Requital 9?

A/N: We're getting really spoilery for Identity Crisis (and, I guess, Anonymous and the Pilot) now. I'm not worried about ruining it for you (come on, 4-5 years ago!) as much as you being lost and confused if you've never seen it. Again, I recommend www.crimelab.nl for transcript brush-up if you'd like to read this without scratchin' the ol head. Okay, no more talking. Enjoy.

Notes 'n stuff in Ch.1. Thanks as always for the reviews.

"Absolutely not."

Catherine was certain her friend had finally gone round the bend.

"Gil, you are not just waltzing in there alone. This woman has been playing you for weeks. She poisoned and kidnapped a member of the Las Vegas Police Department and you think she's going to let you just walk in and out unscathed?"

Grissom seemed to be considering her words, but as per usual, was a difficult read.

"Catherine, this is about me. I won't have anyone else hurt because of this woman." He yanked the note out of his pocket, pointing hastily. "I refuse to put anyone else in danger."

Okay, yeah. Not so much with the "considering her words."

"And we refuse to let you just walk into the lion's den!"

"Fine. Then what do you propose? You read the note. That postscript was cryptic. She basically warned me to come in alone, 'or else.' Are you willing to risk Nick's life?"

Catherine should have been insulted at the implication that she would risk Nick's life more than it already was, but she had to get through to him somehow. "Gil, are you even sure they're at the warehouse? I mean, Nick said a name… and he's hardly lucid. You know certain types of nightshade can cause hallucinations. He may not even have known what he was saying."

"I think you underestimate Nick. He knew exactly what he was doing. I trust him. They're at the warehouse."

Catherine knew in her heart that it made sense, but still couldn't tell if Grissom was being driven by fear. "Emotional Grissom" was an animal she rarely had to deal with, and wasn't sure the best method of reeling him back to logic. If they ended up being at the warehouse, she didn't want him going in there unprotected.

Her friend continued his outward muse. "She wants to be found. She wants this confrontation, whatever it is. It's my fault Nick's there. He's my responsibility. If I have to play by her rules, then so be it."

"Well right now all we're doing is wasting time," Warrick said, digging his keys out of his pocket. "You guys wanna fight over the best way to storm the castle? Fine. But standing around in Mulberry is doing Nick no good."

Brass, who was finally caught up on the situation, jumped in before the other two CSIs could respond. "I'm with 'Rick. Let's get on the road. I'll make some phone calls."

Grissom tried to protest. "I'm not—"

"Save it, Bug Man. You're flying without a parachute. We're doing this the right way. Start drivin'."

Catherine almost smiled as she climbed in the truck. Jim Brass was a godsend.

Finally crossing into the dry shelter of the warehouse, Juliette dropped Nick's arms and almost collapsed to the floor, spent.

It took some very spirited dragging to get his limp body all the way inside, but eventually she accomplished her goal. Both of them were soaking wet and covered in mud, but she didn't seem to mind; besides, there was much more to get done. Just thinking about Grissom's impending arrival gave her the strength of ten men.

Leaving Nick sprawled out on the floor, she walked back outside to the 4Runner and moved it all the way up the driveway so the trunk was against the warehouse door. Now came the tough part. The receptionist opened the back door and carefully maneuvered the large, smooth object until it was easing out the trunk and down towards the building's opening. Grunting as her muscles stung with exertion, she tried to lower it without losing her grip and dropping the heavy porcelain completely.

Her patience was rewarded as it met the ground with nothing more than a soft clang; she was able to repeat the process with the object's back half and achieved the same success.

Pausing to give her arms and back a break, she spared a glance at Nick's still unmoving form. That boy really did have the best timing in the world.

Juliette hoped the noise this would surely create wouldn't rouse him, though she doubted it would. She crouched behind one end and pushed, creating the most God-awful squeaking noise as it slid along the floor. Finally, she got it situated to her liking and stepped back. The claw-foot bathtub was just a cheap replica, much smaller than most, but it would serve its purpose well.

All this effort…

No, she wouldn't even go there. Of course it was completely worth it. Finally after all these months she'd get her payoff. Now it was up to Grissom to follow his little evidence trail and show up. The receptionist had to admit that she was a pretty creative woman. A trail of dead cockroaches would've just been way too mundane. In fact, this crap was good enough for a television miniseries -- and it'd definitely get more ratings then any lame ass Amy Fisher special.

She walked over to Nick and took his chin in one muddy hand.

"Nick."

His eyes fluttered for a moment, but never opened. Then again, she'd expected that. Juliette wasn't sure how long it would take, but the Internet had given her various estimates.

Botany had been one of Doug's loves. Between that and bargain-hunting, he always had something to do when he wanted to de-stress from long days in court. In such, he'd stored dried containers of hundreds of different kinds of plants and herbs over the years. She never really knew what he kept them for, but was pleased to find a few potentially lethal substances in those containers. Well, considering the, er… adventurous life her husband led, it's no surprise he grew his own poison. What a talented husband she has! Had.

Had.

She looked back at Nick and smiled at his lack of response.

"Yeah, I didn't think you'd help. Kinda hoping you wouldn't anyway." She paused for a moment. "You know, Nicky, you and I make a great team. You always know what I need ahead of time. And then you're just so damn cooperative! I bet you were a teacher's pet…" She stopped again. "More like supervisor's pet. Still can't get that approval from the old man, hmmm? Too bad. I would have given you a great rec."

The decision to poison him was methodical and purposeful. She hadn't just been blowing smoke up Grissom's ass in that note – she wanted every bit of 'slow and agonizing' for all parties involved. Nothing could ever trump the personal hell of her last two years, but she supposed slowly wasting away over the course of a week was good enough. It would be Grissom suffering for years to come, though, when neither she nor Nick would be around to witness it. That was the true victory.

Juliette unlocked his handcuffs and smirked at the chaffed, red rings around his wrists. Talk about pointless energy-wasting… but then he hadn't really been thinking straight. Her bad.

She then stripped the hooded sweatshirt over his head and carefully peeled away the black t-shirt he wore underneath.

"Shoo," she let out a low whistle. The entire right side of his ribcage was bruised from her earlier torments. "Gotta watch out for that right boot, Nick. Where are those reflexes?"

Ah well.

Now...

Looking from Nick to the tub, she tried to amass the easiest way of getting him inside.

She lifted up the unconscious man's torso against the side of the bathtub and then lifted his legs up, unceremoniously dumping him over the side. She ran her sleeve across her forehead. He was a lot heavier than he looked. And the wet, muddy jeans didn't help any.

Leaving him sprawled awkwardly in the bathtub, she went back to the SUV for a couple of last items. She quickly rifled through the small box on the floor of the passenger seat and found what she was looking for, then returned to Nick's side.

Unfurling the small pocket knife, she held Nick's left hand in hers, palm up. The receptionist carefully watched his face as she sliced the blade down the length of his palm, waiting for any signs of awakening. Seeing his eyes move slightly, she gripped the knife in a more threatening manner and waited. His eyes opened, but stared unseeingly and shut again after a moment. She sighed in relief – it was likely he thought he was dreaming the entire time. Or worse.

The wound wasn't particularly deep, but a good amount of blood began flowing freely from the gash. Juliette held Nick's hand directly above the center of his chest, allowing the blood to pool onto his torso and drip downwards. Just like being an artist, she mused, moving the bleeding hand slightly to control the path of the flow.

When everything looked according to plan, she placed the CSI's now slightly-clotting hand on the outside of the far edge of the tub, while his right arm was out the door-side next to his gun and the small, black tape recorder.

Sure, it would have been much easier just to shoot him. Messier, too. And she'd have to figure out how to work that thing. But she wasn't in it for easy. No… not when mind games were this much fun.

The receptionist almost squealed as she took in the sight of her masterpiece. Douglas himself couldn't have done better! Okay, he could. But wouldn't he ever be proud…

She dashed outside, disappointed that the rain had tapered to a light drizzle, and moved the SUV back down the driveway. After leaving the vehicle unlocked, she retreated back inside the warehouse and sat in a dark corner to wait.

Your move, Dr. Grissom.

"At least wear this."

Grissom remained silent as Catherine fastened the Kevlar vest around his chest like he was an impatient child waiting to play in the snow. He knew this was an entirely pointless exercise, as he seriously doubted Mrs. Mason planned to end her twisted game by shooting him. But he wasn't in the mood to fight the other CSI about the situation any longer than he already had.

He looked at the group amassed around him and sighed. A legion of police backup had showed up per Brass's request, and it appeared, Grissom noted with disdain, that Sara had tagged along. Enough of his people were already in danger up here and he'd hoped that Sara stayed back at the lab. But he wasn't surprised. Nick was well-liked by… pretty much everyone he'd ever come in contact with. That kind of genuineness brought a sort of reciprocal loyalty. He could probably be elected mayor with little effort, but Grissom knew Nick despised politics just as much as his boss – albeit for different reasons. Grissom just wasn't good with people, wheras Nick would never want to please one group at the expense of another… especially those less fortunate. In fact, he—

"Grissom."

Catherine was giving him a look that landed somewhere between pity and concern.

"Sorry. I was just thinking."

"I said there's got to be an easier – not to mention safer – way to do this."

"Cath, we're not doing this again."

He turned away from her and looked up the muddy path towards the warehouse. Grissom had interpreted Nick correctly: they had to be inside. The black SUV, which they had earlier discovered was registered to Mrs. Mason, sat in plain view about a hundred feet from the door. Sara and Warrick had already started combing through it – he wasn't exactly sure what they were looking for – while some of the cops had circled the perimeter of the site. The supervisor had convinced Brass that there was no way this could end without him going inside – alone. The captain had only acquiesced after Grissom agreed to wear an earpiece and microphone. They also discussed a code word he could use to signal for police backup to enter the warehouse.

In other words, he was absolutely to his wits end. If Mrs. Mason wanted this to be like a shootout at high noon in the Old West, then by damn everyone else needed to duck behind their saloon doors and stay out of his way. But there was protocol to be followed.

And protocol wouldn't save Nick any more than he'd tell Greg to crank up the punk rock.

So he let them dress him in protective gear. He let them outfit him with electronic communicators. He let them heed their warnings and give their strategic advice. He let them go in one ear and out the other.

It's not that he was being intentionally ornery, Grissom knew. This woman was too cunning, too manipulative, and too sadistic for them to think that any police operation would be of help. Why couldn't anyone else understand that? The letters were for him. Taunting him, egging him on.

"Alright, you're set. Go get our guy. Remember, we're right outside and ready to come in."

He looked over at Brass, who gave him a pat on the shoulder and a little nod. Grissom said nothing in return, just turned and walked up the mucky driveway. The rain had finally let up, but the wet surroundings were all too familiar of his last visit to this site. He slowly approached the warehouse door, shoes slopping through the thick, wet mud. Finally a safe distance from his colleagues, he stripped the earpiece and microphone from his person, tossing them into a nearby puddle. Grissom didn't notice their horrified expressions.

This was his problem… his responsibility. Just like it was also his responsibility to keep the rest of his team away from her. As much as they wanted to help, they also didn't understand. If anything else happened to Nick, he'd never forgive himself.

He stood at the door and swallowed, reaching into his pocket for his flashlight and noting the reassuring weight of the gun at his hip. The entomologist would probably never admit to anyone how frightened he was at that moment. Rarely in his life had he ever felt outsmarted by anyone, but the last several days he knew she was constantly one-upping him. His only comfort came in the fact that Nick had enough guts and sense left to contact him. Mrs. Mason was wrong. He hadn't let his CSI down, and he sure as hell wasn't going to now.

Gently pushing on the rusted door, he waited as it creaked open. Grissom took a step forward, his hand suddenly sweaty and gripping the MagLite.

It was almost pitch dark inside the warehouse, and he paused so his eyes could adjust. It was exactly how he remembered it from over two years ago. Grissom wondered how to proceed. Should he call out? Should he wait for her to make the first move? Should he—

Oh, God.

He didn't even have to turn on his flashlight; the realization at what he saw slammed him like a physical blow. There, in the inky darkness ahead, sat a lone, claw-foot bathtub.

No. Nonononono.

Grissom's eyes were just able to trace the outline of a very familiar figure – his face was turned towards the door, his eyes closed, and his slack body devoid of life. Blood ran a telling path down the center of his bare chest.

An arm hung limply over the side, hand resting near a gun. A tape recorder silently taunted him from the floor.

A bathtub. A gun. A tape. A body.

Nick.

Just like Royce Harmon.

Just like Stuart Rampler.

Just like Pete Walker.

Just like Paul Millander.

The roaring in his ears was only eclipsed by the weight of a thousand pounds on his chest. His waking nightmare… in living color.

Grissom suddenly couldn't draw a breath, but found he didn't want to, anyway.

She'd won.

TBC