A/N:  Here's the next chapter.  Remember, this immediately follows chapter 11 with no passage of time.  So if you haven't, you should read that chapter first—otherwise this might not make sense.  I have put the last couple of sentences from chapter 11 at the beginning in italics to remind you where we were.  Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!  I hope you continue to enjoy this story!

Chapter 12:  Premonition

She gave him a little grin.  "Can I get you anything before you settle in?" she asked.  "Do you want some more tea or…"

"I'm fine, Sara," he said, stopping her mid-sentence.  He yawned again behind his cupped hands.  "I'd probably be asleep before you could bring it anyway.  But thank you."  He got under the blankets and closed his eyes

.

Sara reached for the switch on the lamp, but before she could click it off, she felt the cell phone on her belt start to vibrate.  Grabbing it, she flipped it open.  "Sidle," she began.  Then, after a few seconds, she added, "Hey, Greg.  What's up?"

At the mention of the overworked lab technician, Grissom sat up again, fully alert; his extreme fatigue of just a moment was ago temporarily forgotten.  He had been waiting for Greg's results on the blood samples, and now that he was about to hear them, he wasn't sure how to feel.  He tried to listen to Sara's end of the discussion but he couldn't decipher exactly what Greg was telling her.  After she punched "END" on the phone, she stared at Grissom, looking somewhat shocked.

"What did he say?" Grissom asked, looking for clarification of what he already feared.

She still appeared to be a little stunned as she answered, "He found another person's DNA on the walls of the Rosen house.  We have a third victim out there somewhere."

Grissom, of course, was not at all surprised.  Although he knew the response he would get, he asked, "Was it 'XX' or 'XY'?"

It took a second for his words to register.  "XX," she finally replied.  Then the memory of something he had said earlier cut through Sara's daze.  "You knew that already, didn't you?  You knew there was another victim?"

He nodded as she met his eyes.

"How did you know that, Grissom?"

He didn't know what to say, so he remained silent, holding her eyes with his penetrating gaze.

"That was your hunch, wasn't it?" she asked slowly.  "That there was another victim out there?"

"Yeah," he admitted, his voice hushed.

She moved closer to him, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  "Did this have anything to do with your nightmare?" she wondered, knowing he would most likely shy away from talking about it, and just change the subject.  But he completely astounded her by answering honestly a few seconds later.

"Yes," he replied simply.

She was amazed by the openness on his face and in his eyes, but then it changed to something else—she wasn't sure what; it almost seemed like dread or panic.

"Brass," he blurted.  "Have you heard from Brass?"

"No," she responded, but looked down at her pager as if to making sure she hadn't missed any information.

"We need to call him."  He reached for the phone on the bedside table and dialed.  "Brass, it's Grissom," he began.

"Hey, Gil.  How are you feeling?"

"Better.  Look, Jim, I need you to fill me in on something."

"I'll do my best," Brass promised.

"Have you had any new 419 calls today?"

"Yeah—one or two, I think."

"Female?"

"Definitely one female," Brass told him.  "The call came in a couple of hours ago."

"Where was she found?" Grissom inquired, unconsciously holding his breath as he waited for the answer.

"She was buried in the woods outside of Lake Mead in a shallow grave," he explained.  "A couple of hikers bumped into her—literally."

"Do you know the cause of death yet?" Grissom asked, exhaling shakily.

"I'm not sure—O'Riley took the call."

"Who's handling the scene?"

"I gave it to days…" Jim began, pausing as he looked up the information.

Grissom cringed as he waited for Brass.  If it was Ecklie…

"Um…Cohen and Sears are working it," the police captain finished.  "Why?  What's up, Gil?"

Of all the dayshift investigators, Grissom knew that Cohen and Sears were the best.  He even trusted them to some degree since he was very aware that they didn't like Ecklie either.  But still, Grissom knew this woman's death was tied in with graveyard's case and he needed his own people to work it.

After taking another deep breath, Grissom tried to explain it to Brass, "I can't tell you why, Jim, but I know this woman's death is related to our case from last night.  Greg found another victim's blood on the walls of that scene, and I know the DNA will match this woman from the woods.  Can you talk to Cohen and Sears?  Ask them to do a DNA comparison to prove it?  I don't know if Greg is still there, but if not, another lab tech needs to check this new vic's DNA against Greg's unknown sample."

"Yeah, Gil, of course I'll talk to them, but…"

"I've got to go down there and see that body," Grissom interrupted.  "Do you know if the autopsy has been done yet?"

"No, but…"

"Never mind.  We'll be right there.  Thanks, Jim."  He hung up the phone and turned to Sara.  Although she had only heard half the conversation, she had a fairly good idea of what Grissom intended to do.

"Did you say 'we'll be right there'?" she asked him.  "Where do you think we're going?"

"To the lab.  There was another body found…"

"I heard that part," she said, cutting him off.  "And you think it's our third vic?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't you let the dayshift handle it?" she suggested.  "They can work in conjunction with Catherine and Warrick since we're short-handed.  As long as Ecklie isn't directly…"

"It's our case, Sara," he interrupted.  "This woman is our third victim and we should process the evidence."

"We don't know that for sure, Gris."

"But I do," he implored.

Despite the edge of desperation she saw in his blue eyes as they bore into hers, she still wasn't about to let him go anywhere if she could help it.  But at the same time, she wanted him to feel secure that their case would be in good hands, so she said, "I'll call Catherine.  She and Warrick can…"

"They can't do it by themselves," Grissom said, cutting her off again.  "They're already handling too much.  They've been working for nearly twenty-four hours straight, haven't they?  I can't ask them to take care of this, too."

"Well, you're in no shape to go to work."

"I'm okay, Sara," he lied.

"No, you're not."

"Just give me a minute or two to get dressed, and then we can head over to the lab."

Her frustration growing as he ignored her statement, she told him, "I am not driving you back to that lab so you can make yourself even sicker.  The flu can be dangerous, Grissom, you know that.  People can die from it."

"I'm not going to die," he said in an exasperated tone.  He was quickly becoming bothered by her behavior; he seemed to have no idea how truly worried she was.

"Even so," she persisted, "I'm still not taking you back to the lab."  She paused for a second, attempting to get her own anger and aggravation under control.  "I'll go back if you want—help out Catherine and Warrick.  But only if I know you're going to stay here in bed and take it easy.  I can call you and keep you aware of what's going on with the investigation."  After another beat, she added, "I'll even bring you back a copy of the case file—anything to keep you here and resting like you should be."

"Sara," he began slowly, hating to admit what he was about to say, "I really can't drive right now.  I need you to take me to the lab—please."

If he thought being honest and polite was going to help him win the argument he was very, very wrong.  "Grissom, there's no way I'm taking you anywhere," she said, remaining calm.  "Just think about what you're asking me.  You wouldn't be much help in your condition."  She could tell he was about to protest, so she added, her volume rising as her concern built to an irritated crescendo, "I know you're dedicated, but this is crazy.  You…your health is more important than any case.  So I'm not taking you anywhere."  Having said her piece, she crossed her arms, striking a stubborn, satisfied pose in front of him.

"Fine, I'll just call a cab then," he told her, annoyance evident in his voice.  Any stronger ire he might have felt was held in check by his sheer exhaustion.  But he made his point very well as he flung back the covers and climbed quickly off the bed.  "If you'll excuse me, I need to get dressed now."  He motioned toward the doorway, ushering her gently, but swiftly out of the room.  He closed the door behind her before she could say or do anything more.

Pulling off his sweatshirt, and exposing the t-shirt he wore underneath, he immediately began shivering as he headed over to the closet to search for something to wear.  As he stared at the variety of shirts draped over the hangers, he suddenly felt lightheaded; his raspy breaths became shallow, spots danced in his vision, and everything began to turn gray and fuzzy.  He broke out in a cold sweat as wave after wave of nausea churned through his stomach, and his body began to shake more violently.  He didn't know if he was going to pass out or throw up, but he was pretty sure one of the two was about to happen.

He stumbled back to the bed and sat down on the edge, dropping his head between his knees and trying to breathe deeply.  He focused on the floor and hoped the horribly unpleasant, out-of-control sensation would pass.

Sara paced through Grissom's living room, stopping mid-stride to stare at his closed bedroom door for the fifteenth time.  She glanced at her watch again—it had been ten minutes and he hadn't emerged yet.  She was furious with him, just about ready to kill him, or at least make good on her earlier threat and punch him out, but at the same time, the lack of sound she heard from his room worried her.  What was he doing in there? she thought.  She had heard the evidence of movement after he had sent her out, but since then, nothing.  The door was completely shut, but she still should have been able to hear something.  She knew for sure that she hadn't heard him on the phone calling a cab as he had threatened.

After another two minutes she couldn't take it anymore.  She stepped to his door, knocking rapidly to give him a little warning, and then pushed it open.

Seeing him sitting there, staring downward, shaking with chills, did nothing to allay her fears.  She rushed over, kneeling on the floor in front of him.  "Grissom, what's the matter?" she asked breathlessly.

When he looked up at her, she saw his sweaty face, which was even paler than before, and she could figure out the answer to her question.

"I got dizzy," he told her softly, still trying to get everything under control.

"I'm not surprised," she began.  Although quite uncertain underneath, she kept her outward tone light and even teasing; she didn't want to sound angry and knowing because she knew that wouldn't help right now.  Telling Grissom "I told you so," would only make the situation worse.  "You have a fever, you probably got up too fast, you haven't eaten, and there could be side effects from the medicine you just took."

He had turned his eyes back to the floor.  He was still leaning forward, his forearms on his thighs, and taking long, deep breaths.  Sara put a hand on his shoulder and waited a few minutes in silence until he sat back.  Then she asked, "Feeling any better?"

"A little…still nauseous, though."

She stood and gave him a small grin.  "Just give me the word and we'll run you right to the bathroom."  She walked in that direction, making sure there was a clear path and that the bathroom door was open all the way for easy access.  She picked up his sweatshirt from the floor and tossed it to him.  "Put this on," she instructed, noticing that he continued to shiver.

He did, and then she added, "And when you feel ready, I think you should get settled under the covers again.  I'll get you something to drink.  What do you want?  More tea?  Juice?"

"It doesn't matter," he called after her as she left the room.

She decided to bring him both kinds of beverages, and by the time she got back to the room he was sitting up against the headboard with the covers pulled over him.

"Here," she said, placing the mug and the glass on the nightstand.

"Thanks," he offered, reaching for the steaming tea.  He sipped it slowly, hoping it would soothe away his queasiness.

She wanted to stay with him, but at the same time she knew how utterly wiped out he was, and that she should leave the room so he could rest.

She had taken one step towards the door when he said, "Sara, I'm sorry."  His eyes were trained on the amber liquid in his cup and his voice was low and hesitant.

"Grissom, what did I say about apologizing," she began, half-joking.

But he cut her off, "Let me finish.  Please."  He met her gaze then, and her whole demeanor softened as she sank down and perched on the edge of the mattress.  "I'm sorry that I got angry with you, and that I gave you a reason to get angry with me."  He ran his finger nervously along the rim of his mug as he continued, "You were right.  I'm in no condition right now to go down to the lab or to work on this case.  The fact that I tried to head down there myself was…frankly, pretty stupid."  He gave her a self-deprecating grin before going on, "Also, I want to thank you for trying to stop me.  I know I don't make things easy sometimes, but…well, your high level of concern is appreciated."  He hid his discomfort at the tone of the conversation by looking away from her and seeming to intently study his tea as he drank some more of it.

She wasn't sure what to say in response to his little speech, so she just smiled and told him, "You're welcome."

But he wasn't quite finished.  "I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I need to say it."  He paused to collect himself before exhaling deeply and then going on, "Sara, this case...it's important to me.  I feel a connection to it; it's much more than an ordinary case to me.  I was the sole CSI on the double fifteen years ago, and it was never solved.  Two people were killed and I wasn't able to find the one who did it.  And now that they guy has killed again, and we have a chance to finally catch him, I…"

He trailed off, and Sara could tell he was embarrassed about what he felt was his lack of objectivity and professionalism where this case was concerned.  She placed her hand on his leg, hoping that would reassure him and encourage him to go on; it seemed to work.

After a moment he said, his voice stronger, "When we finally find this guy, I may need to be there, to see it for myself, to witness it all coming to an end."

"I understand," she responded gently.  "Why don't we worry about it when we get to that point?"

"Okay," he agreed.  Then the overwhelming fatigue he had been trying to fight hit him all of a sudden with the force of running full-speed into a brick wall.  His head was throbbing, his eyes were burning, and he felt completely drained.

Sara could see the change in his body language and she said, "For now, you need to go to sleep, and I'll go call Brass and tell him we're not coming."

Grissom sank beneath the covers, pulling the comforter up to his chin.  In the few seconds it took for Sara to turn off the light and leave the room, he was practically already asleep.

Once she had stepped far enough away from his half-open bedroom door to muffle the sound a bit, she called Brass and explained the situation.  He was also relieved to hear that Grissom would be staying at home.  Almost immediately after she hung up with him, she got a call from Greg.  His normally enthusiastic voice sounded weak and tired, but he confirmed Grissom's theory about the woman found in the woods being their third, and hopefully final, victim from the multiple homicide.

Sara was fairly exhausted herself, but also hungry, so she wandered into Grissom's kitchen to search for something vegetarian-friendly to eat.  She located some cans of soup in the cupboard and decided to prepare one.  She found a meatless variety—tomato—and dumped it into a pot.

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Sara had finished eating—she had decided to make some grilled cheese to go with the tomato soup, one of her favorite comfort food combinations—and had placed the extra broth into the refrigerator in case Grissom wanted some later.  She was just getting comfortable on the couch when a call came in from Catherine; she and Warrick had completed their second sweep of the Rosen house.

They had found no probative evidence of the other two murders, but they had discovered some art supplies with traces of blood on them.  They had also collected the bowls Grissom had remembered from the dishwasher.  All of this had been brought back to the lab, and they were currently waiting on the results.  Catherine had sent the exhausted Greg home so the graveyard CSIs would have to rely on other technicians in the DNA lab to run their samples.  Luckily, Jo-Ann from days had been very helpful so far.  "Thanks, keep in touch," Sara said, ending the conversation.

She sat back against the cushions and tried to process the newest developments in their case.  Right now she was simply too tired to make much sense of it.  She would wake Grissom and fill him in like she had promised, but not yet.  He had only just gone to sleep, and since she didn't hear anything from the direction of his room, she assumed he was still out like a light.  Adjusting her position, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift off, too.

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