A/N:  Another chapter for you!  I'm happy to say that Grissom and Sara are back for this one, so I hope everyone enjoys it!  And it's also pretty long—I think it's the longest chapter so far, so I do appreciate everyone taking the time to read it.  Thanks, as always, for all the wonderful reviews!  Enjoy!

Chapter 15:  Relapse

Sara woke up and stretched, remembering after a moment that she was in Grissom's bed, feeling his hand still in her grasp.  She yawned, having no idea how long she'd slept, but feeling more rested and refreshed than she had in a long time.  On impulse, she reached down and plucked her pager from her belt.  Illuminating the screen, she was a bit surprised to see that she had missed two messages.  She immediately checked her cell phone and saw that she had also missed three calls, all from Catherine.  How did that happen? she wondered.  Both of the devices had been in 'vibrate' mode, but she must have been sleeping even more soundly than she had thought to have not noticed them going off repeatedly.

Carefully, she extricated her fingers from Grissom's and slowly got off the bed.  She walked around to his side and stood next to him.  He hadn't stirred at all when she had gotten up—thankfully, he was still thoroughly, deeply asleep.

She watched him for a few minutes in the pale light coming in through the partially-open door.  She could tell by the way he was breathing that his nasal passages were becoming clogged again; his mouth was slightly open to compensate and to allow more air in.  She made a mental note to give him another dose of medicine to alleviate the congestion when he woke up.

Unable to resist—and telling herself it was only to check his temperature—Sara leaned forward and touched him.  She had been doing that a lot lately, she realized.  Although mostly when he was unconscious, she added silently, grinning to herself.

She slowly brushed the backs of her fingers along his forehead, pausing at the two noticeable scars on the inside of his left eyebrow and near his right temple.  She had always wondered how he had gotten them.  One day I'll have to ask him, she thought.

She turned her hand, her fingertips now against his skin as she continued moving them down the side of his face.  She repeated the motions with her fingers several times.  He still felt quite warm to her, but not any hotter than before—it seemed that his fever was holding steady.

She reluctantly pulled her hand back, immediately missing the touch of his skin against hers.  She still couldn't seem to leave the room, though, as her eyes played over his tranquil face.  She knew she could easily stand there and just stare at him for hours, but she had to step out and return the phone calls she had missed.  So she finally forced herself from his side, unfolding her cell phone as she walked into the living room.

Catherine picked up on the second ring.  "Willows."

"Hey, Catherine," Sara greeted.

"Hey, where have you been?"

"Yeah, sorry about missing your calls.  I was asleep."

"That must have been some sleep," the older woman joked.

"It was," Sara replied with a smile, remembering how blissful sleeping next to Grissom had been.  "So, what's up?"

Catherine shared with her the latest information on the case, the most significant thing being the name of their suspect.  She also told Sara that Brass was still trying to find the guy, but had no leads yet.  Then she asked, "How's Grissom?"

"He seems to be doing better.  He's asleep right now."

"Oh, okay," Catherine answered, sounding disappointed.

Sara was puzzled by her reaction.  "Why?  What's wrong?"

"Nothing.  I just need to talk to him."

"Why?" Sara repeated.

"It's related to that old case he told us about."

"What about it?"

"Warrick and Nick are looking through the evidence, but the inventory list seems to be missing," Catherine explained.  "They're trying to find a link to back up Grissom's hunch, but they can't tell if they have all the evidence in front of them.  We need to see if Gil remembers enough to fill in the blanks.  It's important that I talk to him about it."

"I agree with you that it's important," Sara began, an edge to her tone.  "But I'm not waking Grissom up.  He needs…"

"I'm not asking you to disturb him, Sara," Catherine replied, setting her at ease.  "Just whenever he does wake up, have him call me."

Sara let out a deep breath that the other woman could hear through the phone.  "Sure, Catherine.  "I'll have him call you right away."  She paused, then added, "I'm sorry I snapped at you.  It's just that…I'm just worried about him.  He hasn't really slept all that much, and he needs rest right now.  I'm just trying to make sure he gets it."

"I know, Sara," Catherine responded.  "We all want him to feel better.  But we might need his help if we're going to catch this guy and put him away."

"You're right," Sara admitted.  "I know Grissom feels some sort of personal connection to this case—especially if he's right and it's related to those unsolved murders."  She considered her concern for a moment.  "So, I'll have him call you just as soon as he wakes up."

"Thanks, Sara."

"It's okay," she replied before ending the call.

Thinking about what Catherine had just said, Sara went into the bedroom to check on Grissom.  She stood there, watching him sleeping peacefully, until suddenly his brow furrowed and his breathing sped up.  She saw him reaching with his right hand, the one she had been holding earlier, and she knew he was searching for her touch.

"It's all right.  I'm right here, Grissom," she soothed.  "I'm right here."  She reached down and took his hand—his left hand, the one that was closer to her—and gave it a gentle squeeze.  Then she leaned forward and began stroking his hair, enjoying the feel of the waves and curls between her fingers.  His hair was so soft—much softer than she would have ever imagined.  She had always longed to touch his hair, to run her fingers through the inviting curls.  But before the last couple of days, she had never found the opportunity—or the boldness.

"It's all right, Grissom," she repeated softly.  Looking at his face now, at the way it was contorted in worry and fear, she thought, If only all the people who believe that he's like a robot and has no emotions could see him now.  They'd realize he was just as vulnerable and felt just as much as they did.  A pang of guilt followed this musing as Sara reminded herself that she had accused Grissom of 'not feeling anything' on more than one occasion.  But now I know better, she promised herself.  Although, deep down, I probably always knew the truth about Grissom…I just chose to ignore it at times.

She lowered herself down next to him, sitting on the edge of the mattress.  Keeping a comforting grip on his hand, she continued to move her fingers through his hair, until he finally relaxed into quiet sleep again.

Sara was glad her presence had prevented him from slipping into a full-fledged nightmare again, but she frowned at the state of his breathing.  His inhalations of air had become even more raspy and labored, and she knew he'd probably wake up soon because he simply wasn't able to breathe freely enough.  She stayed with him a little while longer until she assured herself that he'd be all right.  Then she carefully got up, gently placing his hand at his side, and slipped out of the room.

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Sara was stirring the macaroni on the stove when she heard a long succession of coughs and sneezes from the bedroom.  She lowered the heat under the pot, and then went to check on the obviously awake Grissom.

He was sitting up sideways, his feet on the floor, reaching over to grab more tissues from the box on the nightstand.  Sneezing once more, he blew his nose into the protective layers and then coughed.  Sara thought he sounded pretty terrible and definitely worse than before.  "Hey, Grissom," she said sympathetically.

He looked up at her in greeting, and then picked up the half-filled bottle of water next to the tissues and took two large gulps.  Knowing how dry his mouth and throat must be because of how he had been forced to breathe while asleep, she went back into the kitchen to get him some juice.  If he was going to drink something, she wanted him to at least get some nutrients out of it.  Also, the water had been sitting out for a while and wouldn't be cold anymore.  Returning to the bedroom, she handed him a glass.  "Here you go."

"Thanks," he replied, his voice hoarse and nasal.  He drank half the apple juice in one swallow.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

He shrugged and met her gaze, still not quite fully awake yet.

"Let's see."  She leaned forward and placed a hand gently on his forehead.  She frowned worriedly, her other hand moving to his cheek.  "Grissom, you're hot again," she pointed out.  "I mean, hotter than before.  You're not supposed to be relapsing on me."  She tried for a jovial tone, but she was honestly concerned; she had really thought he had been improving.

"Sorry," he responded.

"Grissom…" she began, half joking and half exasperated.  Hearing him apologize needlessly yet again, she seriously considered making a fist and shaking it in front of his face as if she were finally going to fulfill her earlier threat, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.  She could never really hurt him, and right now he looked so pained and uncomfortable sitting there that she couldn't even pretend she was going to knock him senseless.  She doubted he would appreciate her attempt at levity anyway.  His eyes were glazed from the lack of enough hours of healing sleep; he could hardly breathe, and his nose had become red and irritated from repeated abuse by the tissues.

"How do you feel?" she asked him, already knowing the answer.

"Clogged."

She nodded sympathetically, picking up the thermometer from the dresser.  "Let me take your temperature and then I'll give you something for that."  She placed the thermometer in his mouth, and then stepped out to take care of what she had cooking on the stove.

When the time elapsed, she checked the thermometer's scale.  "Back to one-oh-three," she reported.  "I thought so."

He sat there in silence, looking positively miserable, and she had an almost uncontrollable urge to hug him and make him feel better.  Well, a hug would certainly make her feel better, she knew, but she wanted to do something that would work for him.   She wished she had something that would instantly cure him.  "What can I do?" she asked, eager to help him in any way she could.

"Put me out of my misery," he said flatly, but one side of his mouth quirked up, letting her know he wasn't totally serious.

Because he was so congested, his words had come out sounding more like, 'Put be out of by bisery,' and Sara couldn't help but smile widely back at him, finding the whole thing rather comical.  She was glad to see that he hadn't completely lost his sense of humor.  But then she turned serious once again.  "No, really, Grissom.  What will help?"

"I guess we should try the pills again.  I need to be able to breathe."

"Okay," she agreed.  She studied the medications lined up along the top of his nightstand and selected one.  "I think this is what Catherine gave you earlier that seemed to help."  She struggled with the packaging for a minute, starting to get frustrated, but she was finally able to free the two capsules from their plastic-encased, foil-lined prison.  Child-proof?  Try adult-proof, she thought, slightly annoyed.  But when she turned to him and handed him the medicine, her demeanor and voice were completely calm and caring.  "Try these," she said.

"Thanks, Sara," he replied, swallowing the pills with the rest of the apple juice.

"That should have you feeling better soon," she promised.  She brushed her fingers through his hair, moving along the side of his head to the back, where she gently clasped the wavy locks between her fingers.

After a few seconds of cozy silence, she asked, "Can I get you anything?"

"I don't think so."  He moved back onto the bed where he leaned against the headboard, closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

"Are you sure?  You should eat something."

Being all stuffed up and unable to breathe didn't put him much in the mood for eating.  He shook his head.  "No, thanks."

She kept pushing, "I'm making some macaroni and cheese.  Or maybe you'd rather have just the plain pasta?"

"Not right now, Sara, but thank you," he replied, hoping to convince her to drop the subject—at least temporarily.

"Okay," she gave in.  She knew he needed to get some sleep, but she realized he wouldn't be able to until the medication started working.  "Do you want your crossword book?"

He looked up at her and gave her a small, appreciative smile.  "That would be great."

"Be right back," she said, grabbing his empty juice glass on her way out.

As she returned to him, carrying his book and pen and the refilled glass, she remembered her promise to Catherine—Grissom was supposed to call her as soon as possible.  "Here you go," she said, handing him to book.

"Thanks."  He shifted around, trying to get comfortable enough to focus on his puzzle.

"Let me," Sara offered.  She moved around some pillows, patting them to fluff them up.  Then she pulled the comforter up to his waist.

He had opened the book, and was flipping through it to find the page he'd been completing before.

"Listen, Gris," she began as she finished adjusting the bedding.  "Catherine called a little while ago.  She needs to talk to you.  It's about that old case with all the blood spatter."

At the mention of the old case, Sara had his full and complete attention.  He met her gaze and asked, "What does Catherine need to know?  Did she find a link to our current case or a suspect?"  A touch of hope tinted his words.

Sara knew how important it was to him to close these two cases, especially the one that had been haunting him for fifteen years.  She wished she had more encouraging news for him, as she replied, "No.  No link yet."  She watched as he tried not to let the disappointment and frustration show in his eyes.  "They do have a suspect for our current case, though.  Those art supplies Catherine and Warrick collected were uncommon.  They traced the customers who had purchased them through credit cards.  Then they ran that list against the DMV list of owners of the types of cars that left those tire treads in the desert."

"Did they bring him in yet?"

"No."  She was reluctant to give him any more unpromising news, but she added, "The police can't seem to find him.  There's an APB out on his car, but they haven't located it either."

"He's probably hundreds of miles away by now."

"We don't know that for sure, Gris," she said, trying to be reassuring.

He just looked at her tiredly.

"The police are still looking for him," she tried.

He digested the information then wondered, "So if they don't have the guy, what did Catherine want me for?"

Sara hesitated, worrying about his reaction to the news.  She took a breath, and then just told him, "Catherine, Warrick, and Nick are working on linking your old case with our new one, but they ran into a problem:  the evidence inventory is missing.  It wasn't with the rest of the stuff."

"It's missing?  Are they sure?"

She nodded.  "No sign of it."

He sat there and stared at nothing in particular for a full minute, giving no indication of what he was thinking or feeling.

She finally interrupted his reverie when she touched his shoulder.  "Do you remember seeing the inventory when you were examining the evidence this morning?"

"I don't think I saw it," he said slowly, trying to recall.  "But I didn't really look.  I just grabbed the folder of photos off the top.  I was focusing on the pictures of the scene, not what was in the rest of the box."

"Do you remember the details of the evidence you collected during that case?"

"Some of it," he admitted.  "It was a long time ago, Sara."

"Yeah," she agreed.  "You should call Catherine."

He picked up the phone on his nightstand and started to dial, but just then Sara's cell phone vibrated against her stomach, buzzing almost inaudibly.  Grabbing it, she glanced at the caller's name and gave Grissom a puzzled look.  Putting the phone to her ear, Sara said, "Hey, Catherine."

Grissom immediately hung up his bedside phone and motioned for Sara to pass him her cell.

"Grissom was just about to call you," Sara told Catherine, continuing their conversation for a moment.  "Yeah, he just got up.  I filled him in on the basics of what's going on.  Any progress in locating the suspect?"

After listening briefly, Sara mumbled, "Uh huh."  She blew out her breath in frustration.  "All right, well…anyway, here's Grissom."  She finally handed him the phone.

"Hey," he greeted.  "I gather from Sara's reaction that the police still don't have the suspect in custody."

On her end of the phone, Catherine frowned at the condition of his voice.  "No, not yet," she replied.  Then she added, "By the way, Grissom, you sound awful."

"Thanks, Cath," he retorted.

"No, really.  You sound a lot worse than before."  The concern was clear in her voice.

"I know."  He sighed into the phone.  "Hopefully, it's only temporary.  Sara gave me something—it just hasn't kicked in yet."

"Well, I guess you just need to give it a chance to work.  I'm sure it'll help."

He got right back to business.  "So, tell me about the evidence.  Have you and the guys found anything yet?"

"Nothing that connects our triple murder case to your old one.  But…"  She trailed off, then asked, "Did Sara tell you about the inventory list?"

"She told me it had gone missing."

"Yeah.  Sorry, Gil, we've looked, but we can't find it."

"To be honest, Catherine," he began, "I don't even know if the inventory was in there when I pulled the evidence box from the vault.  I only took the folder of photos from the top; I didn't look further inside."

"I figured that might be the case," Catherine said.  "It didn't look like you had gotten much past the photos.  You were studying them pretty carefully in the layout room earlier."

"Yeah," Grissom replied, somewhat distractedly.  He said nothing more for a while as he thought back, trying to remember the state of the evidence when he had last seen it.

"Gil?" Catherine prompted, wondering why his end of the line had gone silent.  Had she lost her cell signal?  "Gil, are you there?"  She realized she could still hear him breathing, so she just waited until he was ready to continue.

Finally, he asked, "Do you know if anyone else went into the layout room today?  Was the evidence moved in any way from where I left it when you and Sara led me out of there?"

It was the other CSI's turn to think.  "Now that you mention it, it was moved," she reported, surprised at the revelation.  "The pictures and box were pushed aside to the far left corner.  You had had all the images spread out neatly, but someone must have come into the room and moved everything around."

"Any idea who it could have been?"

"No, but don't worry, I'll find out," she promised.

"Please do, Cath," he requested.  "And then see if they know anything about the missing inventory list."

"I will.  But in case that doesn't solve the problem, do you remember any of the evidence you logged during the old case?"

"I remember some of the specifics, but not all."

"Okay, I'm walking into the layout room now," she told him.  "We'll compare what you remember with what was in the box."  She stopped in front of the lighted table.  Warrick and Nick had just stepped out of the room for a quick coffee break.  Before that, they had been intently studying the evidence from the old case.  Everything was spread around, but was categorized and placed into neat piles, so that it was easy to see it all.  "So what do you remember?" she asked into the phone.

"Um…"  In his bedroom, Grissom closed his eyes and tried to recall the details.  "There were some hairs.  That I remember.  They were visually consistent with hairs from the two victims; we couldn't match the DNA back then."

"The hairs are here," she told him, finding them in an evidence pile.  "Six collected—they all matched the victims'.  The written reports are here, too."

"Good," he said.  "Of course there were all the blood samples—I don't remember how many swabs I used, but there must have been close to…twenty?"

"Twenty-three, to be exact," Catherine reported.  "All here with all the serology reports."

"I think some fibers were found on the bodies."

"Check.  Four cotton threads matching the comforter in the bedroom where the girls were killed."

"Those were the main pieces of evidence I collected," he summarized.  "There was no sign of the weapon and nothing directly related to the killer.  No hairs, no shoeprints, no skin under the girls' fingernails, no finger…  Wait a second," he said suddenly.  "I dusted for prints.  I know I got a few off the doorknob that belonged to the victims, but there was something else…another print."

"Give me a sec, Grissom, I'm looking," Catherine assured him.  She was flipping through the small stack of fingerprints he had collected.  The only ones she found had been identified as belonging to the two female victims.  "All I see are prints belonging to the girls."

"No, that's not right.  I know I found another print.  We never identified it.  I lifted it from…somewhere in the kitchen."  He closed his eyes again as he struggled to remember.  His frustration was growing, along with the throbbing pain that had returned to his head.  "Yeah, yeah, it was from the edge of one of the counters.  It was a clear thumbprint.  I remember it now."

Catherine went through everything again, extra carefully.  "I'm telling you, Gil, it's just not here," she said.

"It should be there," he insisted.

Sara watched worriedly as he rubbed a hand along his forehead.  She knew he didn't need to get worked up or upset right now; it would only aggravate his symptoms and do nothing to help him get better.

Grissom took a deep breath and let it out very slowly.  "All right, I guess I'll have to come down there."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea.  You don't sound up to it."

"But it may be the only way we can get this guy, Catherine," he asserted.  "We need to link him to the old homicides."  He looked up and met Sara's gaze, knowing she had overheard the whole conversation and could easily figure out what was being said on the other end of the line.  He wasn't exactly looking for permission from her to head down to the lab, but he hoped she at least agreed with him, and understood the necessity of it.

Sara could read his expression and she nodded, although her face remained grim.  She knew he shouldn't be going anywhere, but she also realized his importance to the investigations right now.

Nodding back at Sara, he informed Catherine, "We'll be there shortly."

"Okay," she replied.  "In the meantime, I'll keep looking into this with the guys.  It helps that we now know what we're looking for."

"Thanks, Cath," he said.  "I really appreciate everything you're doing to help with this, especially taking over the shift.  My work at your pay is not a fair deal."

On her end of the phone, she smiled.  "Don't worry, Gil, I'll be making up the difference in over-overtime, and in the extra vacation days you'll be giving me."

Grissom almost laughed out loud as he told her, "We'll talk about that later."

"Okay, see you in a bit."

Grissom was about to say "goodbye" when Sara gestured for the phone.  "Hang on, Catherine," he said instead.  "Sara wants to talk to you again."  He gave her the phone.

"Hey, Catherine," she began, but then she moved into the other room to continue the conversation out of Grissom's earshot.

The other woman already knew what Sara wanted to talk about.  "Are you worried about bringing him down here?"

"Yeah.  He's gotten a lot worse."

"I could tell by the way he sounded," Catherine commented.  "But look, Sara, we really need him here.  This isn't something Grissom can do 'long distance.'  Crucial evidence may be missing or compromised, and Gil's the only one who knows the details.  We need him or this guy might get away with the other murders."

"I know…you're right, Catherine," Sara gave in.  "We'll see you soon.  Make sure you let us know if there are any new developments with bringing in that suspect before we get there."

"I'll call you if anything comes up."

"Thanks."  She ended the call and clipped the phone to her belt again.

When she came back into the bedroom, she found Grissom sitting on the edge of the bed.  He was blowing his nose again.  After he threw out the used tissues, he picked up the glass of juice and drank some of it.  Then he pushed off the mattress and stood up, very slowly.  Once he had made sure he was okay upright, he turned to Sara and said, "I'm gonna grab a quick shower and then get dressed.  Give me about twenty minutes, okay?"

She stared at him with a hard-to-read expression on her face.

"What?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Down at the lab, they all know you're sick.  They're not expecting you to look your best."

"Are you saying I can't be sick and clean at the same time?" he responded, managing a small grin.

Sara couldn't help but smile back at him.  "Of course you can, it's just…could you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Just try to dry off quickly and make sure you dry your hair all the way," she told him.  "You don't need to get a chill right now.  And dress warmly.  Wear what makes you feel comfortable.  Don't worry about what the outside temperature says."

He was torn between being flattered by her concern and being slightly annoyed by her 'mothering' tendencies.  He decided that in his current mood he was being too hard on her; he was actually glad that someone cared enough about him to look out for him the way Sara had been doing.  He realized he was grateful, and hoped, when this was all over, he could thank her properly for all her help.  But for right now, he just gave her another smile as he answered, "I'll do my best."  He headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Sara went back into the kitchen to finish preparing the macaroni and cheese.

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