Cardinality
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the citizens of Las Vegas. Started out as a case file but the G/S aspect demanded equal representation. This is the edited version for ths site. The complete version can be found at my web site.
Rating: R for subject matter
A/N: No real spoilers. Many thanks to Burked for teaching me how to be a serial killer, among many other things.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to CSI. If I did, certain characters would be getting more screen time – together!

"I cannot help it; in spite of myself, infinity torments me." – Alfred de Musset

Chapter 14

Grissom opened his fridge, quickly scanning the contents mixed among his experiments, looking for something to offer Sara. When he'd invited her to his home, he hadn't considered that he wasn't prepared to entertain.

He wanted her to feel comfortable in his home, at least enough to consider taking up his offer of the guest room. Instead, he was worried she was angry.

On the ride over from the hospital, they had talked about her medical condition. Grissom tried to convince her to take more time off, pointing out she couldn't go to scenes, and they still had to be careful she wasn't hurt.

Sara hadn't seemed upset with him for restricting her to the lab, but now Grissom wondered if he had been wrong. Ever since they arrived at this townhouse, she'd been quiet. Briefly peeking around the fridge door, he watched as she methodically pretreated a stain on a shirt.

Grabbing the orange juice container, he opened it and took a cautious sniff before wrinkling his nose in disgust. Setting it back on the shelf, Grissom shifted some beakers around, seeing if anything had migrated to the far corners.

The remaining contents weren't promising. There was beer and wine, but considering she was just released from the hospital, alcohol probably wasn't a wise choice. The bottled water was half-drunk.

That left the container of milk. It hadn't been opened yet, so it shouldn't have picked up any odors. Unfortunately, Grissom wasn't sure how strict of a vegetarian she was, and the last thing he wanted was a repeat of the hamburger incident.

Replaying the conversation over in his mind, he couldn't isolate anything that he'd said, or hadn't said, that would have made her upset. Pursing his lips, he peeked around the door again to watch her in the laundry area off of the kitchen.

Grissom shifted the containers around in one last hopeful quest to find something to offer her. As hard as he tried, he couldn't figure out why she would be upset.

Was she worried about Max? Is she thinking about him? Would she rather be with him?

Grissom let out a long breath as he closed the fridge door. Of course she'd be concerned; the mathematician was her friend. Casting another glance in the direction of the laundry area, he wondered how Sara classified him.

Their relationship had been damaged over time, and he couldn't repair it overnight. It was going to take a while for Sara to regain faith in him again. They needed their old level of trust before things could move forward.

If they moved forward. As much as Grissom wanted to be with Sara, he knew that if it didn't work out he'd be heartbroken. That was a pain he'd only felt superficially when she'd taken up with the paramedic; that experience was enough to make him gun-shy of further hurt. And apparently he had hurt Sara again, but he had no idea how.

Grissom let out a disgusted sigh as his confusion turned to frustration. He'd turned a simple drink offering into a full-blown production. He knew he wasn't the most socially skilled person, but he'd never had problems with having a guest in his house before.

He set a pot of water on the stove, then got a pitcher and some tea bags from the cupboard. Turning to look at Sara, a concerned frown crossed his features as he quickly closed the distance between them. She was still working on the same stain, completely lost in thought. Whatever was wrong, it was more than her being upset with him.

"Hey," he said softly, placing a hand gently on her shoulder, causing her to start. "Sorry. You okay?"

"Yeah," she said sheepishly. "Just got distracted."

"I'll take care of this."

"That's okay," she said, giving him an embarrassed smile as she dumped the rest of the load into the machine.

"You can trust me with clothes. I've been doing my own laundry for … well, a long time," Grissom said, stopping himself before he pointed out that he'd been doing wash since before she was born.

"Grissom, it's all right. Don't go to any more trouble. I can handle this."

"You're my friend. This hasn't been any trouble," he said lowly.

"Thanks. I didn't mean to zone out on you," Sara said, slipping passed him to enter the kitchen area.

Grissom followed, a puzzled look on his face. Something was bothering her; she'd been embarrassed that he'd caught her lost in thought.

"I'm making some iced tea. If you want, I can make some coffee. Or I can run out to the market and pick up some juice or soda."

"Tea's fine," she said, tilting her head as she leaned against the counter.

"Do you want something to eat? I can make you a sandwich, or…"

"Stop," she said softly. Giving her head a slight shake, she walked over to him, surprising him by stroking his arm lightly. "You're trying too hard."

Grissom looked away, feeling chagrined. While he'd been with women before, he'd never been in love with any of them. Most people worked through the awkwardness of their first love when they were teenagers: a time when embarrassment was ubiquitous.

"Hey."

Hearing her concern, Grissom caught her gaze, shrugging slightly.

"You okay?"

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" Sara asked, clearly confused.

"For making you upset?" Grissom offered, wondering if he'd just embarrassed himself again.

"I'm not angry," she said with a fleeting smile. "Relax."

"Is everything okay? Something's bothering you."

"It's stupid. Don't worry about it." Sara walked to the stove. Turning off the burner, she took the boiling water and poured it over the tea bags.

"Well, it's too late for that," he quipped, hoping to lighten the mood. Stepping closer, he placed his hands tentatively on her shoulders. "Does it have to do with this case?"

"Like I said, it's stupid. When I saw your bugs," she said, pointing to a wall-mounted display, "I realized that I was scheduled to be off for a couple of days. If, uh, if the killer had been successful, it would have been days before anyone realized something had happened. Definitely would have been bug food by the time anyone noticed. I guess that bothers me."

Grissom moved his hands lightly across her shoulders. He could feel the tension in her muscles, but he resisted the urge to massage the tightness out. She'd still be too sore.

"Sorry. It's weird."

"I can understand. The same's true for me. If anything ever happened to me, no one would notice until I was missing at work," Grissom said softly, noticing that she still seemed tired. When she didn't answer, he took another step towards her, leaning in close to her ear.

"Would you like to go to bed?"

Sara turned to stare at him, an eyebrow raised questioningly as Grissom dropped his hands to her waist.

"I mean, why don't you get some sleep? You need to rest. I'll finish up your laundry."

"No, thanks," she said, flashing him a grin. "If I take a nap now, I'll never get back to sleep when I get back to my place."

"You don't have to go, Sara. Stay here. You need a ride into work anyway," he urged.

"Grissom, I can catch a ride with the escort out there. You don't have to go to any trouble."

"This isn't any trouble. I want you to stay," he said softly.

"The police will notice. They had to know you spent the night at my apartment."

"Does that bother you?" he asked with a baffled expression. Sara was the last person he thought would be worried that others knew about their budding relationship.

"No. But I have a feeling it'll bother you."

"Like you said, they would've noticed last night. If anyone's going to talk, they already have all the ammunition they need," he said with a shrug.

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"I can't change what's happened. And I'd feel better if you weren't alone."

Sara leaned forward to place a quick kiss to his cheek before moving away to fish out the tea bags. "Thanks. That means a lot to me, but I was serious before. I'm not going to let this guy get to me."

"If you change your mind, let me know," he said, a happy grin forming despite the fact she wasn't going to stay. Grabbing glasses and a bag of pretzels, he led Sara into the living room, where they settled down to watch a documentary on the history of wooden sailing ships.

He chuckled lightly when he realized she'd fallen asleep on the couch later that afternoon. Heading to his bedroom, he pulled the covers down on his bed. Back at the couch, he carefully picked her up, being careful to avoid her injured arm.

Once he had her settled on the bed, he slid down to take off her shoes and socks. Grissom paused as he saw the swelling and bruising. He knew the warfarin would affect her entire body, but seeing the extent of her injuries was jarring.

"Pretty ugly, I know."

"Sorry," he said, moving back up the bed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"'Sokay," she said sleepily.

"Go back to sleep," Grissom insisted, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on her lips. Pulling back, he smiled as he watched her resting in his bed, wondering how many times he'd dreamt of finding her like this.

Unable to help himself, he leaned forward for another kiss, allowing this one to linger. When Sara slipped her arm around his neck, he deepened the kiss, not breaking off until she moved her hand to chest.

"I didn't mean to rush you."

"It's not that," she said, looking away self-consciously. "I'm pretty much one big bruise. It's pretty disgusting looking. Believe me, that would have been a turn off."

Grissom brushed a lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear. "I doubt that," he whispered. "'Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.'"

"Shakespeare? Well, he never saw someone with warfarin poisoning before."

"No, but he would have seen someone with the plague or leprosy. That has to be worse," he teased, moving to take a t-shirt from his dresser. "Here. Go ahead and change, then go back to sleep."

"This isn't your guest room," she realized when he handed her the shirt.

"No. You sleep here. I'll take the other room," he said, not mentioning it was doubling as a storage area for his old journals and research projects.

"You don't have to do that. We're both adults, Grissom. Stay with me," she said shyly. "I'd like that."

"Of course."

Grissom left the room, closing the door behind him. Walking back to the laundry room, he checked on her clothes in the dryer, wondering about her request. Had she recognized the significance of the quote? He hadn't openly admitted the depth of his feelings to her, but the quotation summed them up.

After the laundry was finished, he slipped back into the room. Undressing quickly, he slid under the covers, curling up behind Sara. He watched her sleep for a while before wrapping an arm around her waist, smiling when she moved back against him.

Grissom walked into the break room, giving Sara a shy smile as he passed. There had been a moment's awkwardness when they woke up earlier, spooned together in his bed, but it passed quickly as they settled into the routine of getting ready for work.

Despite his lingering concerns about starting a relationship, he had to admit there had been a simple joy in joking as they washed up the dinner dishes. It was a facet of life he'd never experienced like this, and one he wanted to explore in more detail.

When they arrived at the lab, Sara had been swarmed by the rest of the team, everyone glad to see her. Grissom had left her to greet her friends, joking with Nick and Warrick, and making Greg blush deeply by thanking him for doing her grocery shopping with a kiss on the cheek.

Grabbing some coffee, he took a seat at the table, waiting a moment for the others to settle down. "What did you find?" he asked, turning to look at Catherine.

"Okay, you saw the report from Bakersfield? Carrasco was terrified when he died."

"Which means it probably wasn't a suicide," Grissom nodded.

"Yeah. I went over the photos. If that shot was rigged, I don't see how it was done. There are no voids in the blood spatter."

"So the killer forced Carrasco to kill himself?" Greg asked in confusion.

"Worse ways to go than a bullet to the head," Nick said. "Could have threatened to torture him first, or made it a slow death."

"Why though? I mean, the guy didn't wear the same size shoes. The DNA wouldn't match what we lifted from the scenes," Greg continued.

"As far as the killer knows, we may only have the brush as evidence. He may not know enough about forensics to know what type of other evidence he left behind. The killer didn't take any precautions to remove his shoe prints," Grissom pointed out.

"I talked to the trooper that found the car," Warrick added. "It was down in a gully, hidden behind some brush. He saw a lot of carrion eaters in the area and got suspicious. The windows had all been opened. I'm guessin' the killer thought Carrasco would have been pretty much eaten before the body was found. Wouldn't have been enough of him left to notice the shoe sizes were different."

"What else?" Grissom asked.

"We went back over his house. There was a box of old lyrics in a box under the bed. His old band members verify Carrasco wrote them. QD compared it to the writing from the crime scenes. Not done by the same guy," Catherine said.

"I talked to Archie. He went over the photos of, errr, uhm, that we found at the house," Nick sputtered.

"It's okay, Nick," Sara said softly.

"Yeah. Well, all he can tell us was the camera wasn't the best. The resolution on the pictures isn't that great. We went over the picture that was taken in front of the lab. We can't tell what kind of zoom he used, so we can't pinpoint how far away he was. From the angle, we were able to make out he was in the parking lot."

"Do you remember anyone hanging around?" Grissom asked her.

Sara shook her head, and reached for the photos, flipping through them.

"Same deal with the shot of you at your apartment complex. We can figure out the direction it was taken, but not the exact distance."

"Trace examined those fibers we found in victim at the theater," Catherine continued. "Doc was right. It is fleece. The dye places it as a Hanes sweatshirt. You could pick one up anywhere."

"Brass sent a sketch artist to talk to Max. They couldn't come up with much. He didn't pay that much attention to him," Nick said. "All he really remembers was the guy's short. Which makes sense considering how small of a shoe he wears."

"They still have protection on Max, right?" The others turned to watch Sara, who was pointing to the photos. "He was with me when all these pictures were taken. The one in front of the lab – that was the morning I gave him a ride home."

"The killer must have followed us to the lab from the theater," Greg said. "I didn't notice anything."

"Why would you?" she asked kindly. "You had no reason to think someone would be following you. He either cropped the shots or framed them so you can't see Max, but we were together in each location."

"Do you remember where you were? We can figure out the direction the killer was when he took the shots," Grissom said. "There's a chance there's still some evidence."

"This is the Rosemont Shopping Center," Sara said, holding up the photo of her leaving the video store, then moving to the shot of the park bench. "That's the park on Inglenook. We were between the playground and the pond. It was the bench with a damaged armrest. The gas station is the Texaco down the street."

"Warrick, grab Archie and see if you can figure out where those shots were taken from."

"I'm on it," he said, giving Sara a smile as he left.

"So, was the killer really after Max or not?" Catherine wondered, stirring her coffee idly.

"I'm not sure he was after either of them," Grissom said. "He knew we had evidence after he lost the brush at the drive-in."

"You think he framed Carrasco to throw us off his trail?" Sara asked, setting the photos down.

"It's possible. He went to a lot of trouble to implicate him. He left the clues about Sara to shake us up. I think Warrick was right; he didn't expect Carrasco's body to be found so soon, and he thought we would use the planted evidence to close the case."

"What now?"

"I don't know. If he went to this much trouble to frame Carrasco, he'll probably lie low for the time being, but there's no guarantee about that. I wanted to issue a warning about carryout food, but the sheriff wouldn't allow it," Grissom said in disgust.

"Yeah, well, considering how important tourism is to the city, I can see why," Catherine offered.

"And we don't know he killed the others with carryout. I mean, it doesn't make any sense," Sara said.

"What makes you say that?" Grissom asked.

"Okay, you order carryout. You don't think anything about opening the door to take it from the delivery guy. You don't think anything about eating it. But what about when the killer returns? Who's going to let in a delivery guy when they haven't ordered anything?"

Grissom gave a resigned nod. "That's true. And if we're right that he targeted you and Max to throw us off his trail, he could have used a different MO to confuse us more."

"That still doesn't help us figure out how he picked the victims," Catherine sighed.

"Janice Wilcox. Paralegal in a firm downtown. Lives in Henderson. Ian Price. Electrician. Works for a defense contractor at Nellis. Gary Galicki. Dentist, lives on the east side of the city. What do they have in common?" Sara asked, waiting until her colleagues shook their heads.

"Janice used to live in my apartment building. I gave her rides to the gym when her car was in the shop. Ian used to work for my parents when I was a kid. They told me he was transferred out here last year. Galicki is my dentist."

"And until we know you're the connection, there'd be no way to link them together," Grissom said. "You're thinking the killer knows the victims?"

"At least well enough that they'd take poisoned food or drink from him. And to let him in later."

"Makes sense," Catherine said. "He knows enough about them to know when they'd be alone, so he can kill them."

"Okay. Sara, get Brass to get you the list of all of their co-workers and Smith's classmates. Compare it to Wallace's client list, phone records, anything you can find."

"Did you get a chance to look at my bugs?" Catherine asked him.

"Yeah. They're still maturing, but by the beetles present, he's been dead at least three weeks."

Brass found Grissom in the break room, eating lunch with Catherine and Sara. Nodding to the three CSIs, he walked over to the coffee machine. "O'Riley may have figured out how Carrasco links into this," he said, taking a chair at the end of the table.

"He found a kid, Eric Stills, who lives in another building in your complex. He works at a pizza place. The day you were poisoned, he came home from work about an hour before you ordered your carryout. He had brought lunch home with him. As Stills was crossing the parking lot, a guy approached him. Asked him if that was his order and offered to pay for it there."

"Did he mention my apartment?"

"Kid doesn't remember what number he said. Wasn't paying that much attention to him. When Stills said the food was his, the guy slipped back into the parking lot."

"You think it was the killer?" Catherine asked. "Would he assume they'd be ordering carryout?"

"If he was following Max, it would make sense," Sara offered. "He never cooks. If he doesn't eat at a restaurant, he gets carryout. And he eats about five meals a day."

"So when Carrasco came with your order, the real killer sidetracked him. He takes your food and poisoned it, and brought it up to you. But what about Carrasco? There was no sign of injuries on him. How did the killer keep him from escaping?" Grissom asked.

"Drugs? Was he handcuffed? Did the killer bribe him?" Sara ventured.

"Did this Stills kid say anything else?" Grissom asked, turning to face Brass.

"He's talking to the sketch artist now. Thought you might want to talk to him yourself."

"Thanks, Jim," Grissom said as he and Sara left the room.

Brass chuckled as he checked their sandwiches. "Both of them brought cucumber sandwiches with cream cheese. And a container of sliced fruit. What a coincidence."

"I noticed."

"Gil spent the night at her apartment, and she spent the day at his place," he said, leaning over the table to talk to Catherine quietly.

"You don't approve?"

"Not my place to say. Hey," he said, holding out his hands. "I think they're cute together. And Gil will have his hands full with her."

"I didn't need that visual."

"Sorry," he chuckled. "I'm just worried for them. You know Gil doesn't have much political sense, and Sara's too independent to care. I don't want the sheriff making trouble for them."

"And cucumber sandwiches will get them in trouble?"

"No, but when Sara has a police escort following her, they tend to notice when two people are together. It's going to start rumors. This new sheriff, I don't know if he'll be cool with a supervisor openly seeing one of his employees."

"I'll talk to Gil later," Catherine promised.

"You don't seem surprised by this development."

"It's not really a development."

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

"Catherine, I think you've left me out of the loop for too long," he said in mock-anger.

"Hey, you're the big shot detective. I can't help it if you're blind," she teased.

"You want to get breakfast?" Grissom asked as he leaned against the lighted table in the Layout Room, standing as close to Sara as he could without interfering with her work.

"I need to head to the hospital. Should be the last day of blood tests and shots," she said.

"And you're going to see Max," he stated evenly.

"Yeah."

"Tell him hello."

Sara turned her head to look at Grissom closely. A slight facial tic was the only sign he wasn't happy. "I need to talk to him. To let him know, well, not to get his hopes up."

"You're breaking up with him?" he asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

"We weren't really together to break up, Grissom."

"Oh. Does this mean we're … an item?" he asked delicately.

"No," she said, flashing him a toothy grin. "Don't worry. I'm not pressuring you. We can move as slow as you want, take as long as you need, as long as you are serious."

"I am," he admitted.

"Good."

"Do you need to do some more laundry?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows playfully.

"You liked that, did you?"

"Very much."

"So did I. But I think I'll want some time alone today."

"Okay," he said softly. "Did you find anything?"

"No. I've cross-referenced all the contacts in Wallace's computer with the class and employee lists. Nothing in common yet. I'll add the numbers from their phone records later. How about you?"

"I went to the area Stills said the guy approached him. I couldn't find anything."

"Not surprised. After this much time, with all the traffic that goes through there," she said, giving him a friendly smile.

"I'll try again when the sun's up."

"Hey, don't pull another stunt like before, okay? Promise me you'll get some sleep today."

"I promise, but I think I should be telling you that," he teased as he pushed off the table. "Call me later, if you need talk, okay?"

"Sure."

Sara smiled as she entered the hospital room, seeing Max eagerly attacking the tray of food in front of him. His condition had upgraded enough they had moved him to a regular ward.

"Taste good?"

"It's absolutely hideous," he answered, giving her a smile. "But I'm hungry enough not to care."

"Glad you're feeling better," she said, pulling a chair up beside his bed, and fidgeting with her hands.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this conversation?" he asked, pushing the tray aside so he could lay his hand over hers.

"I'm sorry, Max. You're a great guy, but this wouldn't be fair to you."

"I thought you weren't involved with him," he said, a trace of irritation in his voice.

"We weren't. We still aren't, yet. We're working on it. I wasn't using you, believe me. It's complicated."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Sara sank into the chair slowly, resting her hand over his arm lightly. "I've been in love with him for a long time. I thought he felt the same way, but then things sort of fell apart."

"Then you showed an interest in someone else."

"It's more than that. He had some personal things going on in his life that I didn't know about. It helped to explain a lot of what's been going on. I don't know if things are going to work between us, but I've got to try."

"I understand. You need to get it out of your system. If you never tried, you'd always wonder if you made a mistake," Brandenburg said with a sigh.

"Something like that. But I'm hoping it works out. This isn't a fad, not on my part."

"I hope it does, too," he said grudgingly.

"Max," she said softly, running her hand over his kindly. "You're something special. If I wasn't already in love with Grissom, I think I could have fallen for you easily."

"Yeah, well, that's the catch, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be," he said, letting out a long breath. "You can't help how you feel. If you don't mind, this probably isn't a good time to be around me. I want you to be happy, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to say something stupid."

"Sure. Look, call me if you need anything. I can bring you in some real food if you want."

"Maybe later."

"Bye," she said, giving his hand a last squeeze before she left. Pausing at the door, she watched as he stared out the window, the rest of his meal ignored.

Sara stopped in Grissom's office that evening after depositing the bulky vest in her locker. Taking a seat across from his desk, she studied the various items on his shelves.

"Did everything go okay?" he asked quietly. When she shrugged, he took his glasses off, his tongue peeking out from his pursed lips. They had talked briefly that afternoon; he was certain she'd called merely for his benefit.

"Are you okay?" Again, she shrugged.

Before he could ask another question, both of their pagers went off. Heading towards the DNA lab, they saw Catherine heading their way.

Greg was pacing the room when they entered, a printout in his hand.

"What's up?" Catherine asked.

"I got a hit on CODIS from your DB," he exclaimed. "It's a match to the blood from the first crime scene. He's the signature killer's first victim."

TBC