Brass and Warrick sat opposite the suspect, already past the preliminary questions when Grissom appeared in the observation room.

"Where you been?" Catherine asked.

"Putting a muzzle on Eckley. What'd I miss?"

"Not much. He's denying everything, of course."

Nick snorted. "Get this. Our guy drives away in a '75 baby blue Camero with rust-red doors. Security at a business near the warehouse got a perfect shot of him. But our suspect doesn't change into a less conspicuous car. Oh no, he goes home, packs a suitcase, stops at Taco Bell for a snack, then tries to get out of town in the same vehicle."

Catherine shook her head in amazement.

Nick continued. "The best part? He was pulled over for speeding. Cop didn't even know who he was dealing with 'til he ran the plate number."

"An impulsive criminal," Catherine murmured.

"My favorite kind," Nick confirmed. "Don't think, just act. Leave evidence all over the place. We're gonna nail this guy, Grissom." But Grissom didn't reply; he was too busy watching the show with narrowed eyes.

In the other room, the suspect was clearly agitated. About 6'5", lanky but muscular, he couldn't seem to find a comfortable spot in his chair. He was beginning to sweat and his eyes never stayed on either of the men for more than a second.

"Look, I-I didn't do nothin'." Essentially his same response to the last five questions, only this time he managed to add: And if you guys say I did, then I want a lawyer. I know my rights." His body language suggested otherwise.

Grissom clenched his jaw. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

"Give it time," Catherine soothed. "They'll break him down. Brass is a pro at this."

At some point Nick had handed him a folder with the suspect's background. Grissom was now clutching it in an effort to stay calm. Finally, as the manila began to tear in his fist, Grissom walked to the door. "I've had enough of this."

Catherine hurried after him. "Where are you going?"

He looked at her like she was an idiot. "The interrogation room. I'm not wasting anymore time when everyone - including him - knows that he won't get away with this. I'm showing the evidence, I'm demanding the truth—"

"And if he doesn't give it?" If possible, Grissom's muscles tensed even more. "Gil—"He resumed walking. "Gil." She grabbed him by the arm. "Look at me." He obliged. "If you go in there, there's a chance he could walk. One screw up and Sara will have to leave that hospital knowing that her attacker is free." She kept her grip, not entirely sure how to deal with any emotional outbreak that Grissom may have.

His eyes darted between her and the interrogation room's door. Finally, his muscles relaxed, giving his body a slightly deflated look. "I need to get out of here." Catherine loosened her grip but held on, and led him down the hallway.

After a while they arrived at the garage. No hit-and-runs lately, so they had the place to themselves. It was big, it was isolated, and the equipment here could take a few blows.

She gave him a few feet of space, leaning against a lift. He wasn't saying anything but she knew that his near-blowout in the observation room was only the start. She wondered how someone looking so dejected could still appear so tense.

"Gil?" she gently prodded. "Wanna talk about it?"

He said nothing but his jaw clenched. It was becoming his telltale sign.

"You know," she started carefully, "it's okay to be hurt by this. It's not always the fearless leader vs. the messed-up employees. Sometimes we're just all messed up together as a team."

Nothing.

"Are you scared for Sara? Are you worried about the evidence being weak?"

Still nothing.

She flapped her arms in resignation. "You gotta give me something, Gil. I can't help you if you don't let me." She waited. "Or maybe you don't want to be helped."

That got his attention. He rubbed a palm against his cheek in irritation, clenched his jaw again.

"Man, whatever you're holding in, it must be a whopper. Your veins are starting to pop out. What's your heart rate at?"

It's chalk...from the plaster.

"Don't ask me that," he muttered sternly.

"Okay... So what, 20 Questions?" Nothing. She allowed herself a put-upon sigh. "Fine." She took a step closer. "Is it smaller than a breadbox?"

"Not funny," he warned.

"Well, what the hell do you want, Gil?" Nothing. "Silence, of course. There's no one here for a reason. I didn't bring you to the garage so you could gradually grind your teeth to nothing. In case you haven't noticed, one of our own is hurt and she is relying on us to make this better."

"I know that," he snapped.

"So? What is it?" Now she was the one with the clenched jaw. "It's Sara that's in that bed. I get that. But there is something specific that is just getting to you." Another sigh. "Is it Eckley?"

"No."

"The suspect? We'll get him eventually."

"Oh, he's ours, make no mistake about that." A full sentence. Impressive.

"Well, then... The cop's involvement?"

"No."

"Is this reminding you of some case I don't know about?"

"No." That folder was getting some new tears. Who knew Grissom could make such a strong fist. "Just forget it."

"Not happening," she said firmly. "If it's important to you, it's important to me."

"It's nothing that's gonna help us solve this case."

Catherine wrinkled her face in disgust. "Oh jesus, it's one of those issues. Gil, if I have to tell you one more time, I swear I'll lose it. Hiding from yourself isn't going to help this case, not if you're snapping trying to control whatever the issue is."

"Well what do you want me to say?!" Grissom's irritated shouting echoed in the empty concrete room.

"I just wanna understand."

"So, what? I'm just supposed to tell you what I can't even tell myself?"

"What can't you tell yourself?"

"That it isn't fucking fair!" His chest felt heavy. "It's not fair and it isn't right and it is completely fucked up."

"What is?"

"Everything. I could list anything and it would be right. Eckley, the suspect, the evidence, the cop, all of us." His voice was grim and disgusted, and a little bit sad. "It's about Sara, Catherine. It's about her being alone in the middle of nowhere, doing her job to help others, and nearly dying for it. It's about her being barely conscious in a hospital bed with hacked up skin and a bruised brain and still determined to give me a timeline. It's about Sara, whose greatest fears are abandonment and vulnerability and violence but still manages to look me in the eye and say what the suspect did."

"Gil—" The battered folder flew against the nearest wall.

"It's about the fact that she was missing for five hours and nobody noticed!!"

Catherine could only stand by, at a loss for words.

"We failed her. I failed her. And on the third floor of Desert Palms, she is lying on her left side because everywhere else hurts, wondering when she can come back."