Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, and I don't have any possessions worth litigation.

Summary: A killer with angelic aspirations visits Vegas, forcing several of the CSIs to confront their own demons. Written as a possible S5 finale (before the spoilers came out.) Some violence, language, and sexual implications. And oh yes, GSR.

Spoilers: Season 5

Credits: While real life precluded her actual co-writing with me as we intended, Rokothepas was integral and deserves much credit. She insists on not being a co-author, but it should be noted many of the ideas, logic, interpretations and twists were all hers and I wouldn't have thought of them in a million years. Not to mention her endless support ultimately meant this story got finished. Thank you Roko!

Notes: Catherine, the killer arrives, and the connection.

Azrael's Wings

2

Arrival

In a modest house miles away, Catherine prepared to go out. Lindsay was at a slumber party, so she didn't have to feel guilty and intended to make the most of the evening.

It had been dangerously easy for her to get back into barhopping. She told herself it was harmless fun, and she wasn't too old, she could still play the game with the best of them. The attention she'd been paid so far proved that to be true. She was under a lot of stress, with a pre-teen and a supervisor's job. Everyone expected perfection, all the time.

The truth was, she was lonely. She missed the old team. She knew she was good at the politics, but she didn't like the person she became playing that game. She was glad to have Warrick and Nick, but she never got to talk to Grissom anymore, and he was the only one who would listen to her rants…even if he pretended he couldn't relate and made obscure comments. Now Grissom was struggling to learn the art of war as it pertained to Ecklie. His team was barely keeping up with their caseload; and Ecklie had it in for all of them, except maybe Greg. Sofia wanted out, and Sara…well, something was up with Sara, that for once had nothing to do with Grissom screwing up, but Catherine had no idea what it was. She just knew it was bad enough Grissom had put his job on the line to protect Sara. She was actually proud of him for that, but had never managed to tell him so.

"I just don't know what the hell is going on anymore. I need a drink, and I need some cute guy to flirt with." Catherine straightened her slinky dress, stared at herself in the mirror, and, satisfied, left for the bar.

- - - -

He drove around Vegas briefly until he found an Econo-Lodge motel in an adult district. He found it distasteful, and decided later he would look into other options. He checked in long enough to shower and had a quick dinner at a cheap diner down the street. He knew he was in the right place. He was very polite to the waitress. She looked tired, poor thing. He always tried to be nice to the insignificant ones.

The lights on the Strip were overwhelming. He drank in the shallow superficiality and felt almost high. He decided to get an overview of the population by going to a casino, and after finding cheap parking and a long walk, found himself at the entrance to the Rio before he hit actually hit Las Vegas Boulevard. He couldn't help but gape for a few minutes.

What a perfect place man's evil has created for me, he thought happily.

He attempted some small talk with a few females, choosing women playing slots next to empty machines. They paid him little attention though, intent on their gambling, and the noise was just too overwhelming for him to get past a casual conversation. He decided hunting in a casino would just be too convoluted because of all the distractions. There was no good way to evaluate.

That left the streets and the upscale bars. He headed north, purposefully passing several places to get a feel for the street and the people on it. He knew he was in the right place for the night and getting closer. He wandered into the huge complex that was the Venetian, and ultimately came across the V Bar. He decided he needed a drink.

The bar was elegant and so were its patrons. He wandered around the bar for a time. One young, pretty woman actually smiled at him, and when he said hello, launched into a detailed explanation of her vacation.

"It's been perfect!" she gushed. She was plastered.

"Perfect." Eric smiled, inadvertently snorting a little.

"Are you OK?" she peered at him.

"Yes ma'am. It's a speech impediment. I'm not even drunk yet." He smiled.

"Oh, I can hardly tell!" she smiled, and continued her long description. Eventually he had to excuse himself to the restroom. She certainly wasn't the right target.

He went back to the bar for another drink and noticed a striking blonde at the bar. He stood next to her nervously. She looked to be in her forties, but impeccable, with classic bone structure, perfect skin and blue eyes. She was dressed provocatively but elegantly, and held herself with confidence. He found himself staring as he waited for his drink.

"First night in Vegas." she stated, turning to level her gaze at him. "Never been here before." Her tone was not unkind, just direct.

Eric attempted a smile and went into his country boy mode. "Yep. Texas."

She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? One of my work buddies is from Texas. Good kid."

"It's a nice place to be from. Nothing there to compare to here, though. Never saw so many lights and heard such a racket in my life. Beautiful women, too." He leered at her just a little, deliberately.

Catherine studied him for a moment. Something about the way he spoke was strange, but she said nothing. She chose to acknowledge his rather pathetic attempt at flirting with one of her trademark laser stares. To her surprise, he didn't cower at all.

"Well," she said, picking up her drink. "It's a fun town, but it can be dangerous. Have a good time, but watch out for yourself." She smiled and turned to go.

"That's an amusing and backward thought," he muttered, watching her. She turned her head and gave him a weird look, like she might have heard him, but she kept walking.

Then he noticed a gorgeous, young brunette, alone at the bar. Several men were watching her and she knew it – coldly relished it. He watched for a few minutes as a couple of men approached her. The first was obviously too old and slightly drunk, and she rolled her eyes with such disgust that Eric decided to pay closer attention. She said something bluntly brutal to the man and he slunk away. The next man was handsome and well dressed. She smiled at him and they talked for a few minutes but it seemed one of his answers didn't please her, and she stalked off. Eric approached her from behind.

"You look upset," he said smoothly. She turned to face him, her eyes appraising him.

"I'm fine." She said coldly. Her mouth twitched; from the way she looked him up and down it was apparent she didn't find his appearance up to her standards. He decided to try a friendly approach.

"I guess I'm an evident tourist," chuckled Eric, "I was wondering if the restaurants here at the Venetian were any good?"

She glared at him. "Are you drunk or do you just talk funny? Look, you're way out of your league, asshole. Go ask the bartender, or go hit on somebody else." She whirled in another direction and walked away from him.

This is the bitch I want tonight, he thought angrily, and his decision was made. He watched the direction the brunette took.

He waited a safe distance from her for another hour, until she finally left, then followed her out into the street. Soon he was driving behind her car. He followed her for miles out into the suburbs. She never even noticed he was there.

Eventually she pulled into an apartment complex; he quickly parked on the street, grabbed his bag and walked in on foot, watching her as she got out of her car and walked to her unit without even glancing around. She staggered slightly on the steps and he smiled, pleased. She was completely unaware and wouldn't stay up long if she were drunk.

He waited for an hour after the last light went out in the apartment. There was plenty of manicured landscaping to hide in and no one was around. He turned on his mini Mag-Lite and looked for any obvious signs of an alarm system. Finding none, he took the knife from his pocket and made quiet, quick work of the screen on the front porch window, safely obscured by her balcony. He was inside in just a few seconds, and didn't make a sound climbing over the few scraggly houseplants on the table she had underneath the window.

He quickly prepared himself in the dark, using the contents from his bag. He stopped in the bathroom long enough to find the inevitable nylons hanging on the shower rod – women were so predictable – and crawled into the bedroom.

Before he gagged her, he allowed her to plead for her life a few minutes, as she stared at him wide-eyed, immobile beneath him. The pathetic creature didn't even recognize him from the bar.

"I was beneath you," he snarled. "Who is beneath me now? I'll release you eventually, but as a sinner, you must suffer first." She went rigid, then limp with fear.

He only knocked her unconscious as necessary to stop her muffled screams when they increased in volume too much for his liking. He took his time with the knife in various areas before finally slitting her throat.