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: After the analysis, events begin to quicken.

Thanks to djkittycat, CSIFan4Life, Ghibli, phoenix38133, LittleSidle, Marbs, TeenWitch, and Chicklit for the reviews!

Azrael's Wings

4

Scrutiny

"It's really not my purview." Ronnie sounded frustrated. "The drawing on the letter certainly seems to match the illustration on the warehouse wall. I'm doubtful it would hold up in court, though."

"It's enough to know it's the same guy." Sara replied.

"I'm not so sure of that," Grissom said calmly, carefully avoiding her intense stare. "In any case, the drawing and content of the letter seems to indicate we've got a suspect whose sanity is in question. Of course, if it's a ploy to get us to think that, we're back at square one. We have no idea if the first two victims are related, since we don't have an identity on the second female yet. Even if Catherine finds another picture on the third scene, we're operating blindly here."

Sara began tapping her fingers on the table, and her mouth twitched. Grissom imperceptibly moved his foot under the table to press against hers.

"Grissom, the media's already calling him the name in the letter – Azrael. How could they have known about that reference?"

"Azrael is the most recognized name for the Angel of Death, originally derived from Hebrew and also used in Islam," Grissom muttered. "It's just a coincidence. The phrase 'the Wings of Azrael' refers to the approach of death; the signs of death coming on the dying."

"That's just great. Kudos to the media for inspiring fear." Sara fumed.

" 'There is no man who lives and, seeing the angel of death, can deliver his soul from his hand'." Grissom quoted. "From an Aramaic translation of Psalm 89."

"Groovy." Sara said.

Grissom sighed. "Ronnie, can you give me a general analysis on the handwriting please?"

"Nothing you can't figure out yourself, Grissom," Ronnie said apologetically. "Indications of above average IQ, attention to detail and organization, some indications typical of a feeling of inferiority. There are lots of unique characteristics that could be matched with another sample, though."

Grissom nodded. "Well, it's more information, at least." Sara pulled out her cell phone almost violently and Grissom and Ronnie both flinched.

"I'm paging Greg. He's got to be done with the DNA comparisons from the two scenes by now."

Ronnie nodded at Grissom and began to retreat. "Page me if you need me." he said.

Greg rushed in momentarily with a pile of printouts and bags containing the wound molds from both cases. He took one look at Sara and sat across the table from Grissom, pushing the molds towards her and the printouts towards Grissom.

"No matching blood samples…but you already guessed that. Only two profiles, both matching the two victims." Greg sighed. "I need coffee," he stated to no one in particular.

"Did you finish fuming the stuff we took from the warehouse?" Sara demanded.

"Yeah." Greg squirmed, looking first at Sara in what he hoped was a confident glare and then at Grissom, pleadingly. "There was nothing. Did you find anything in the stuff you fumed last night?"

"No." she said curtly. "Crap." She muttered.

"You know, I didn't go home. I've been here, people are starting to think I'm you," Greg offered, hoping she'd feel guilty enough to let up on the Greggo.

It worked. She gave him a faint smile and ran her hands through her hair. Grissom sighed and put down the DNA paperwork.

"The molds appear to match. That's the good news." Greg said to Grissom as Sara turned them over in her hands. Grissom let her examine the molds for a few minutes before he reached for them. He looked at them briefly and nodded.

"Let's figure out how big this knife is, shall we?" he said. "Greg, unless there's some miracle in the lab we don't know about, you're reprieved."

"I would've figured Azrael would use a sword or something." Sara grumbled.

"Yeah, Angel of Death, I heard that on the news." Greg said excitedly. "They're calling him 'Morbid Angel' too. Did you know that's also the name of a really terrible metal band? I'd be offended, personally."

"The media isn't known for their ethics." Grissom began, but it was too late. Greg was on a roll.

"They're really terrible. The music reeks, and the songs are total satanic clichés." Greg gave Sara and Grissom his best air-guitar impression, making strange crunching noises, and sang,

"Evil curse is carried forth zombies rage

Burning holy images in life they were

Forced to hail

Eternal flames have purified their souls

Born again in blasphemy, thy kingdom come."

"Nah nah nah, nah nah NAH, nah nah NAH." Greg sliced at the strings of the imaginary guitar.

Grissom just stared at him.

"Greg, that's so not what I need to hear right now." Sara shook her head.

"Sorry," Greg tried to look meek. "You almost smiled, though."

It didn't take much work to figure out the molds were from the same weapon, and less work to surmise the length and shape of the knife. Grissom's phone began ringing as Sara was finishing up the documentation.

"I see. What's the address?" Grissom scribbled it down. "Where's Brass, still with swing shift?" he frowned at the response. "I'm sending Sara and Greg. Have a unit there before they arrive, please." He clicked the phone shut. Sara and Greg looked at him warily.

"It appears we have a decomp. Something normal and familiar, but with a twist." Greg grimaced, and Sara rolled her eyes at him.

Grissom ignored them and continued. "It's an apartment complex, a unit just recently rented, which is odd. Tenant is listed as Eric Weisman. Next door neighbor called in a complaint about the smell." He pushed the address towards Sara. "A unit will meet you there."

"Maybe he had a heart attack after moving all his stuff." Greg quipped.

"Maybe he rented the apartment to store bodies in." Sara grumbled.

Grissom peered tiredly at her over his glasses. She glared back, knowing what was coming.

"I need to think. You need a break from the case. Greg, I know you're tired, but you should go too." He stated in his best supervisor voice.

Sara sighed. She knew Grissom was right. She was so tired, the tedium of a decomp might actually be welcome at this point.

"OK." She murmured. Greg didn't look very thrilled, but he got up and followed her out.

"Be careful." Grissom called after them. Sara glanced back at him over her shoulder and gave him a brief grin. He smiled secretly and retreated to his office.

His reprieve didn't last long. Catherine, Nick and Warrick soon arrived, back from the third scene. He heard Cath bark some instructions at them and then she was dropping tiredly in the chair across from his desk.

"Your rundown first," she said. Grissom gave her his update.

"Well, I didn't figure the DNA or fuming would pan out. That would make this all too easy. At least we know the knife was the same. After that creepy letter, I'm not sure what to think. Is he a nut or is he a sadist smart enough to pretend to be a nut?"

"I was pondering that unsuccessfully just now." Grissom replied, rubbing his temples again.

"Did you get any sleep? Doesn't look like it…"

Grissom had a sudden uncharacteristic urge to tell Catherine that no, Sara had kept him up with nightmares all night. He must be really tired.

"Tell me about the scene," he prompted.

"Same scene, different location," she began. "Motel 6. She had ID – Jennifer Houseman, 26. She was apparently in town with two friends on vacation. They were in different rooms; Brass is interviewing them now. They showed up when we were processing the scene, said they'd all been out for drinks the night before and had come back from an uneventful evening of getting drunk. They saw her go into her room alone."

"And the scene?"

Catherine sighed. "More of the same. Lots of torture with a knife, ending in her throat being slit. Glove smudges. A few hairs. We'll take a rape kit, but I'm sure it'll be negative, just like the first two. Bathroom was spotless. Oh, and another skull with wings on the wall."

Warrick and Nick paused in the doorway. Nick's mouth was set in a grim line, and Warrick just looked tired.

"I'm on my way to the interview room," Warrick said. "Not that I think Brass and I will get much useful info from those girls."

Catherine nodded and looked at Nick. "I'm setting up a digital reconstruction of the scene now, and got stuff ready for you to do a splatter analysis while you're waiting on Doc Robbins." Nick stated. He looked at Grissom, noting his exhaustion. "Where's Sara and Greg?"

"I sent them out on a decomp call." Grissom ignored Catherine's look. "It came in a few minutes ago, Sara's tired and Greg's been trapped in the lab with nothing but dead-end evidence. Somebody had to work it, and I figured they could wrap it up quickly and get a break from this. I can call them back in if we need them and send Sofia to the scene when she comes in."

Nick nodded, relieved. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on with Grissom and Sara these days, but he thought things were getting better. Being on a different shift kept him from watching out for Sara, as he was prone to do, and he was glad to see Grissom at least aware of her again.

Catherine's beeper buzzed. "It's Doc. Want to come with?" she asked Grissom.

Grissom sighed and put down his notes. "Well, I'm not getting very far with this."

"I'll wait for you, Catherine. Try to see if we've gotten anywhere on that second ID, too." Nick offered. He and Warrick nodded and left, and Grissom and Catherine stood to head to the morgue.

"So how is Sara these days?" Catherine couldn't resist. She knew something had changed positively between them, she just couldn't find any overt evidence or figure out how far it had gone. It was driving her nuts.

"She's fine, as far as I know." Grissom made a face. He knew what was coming. I'm too tired for this, he grumbled inwardly.

"If you don't know, nobody else does. How does she seem off the clock?"

Grissom glared at the coffee pot as they passed it by. He was trying in vain not to react.

"Can we go over the case please?" he growled.

Catherine smirked. They headed towards the morgue and doubtless more frustration.