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

Summary: A killer with angelic illusions visits Vegas, forcing some of the CSIs to confront their own demons. GSR. The crimes escalate, Sara's past surfaces, and Grissom has more to worry about than the case.
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: The letter arrives. Grissom and Sara enter the case.

Thank you Chicklit, djkittycat, Kimber McLeod, and CSIFan4Life for the reviews! They are much appreciated : )

Azrael's Wings

3

Descent

Ronnie came in early to work on the letter, after a frantic call from Catherine. He didn't even consider being flattered that she wanted him rather than the day shift document analyst. The serial case had snowballed in a short twenty-four hours, with two more killings, and the entire lab was working under a grim, furious haze.

He knew she wanted him to get a jump-start on the document before Grissom's team got there for graveyard. There had just been a third killing on her shift. She spoke to him in a rough, dead monotone, which almost scared him more than the case itself or the fact that Ecklie was hovering constantly over the entire lab. Ecklie didn't even try to mask the fact that he was just waiting for swing or graveyard shift to mess this one up.

Ronnie got to the lab in record time. Catherine gave him a look of grateful relief as she handed over the letter and rushed off to meet Warrick and Nick at the latest scene. It made him feel more needed than he ever had. He pushed the positive feelings aside, feeling selfish, and got to work.

By the time Grissom arrived, also early for his shift, Ronnie had done a preliminary analysis and was far enough along to have transcribed the letter, prepared it for Grissom to examine safely, and have it checked for prints. There were none. Grissom came straight to the document room; Sara was on his heels.

"It's right there." Ronnie gestured to the letter on the table, sealed, with a handwritten transcript next to it for Grissom to take with him. "No prints. Standard office-supply paper, nothing easily traceable. No surprises. I'm working on the handwriting analysis now."

"I'll want to do a profile as soon as you're finished." Grissom reached for his glasses. Sara shifted uneasily.

"I should be ready for that in about an hour. Catherine and the guys are still at the third scene, I assume you have the rundown from her on that."

Grissom nodded bleakly. "Thanks, Ronnie." Sara attempted a smile in Ronnie's direction as they moved towards the table. If the circles under her eyes were any indication, the speed and stress of the case was taking a toll on even her infamous stamina. Ronnie bent back over his copies of the writing, and Grissom stared at the letter.

It was written on typical yellow legal pad paper, the handwriting small and disjointed, letters almost crunched together, but very legible:

"They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a fell demon from the hottest hell.

When I see fit, I shall come again and claim other victims. I alone know who they shall be. I shall leave no clue except the blood of those whom I have sent below to keep me company.

If you wish you may tell the police not to rile me. Of course I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigation in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to amuse not only me but also His Satanic Majesty. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it were better that they were never born than to incur my wrath. I don't think there is any need of such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.

Undoubtedly, you think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship to the Archangel Azrael

Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and as it is about time that I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that you will publish this, and that it may go well with you, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fantasy."

Instead of a signature, there was a crude drawing of a skull with wings. It was a familiar image, and it made Grissom's temples start to pound.

There had been three killings so far. The first killing had been discovered the afternoon before, falling to Catherine's team. Monica Parker, 27, beautiful, discovered slaughtered in her bed by a colleague. There were no prints, no hairs, and no evidence. Her throat had been slit and she'd had multiple stab wounds, all obviously inflicted for torture, not to kill, and all ante-mortem. She'd been beaten severely about the face, probably every time she'd attempted to fight back. A background check of the girl revealed little other than she was a status-conscious social climber; hardly a standout in Vegas. The most chilling fact was Catherine discovered that she had been at the same bar as Monica, that very night. She had talked to several men and was shaken, wondering if one of them had been the killer. Grissom had been unable to coax her elaborations any further than that.

The night before, Grissom and Sara had been dispatched to the scene of another killing at an abandoned warehouse. Greg was mired in the soon-to-prove-futile task of analyzing the DNA evidence from the first case. They knew almost immediately that the second victim, another young female yet unidentified, was linked to the first, because she had been tortured with a knife the same way and her throat slit. Again, even in the dirty, unused building, there was little evidence the killer had even been there, with one exception: the killer left an image drawn in blood on a wall near the body. It was a skull with wings.

News of the third killing had come this afternoon.

Grissom felt Sara shift slightly closer to him as she stood, reading the letter over his shoulder. He wondered for the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours how he was supposed to handle the dichotomy that made her so good at her job and at the same time so vulnerable.

- - - -

He'd grown accustomed to her nightmares. The first couple of weeks she had slept soundly, despite warning him, and he'd wanted to believe it was because of his presence. He was almost churlishly disappointed when the dreams started again, but waking to find her rigid next to him, eyes wide and breathing rapidly, trying hard not to wake him despite it all, pushed all thoughts of his own ego aside.

Sometimes she saw her mother in the dreams, but more often it was bits and pieces: the blood, herself walking timidly down the hall, the stillness of the room and her father's body…the utter feeling of being alone, wondering where her mother and brother were.

He would spoon his body behind her, wrapping himself around her like a blanket. He thought maybe if he could make her feel like she was totally enveloped by him, it would help her come close to perceiving the way he felt when he was inside her – complete, loved, just right.

Usually it helped. "I'm sorry. I'll be ok in a minute," she would always say, before drifting back to sleep.

He found himself murmuring whatever he thought comforting. I should be able to fix this, he would think.

This latest serial had triggered something for her. His only conclusion was that somehow this case was combining in her dreams with all the information from her past that she'd been dredging up in the counseling he'd begged her to take. She'd had several sessions, came home drained, and he asked her no questions. He wondered now if counseling had been a good idea.

Her nightmares had changed the night before, and she'd had them non-stop – neither one of them had slept more than a couple of hours. She described seeing a male killer, then an asexual one, but the face was always obscured. She described a feeling of confusion about the killer, and a sense of total alienation for herself. She described smelling the blood in the room. In the worst nightmare, she woke up crying silently.

"I was the killer. Me and my murder gene." She sounded so resigned Grissom felt a chill.

"It's like I'm a part of it, but I'm not," she continued. "It's like there's a piece missing. I don't know why I feel a connection between this and what happened to me. Maybe because I don't understand why any man would be so brutal with a stranger, any more than I've ever understood why my mother, who was always so passive around my father's abuse, could have exhibited such sudden rage?" She sighed. "I don't know. We just need to get the guy."

He was baffled. Sara had always gone relentlessly for at least two days on her most disturbing cases without showing any signs of strain. But early that afternoon, when his phone rang and he was barely registering the fact it was Catherine on the other end, Sara had looked at him wide awake and haunted.

"Grissom. PD just got a letter from our guy. I barely had time to read it when the call came in – we've got another dead girl." Catherine said flatly.

"Letter?" Grissom said confusedly. "He mailed a letter?"

"I just called in Ronnie. He'll process it by the time you get here. I've got to go to the third scene…another twenty-something girl, slashed in a hotel room, another bloody skull on the wall. You probably didn't see the news, either, but there was a leak to the media about the pictures. The media's already reported that and started giving him nicknames."

"Alright," he replied. "I'll be in as soon as I can get there."

Sara was quiet. They alternated between her apartment and his townhouse, and her phone rarely rang if he was there. She had a pretty good idea who was on the other end of the phone.

Their relationship was new and tentative, and Grissom was relentlessly protective of it, not because he cared if anyone found out anymore, but because he wanted an objective chance to prove to Sara that he deserved an opportunity, that he could deliver what she wanted despite all he'd put her through. Hard enough to demonstrate without the entire lab snickering and taking bets. Thankfully she understood that, and hiding it at work wasn't difficult. The most anyone at work could conjecture was that the two of them had regained their soundless communication and were doing their weird geek flirting rituals again. After work, they lived in a new and secret world.

He hung up the phone, and though from his end of the conversation he'd only mentioned the letter, she knew.

"There's another one." Her voice was a monotone. The look she had reminded him of how she'd looked working on Pamela Adler's case, multiplied exponentially.

- - - - -

Sara peered at the letter over Grissom's shoulder. He raised his eyebrow at her and pulled out a chair. "The handwriting analysis is going to take awhile," he said gently. She snorted in frustration.

"We don't have awhile." she replied.

He'd thought all his worrying about Sara would lessen once he got used to spending so much time with her. He'd quickly discovered the opposite to be true. He worried when he had the night off and she was working. He worried when she went to the grocery store by herself. He worried when she was sitting right next to him. She told him that was normal. He'd never really loved anyone before, so he supposed she was right. It wasn't like worry was all there was; most of the time he was astonishingly happy, even at peace, which was strange and wonderful.

The last twenty-four hours, however, brought new depths to his worry. Grissom sighed as they began to go over the letter, wondering how he could divert the implacable Sara.