Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, Inc.

Spoiler: Unbearable

Wow, I have been stuck, stuck, stuck. I have a direction finally. Hope it works for you all. Not so humorous right now. Trying to navigate my way through the emotions and characters that I believe them to be. Took a while to do that to my 'sort of' satisfaction.

Hope you all had a good weekend. I hope to hear from you as to whether this chapter worked or not. I look forward to any reviews that might come my way. Thanks a ton.

Sheila

Chapter 15

Afraid of the Light

Sofia looked up from her microscope with a frustrated look on her face. She checked the array of video stills in front of her, and was clearly unsatisfied with the result. She rubbed her eyes and then sat back in her chair. Her conclusions would definitely turn this investigation on its ear, and she wasn't interested in doing that unless it was warranted. She took the three best stills and headed for the morgue. Doc was done with the autopsy, but the body was still in a drawer. She opened a drawer marked Sanchez, and pulled out the corpse. He was small and unassuming, and, for a moment, she had a hard time imagining him as dangerous, but of course, she knew size had little to do with vicious behavior.

She picked up each cold, stiff hand and spent minutes comparing them to the video stills she brought in. Try as she might, she couldn't fit the pieces together. Finally she stood back, looking at the body. She had crossed over the line of good investigation by trying to make the evidence fit the theory. It was clear that she had discovered something that would further complicate matters, and she just needed to accept that.

The next step would be for her to call Grissom to report this highly unsatisfying bit of information. Following procedure to the letter had always been the foundation of her work. However, she was not interested in speaking to him right now. He had all but abandoned the lab for Sara as if other crimes no longer held any interest. She had always seen him as a man who had a sense of balance and objectivity; an emotionally tidy man. But he had proven himself to be anything but. In fact, she believed that he irrationally blamed her for Sara's current situation. It would certainly explain his unwillingness to interact with her since this all began.

Then she remembered that word came down that Grissom had surgery on his hand in Reno. It would be logical to assume that he might still be indisposed. Catherine was someone she didn't particularly like. The woman spoke with pride about her days as an exotic dancer as if the objectification of women was merely a concept rather than the cornerstone of male on female aggression. But calling her was much more palatable than talking to the disappointing Grissom.

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The twenty minutes he spent trying to dress his self was draining. He sat on the edge of the empty bed and glared at the shoes on his feet that were still untied. All the rest of his clothes were on, but only through a series of Byzantine maneuvers that left him sore and exhausted. The only success has been in struggling silently so that Sara would remain sleeping. She lie curled up in the bed across from him. She had come back to him last night after spending hours in Danny's room. Without hesitation, she had climbed into bed with him and reached for his torso. He gave willingly of himself the safety and comfort that she so desperately needed. In ways that he didn't yet want to think about, he needed the intimacy of her touch as much as she needed him.

Behind him the door opened and a nurse came in. Her eyebrows rose as she noted him in his street clothes. "Doctor's orders were clear on this point, Mr. Grissom. Another day on Demerol is recommended before graduating you to ibuprofen. And, believe me, with the Demerol, you are not going to want to be up and walking around."

He licked his lips, nervous that she would wake Sara. He spoke softly to her, "I do not intend to take any more Demerol. My mind…I need to be able to think clearly again."

"Re-breaking a bone is a very painful experience. I doubt your focus will survive the discomfort."

He nodded. "Nevertheless, I have no other option."

"What do you want me to say to your fiancée when she wakes."

"Pardon me." He wrinkled his brow at her.

"Your fiancée…what should I tell her?"

"Miss Sidle is not my…," Grissom stopped himself. "She is not…to be disturbed. She needs as much rest as possible. Tell her I will be back as soon as possible."

"Let me at least get you a prescription for ibuprofen. Just wait. I'll call your doctor and be right back." She put a forefinger up, and looked at him sternly. Satisfied that he would stay, she left the room.

Grissom looked at the sleeping Sara, and was surprised to find her staring back at him. Her brown eyes were large on her pale white face.

"I wish I could stay, but it's time for me to work again." He spoke softly.

She pulled the blankets up to her chin, and said nothing in response.

"You still need a few days, Sara." Her silence unnerved him. He got up and sat down on her bed with her. "I'll be nearby. I'm not leaving Reno."

She nodded imperceptibly. He reached over and stroked her hair. "Do you want me to come back tonight?"

"Yes." Her voice was husky.

He sat silently for a moment. "I don't know what this is, Sara, but whatever it is, I want to do it right. I want to be who you need."

She slid away from his reach. "No good. I can't invest in your charity. Find your heart, Grissom. Follow it. Maybe it will find you happiness someday. You deserve it."

Her words startled him. Her voice didn't contain the hurt he can come to expect in these moments. Its sound was dull, detached. He reached over to touch her arm.

"I don't want to lose you." He replied.

"And I don't want to be your pet." She whispered.

He drew his hand back and looked at her in shock. "Never, Sara. I have always respected you."

She sighed. "I am not angry at you. You have been good to me."

"Then why is there a problem?" His face screwed up in confusion.

"Because whatever you do, you have to do it for you. I'm tired of being the almost ran in your life. Think about why you work so hard to keep me close to you. Is it out of guilt, a sense of responsibility, desire, what?" She shook her head slowly.

"This is not the right time for this conversation. You have been through so much. Rest is your only job right now." Secure in this notion, he patted the bed and got up. The nurse was at the door with a bottle of pills.

"It doesn't matter, you know. I don't know if I can ever really leave that basement." Her voice was surprisingly flat. "This conversation is probably academic more than anything else."

He caught the doorway before he could leave. He stood there for a moment, one hand holding tightly the doorframe. Then he turned to Sara. "You are not a project, a pet, nor a sense of responsibility to me. You are Sara, the one and only. I treat you like I do because of how special you are to me. And I am a jerk to you because I want to protect you from all things including myself. I don't know if I can change all of that. You are a serious threat to the emotional denial I have surrounded myself with all these years. The idea of you is more than I can process on most days."

He dropped his head and stood there uncertainly for a moment. In the absence of response he sighed, and left. Dry eyed, she stared at the empty doorway; finally she rolled over and willed herself to find safety in his absence.

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He leaned against the wall outside her room with his eyes closed. Everything about her was electric to him. It had always been this way, and, in many ways, it was the reason he had kept her at arm's length all this time. But all that got stripped away when she was gone. So many promises he made himself if he ever saw her again. Simple then, but she was here now, and he was again racked with the same fears and confusion. It was easy when their brains were too fuzzy to process feelings. He could climb in and hold her close, and let it be what it always should have been without worrying about what it meant.

"Grissom!" His eyes flew open. Catherine, Brass, Malone, and an unidentified blonde were striding toward him, two deputies in tow.

Brass gestured him away from Sara's door, and down the hallway to a lounge. Halfway down, he glanced back and saw the deputies planting themselves at her door. He felt a stab of fear in his gut. "What the hell's going on, Brass?"

Jim turned to him in the lounge, hands on hips. "Catherine got a call from Sofia. There's a third man."

"What!" Grissom gripped at the cushion of a chair.

"The videos," Malone said. "In the frames, there are brief shots of hands when Sanchez would gesture to his victims. Closer examination shows that they are the hands of two different men."

"Hatfield?"

"No. Definitely not." Malone shook his head.

"Gil, the voice analysis from the video of Sara indicates that two different men spoke to her."

Grissom whirled around to find Catherine. "Why didn't we know this!"

"We didn't know to look."

"Fingerprints?"

"Nick, Greg, and Warrick are climbing all over that house as we speak. It wasn't a priority when we had Sanchez dead to rights." She didn't bristle at his tone.

"Do we know anything?" He threw his arms up and winced as his left arm strained against the sling.

"I think we know who does." The blonde spoke calmly. From her stance behind Malone, Grissom suspected that she was one of his.

Brass stepped forward. "Gil, we think you should talk to Hatfield. He will be most comfortable with you. You up to that?"

He nodded.

"Jack and I will go with you. Cath and Sam are going to talk to Sara."

Grissom closed his eyes and groaned. "We shouldn't worry her."

"Chances are that he would never show up to hurt her, but we're not going to take the chance."

"She's had enough."

Catherine touched his arm. "We got it, Griss. I'll stay with her."

He chewed on his lip a minute before nodding his assent. "Be gentle, Cath."

Patiently she nodded and he reluctantly let Jack lead him down the hall toward the exit.

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Catherine sat on the edge of her bed, and tried to read the expression on Sara's face. Sara had ingested all of their news, but showed almost no affect. "Sara, you understand what I'm saying to you. There is another man. Do you remember anything that might help us?"

"No." She said simply. She pulled the blankets tightly around her face.

Catherine leaned forward. "You are in no danger, Sara. I promise you. Someone will be with you at all times until we find him."

Sara focused her attention on the woman leaning against the other bed. "You are very beautiful. Danny talks about you a lot."

Sam smiled at her. "He's kind of addictive, isn't he?"

Sara nodded. "I don't know him well, but I feel like he understands me."

"Sara," Catherine interjected. "We have a situation."

"I don't remember anything that can help. I was a blubbery, frightened woman who crouched inside of a mattress for several days. I was blinded by my fear. I am that same woman today, but with a better mattress." Sara wouldn't look at Catherine.

Catherine let out a sigh. "Sam, can you do me a favor and give us a minute?"

Sam nodded and disappeared from the room. Sara buried herself deeper into her pillow.

"Are you still angry with me Sara?"

"No," came a muffled response.

"What's going on?" Catherine stroked the blanketed form.

She finally mumbled a response. "The terror's already there; real or imagined. It's a normal part of my life now. You're merely confirming what I have already imagined."

"Oh, honey, I didn't mean—"

"I'm just trying to keep my head above water." Sara pushed the covers off her face and sat up.

"I'm sorry."

Sara dragged her feet out from under the blankets and swung them over the side of the bed. "Let's see if I can get these to work. I might need them sooner than I thought." She eased off the bed slowly, putting one foot down at a time. She gritted her teeth, swallowing a moan. She was able to stand only as long as she held onto the bed.

"Get back on the bed and wait for me." Catherine ordered. "I know what will help."

She came back in a few minutes with an armful of supplies. "I used to do ten hour shifts in four inch plastic heels with no supports. I know something about tortured feet. Swing those puppies up on the bed."

Sara obeyed. Catherine pulled both feet onto her lap. She looked them over carefully and couldn't help but wince at the damage she saw. She reached over to a bottle of lotion on the bed beside her. "I like cocoa butter, but we'll settle for what they have." She squirted an amount in her hands and rubbed them together. Gently she took a foot and began to massage it. Sara groaned. "Relax, Sara." Within a few minutes, her foot was responding to the heat and the gentle touch. Catherine picked up her other foot and began the same treatment. Sara lay back in the pillow with her eyes closed. When Catherine was finished, she pulled out a thick pair of cotton socks and carefully put them on Sara's feet. Then she pulled out a pair of hospital slippers and put them over the socks. "Now try it."

Sara swung her legs down again, and gingerly stepped on the floor. This time she was able to get her entire weight onto the floor. She sighed deeply and turned to Catherine. "Thank you." Catherine pulled her into a tight hug.

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Hatfield sat across from Grissom. He looked even smaller than Grissom remembered. The bruises had faded from his face, but he wore a hunted look, and Grissom figured that his cellmates were being less than charitable with him.

"Dr. Grissom, what can I do for you?" Corcoran let his eyes drop to the cast so awkwardly laid on the table. "I'm glad you addressed your injury.

Muscles in Grissom's face twitched but he kept his face as impassive as possible. Brass prowled the room behind him, keeping watch over the two of them. Malone stood behind the mirror.

"We need more information from you."

"I'm flattered Dr. Grissom. I was so happy to help you find Sara. I trust that she is recovering nicely."

Grissom tensed, breathing in sharply when Hatfield mentioned Sara's name. Brass stopped his pacing and dropped his hands on the table in front of Corcoran. "She's doing a lot better than Sanchez, I can tell you that."

Hatfield nodded. "Alberto could be stupid with his girls. His approach was borne out of fear rather than caution."

"He wasn't alone," Grissom said sharply.

"Yes, I know." Hatfield continued calmly. "Robbie comes to help sometimes. Not with the assaults themselves, but sometimes Alberto would let him play with the girls a little. In fact, I knew Robbie before I ever knew Alberto."

"Who is Robbie?"

"Robbie is Alberto's son." Hatfield said as if the most obvious conclusion.

"He kills women too?"

"He is an artist in a way that his father can't touch.

Grissom rubbed at his face. "Where is Robbie?"

Hatfield grinned at him. "Got to make it worth my while, Grissom."

Brass slammed his hand on the table in front of Corcoran. "I've had it with your little bits of knowledge parceled out every couple of days. You think you can do this for months, don't you?"

Hatfield looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "Your behavior with me has been no more stellar."

"We're trying to save lives, Hatfield. There's a difference." Brass flailed his arms at him. "You care about nothing but a handful of video tapes and your own sorry self. We care about people."

Grissom caught his eye and warned him off. Brass pulled away from the table and stalked off. Grissom leaned in. "We can't do this, Hatfield. We'll find out enough without you. We've done it before." He got up and gestured at Brass. Hatfield sat back in his chair. "Come back!"

Grissom turned and cocked his head at the ugly little man. He stood where he was and waited. Brass stood at the door.

"I can tell you about Robbie. I can tell you what he does. I can tell you about his signature, the girls who have gone missing. He's different than his father. He keeps them alive for months. He may have girls right now."

"In return?" Brass said simply.

"You probably think I want capital murder off the table. Well, I don't." Hatfield drummed his short, thick fingers on the table. "I have no desire to spend the next twenty years fending offignorant brutes. It is no life."

"Hatfield, we're done with the tapes. It's no longer an option."

Brass opened the door to leave when he heard him. "I don't want the tapes!"

Grissom froze in his tracks. Without looking around, Grissom murmured, "What do you want?"

"I want to see Sara. I want to ask her questions. An hour. No more. There are questions I want to ask."

Grissom remembered turning his head to look at Hatfield. Then he became aware of pain as his face was slammed onto the tabletop and his right arm was held securely behind his back. The pain in his left hand trapped beneath his torso was electric. In the background, there was a low keening. Breathing heavily, Brass whispered into his ear. "I am going to back off and you're going to get up and walk out. Don't look at him. Don't talk to him. You understand?"

"Yes," he hissed.

Brass helped pull Grissom up off the table and steered him toward the door. Grissom couldn't help but look at the pathetic creature crouched behind an overturned chair, holding his face and rocking. He realized he was responsible for this, and he smiled.

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Sara put on her clothes slowly. Despite the temperature, she put on a sweater over her shirt. Jeans felt stiff on her legs, but she appreciated the warmth of the fabric hugging her legs. She put on two layers of the thick socks and slid on a pair of Birkenstocks Catherine picked up for her.

She slid off the bed carefully and gently transferred her weight to her legs. It was surprisingly comfortable to stand. She walked slowly, gingerly. It felt strengthening to be out of a nightgown. It was surprising how she needed to shed the nightgown to feel strong again. She vowed to never wear one again.

She went past the deputies, giving them a forced grin and then shuffled down the hall to Danny's room. He was propped in his bed video controls in hand. Sam sat beside him with her own, and sounds of gunfire assaulted Sara when she walked in the door. Danny saw her and winked. That gave Sam the distraction she needed to destroy him. "YES!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air.

Sara stood at the doorway. "I thought the games were banned."

"Physical Therapist says that, in small doses, it's good for improving motor control. He wrote it in the orders." Danny said noticing her attire. "It's nice to see you in clothes again. Feeling up to this?"

"I want to get out of here." She said softly.

Sam looked at Danny for a moment and then regarded Sara. "Sara, did they discharge you?" she asked.

"No."

"Why don't you come sit down?" Sam got up and gestured at her chair.

Sara shook her head and leaned against the doorway. "Your boss promised me a trip to Mexico where there's a pool with a bar in the middle. Do I need a passport to go to Mexico? I haven't been on vacation in forever."

"Sara, are you okay?" Danny asked.

"I'm not crazy, I don't think." She took a deep breath. "I just want to get away from all this. I can't sit there and wait. I can't escape the…events in my head. I need a distraction."

Sam walked up to her, and took her arm. "Sit with us, please. We were talking about this."

"I don't understand."

Sam deposited her in the chair and then perched on the bed. "I was in a hostage situation a couple of years back. I got shot. Was in there for eight hours. Got out okay. But I couldn't escape the images, the smells, the fear, everything. It wasn't as visceral as what you experienced, but it was hard."

Sara leaned forward. "What did you do?"

"Well, I got very little sleep for a few months, I was difficult at work, and I isolated myself from the people who cared about me. I also looked for a way to escape. Tried to bury myself in work so that I wouldn't go home and drown myself in booze."

Sara carefully tucked her feet under her legs while she listened.

"Jack found me a trauma counselor."

Sara made a sour face.

Sam shook her head. "I know, but it made a difference. My counselor was really good. There were no magic answers but she helped me understand myself in a new way."

Danny reached for her hand. "I think you should come back with us. Stay with me. I could use the company. I'm going to be sitting at home for another four weeks at least. Take some time to clear your head. See Sam's counselor."

Sara squeezed back. "Let's go find a bar in a pool down in Mexico."

"Yeah, well I'm thinking that is not such a good idea right now." He held her eyes in his.

"I don't know."

"Think about it, Sara."

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TBC