Grissom not only carried his bags with him off of the plane, he carried about a hundred or so pounds of raw nerves as well. His shoulders were heavy and sore when he'd finally reached his townhouse and though he tried to work it out, neither the hot shower nor the long sleep he indulged in did anything.

That was why, upon arriving at CSI headquarters the following night, supervisor Gil Grissom was not a happy camper. He was so far from camp that he couldn't even see the lodge. His appearance could have been an accurate barometer of the trip-long, boring and a waste of time. He wore the hours spent like an obligation, he couldn't let it go.

Catherine Willows, on the other hand, was the picture of perk; spring in her step, volume in her hair, twinkle in her eye. Amazing, at what three hours of sleep could do for her. If he'd been a self-deprecating man, he would have been sure to send a few curt words her way, but he reined in his temper, took a breath and attempted to cool off.

The blonde moved up alongside him as he strode down the hall to his office. "Evenin'," were her words of greeting for the beginning of shift. In her hand she held a coffee cup and after a moment she held it out to him. He scrutinized it for a moment and then, after a half-assed thank you in the form of a smile, he took the offering.

"Thanks." Grissom offered and settled into the cup, the rich scent of French vanilla wafting delightfully into his nose. Salvation in the form of a caffeinated beverage.

Alright, so perhaps the night wouldn't all be downhill. Starbucks dark roast and a new case to lose himself in, what more could a workaholic coffee drinker want?

Stretching as a preamble to sitting, he nearly groaned, but sunk into the worn leather thankfully. If he was going to approach the case objectively, he'd need to unwind for a moment, perhaps go over the tiny details that Sara had supplied him with.

"Alright," Catherine threw her hair out of her eyes, licking her lips, planning to launch into the details. "We have, what, a John Doe, teenage boy, suspicious circs up the whazzoo, no concrete trace... no footprints at all... but that's not surprising... I guess I'll look over the missing persons database, see what I can come up with, ID the body."

Grissom nodded, sipping from his cup appreciatively. "I'll comb over the scene again with Sara, see if there's anything to pull."

But there wasn't anything. Nothing. No footprints, no sign of disturbance. It was as if the earth had offered up the body from its depths, like it had appeared from nowhere.

So, though it wasn't the first time, they had to rely on Doc Robbins and his findings.

Catherine, Sara and Grissom, all adorned in ill-fitting scrubs stood around the morgue table, waiting for the doctor to begin speaking.

"First call would have been overdose. Tox screen came back unusually quickly." The doctor handed the paper to Grissom, and the two women flanked him to look over his shoulders at the paper. "Enough lysergic acid diethylamide to stun an oxen, that's figurative, of course."

Catherine's voice was indignant when she spoke. "Of course." She was busy wondering how in the world anyone could take that much LSD, especially a kid who appeared to have known more than a little about narcotics. "How much does that... seven hundred micrograms? Is that right?"

Doc Robbins shrugged and nodded, moving on in his explanation.

Catherine shook her head and looked to Sara. "That kid wasn't just tripping, he was falling." Sara nodded, brows raised, also quite shocked with the teen's intake.

"It appears he took it in window pane form." Robbins said, gesturing to the goo-like substance that sat in an extraction tray to the right of him. Both the women were about to ask exactly what he meant by that when Grissom supplied the answer.

"In gelatin form. More potent than say, a tablet, or a power." Impressed, Al nodded at his colleague. "Forty-eight hours, damn, that kid must have been pumped up," he muttered and looked down at the boy.

Sara moved around the other side of the table to examine the mixture in the pan. Without removing her eyes, she made an extremely casual observation. "So... he was high."

"As a kite, a kite pushing around Saturn, but... as I said, that's not what killed him."

Grissom blanched, licked his lips and scrunched his brow, deep in thought. "You're saying the lethal dose he took, wasn't lethal?"

Robbins shook his head in the negative.

"Al, that would take effect nearly immediately. For there to be-"

Robbins held up his hand, immediately stopping Grissom from speaking any further. "Blunt force trauma might have been it too. See this impression at the base of the skull?" With his free hand, the doctor shifted the body over to reveal a large, broken lump at the base of the teen's skull. The three CSIs nodded. Catherine nearly cringed at the scabbed over blood.

"I'd say... baseball bat."

Catherine caught onto what the good doctor was getting at. "But... that's not what killed him." Her voice held a twinge of sarcasm that she just couldn't seem to repress.

With a certain amount of ceremony, Doc Robbins pulled back the stark white sheet to reveal the boy's torso.

"Stabbed?" Grissom nearly squeaked, causing an impromptu smile to spark across both Sara and Catherine's lips.

"And we have a winner. Blunt object... see this bruising around the wound? Quite a bit of force behind this."

Grissom's mind began to formulate possible scenarios, but he knew that without more evidence, trying to do so was moot. His hands came up as he tried to rationalize what they were being told. "So... he bled out?" Grissom asked, somewhat irritated.

Doc nodded. "But..."

It was Sara's turn to squeak. "There's more?"

"Patience Sara," Robbins chided. Biting her lips, she huffed a sigh and shut up, as if she was the person to bring up the absurdity of the situation in the first place.

"There's water in the wound tract."

Catherine grabbed the report at her side and flipped it open. Sara was blatantly upset for one moment, as it had been her case before the two of them had arrived back in town. Technically she was the primary, but she let it slide, not wanting to excite Catherine any further. "It... didn't rain." The blonde finally supplied, looking to Sara for the ultimate confirmation. She too shook her head. "And the lividity suggests that he wasn't moved after he was... dumped..."

Grissom spoke up, idea threatening to screech from his head. "Could it be condensation perhaps? From the weapon?"

Robbins shook his head. "Nah, I wouldn't say so, it's a significant amount." Sticking the scope in, a picture appeared on the viewing screen above the table. "See here, the water isn't in the blood, it's on it. This appeared here post-mortem."

Non-plussed, the CSIs thanked the doctor, de-scrubbed and walked from the dark morgue. Their steps were slow and unsure as they paced down the halls toward the layout room.

Catherine was the first to speak, her voice desolate, arms crossed over her chest. "So we have a John Doe, no murder weapon, no concrete trace evidence..."

Sara huffed a humorless laugh. "Oh yeah, this one should be easy."

Grissom shot the two women a rather optimistic glance and disappeared, off to his office.

Sara swore she could smell vanilla on him and it nearly did her in.