of at the moment that wasn't about the case or his wife or daughter. She had him meet her at a hotel so she could remind him, and herself, why they had gotten together in the first place. A room like this where they could be themselves was needed for the both of them. They both wanted to escape into one another.

"Why do you always laugh after we have sex?" was her question.

The smile finally reached his eyes as he told her, "You make me happy. When else have you ever heard me laugh?"

Never. He's chuckled a few times, gotten animated about something and seemed excited about things, but never laughed. Not like the way he did when they had sex.

"The only other person who makes me happy is my daughter. Her name's Charlotte, she's eight, and she's deaf," he said that last part while also signing the words. His smile was gone and in its place she saw his guilt and pain. "I kept telling myself that I was going to wait to tell you once she was older. Until she understood and could decide on her own if it was okay to invite you into our lives, because….that's what it'll be: an invitation. Her world is different from yours, mine, and it can be cruel. You need permission to enter it."

"What was the real reason you waited?" she asked because she knew he was holding back.

His smile was sad, and painful, as he told her, "It would mean that we were serious. No one has ever met Charlotte. To bring a woman into her life, to get her attached, only for it to end…I was never supposed to fall in love. It was never supposed to get serious."

"Why did you?"

She knew the reason already, but it never hurt to hear the truth when she knew it was being spoken. Gil always told her the truth when he finally decided it was time to divulge a secret. She just had to be patient and wait for him to be ready. He had a lot of distrust, and a lot of walls to knock down, but she was getting there.

"I couldn't help it. Sara, I love you," he told her and she heard his sincerity. She never doubted his love for her. "I want to marry you, and if I had brought you into my life, my daughter's life, you would think that it was possible."

She gave a nod, having already come to the conclusion. "But it's not. Julia wouldn't grant you a divorce. You can't marry me."

"No," he said with such resignation that it hurt to hear the words, "I can't."

"Unless Julia disappears for good."

He stared over at her in disbelief and almost shock as he said, "You can't possibly think that I—"

"I didn't say you would. I'm, just thinking out loud."

He looked so lost as he shook his head and told her, "I don't know how to do this."

She knew he wasn't just referring to them, and their relationship, but everything that was coming. The storm on the horizon. Reaching out, she took his hand as she told him, "We do it together. I'm here for you to lean on, all you have to do is accept it."

His eyes had been dark, and distant, but then he smiled and they lit up as he squeezed her hand between his. "Thank you."

"You really want to thank me, you'll come to bed. We both need sleep." She pulled him to his feet as he downed the rest of the beer in the bottle and followed her inside.

TBC…