First off, a big thanks to all my reviewers. Your encouragement is…encouraging. Maybe I should invest in a thesaurus.

My apologies for the long time between updates. I've been sick, and somehow this just got pushed to the backburner. Although not as far back as my history essay… suspicious. And since this chapter was at one point renamed as TheChapterFromMordor on my PC, I'm sure you can appreciate the … "time and effort" that went into it. Heck, this is only half of what was supposed to go in the chapter. Go figure.

See first chapter for all important disclaimers.

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"Grissom?"

She looked closer, convinced she was hallucinating. He peered back at her through a screen of green foliage. A plant, she realized. More specifically, a fern.

She was interrupted by Jake, who came bounding down the stairs two at a time to sniff the newcomer. He didn't care for what he found, and stood on his hind legs to reach Grissom's face. His paws rested on what Sara knew to be one of Grissom's better dress shirts. She figured he had come up on a whim after a lecture, and wasn't sure if that was a welcome thought.

"Catherine?" guessed Sara, relieving Grissom of the pot.

"Officially the Crime Lab of the Las Vegas PD, along with their condolences."

"And unofficially?" she asked, rumpling Jake's ears distractedly with her free hand.

"Catherine," he admitted, and she grinned. "As well as their official expressions of sympathy, she asked me to relay a few messages- Greg did extraction wonders on the Day's Jackson case, and has been seen strutting around the lab singing Queen on multiple occasion; it's gotten Ecklie's entire teamed extremely pissed. Either Nick or Warrick started a pool, seeing how long this would keep you out of the lab- they're both very worried you'll suffer withdrawal if you don't come back soon. And Catherine's desperately waiting for your return, though she'd prefer it if it's Sunday between five and eleven."

Sara laughed. That was the lab for you, she thought. She wasn't at all surprised to realize she missed it, and not just the work. The people.

Finally registering that Grissom was still outside, she motioned him in.

"You want something to drink? We're all out of coffee, but there's about a hundred and seven variations of tea. Plus milk, juice, soda…"

"Tea's fine," Grissom assured her.

"Okay," she said, relaxing.

"How is everyone?" he asked as she set the fern down on a table. She fiddled with a frond, and Grissom belatedly wondered if he should have mentioned the topic.

"We're…we're okay. Tonight and tomorrow are the wakes, and then we've booked a boat…to spread the ashes," she explained softly, before giving a sarcastic chuckle. "Though if I see one more tray of frozen lasagna, I think I'll scream."

"I know the feeling."

Sara shrugged, and headed towards the kitchen.

Grissom and the dog both followed her lead. Indicating a chair for him to sit, she opened a cupboard over the double sink. The investigator in him took a cursory evaluation of the room. It was spacious, and well lit in the afternoon sun. Cupboards ran along one wall, and most of the appliances seemed built in. She whistled to get his attention, and then repeated her question.

"Do you have a preference?"

"What do you have?"

"Too many to name. My mother is a firm believer in the art of tea. Let's start at the basics- black, green, white, herbal or oolong?"

"Black."

"Orange Pekoe, Earl Grey, Russian, English Breakfast, Irish Breakfast, Peach, Lemon, Raspberry, Blueberry, Kiwi, Darjeeling, Keemun, Lapsang Souchang…It keeps going," she informed him, digging further into the cupboard.

"Earl Grey would be fine."

Amusement flickered in his eyes, and Sara realized she was babbling. Again. Over flavours of tea. She bit her tongue as she ran water in the pot, then transferred it to the coffeemaker. Her mother would have conniptions, but she wasn't there.

"This is going to take awhile," she announced, gesturing towards the pot. "You want the tour?"

She didn't give him time to reply, grabbing a key off the counter. Unlocking a large door, she explained it was the only entrance to the guest section of the house. With no choice but to follow her, Grissom did.

~*~

"And so ends the official Clearstone Lodge tour," Sara intoned, mimicking a bad tour guide. They had come full circle, and their timing was impeccable. The coffeemaker was issuing its final complaints as they reentered the kitchen.

"So, why are you here?" she asked conversationally, reaching for a couple of mugs. "Didn't you have something to attend?"

"The air conditioner in the lecture hall burnt up, and the odour was making people nauseous. The address was rescheduled for tomorrow evening, and I had the afternoon off."

"Oh."

Something about her tone warned Grissom he had said the wrong thing. She didn't pursue that line of thought, instead choosing to ask how the seminar was going in general.

"It's interesting. And it's a good reminder how well-funded we are, comparatively speaking. The organizers have issued a challenge- Every lecture is using the same sample case to demonstrate, and the attendees get reports or photos that pertain to the topic. And from that 'evidence' we have to determine which speaker was the murderer."

"Sure you aren't on a Murder Mystery Weekend?" Sara teased, arching an eyebrow. She had finished pouring the tea, and made her way to the refrigerator. "Do you want milk?"

"Yes."

"Are you working it with anyone?"

The question was unexpected.

"Why do you ask?"

Her back was to him as she reached into the fridge, and he couldn't decipher the possible implications of her posture. Her eyes could never hide the truth from him though, and for a minute he wished she would look at him.

"I know you. For someone who likes to be alone, you have an odd need to talk a case out," Sara enlightened him, handing him a mug.

He took a sip before replying.

"Maggie was supposed to be my aid, so I'm flying solo."

"The way you like it?" she asked, a dangerously flirtatious lilt to her voice. She immediately reprimanded herself, considering the possibility that she had lost her sanity. Not only was it dangerous ground, but the timing was completely inappropriate.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Still, it is my fault you're without a partner. Care to run the case by me?" offered Sara.

"The files are in the car."

She gave a salacious smile. "They won't do you any good there."

Sara became aware of his discomfort, and considered apologizing. But as petty as it made her, she enjoyed watching him fidget. This urge lasted mere seconds, passing with as little warning as it had come. Her concentration was captured by his eyes, fascinated by the emotion which bore a resemblance to pity. Her study was abruptly cut off when whatever it was she had thought she'd seen retreated once more; he was just Grissom again.

He opened a mouth to offer a reply, but closed it quickly. He put his mug down and went outside. Sara followed his path, biting her tongue to prevent herself from calling after him. It was incredible, the speed in which she could frighten him away. From her view at the doorway, she saw him settle into the driver's seat. Sighing, she turned away. His company had been a distraction, and for the first time since she had arrived, memories hadn't bombarded her at every corner.

Sara returned to the kitchen and slumped into one of the chairs. The mug mocked her from where he had set it; she briefly considered throwing it across the room. She didn't hear the door open, but she recognized footsteps. Not daring to hope she had been wrong, she turned in her seat. He was leaning on the doorjamb, several folders in his hand.

"Where do you want to start?"

God, she was getting paranoid.

"We'll have more room in the office," she told him. She took pride of the fact that her voice betrayed no emotion. No anger, for being put through that; no discernable joy for his presence. Friendly but cool.

Picking up his drink, Sara headed for the living room. By some strange design flaw, it provided the only entrance to her father's office. He hadn't minded, often watching the TV from his desk.

Sleeping Beauty was still playing, and Allison hadn't moved. Jake had taken Sara's place though, and he dared Grissom to come near the girl. Sara had passed the girl, but Grissom stopped.

"Allison Cross," Sara explained, giving an answer to his unspoken question. "Her father is my parents' attorney, and an ex-classmate of mine. For the last three years, mom and dad have babysat her a few times a week. She calls them grandma and grandpa, and it makes them happy. They always wanted grandkids, and it's not like I'll be having any.

"Her father- Matt- just took mom out for dinner, because she hadn't eaten anything today."

"Had you?"

She glared, taking the folders from him.

"I'm all yours," she replied, effectively closing the subject. "Until six, at least."

~*~

They had systematically made their way through two pots of tea and the 'evidence' provided in the lectures so far. For the most part they were silent, content to work independently. From time to time Sara would ask for clarification, and they would banter for a few minutes before returning to the case.

"So, what do we have?" Grissom asked, needing to take a mental inventory.

"Not much," Sara answered, closing another report. "A John Doe, late teens or early twenties, found dead in the bathroom of a gas station. The bugs set time of death approximately 72 hours before discovery, and the coroner's report lists cause of death as asphyxiation. Probably from a pillow of some sort, since fibres consistent with cotton pillowcases appeared in the vic's nostrils and mouth. No fingerprints, and there were too many shoeprints to get a sample."

"Okay, so we're almost leadless?"

"There was the matchbook on the victim. Did we get fingerprints off of it? Or a DNA sample?"

"Nothing that wasn't the victims."

"Figures," Sara said. A thought occurred to her. "Can I see the scene photos again?"

He handed them over, and Sara pushed the rest of the documents into a corner of the table they sat at. Spreading the photos across the table, she visualized the scene.

"Okay…so the killer had to either drag the body into the restroom, or that's our primary scene."

She pointed to the outside photographs. "This dirt is packed hard, yet there's no indication of recent disturbance…. Carrying a body into a bathroom looks too suspicious, anybody would notice that. If the killer is in the forensics field, they'd know that. Making it look like they were assisting someone to the bathroom would go unnoticed, but leave scuffmarks. So that leaves us with a primary scene, and a nagging question. When can someone enter a single toilet public bathroom with another person?"

The thrill of solving a puzzle lit her eyes, and he knew she already had her answer.

"When they aren't going to use the facilities?"

"Give the man a prize," she quipped. "How many female speakers are there?"

He checked a printout. "Seven."

"Okay. That's not much help at the moment. Should we be looking closer at the vic? He's young, right? Student maybe?"

"A student who doesn't drink?" he said skeptically. "His tox screen indicated there was no alcohol in his system."

"It's not unheard of, Grissom," scolded Sara. His statement didn't sit well with her though, and she quickly realized why. "Where's the matchbook from? And how many matches were missing from it?"

Grissom got the drift.

"A downtown nightclub. The Devil's Elbow, I think."
"A college student at a club who doesn't drink? That I don't believe."

"We don't know if he's a student," Grissom reminded her.

"Still, it seems odd. Do we have anything else?"

"Not yet. We have the tox report and autopsy results from the pathologist; fibre samples from Trace and eye witness statements from the cop."

There wasn't anything in the statements, and they both knew it. They were stuck in a dead end until more 'evidence' came to light. Sara looked at her watch, and jumped from the table.

"Shit! They should have been back by now."

She turned an apologetic eye to Grissom. "I don't suppose you'll keep an eye on Ally for me? I have to shower and…"

"What am I supposed to do with a kid?"

Sara shrugged. "How should I know? She watched TV all day, and she's asleep right now."

"You might want to tell her you're leaving her with someone she's never met before you disappear," he warned her.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

Grissom picked up the folders and made his way into the living room. Sleeping Beauty had finished, and the VCR had shut off. A kid's cartoon was on now, a bunch of bath toys running around the cleanest bathroom Grissom had ever seen. The lead character, a pink frog, kept exclaiming 'Swimming!' in a nasal voice. It was enough to wish a slow and painful death on its creator.

"Ally?"

Sara sat down on the couch and gently shook the girl's shoulder. She stirred, opened one eye to peer at Sara, and then fell back asleep. "Allison, wake up please."

The child finally obliged, going from asleep to energetic in mere nanoseconds.

"Hi Sara!" she said brightly.

Sara spoke slowly and clearly, unmoved by Ally's enthusiasm. "Allison, this is Grissom. He's going to watch you until your dad comes back, or I finish upstairs. Is that okay?"

Her brow furrowed in thought, and it was clear she spent too much time around adults.

"Okay," she agreed finally. Pulling Sara close, Ally cupped her hands and whispered into her ear. "He's not a stranger, is he? Daddy says you shouldn't talk to strangers."

To her credit, Sara's face was straight when she replied. "No, he's my friend. And if it makes you feel better, some people call him Gruesome Grissom."

Ally laughed at this. "That's so silly!"

"Yes, it is," concurred Sara, standing up. Turning to address Grissom, she added. "I won't be long. I just don't think it's appropriate to show up in sweats."

"Ally and I will be fine," he told her. After all, the kid seemed reasonable enough; and it wasn't as if he was completely clueless towards children.

Sara left, and Allison patted the cushion beside her.

"Sit down," she ordered. "Watch Rubbadubbers."

He did, and tried to rationalize what transpired on the screen. He knew there was a reason he avoided most television- it was utter dribble. Allison was engrossed though, laughing at every opening. Five minutes passed, and Grissom had just about reached his quota. As if on cue, Allison's stomach grumbled.

"I'm hungry," she told him.

"What did you have for lunch?"

"Nothing. Grandpa makes lunch."

Her tone was oddly wistful, and Grissom considered the methods children dealt with loss. Sara probably hadn't thought to feed the girl, and the girl didn't want to accept the fact that grandpa was no longer there to make her meals.

"Okay. Let's go find something to eat," Grissom said, turning off the TV.

……………

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