Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I'd love to be able to claim the brilliance behind their creation.

Author's Notes: Another installment, sort of dark, sort of sad...I wasn't in the mood to write happy, so it was either sad or nothing. This won't be a long story, I'm thinking only 2 or 3 installments past this, maybe 4...

I am too tired to even proofread, so please excuse any mistakes. I stayed up late last night doing the "Relay for Life" Walk-a-thon to support the American Cancer Society, which was from 6 pm to 6 am. Excluding events and such, my pedometer shows I walked 17 miles...after that was over, I was dragged to see Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy with some coworkers of mine. No offense to anyone who went to see it, because I actually enjoyed it, but it was sort of funny to know that when you stood in line at the ticket booth, it was obvious who was going to see it (besides the people bringing towels) because it was just...for lack of a better phrase...a geek-fest. Of course, I'm a geek and I know it, so it just put me in my place. As much as I protested going to see it, because I had never read the books or anything, I thought it was so funny and I nearly wet my pants laughing from the opening credits all the way to the end.

I ramble when I'm sleepy, I should go to bed...

Please reply, I hope you enjoy, and replies always encourage me to write more, and quicker...

Jenny

Three:

Greg anxiously watched the clock, partly eager to get back to Sara, and partly wanting to look anywhere but the body laid out in front of him, blood cleaned off, but still opened up widely, Anna Thomas's eyes staring coldly back at him. Doc Robbins was explaining the difference between disemboweling for the sake of disemboweling and removing organs for sale in various underground and black markets, but Greg wasn't paying any attention to the older man.

After learning that Anna's organs had been removed for reasons other than wholesale, Greg wasn't too interested in the rest of the facts. All he cared about was the 2 hours until his shift ended and he could get back to his friend, who happened to need him much more than the dead end case they were working on.

A loud beep and sudden buzzing on his hip caused Greg to jump, grabbing his pager and looking at the message with a scowl. Giving a quick thanks to Dr. Robbins, Greg sprinted out of the room, stripping off his scrubs on the way out and jogging down the hall to Grissom's office.

"You paged?" Greg panted, not happy by the serious look in Grissom's eye. A Grissom this serious at 6:00 in the morning could only mean 2 things; either they had another case or he missed something on the current one. It turned out, however, to be both.

Grissom handed Greg a stack of folders, "14 women, 14 years, same MO. Washington State, 1991, Janice Blake. Found hanging from the rafters of her beachfront home. Unmarried with no living relatives. Neighbor noticed the smell and called the police. Oregon, 1992, Marion Stevens. Idaho, 1993, Gina Rogers. Montana, 1994, Cassandra Peterson. Wyoming, 1995, Mary Whitman. Utah, 1996, Ivy Belmont. California, 1997, Kelly Bertrand. Arizona, 1998, Rita Morgan. New Mexico, 1999, Tammy Vidrine. Colorado, 2000, Ginger Young. Texas, Paula Bowen, 2001. Oklahoma, Katrina James, 2002. Kansas, Joan Freeman, 2003. Nebraska, Elizabeth Lennon, 2004."

He tapped to the folder sitting on his desk, "Nevada, Anna Thomas, 2005. What do these young ladies all have in common?"

"Just a broad view? All between the ages of 20 and 30, all unmarried, no children, no boyfriend, no immediately family...at least that is on this side of the country... and working full-time jobs." Greg commented, flipping to the information sheet on each folder. "Just like our vic."

Grissom nodded, "Very well, Greg. Not only were they working full time jobs, they were working overtime that would put Sara to shame, they all had jobs that would put them meeting a variety of people. Washington, California, Texas, New Mexico, and Kansas were nurses. Nebraska, Wyoming, and Oklahoma were police officers. Oregon, Utah, Arizona, and Colorado were rangers at national parks, as well as tour guides for various tourism hot spots. Idaho and Montana worked at truck stops along the interstates. Our vic was a nurse as well, and I have her employment history..she's worked over 100 hours last week, and that was the slowest of her weeks in the last 4 months."

"She fits the profile, what do we know about the killer? Any suspects?"

Grissom shook his head, "Not a clue. There was enough evidence collected in each murder to match the DNA, the same person is killing these women, but there's no hit in CODIS. We're still running the samples you and Sara collected last night. Start reviewing these files and see if you can come up with something. I'm going to get a list of patients our vic tended to for the last month. Brass dropped off phone records and bank statements, I've left them with Sophia."

Grissom hurried off in the opposite direction, and Greg made his way to an empty lab, dropping the folders on the table and sitting down with a loud sigh. His supervisor's tone had implied he was to finish this before going home, and since he wasn't one to make waves, he started educating himself on the past victims.

Sara laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling and trying to clear her mind. She was failing miserably. The longer she tried to calm herself down and pull herself out of the darkness she often teetered on the edge of, the harder she felt that invisible black force draw her in. The apartment was silent, even the neighbors and the hallways were silent, and with the curtains drawn and the lights off, it was nice and dark, her dark furniture adding to the ambiance of the room, which perfectly matched her mood.

She rose to a sitting position, moaning several curse words as she remembered the tenderness in her lower abdomen, and as she rose to her feet, a wave of dizziness washed over her, causing her to brace herself against the couch, shutting her eyes and trying to maintain her balance. After the dizziness had cleared, she painfully walked to her kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinet next to the fridge, pulling out several medicine bottles until she found the ones she wanted.

Wellbutrin, which had been prescribed to her after seeing a therapist over the Pamela Alder case, sat in the back of the cabinet, only 1 missing from the 30 day prescription. Paxil had been prescribed after the lab explosion, when she was having mild anxiety attacks every so often, was in the front, 4 of the 60 pills missing, but she had stopped taking those when she started using alcohol to help her relax. Various other medications ranging from a half-completed prescription of antibiotics to prescription headache medicine were tossed in the cabinet, most well past their expiration date.

She hated to take medication, especially the anti-depressants, although she knew very well she needed them. She had a severe problem with depression when she had been a teenager, after her mother had killed her father, and had been put on many different types of anti-depressants, none of which made a difference in any way that counted. Sure, maybe they helped her feel a little better, but the most they did was keep her alive, not happy.

She had moved to Boston to go to Harvard, leaving her mental instability in California, or so she had thought. After her first miscarriage, she had gotten back on anti-depressants after a long bout with depression, which the doctor had classified as moderate, but Sara insisted was mild compared to her problems back in California. After school finished, she stopped taking them with the exception of the two prescriptions she had filled in Las Vegas.

She had left the hospital with a prescription for Zoloft, since depression was "common" after a miscarriage, and Greg had filled it on their way home, it was sitting on her coffee table along with the antibiotics that were supposed to stop any infection that could develop as a miscarriage complication.

Complications. Infections, in Sara's book, were not complications. Miscarriages were complications, pregnancies were complications, half of her life was a complication. Things were always being dangled in front of her and then jerked away, as if it were life's cruel way of picking on her.

She moves to Las Vegas to start a fresh career with one person she thought she'd be always able to trust. He stands to close to her, makes her feel special, treats her like an equal. Complication? She asks him to eat dinner with her and he turns her down. Not just turned her down, but did it in the most insulting tone of voice with the most insulting mannerisms. And after turning her down, has barely been able to be her friend.

She starts dating, finds a guy she thinks is wonderful. He's a paramedic, which is a bonus, because sometimes she gets to see him during working hours. Complication? He's already dating someone else.

She has a nearly perfect working record, a high solve rate, a wonderful job working for a highly rated crime lab. Complication? The cases she really wants to solve, including the Pamela Alder case, Eddie Willows, and many more that she came so close to solving, all remained unsolved. Sure, in some cases the suspects may be in jail, not for murder, but in jail, and sure, in some cases she may know who did it, but is unable to fully prove it. Not only does she have these "incomplete" cases weighing her down, a chance at a promotion comes along and another coworker gets it because "he doesn't want it". She got so involved in job that she was "so good at" that she was unable to sleep properly, eat properly, function properly. If that wasn't irony at it's greatest, she didn't know what was.

And now, she gets pregnant for someone who she knows would probably make a decent father, she finally gets up the nerve to tell him, and she's just trying to get an opportunity to break the news. She's actually getting excited about the life growing inside of her, the longer the news sinks in. Complication? She'll never get to bring that baby home. When most women are planning their nursery, counting down the days until their ultrasound to find out if that nursery should be pink or blue, she was having to say goodbye to the small being that had occupied her uterus for 17 short weeks.

It was a small miracle that she hadn't been put in a psych ward when she was growing up, having to deal with so much and barely being able to cope, and a slightly bigger miracle when she finished college without a complete nervous breakdown. Sure, she had come close several times, but never went over the edge. The true shock was that she had been pulled in so many directions since moving to Vegas and she had still managed to keep herself together, still hadn't had that nervous breakdown yet. She was now just waiting for the other shoe to drop. She had no proof, nothing solid to tell her, but she knew that this would be the last straw, the straw that broke the camel's back.

She could feel the bottom dropping out, she could feel the panic and hysteria in her chest, fighting to bubble to the surface, the blackness surrounding her and fighting to take over her body, the anger, guilt, grief, hurt she had been bottling up for so many years rising to the surface and threatening to explode. She couldn't let that happen, because if she went off the deep end now, she knew there would be no coming back.

Any rash action taken by Sara at this point would be the signature on her pink slip. She knew Grissom had his ass on the line by allowing her to keep her job, she knew that everyone at work thought she was losing it, and she was certain that showing mental instability would be enough to force Grissom to fire her, and if not Grissom, then Ecklie. Her job was her life, if she lost her job, she'd lose the sole reason she got out of bed in the morning. If she lost that, she was worried to see what would happen next.

She put the pill containers back in the cabinet, knowing nothing in any of those bottles would help her feel any different than she already felt. The emotional pain she carried felt as if someone had placed a heavy weight on her chest, causing her to struggle to breathe, to move, to function in any way. And with every day that past and every new obstacle that was thrown in her direction, that weight grew heavier and heavier, and would continue to until that one day when it finally just crushed her.

Sara was growing more and more confident that "finally" would be happening sooner rather than later.

Her hand rested on the bottle of sleeping pills, which was the prescription that had been used the most out of everything she owned, including simple aspirin, and she knew that it would be the only way she'd sleep today. Shaking her head sadly, she pushed them back into the counter, along with everything else, knowing she couldn't trust herself to open the bottle. To take one would be an invitation to take two, then three, and so on until the 13 remaining pills, and the 3 month prescription refill that still remained unopened, were gone. She couldn't tempt herself with the 'easy way out', she had to fight.

Didn't everyone always tell her how strong she was? Didn't everyone always say she was a fighter? Tough? Independent? She wasn't going to give in now, as long as there was fight left in her, she could keep herself on the edge. She may not have the strength to move higher up than the brink of instability, but she did have the strength to keep her teetering on the edge. She could fight it, she could win...if only she could remember to say it often enough to convince herself.

Greg looked up from the stack of paperwork in front of him, surprised to see it was nearing the end of dayshift. If he had any desire to go home and get a nap before getting back in, he'd have to go now or never. Organizing his files and gathering his empty coffee cups, he began to save his project, knowing it would still be waiting on him in a few short hours.

He bumped in to Sophia in the hallway, and she looked as tired as he felt. She rubbed her eyes sleepily, "I'm going home, I can't even uncross my eyes. I'm just waiting time by trying right now."

"I can definitely agree with you on that one." Greg said with a sleepy nod, following her into the locker room, "Grissom still around?"

Sophia nodded, "I don't think he's going to even try and go home today. I don't know when he sleeps, all I know is that unless he will approve me pulling out a pillow and blanket in the break room, I've got to get to my bed."

"You don't know how tempted I am to just curl up in my backseat." Greg said, only half-joking. He would have actually considered it if he hadn't wanted to go check on Sara before heading home. Even though he was stumbling around like a zombie, in a fog from lack of sleep, he didn't want to blow her off, he had to see for himself that she was really okay.

Greg and Sophia went their separate ways, and as Greg pulled into Sara's apartment complex, a smile spread across his face and he backed out again, going a few blocks over until he reached a small shopping center. Half an hour later, he was pulling back into her apartment complex, a white teddy bear holding a small purple balloon (labeled 'Thinking of you', because he didn't want to make her sad by getting the one that said 'Get Well Soon') and a bouquet of sunflowers resting on his front seat. It wasn't much, but he hoped for a smile, at least.

He wasn't too sure how to handle the situation, he was never really good at helping people out who were going through emotional pain like this, but he wanted to let her know he cared and that he was, in fact, keeping her in his thoughts. Hopefully she'd keep opening up to him, because he had found that in the evening he had spent with Sara, he had learned more about her than he had since she came to Las Vegas, and it left him wanting to know everything there was to know about Sara Sidle.

TBC