A/N: Thank you so much for the warm reception, everyone! I promise, my next fic will be a bit lighter. Perhaps I'll provide an explanation for that "tush" comment. (Really, what WAS that?)

Oh, and in case it wasn't clear, yes, I did intend for it to be read that Sara was being sexually assaulted. I just didn't want to get too graphic, as sexual assault is a terrifying thing to write about, and I wanted to keep it PG-13.

One chapter left after this one! Thanks so much!

Part Six

"Is 36 hours enough?" Grissom shifted uncomfortably outside the hospital room. "She's been through a lot. You're positive you want to release her?"

Dr. Marlon ran a hand through his hair and glanced in at Sara, who was sleeping. "All the toxins are out of her system, she doesn't appear to have any long-term damage, and she's eating and digesting normally. Her breathing might be a little inhibited due to the trachea damage, but it's not serious."

Grissom lowered his voice slightly. "What about psychological consult? You don't know her; she internalizes-"

The doctor interrupted him. "We've had a counselor speak with her. She seems shaken up by the whole experience, but the only recommendation was rest and safe surroundings."

"Should we have people to check on her at all, or…"

Dr. Marlon paused for a moment, a little flustered. "Oh. She lives alone?"

"Yes."

"Hm. Well, yes, ideally, someone should look in on her whenever possible."

Grissom nodded and looked into her room. "I think cops are out of the question."

The doctor raised an eyebrow and looked back down at his clipboard. "I'll go get her things and have her release papers processed. She should be waking up soon."

"Thank you, Doctor," Grissom sighed, entering Sara's room, which was littered with flowers, cards, and a giant blue teddy bear that occupied Grissom's former chair. "Sara?" he asked gently.

Sara raised her eyebrows before opening her eyes. When she did, she smiled at the sight of the big teddy bear. "Where did that come from?"

"Greg came by. It's from him, Mia, Hodges, and Ronnie, I think." He looked at the card. "Oh, and Bobby. You were sleeping. Greg didn't want to wake you."

Sara sat upright and extended her arms. Grissom passed her the bear and chuckled softly. "I don't know how you're ever going to get that home."

She didn't respond.

"They're releasing you today, Sara. You get to go home."

She turned to face out the window. "Grissom…uh…I…."

He dropped his head and looked at his hands. "You don't want to go home, do you?"

"No."

Grissom nodded. "You can stay with me."

"Oh, it's okay….I didn't mean…"

"No, really. I have a guest bedroom. No one uses it. I mean, there's a tarantula in there right now, but his lease is up."

Sara smiled weakly. She turned to look at him, took a deep breath, and asked, "Are you sure?"

"You can stay as long as you like."

"Thank you."

OOO

Catherine walked into the hospital room, holding a brown duffel bag and a white paper bag. She smiled, setting them down at the foot of the bed.

Sara looked over at Grissom quizzically. "I made a phone call," he explained.

She turned back to Catherine and smiled. "Thanks, Cath. Did you pack that yourself?"

"No problem." Catherine reached out a hand to pet the big teddy bear. "And no, it was the bag you were packing…for the hotel…"

"Oh," Sara said, her voice dropping a bit. "I don't…my memory is a bit…"

"It's okay," Catherine said softly. "I also brought sandwiches," she proclaimed, presenting the paper bag.

Everyone smiled as she passed around the bag. "Nick and Warrick wanted to be here," she continued. "Atwater needed them; there's a high-profile murder on the Strip. Tourist couple murdered in their hotel room. I guess their family is a big name…" she trailed off. "But I'm sure we've talked enough work these past few days, right? I'm going to go help them out. You guys okay here?"

"Yeah," said Sara, her mouth full of bread. "I'm being released."

Catherine smiled and nodded. "All right. Good luck. We're thinking about you."

There were a few moments of silence, and then Catherine turned to walk out the door.

OOO

Brass paced back and forth across the floor of the interrogation room. "I've seen some sick things in my time, Dave," he began, putting both palms firmly on the table. "But I gotta tell you, you're near the top of the list."

Before Officer Fromansky could respond, Brass continued.

"Why her? Why Sara? Why those other women? What did any of them do to you, Dave?"

"I don't suppose you've talked to Lieutenant Maxwell recently about me, have you?"

"Yeah, I just did. He said they're letting you go at the end of the month due to budget cuts. You know, most people go home, drink a beer, take a few rounds at the shooting range when they get news like that. They don't rape and kill women, Dave."

"They had to pick someone to let go, and they chose me. Not Borgman, who shows up hung-over every Monday. Not Ramirez, who's crashed three patrol cars in two years. No. They chose me. And do you know why, Jim?"

"You were investigated for murder."

"Twice," he clarified. "Grissom investigates me for murder not once, but twice. It doesn't matter that I was cleared. Oh, no. That stays on my record, and not only does it get me kicked out of here, but I'll be lucky if I can get a job as a security guard now."

"So, you're pissed at Grissom," Brass said slowly, squinting slightly. "And you killed a restaurant manager and a teacher. That's some crafty revenge there, Dave."

"I couldn't hurt Grissom like he hurt me." Officer Fromansky shifted in his chair, leaning forward slightly. "My job is my life, and it's the same for him, but I couldn't get the guy fired. Everyone loves Gil Grissom. That man sneezes and it's labeled brilliance. So, if you can't take away what a man does, take away what he loves."

Brass stood silently as Officer Fromansky continued.

"I've seen them together. He's crazy about her. Probably the only happiness he has in that bland little life of his."

"But why Marilyn? Why Juliet? Why the anagrams?"

"Oh, you know how much that little weasel likes puzzles. I never met those women. There were on my patrol route. I followed 'em home and made up some cock-and-bull story about investigating their neighbors for noise violations or some crap. They let me in, and I pulled out my gun. I know what those CSI nerds look for. Hair, prints, semen. I didn't leave a single thing behind, except those messages. Just think how devastating it would be for him; the murderer you couldn't catch killing the woman you love."

"You didn't wear gloves with Sara. You didn't handcuff her."

"No, I knew she'd fight back. I needed to drug her. And I didn't wear gloves because I don't care anymore. He was going to catch me anyway. I'm going to rot in prison for the next 30 years anyway, either behind the bars or at the front desk. At least this way, Grissom would suffer."

"But he caught you."

There was silence.

"I saw that look in his eyes when he thought she was dead. That was enough."

OOO

Sara walked into the townhouse, with Grissom following closely, carrying a duffel bag.

"I can carry my own bag, Grissom."

"I know that. Here. I'll show you the guest bedroom."

She followed him down the hall and nodded as he pointed out the bathroom.

"I have extra towels in the closet if you want to take a shower." He set her bag down on the bed. "Is this okay?"

Sara nodded distractedly as she noticed her reflection in the mirror on the wall. The bruises on her neck were fading, but still very visible. She craned her neck slightly and stretched out the collar of her shirt to fully examine the markings.

"You fought hard, Sara. I've seen people die from less."

She took a deep breath and returned her shirt collar to normal. "Well, I couldn't give up so soon, I suppose. I mean, I don't really remember most of what happened, but I do recall figuring something out earlier that day."

"You did?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sara turned away from the mirror. "I – uh – I couldn't let myself die without telling you something…"

Grissom held his breath and set his jaw, saying nothing.

"The letters in 'Conrad Ecklie' can be rearranged to spell 'Ire-Laden Cock.'"

Grissom broke into a wide smile. Gently, without touching her still-bruised neck, he pulled her into a tender hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

They stood there for a few moments, saying nothing, until Sara finally broke the hug with a smile.

"I should probably get cleaned up."

"Okay," Grissom answered softly, exhaling and walking out of the room.

OOO