Title: A Heart's Desire.

Summary: Their relationship has been deteriorating steadily over the past years, now's the time to rebuild it. G/S

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

A thanks once again goes to my betas. Any remaining errors are mine. And Niff, you're an excellent nitpicker. ;)

Another thank you goes to everyone who has reviewed the previous chapter. It's very much appreciated.

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Chapter Two

Solitary Silence

While accustomed to many an imposing and gruesome sight, every death still had its impact on each of the investigators. Usually, they were able to observe, and then process it, trying to diminish the lasting effects as much as possible. Every so often though, the sights were too much. The brutality of certain crimes, the passion-filled hatred with which a rape or murder had been committed, the biting pain and loss for the 'fortunate' souls who had managed to survive their ordeal would even impact the most seasoned police officer and crime scene analyst.

Brass came walking up to the investigators and gave them the initial information.

"Vic's name is James Moore. Forty six years old, biology professor at UNLV. Wife found him here when she came back from picking her daughter up from the airport." Brass paused and glanced over row upon row of jars containing dozens of metahylated-preserved animals. "Well, he certainly liked his preserved specimens." "It's a bit like your office, Gil, though I don't see Miss Piggy anywhere."

"I think I found a substitute for her, Jim," Grissom replied as he waved Sara over to photograph a clot of glass specimen jars that had fallen to smithereens. The preservation fluid that once filled the jars had now spilled out onto the hardwood floor, surrounding several objects that were near impossible to identify by a novice. One that particularly grabbed Grissom's attention was a sickly white, barely identifiable object. "Meet Mister Ed. Junior."

"That…thing… is a horse? I'm just gonna trust you on that, Gil, 'cause to me it looks like a frozen chicken thigh that was nuked too fast." Brass' voice dripped with disgust.

"The 'spirit room' in an annex of the Natural History Museum in London houses a total of fifteen miles of shelves stocked with preserved specimens. Many of which are centuries old. Fascinating actually." Grissom went on bagging the glass remnants, while Sara went back to photographing the body and surrounding crime scene.

Outwardly she didn't react, but Sara wondered from where her supervisor got his knowledge. Was it just one of countless tidbits that had been gathered by extensive reading and were stored in his brain, or did he perhaps visit London at some point in the past? She decided there was no point in dwelling on it and trained her thoughts on the case. Though she would like to visit London sometime, of course under the guise of acquiring knowledge. With Grissom. Right. A quick blink of the eyes and she focused once again on the body lying in front of her.

"So, we have a collection of shattered preservation jars, a bludgeoned professor, and no murder weapon. What's your impression, Sara? "

"Okay…" She stood up from her hunches and looked around the room.

A simple parquet floor tied in with the numerous mahogany-colored bookcases that lined the white walls, each shelf filled with countless jars and rare leather-bound books. The French windows and doors allowed light to filter in, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of the library of many a grand Loire valley château.

"Dr. Moore would have been working at his desk here, hence the turned-on pc and scattered notes. Someone rang the doorbell or perhaps had a key to get in, since there was no sign of breaking and entering. Moore meets him or her, is comfortable enough to walk back to his office, and is then bashed to death."

Grissom pursed his lips slightly and pointed to one of two tables symmetrically placed near the door. "One's missing a lamp stand. What's the chance that that's the murder weapon, you think?"

Brass spoke up. "Right. Well, I'm gonna leave you all to it. I'm about to talk to the victim's wife and daughter, see what they've got to say. They seem to be shocked, but looks can be deceiving. "

Nick piped up. "Oh man, tell me about it. Back in Texas, I was set up with a blind date, ya know, courtesy of my friends, and well, let's just say that…"

With a shake of the head and a slightly exasperated look, Grissom packed up his belongings and evidence, and intervened. "Nick, you take the perimeter. The killer is likely to have escaped through those French doors there, so dust it and look for footprints. Warrick, you've got this room, Sara, want to join me?"

The living room they found themselves in was tastefully decorated, with an eclectic mix. A pair of Georgian cream and gold armchairs were placed intimately upon a blue and white silk woven Oriental rug, the colors complimenting each other as the sunlight softly touched the fabrics. A perfectly polished and gleaming crystal candelabra hung above a contemporary glass center table. All around the room there were touches of Monarchial France, exotic Asia, of eras long bygone, yet interspersed with modern Italian and American designs. Elegant and timeless, the room exuded a warm and intimate feeling. Not pretentious and cold, as one might have expected.

After the proper introductions were made by Brass, he came straight to the point.

"We understand that you, Ma'am, have been James Moore's wife for the past six years. That should make you relatively aware of his dealings and such. Can you think of anyone who may have held a grudge against him?"

The grief stricken woman leaned forward slightly, her hand occasionally rubbing her eyes, knuckles placed against her lips in a valiant effort to stifle the sobs that were threatening to come out.

The daughter, estimated to be in her mid twenties by Sara, entered the room quietly, setting a cup of tea in front of her mother, and a coffee for Sara and Brass. Grissom had declined the offer.

"You wouldn't think that being a biology professor would exactly be a profession that would induce grudges, would you?" The woman placed her tea back on the table after having barely sipped any, stood up, and paced around before walking to one of the windows overlooking the desert expanse. "But sometimes it was. James was a wonderful teacher, but he expected his students who showed promise to do well, to go further than the average ones."

"Some people show more promise than others." He threw a subtle glance in Sara's direction, and held her eyes for a brief moment. "Mrs. Moore, you wouldn't happen to know the names of those students, would you?"

She nodded. "James talked to me about his work, about his hobbies, about his likes and dislikes. And I told him the same things. Our relationship is, was, a wonderful concoction of friendship, love, and mutual respect." A tear escaped the corner of her eye and tried to follow gravity's path down her cheek, but she dabbed it before it could start its journey. "I uhm… some of his grading work is upstairs in our bedroom. Would you like to have that too?"

As Brass indicated that they would, Jenna Moore made graceful her escape up the grand staircase and into the bedroom, allowing her a much needed respite, and the investigators time to talk to their daughter who had remained downstairs, dealing with several of the inquisitive phone calls that came in.

An hour later, the examination of the scene had been complete, and armed with several possible leads, the investigators and detective left the villa, tired yet invigorated after a long shift.

Once back at the lab, the samples, prints and casts were either given to the appropriate lab technicians, or analyzed by the team members themselves.

Test results trickled in as the hours went by, and leads were followed up and discarded. Those students that might have held even the slightest grudge against James Moore all had accountable whereabouts. The few workeable fingerprints that were found at the scene came back as belonging to James Moore, as well as to his wife. And while it wouldn't be the first time that a spouse would turn out to be a murderer, there was no motive or indication that she had anything to do with the killing. No financial gain, an apparent stable marriage, and an airtight alibi.

Grissom pushed open the door to the autopsy room. "What else is new, Al?"

"My daughter's decided to transform her bedroom into a Goth haven. Does that count?" Robbins inquired. Seeing a slightly disapproving look tinged with humor, he continued.

"I guess not. Your vic died due to temporal bone fracture and closed head injury caused by blunt force trauma. Unfortunately, there's no clear indentation of the murder weapon, so I can't help you there."

"So what have you got?" Grissom's voice was curt and tinged with exasperation. Leads came and went, but if felt as though they weren't getting any nearer to the identity of the perpetrator.

"Well, I did find a slither of some type of metal in his collar." The coroner handed an evidence bag to Grissom. "Hope that helps."

The bag was held to the light, the night shift supervisor squinting at it lightly. "Thanks Al. If we're lucky, it'll match the remaining lamp stand we found in the library, and we'll know the murder weapon. That would be one fixed puzzle piece."

Grissom pushed open the swing doors of the autopsy room, and headed to the laboratory intending to give the latest lead to one of the lab technicians for identification. And then he would go home. While the last weeks had given him back a sense of direction and purpose, it had taken its toll on his energy. Add the never ending stream of incoming cases that were piled upon the already short-staffed nightshift, and it wasn't a surprise to find that he was drained.

And he missed Sara.

Yes, they were on the case together, but that didn't automatically mean that they were able to spend time in the same room as each other, breathe in the same air, allowing their newfound connection to envelop them with a sense of peace.

Their time after shift wasn't much better. Both were too busy and tired to go out, even if it were only to the movies. As most of their outings and excursions had taken place outside of either of their homes, he hadn't been inside her apartment since the day he had picked her up from the police station. She, however, had been inside his townhouse a few times since then, his usual stark privacy cracked opened, allowing her a complimentary view of his personality. Things had changed and developed, moved forward and leaped backwards since then.

Perhaps the distance between them wasn't coincidental. Perhaps in the back of their minds, each subconsciously were trying to put the brakes on their relationship. Not stopping it altogether, but slowing it down enough so that it wouldn't race straight ahead when it should have taken a turn. Taking the time to come to terms with what had happened, and accept it. To think it over in solitary silence.

TBC