A/N : Warning: Extremely expositional chapter ahead. And fluff. The next chapter will be packed, so I figured this one would be excusable.

New York
Day 2- 3:15 PM
The Metropolitan Museum of Art

"Well, I think it's safe to say Elliah Johnson didn't kill him."

Don Flack stared down at the body of Donald Sinclair; the deceased man was sprawled on his stomach and a single blade sticking out of his lower back. A butterfly adorned the left side of his face.

"What makes you say that?" Brass glanced at the younger detective next to him.

"If you broke in to kill a man, wouldn't you take your file with you?"

And, indeed, the file of one Elliah Johnson lay feet from the victim, flipped open to the man's picture. Flack though the man looked rather like a rock star-turned-lawyer, rather than an artist.

"So where does this leave us?" Danny stuck his hands in his pockets and stared down at the body, as well.

Aiden joined Danny with her kit in hand, and a defeated look upon her face.

"It leaves us with nothing."

New York
Day 2- 3:15PM
NYPD Crime Unit

Mac Taylor, at the last minute, had swung the SUV containing himself, Stella, Grissom, and Catherine around and sped back towards CSI with an idea in his head.

"Mac?" Stella wasn't sure what her normally calm partner was up to. He was driving wildly through the city, flashers spinning and sirens blaring. His eyes were glued to the road.

"Call Danny. Tell him to have someone start background checks on all of the victims. I want to know where all of our girls were, from three days right until they day they died."

Stella did as she was told. Danny contacted Calleigh and her group, who phoned Horatio. Horatio phoned Mac. Mac filled the Miami CSI in on his sudden train of thought.

"We need to find the connection," Mac ducked his head. Even as a detective, and member of the NYPD, it was still illegal for him to be driving while on a cell phone.

"Has anyone begun this?" Horatio asked.

"No. Obviously, twelve years ago, we had no way of knowing they were connected until it was too late, and even then it didn't seem necessary to check. We were more concerned about catching this guy, looking for prints, DNA, anything. Can you pull together a team and get on that?"

Horatio said he would, and so Mac disconnected with the reassurance that Calleigh, Nick, Warrick, and Speedle were on their way to help. Mac knew that Aiden and Danny's efforts on the Sinclair murder would bring up next to nothing—but still, he remained hopeful. If this guy slipped up in some way…

Stella shot him a look.

"He won't mess up, Mac."

Mac resolved to find out how she always did that.

New York
Day 2- 5:30 PM
NYPD Crime Unit

It had been one of the most exhausting days in Horatio Caine's memory. He'd spent the last two and a half hours individually researching the lives of the ten Butterfly women, going through file upon file until his eyes began to cross and he'd had to stop. Now, seated with the fourteen other CSIs, Horatio wished to be back in Miami—sleeping.

Mac could see this. It was nearing the dinner hour, and he hadn't eaten anything since three o'clock. The entire team looked completely wiped—after all, for the Las Vegas group, this was the dead of night for them. He made a decision.

"I think we need to quit for today."

Heads snapped up and eyes darted as the protests began.

"Look!" Mac raised his voice over the chatter, "I know it's early, and I know all of you want to keep going, but it's been a long day. Get some rest. With fresh eyes, you won't miss anything."

They quieted. One by one, the CSIs filed out of the office until only Stella remained.

"You, too, Stell." Mac said.

"And what are you going to do?" The curly-haired woman locked eyes with her partner's. "I know you're not quitting this early."

Mac smiled.

"Don't worry about it."

Mac moved around to his desk and pulled out the case files, laying them in front of the computer and seating himself in his chair. He'd just opened the file when a hand came down over the paper.

"Uh, uh. You can't get rid of me that easily." Determined, Stella pulled a chair next to the desk and grabbed one of the files, settling in without a glance at her partner.

Mac just smiled and shook his head.

New York
Day 3- 12:00 AM
The Sheraton Hotel, Room 412

Catherine Willows tossed and turned. The sheets of her bed twisted around her body and scrunched around her waist. Her hair flipped across her face. Sweat beaded on her brow and neck. The orbs under lashed eyelids flicked from side to side. The images flashed before her mind.

Screaming, shrieks.

Seas of crimson through weathered hands.

Tracks down the road of a face.

Paint…paint…everywhere…

Her eyes flew open. At first, the surroundings seemed alien, unfamiliar. Her mind tried to focus. Where was she? And who the hell was snoring next to her?

Catherine's shoulders slumped as realization dawned on her. She was in New York, in the room she and Sara were currently sharing. The brunette's soft snores were nails on a chalkboard to Catherine's sharp ears. She pulled a pillow over her head to block out the noise, trying to blink away the images that seemed imprinted in her mind. Was the case getting to her this much? Did it affect her so much that the women, the victims, haunted her dreams? Was she unravelling?

Would Sara ever stop snoring?

Sighing, Catherine knew defeat. She untangled herself from the bedding, grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around herself before tip-toeing out of the room and softly clicking the door shut behind her. She glanced down the hall. All was quiet, the Miami and Las Vegas CSIs presumably sleeping, not bothered by dreams of death and destruction.

The door in front of her gleamed oak in the soft light from the hall. Her hand raised to knock.

New York
Day 3- 12:30 AM
The Sheraton Hotel, Room 413

Gil Grissom stared at the ceiling of the hotel room he and Greg Sanders were supposed to be sharing. The young CSI had disappeared hours ago to "take in the sights"—Gil told the spiky-haired man that he could bunk with Nick, should he return after eleven.

He'd heard the door of the room next to him open half an hour ago.

Smiling slightly, Gil traced the contours of the ceiling with his eyes. The shape always seemed to form a stunning pair of cerulean eyes, sparkling happily at him from underneath long lashes. He shifted.

A soft knock at the door had him looking up a moment later. It couldn't be Greg. The CSI knew enough to heed to his boss' warning. Gil, overtaken by curiosity, padded to the door and opened it.

"Hi."

The pair of cerulean eyes he'd been dreaming of stared up at him as he came face-to-face with Catherine, clad in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, her comforter wrapped around her slender frame.

"Hi." He smiled at her. She smiled at him.

Gil stood back and allowed the blue-eyed woman to enter the room, she stopping only briefly to place a hand on his face before moving past him. He touched his cheek.

The door closed.

A/N: Yeah, this is slooow--don't hurt me! The next chapter will be action-packed, let me assure you. But I sincerely wanted to build up Gil and Cath's relationship. Sooo...review...complain...I've been told this is going too slow--I promise, all in good time! Oh, and huge thanks to my Beta (you know who you are, you monster). The next chapter will be up soon--and by soon, I mean by maybe the next two hours!
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