Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.

Spoilers: General fifth season through "Spark of Life."

This is in response to a private challenge. The story was to include a number of given phrases as well as an appearance by David, and to be G/S.

As ever, many thanks to Cincoflex, without whom this would not exist!

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Grissom took one last tug on his milkshake and tossed the cup into the garbage can without looking away from the requisition form in front of him. I need a secretary. But I don't think there's a box on this thing to requisition one.

He licked his lips absently, and the flavor of strawberry made him smile a little. That was...fun. It had been a long time since he'd really spent much time with Sara, and while he knew his behavior was puzzling her, he wasn't quite ready to come out and say anything. It was too soon. Better to demonstrate in small ways first.

He couldn't pin down the moment when he'd decided to take Sara up on her long-thrown gauntlet; he'd only realized the decision had been made when he found himself thinking of ways to please her. The loss of half his team to the swing shift had derailed his plans, but only temporarily.

The question, of course, was whether she was still interested. There were nights when he wasn't sure she even wanted to have anything to do with him at all, though the urgency of the Abel case seemed to have brought them a little closer.

And he'd gotten away with buying the independent Ms. Sidle ice cream. Given her reaction to his suggestion at Susan Methody's apartment, he hadn't dared offer to pay for lunch, but her distraction with the phone call had given him an opportunity. He smiled a little more, remembering the mild bliss on her face and the smear of cream on her upper lip as she had devoured her cone.

Then he glanced back down at the form, and shoved it aside. Now that he had finished his dessert, he could restock his kit, in case he got called out again that night. He had a backup--of course--but he preferred to use his main one, and he would have to clean and restock at some point anyway.

Grissom set out the disinfectants and wipes he would need, and bent over to pop open his case, only to be confronted with the sight of four dollars on the top tray. Apparently he hadn't gotten away with it.

Outrage and amusement mingled. Well, Ms. Sidle. That's a challenge if I've ever seen one.

At that very moment, she appeared in his doorway, but one look at her face and his humor dropped away. "Sara?"

She slipped inside and closed the door behind her. "Mia just gave me the results from the car."

Grissom straightened. "And?"

For answer, she handed him the printouts and sat down. He paged through them, absorbing the results with a speed stemming from long practice, and felt his dismay increase by an order of magnitude. When he set them down, Sara was watching him, her face closed with the haughty look she got when she was upset and concealing it.

Grissom pushed his fingers under his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "You processed the car, Sara. Lay it out for me."

Her voice was tightly controlled. "The evidence suggests that Susan Methody was attacked, probably prior to being placed in her car due to the lack of spatter outside the seat. She was driven somewhere and dumped, and her car was abandoned on I-15. The evidence also strongly suggests that Corey Abel's body was transported in the trunk prior to dumping."

She didn't have to name David as the possible perpetrator; his name hung between them on the hairs found in the car.

"Does he have an alibi for Abel's TOD?" Sara asked finally. Grissom shook his head.

"It was his night off. He says he was asleep." Asleep in his solo apartment, with no one to corroborate his story.

"It's circumstantial, Grissom," Sara said gently, which surprised him. He thought he would have to be the one to remind her. But when he followed her gaze to his desktop, he realized she was looking at his hand, which was clenched tightly around a pen.

With an effort, he relaxed his grip. "Damningly circumstantial, though."

Sara shrugged and rose, leaning over to pick up the printouts. "You're always telling us to trust the evidence. This isn't enough to prove anything yet."

"We need more," Grissom agreed. "Look, I promised to update Albert unofficially. What's your next stop?"

"Fingerprinting, and then A/V to talk to Archie about Methody's laptop," Sara replied.

"Okay." He stood himself. "Page me if anything turns up."

She gave him half a salute with the papers, and left.

Grissom made his way slowly to the morgue, grappling with the new information. They were both right; the evidence didn't prove anything beyond a doubt, but it did point a heavy finger in David's direction. But Grissom, who had seen brothers betray each other and children kill, was finding something in him rebelling at the thought of David capable of one and possibly two murders.

The morgue was empty; Grissom pulled out Robbins' desk chair and sat in it, resting his elbows on his knees and arranging the evidence in his mind. David had no alibi, and there were traces of him on the body and in the car used to transport the body. He had motive, opportunity, and the physical strength needed to carry out the murder and the dumping. He'd do a better job than that, part of Grissom pointed out logically. He knows how to remove evidence. He wouldn't be that sloppy.

He could have panicked, another part countered ruthlessly. His reaction to the sight of Abel's body could just as easily be guilt as horror.

The morgue doors swung open and Robbins limped through, his face going from serene to worried as he spotted his visitor. Grissom stood, and steeled himself.

I don't want to do this.

xxxx

Jacquie was bent over an array of prints when Sara joined her, but she straightened, looking somber. "Hey, Sara."

Sara was beginning to feel like an albatross–wherever she went, people stopped smiling. It's the case. Everybody likes David. "Hey. Got anything for me?"

Jacquie nodded, reaching for a file to one side. "Prints in the car match Susan Methody–-no surprise there-–and Corey Abel. There are a few others, but they don't match anything I have on file."

"So they're not David's." Sara felt a small surge of relief.

"Nope. A couple aren't complete enough to ID, but what detail there is doesn't match his prints." The print tech rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Been getting much flak yet?"

"Not yet," Sara answered wryly. The trouble with investigating anyone involved in law enforcement was that it tended to anger other members of that community; it was one of the reasons IAB was so despised. "It'll show, though."

"Well, you won't get any from me," Jacquie said, her voice firm. "David's a total sweetie and I think he's innocent, and you two are the best way to prove that."

Sara swallowed, touched by the woman's avowal. "Thanks, Jacquie," she said. "That means a lot."

Jacquie gave Sara her quirky grin. "So go get the real murderer."

Archie was waiting, his usual easy demeanor somewhat diminished, but he waved as Sara came in. "Turned up a lot of interesting stuff, but I'm not sure how much of it is relevant, and I'm not done yet," he said.

"Enlighten me." Sara pulled out a chair and sat down next to him. It was research she could easily have done herself, but between this case and the small solo cases she was working as well, she just hadn't had the time.

"For starters, there's a diary." Archie pulled up the window. "I didn't read all the entries, but I ran a search and Corey Abel's name turns up a lot-–mainly towards the end."

Sara leaned forward for a better look. "So were they..."

"Oh yeah." Archie's grin was mildly salacious. "Not for long, a couple of months maybe, but it looks like they did have a relationship going behind Maranatha's back."

"Ouch."

Archie nodded agreement. "Not cool. Anyway, the last entry is two days before Abel was killed."

Sara scanned the page quickly, but aside from some gushing about Abel and a few pitying remarks about 'Natha's unsuitability for him, there was nothing that related to the case. "Okay, what else?"

Archie grabbed the mouse. "Fortunately for us, Susan was methodical." His grin was openly wicked this time, and Sara snorted at the pun. "She kept copies of old e-mails and chats on her hard drive. I ran another keyword search, and it looks like before Susan got hooked on Abel, she was crushing on David."

"Whoa." Sara sat back. "Really."

"Absolutely. For a while there, she was writing him like three times a day."

"How often did he answer?" Sara asked.

Archie highlighted a number of files. "Maybe once or twice a week. And the letters don't sound like he was crushing back–-they read like a guy being polite to his kid sister's friend."

"Hm." Sara thought about it. The information was interesting, but it didn't give them any hints as to what exactly had happened to Methody or who had done it, and Sara had to acknowledge that a good prosecuting attorney could probably use the e-mail exchanges to hurt David in court. "Any sign of an ex-boyfriend or anything?"

"Nope. No nasty letters, nothing in the diary--but she might not have saved angry e-mails."

"Or written about a fight," Sara agreed. "What about Abel's machine?"

Archie gestured at the black desktop sitting on a nearby table. "It's all business. I mean, he has personal stuff like insurance and finances on there, but nothing personal, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Sara sighed. "Archie, thanks. If you turn anything else up, page me?"

"You bet." The tech was already getting absorbed in his work again. Sara rose and left him to it.

xxxx

The sound of his phone dragged Grissom from sleep, and he groped for the receiver. "What?" he said muzzily, squinting at the clock and seeing that it was barely noon.

"It's Brass," came the gravelly voice, rougher than usual. "You and Sara better get over here."

Grissom frowned, trying to reconcile Brass with a daytime call. "What's up?"

"I told you the D.A. was moving fast." There was no accusation in the captain's tone, but Grissom felt instantly guilty nonetheless. "He's issued a warrant for David."

Grissom's mind offered up a very bad word. He ignored it. "The evidence is circumstantial, Jim!"

"I know that and you know that, but the D.A.'s under pressure from Abel's uncle. They're hoping to squeeze a confession out of him. Do you want to call Sara, or do you want me to do it?"

"You do it," Grissom said, sitting up and reaching for his slacks. It wasn't what he'd prefer, but it would save time. "Tell her I'll meet her there."

"See you in a few," Brass said, and hung up.

He met them in the main corridor of the police station, still in his suit and looking as though he hadn't been to bed at all. "How'd you hear about this?" Grissom asked, and Brass shrugged.

"Police grapevine. Look around, Gil--even daytime isn't usually this busy."

Grissom took another look at the corridor, absently noting Sara doing the same next to him. Brass was right; the hallway was already crowded along the walls, and more people were slowly swelling the numbers. Grissom spotted Nick and Warrick standing together near the other end, looking grim and sleepy both, and a couple of the night shift techs.

He also noticed a few hostile looks directed at himself and Sara, but not many. For whatever reason, this quiet mob wasn't directing its anger at the CSIs on the case.

An absence struck him, and he turned to Brass. "Where's Albert?"

The captain shook his head. "I got his wife when I called. She asked me if there was anything he could do here, and when I said no, she told me she wasn't going to wake him up when he'd hardly gotten any sleep this week." He shrugged. "I bet he'll be pissed, but that's her problem."

Grissom didn't reply. He'd met Mrs. Robbins, and he didn't think it would be a problem for long.

Sara shifted nervously, her arms folded tightly. She hadn't been asleep when Brass called; she'd been lying in bed, trying futilely to recapture sleep. She'd picked up the phone eagerly, hoping for a break in the case.

Now she stood in the midst of a crowd, feeling chilled. If the D.A. was pushing this hard, with so little to go on, the interrogation would not be an easy one. Sara dreaded the thought of the ordeal her gentle friend was going to have to endure. A good interrogator could wind a subject in their own words until they didn't know which end was up.

The further doors swung open, and two cops came through, each with a hand resting on the elbow of a handcuffed David. It shocked Sara, to see the coroner so restrained; it seemed wrong, as though they were trying to pinion him.

David's wide eyes widened further at the sight of the crowded corridor. He looked as though he'd been woken from sleep and had dressed in a hurry, which was probably exactly what had happened. His hair was unbrushed and his socks didn't match, but his face was relatively calm.

The cops led him down the hallway, getting just enough room to clear the people on either side, and Sara's eyes prickled at the emotion filling the corridor. They weren't there to accuse.

They were there to support.

Eyes followed the trio as they made their slow way along; people nodded silently to David, and a few reached out to touch his back as he passed. The cops with him kept their faces impassive, not acknowledging the crowd, but they didn't hurry or try to interfere.

As they drew abreast of the CSIs, Sara forced herself to meet David's gaze. The complete lack of accusation there made her feel even guiltier, as though she had betrayed him by following the evidence. But he only smiled a little, looking from Sara to Grissom and back again, and then he was gone, through the door into the interrogation room.

Brass sighed, and with grave ceremony unlocked the door to the observation room, gesturing Grissom and Sara inside ahead of him. He locked it behind them, and they looked through the window to where one cop was removing David's cuffs. An older man, round and mild-looking, already stood next to the table, and Sara knew he was David's lawyer, summoned with near-arcane speed.

"That's Bhupendra Saxena," Grissom murmured with approval. "He's good."

"He'd better be," Brass countered grimly. "This'll be by-the-book, but it's going down hard."

On the other side of the glass, David was taking a seat next to his lawyer. Sara stepped closer to the glass, hearing the crackle as Brass turned on the speaker, and sensed the two men approach as they flanked her to wait.

"What happened to the backlash?" Sara muttered, eyes on David. "I was expecting most of them to be pissed at us."

Brass chuckled a little, a sound so unexpected that both Sara and Grissom turned to look at him. "Your reputation precedes you," he said. "There's a few malcontents out there, sure, but scuttlebutt is that David's innocent and that he couldn't have better investigators. They have faith in you, guys."

Unexpected. Unprecedented. Sara and Grissom exchanged surprised glances. "I hope that faith holds," Grissom murmured, but before Sara could answer, the interrogation room door opened again and O'Reilly and the D.A. came in.

District Attorney Wannemacher was known to be ambitious, clever, and very, very good at his work. The CSIs as a whole tended to regard such political appointees as passing nuisances; they would arrive, demand the impossible for a while, and then move on to bigger things, to be replaced by someone similar in an uneasy symbiosis.

Now, however, the pattern was warping, and distaste was turning to active fear and anger. Sara believed that David was telling the truth when he said that he was innocent, but 'Natha had no alibi and her father had only his wife's word that he was home; the CSIs had turned up nothing so far to prove or disprove either statement. A chill settled in Sara's stomach. What if 'Natha did do it? Would David confess to protect her?

She didn't know 'Natha at all to say one way or the other, but she did know David.

"She's my best friend. I have to be there for her."

He just might.

xxxx

The interrogation was about what Grissom expected--loud and theatrical, with a fair amount of unvoiced threat and the offer of a deal should David confess right then. He was afraid that the meek coroner might break down under the expert accusation of the D.A. and O'Reilly's pressure; the detective, though obviously hating it, was doing his job and asking questions with heavy menace.

But David surprised Grissom. The younger man's shyness apparently hid a strong will; he flushed and paled and sweated visibly, but he lost neither his temper nor his courage, answering questions in a calm voice and only moving to push up his sliding glasses. He refused to admit to the murder, and when the questioners got around to the possibility, he categorically denied that he was protecting anyone in refusing to speak. O'Reilly scowled and rumbled, Wannemacher paced and shouted, but David kept his chin up and kept saying he knew nothing.

Whether it was true or not--and Grissom was investigator enough to admit the possibility that David was lying--Grissom had to admire his conviction.

It was when the D.A. started in on 'Natha that Grissom saw David's control start to waver. The insulting monologue was enough to make David flush again, and his fists clench where they rested on the table, but Sara showed more reaction, stepping forward as though she would reach through the glass and make Wannemacher sorry.

Grissom reached out without thinking about it and rested his palm lightly on the small of her back, hoping that the touch would calm her a little. Her flinch wasn't visible, though he felt her muscles jump slightly, and he expected her to pull away. Instead, she put one hand on the windowframe, eyes unmoving but a little of her tension easing.

The three of them held vigil for David as the interrogation stretched into one hour and then two. When it finally wound down, Wannemacher was getting hoarse, O'Reilly looked sick, and David looked...beaten, Grissom thought.

But he hadn't given in. The D.A. left the room with a sour expression, and Saxena leaned in close to David to talk to him.

Brass shut off the speaker with a snap. "That's that," he said, sounding tired. "Next step is an arraignment."

Sara's fingers were pressing so hard on the sill that her knuckles were white. "This is such a crock," she said in a low voice. Before Grissom could say anything, she whirled towards him, breaking their contact. "Don't tell me to be objective, Grissom. They don't have enough evidence against him to do this."

"I wasn't going to," he said mildly, which made her deflate a little. "I agree with you. Unfortunately, the system isn't perfect."

He held up one hand to stop her retort, ignoring Brass' snort. "We're just going to have to work harder."

The fury in Sara's eyes hardened into resolve. "Damn straight."

"If you two have finished your pep talk," Brass interjected dryly, "how about some breakfast on me? Even geniuses need to eat once in a while."

Grissom raised a brow, suddenly feeling mischievous. "Breakfast on you, Jim? Are you clean?"

Brass rolled his eyes, but smirked reluctantly at Sara's surprised chuckle. "Keep that up and you can buy your own pancakes. Come on."

With a last glance at David, still engrossed in conversation with his lawyer, they followed Brass out.

Breakfast ended up taking a long time; neither the CSIs nor the detective admitted it, but they weren't willing to go home and back to bed without news of some kind. They sat in Waffle World and talked about everything and nothing, avoiding the case like an elephant making a fourth at table, and drank more coffee than was good for them. Finally, almost two hours after they'd left the police station, Brass' cellphone rang.

He answered it, and the criminalists listened to his side of the conversation, which mostly consisted of agreeing grunts. After a moment he snapped it shut again. "Well, that's that. David's been arraigned for first-degree murder. His family's posting bail."

Sara hissed slightly, and Grissom frowned. "On that evidence? They're pushing things."

Brass shrugged, though his expression indicated that he too found the situation unpleasant. "I told you, Abel's uncle knows the D.A. They must have got a sympathetic judge."

Grissom sighed, feeling helpless against the political machine. Sara's fists were clenched. "That's ridiculous. It's all circumstantial."

"It's only arraignment," Grissom reminded her. "If they take the case to trial on what we have now, chances are that David will go free."

But her frown didn't abate, and Grissom knew why. Juries were capricious and the D.A. was an expert. It would be well within Wannemacher's capabilities to sway the jury to his point of view.

"Well, you guys aren't done yet," Brass pointed out, with a heartiness that was only slightly forced. "You'll find something to clear him."

"Find us Methody," Sara shot back, though her shoulders relaxed a trifle. Grissom said nothing, unwilling to upset her again, though he knew--as did she--that they could just as easily find evidence that would incriminate David further.

Let's hope not.

See Chapter 5