A/N- One more after this. Thanks for reading.

*

Tony was convinced. He didn't want to see one more flashing light or hear one more clanging bell.

He had spent the majority of the early morning and half the afternoon walking from one hotel to another, pictures in hand, hoping against hope that there would be a lead. Not surprised when one wasn't to be found, he trudged back to his own hotel, unable to bear the sensory overload one minute longer. He reveled in the blissful silence of his room and fell into a fitful sleep. Waking a few hours later, he was dismayed to find himself still in his clothes. A hot shower and a passable room service meal later, he found himself pacing the length of the room, irritated by his inability to do anything further with the case.

And that was how he came to be sitting in the breakroom of the CSI lab, eyes closed, enjoying the comfortable median between absolute silence and ungodly sensory stimulation. The room was cool and peaceful, although he was aware of the ordinary sounds of an office busy at work. Most of the lights in the room were off, since he had arrived during early in the evening, while the sun was still blazing in the sky. Although he had received an odd look or two from those who popped in and out from time to time, Tony had, for the most part, been left alone. He was dreaming about the sea when he was disturbed by the soft scrape of a chair being moved. He lifted his head from the back of the couch that had ended up being more comfortable than it had looked at first glance.

Guiltily, Sara apologized. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

He rubbed his eyes, looking all of seven years old, then ran his fingers through his hair, only adding to the look. "It's okay. I wasn't really sleeping." Looking around, he discovered the clock on the far side of the room. "Is that the right time?"

Sara followed his gaze. "Yep. How long have you been… not really sleeping?"

"Oh, only about twenty minutes. I don't sleep that much, truth be told." He saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "You're here awfully early. Doesn't your shift start at eleven?" She smiled and he remarked, "You're almost two hours hours early."

"I don't sleep that much either," she admitted.

"Insomnia or nightmares?"

"A bit of both." She answered, careful to avoid his eyes. When he didn't respond, she finally looked up to find him watching her, patient and curious. "Nightmares mostly. I've never been able to really get rid of them," she added softly.

He nodded sympathetically. "That's where your empathy comes into play. You've learned to remove it as best you can from your professional life, but you haven't found a way to stop it from seeping into your personal life."

"Have you?"

Now he shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I haven't."

Moments of silence passed between them before Sara spoke. "Should I make some tea?"

"That would be nice," he smiled.

*

Curling her long fingers around the hot mug balanced on her knee, she carefully shifted on the couch to look at Tony.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he replied.

"You're the most successful profiler in Britain."

"I'd put more weight into that if there were more than a handful." Seeing her frown at his interruption, he smiled and said, "Sorry. Carry on."

"Thank you. So, most successful profiler in Britain. Which leads to an interesting paradox. In order to be that successful in catching killers, you have to, in some way, be like the killer. There's a very fine line between you two."

"That's very true."

"So what's stopped you from going over that line and not coming back? What's stopped you from killing someone?"

Tony didn't need to feel his face blanche; he could tell by Sara's expression that his own was obvious.

"Shit," she said immediately, "I'm sorry. I didn't…"

He lightly touched her knee to stop her. "No, it's fine." He looked away, then continued. "I was working a difficult case and ended up doing something incredibly stupid that put me in a bad situation. But when it came down to him or me, I didn't hesitate. My conscience is clear in that regard."

His gaze returned to her. "You're right, though," he went on. "It is an interesting paradox. The more successful I am at catching him, the more successful I am at becoming him. I try to apply three important stages to each profile. First, I walk behind him, picking up the little bits and pieces of evidence and information he's left behind. Then, I hope that knowledge helps me walk beside him. To walk with him almost like a friend, where, when he says, "Look!" I see what he's showing me immediately, rather than find it later. Then it's simply a matter of being him. I already know to look before he tells me. I know what he's going to do next because I am him."

The silence stretched out for several minutes until Sara finally whispered, "That must be hard to live with."

He rubbed his hand over his face and gave a rueful smile. "If you're looking for a remedy to your sleepless nights, Sara, I can only tell you this - don't sleep."

*

Nick gripped the door frame as he swung into the breakroom.

"You're here early, Nick," Sara said.

"Grissom's looking for us."

"What's up?" she asked as she and Tony stood up.

"Well, here's the shit," he made a motion with his hand. "Now, imagine us in the shit. Mobley's in Grissom's office."

"Oh shit," she moaned.

"Exactly, partner. Let's go."

The door to the office hadn't finished closing when Mobley let loose.

"What is this I hear about a CSI commandeering some of my men for a personal side project?"

"I think 'commandeering' is a bit harsh," Nick began.

"Not one more word out of you, Stokes. I'll be speaking to Cavallo about this."

"Brian, there's no need for that," Grissom said.

"Oh, don't worry, Gil, you're name will be on the same list. As supervisor, it's up to you to keep your staff within the boundaries of their job; they shouldn't be impeding on mine."

"I'm not quite sure I follow you, Sheriff Mobley," Tony spoke up. "I was under the impression their job was to solve crimes. There's been a murder. Seems well within the boundaries of their job."

It was hard to tell who was more surprised, Mobley or the three CSIs.

"I should have know you'd be in the middle of this," the sheriff sputtered. "I extend you my hospitality and this is how you repay me."

"Oh please, sheriff," Tony answered.

Mobley held up his finger. "If I could find a way to extradite you from my jurisdiction, don't think for a second that I wouldn't. I'm not sure how things work in England, but I can assure you, circumventing the chain of command isn't how it's done around here. I'm going to be on the phone to your commanding officer the minute I leave this room."

"Mind the time difference."

Mobley frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"The time difference," Tony repeated. "If you call him right now, it will only be…" he paused to do the mental calculations. "Six in the morning. I don't think Paul's ever rolled out of bed before eight."

If a man had ever looked more enraged, Tony had yet to see it. From between clenched teeth, Mobley seethed, "Don't push me." Turning to the other three in the room who had grown curiously silent, he added, "There will be no off hours assistance from my men. And if I hear otherwise," his finger swept across everyone, "the axe will fall on each and every one of you."

The room barely breathed until Mobley left in a furious whirlwind. All eyes then went to Tony who remarked, "What an absolutely ignorant pratt."

Nick's laughter broke the tension and everyone smiled.

"That's it," Sara declared to Tony, "you're never leaving."

Tony shrugged in amusement. "I have the least to lose out of all of you. I might find it's a different matter altogether when I get home of course, but in the meantime…"

"Yeah, in the meantime… what do we do now?" Nick asked.

"I honestly don't know," Grissom admitted. "We have no physical evidence that would suggest where this guy might go next. And we have no psychological clues either."

"I did narrow down those churches," Nick offered.

"Really?" Sara said. "What did you get?"

"Forty-one churches within a six block radius of the Strip. Now, I figured he'd want the church close enough to the Strip so he didn't get lost, but far enough that there would be houses and stuff for his handprint job. I narrowed it down to nineteen churches."

Sara whistled. "Good job, Nick."

"Well, I was happy about it at the time. Nineteen churches, eight friends and us? I liked those odds. But with Mobley all over us, I can't ask those guys to help." Nick looked over to Tony, apologetic.

Tony nodded. "No, believe me, Nick, I understand completely."

"So now what?" Nick asked again.

Tony glanced at his watch, "Well, I'm sure Catherine and Warrick are in the breakroom wondering where everyone is. You all have jobs to do."

"What are you going to do?" Grissom asked.

"Take the file and Nick's map and commandeer your coffee pot and breakroom." He playfully stressed 'commandeer'. "We've got seventeen hours until he kills again. Maybe, just maybe, something out of all this will present itself to me."

Sara's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I hate this."

They all stood silent, hating it too.

Grissom coughed softly. "Unfortunately, Tony's right. Our hands are officially tied and the show does go on." He lifted the sheets for the night's assignments.

As they filed out of the room, Sara muttered, "I really hate this."

*

If nothing else, he would never get lost in Vegas, Tony thought to himself. He sat back in his chair and pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes to no avail; he could see grids and lines on the inside of his lids.

"If you ever get used to driving on the right hand side, I bet you'll be able to find your own way around Las Vegas after tonight."

He smiled at Sara's voice. He pulled out an adjacent chair. "Please, sit. Take me away from this madness."

"So nothing, huh?"

"Nothing. How about you?" he asked. "On the telly, they always make it look like you CSIs are constantly following the trail of evidence. Yet I'm not sure I've seen you work the entire time I've been here."

"Very funny," she replied with a smirk. "You know, in many ways, CSIs are like actors. Ninety percent waiting, ten percent action. I'm waiting for Greg to run tests on some blood samples I brought in tonight."

He looked up at the clock and was surprised to find five hours had seeped away. "My goodness. It's 5 a.m. and I'm not any closer than I was when I landed here."

"None of those churches ring any alarms?"

"None."

Sara sat forward and rested her chin in her hand. She idly pushed the map around until asking, "If you were back home right now, how would you handle it?"

He shrugged and replied, "I've got a friend on the force. I'd ask her if she could help me get around my commanding officer's order." He looked at Sara. "Discreetly, of course."

She smiled back. "Of course." She sat upright. "Of course. Brass!" At Tony's questioning expression, she clarified, "He's captain of the night shift homicide squad. Maybe Grissom can talk to him and see what he can come up with before this afternoon."

In that moment, everything froze.

"…before this afternoon."

"I've come all this way."

The time difference his body had yet grown accustomed to.

"…isn't how it's done here."

"Mind the time difference."

"The time difference."

"The time difference," Tony whispered.

"What?" she asked.

Tony frantically began leafing through the file, his finger tracking down the page until it stopped at one line.

Worried, Sara asked again, "What is it?"

"I've been such an idiot," he said. Looking up as if just remembering Sara was in the room, he repeated, "I've been a complete idiot. My god." He turned the file so she could read what he had found. "The time of death."

"Seven a.m.," Sara read, then looked up in confusion. "But that doesn't make any sense. It doesn't fit the pattern."

Tony shook his head in excitement. "It makes perfect sense, Sara." He couldn't help but laugh. "He's still on British time."

Sara looked at Tony in disbelief and gave a small laugh of her own. "Wow." Glancing at the clock, her expression became more serious. "That means we have less than two hours."

*