The first thing Grissom noticed was the itch on the back of his left hand. His right arm moved reflexively to scratch it, but his shoulder immediately erupted with pain and a groan escaped his lips.

"Sh, take it easy," a woman spoke softly.

He cracked his eyes open slowly. The bright lights were harsh on his retinas, but the dark shadow looming over him looked familiar. "Catherine?" he croaked. He coughed to clear his throat but the roughness only grew worse.

"Hey, I said take it easy," the woman said again, louder this time, and he decided it was definitely Catherine. He blinked his eyes a few times as they grew accustomed to the light and the room began to gain focus. "Water?" she asked. He nodded and she picked up the cup from the side table, holding the straw to his lips so he could drink without moving. Only then did he realize the bed had him propped up enough so that he didn't have to lean forward to drink comfortably.

"What…?" he started to ask when the straw was taken away. His tired mind grasped for the question he needed to ask, but it slipped away before it reached his mouth.

"You're at Desert Palm," Catherine told him. She watched him sadly for a moment, her hand reaching out to stroke his temple before continuing. "You've been out of it for more than a day. You'd stir every once in a while, and I think you talked in your sleep a bit, but this is the first time you've actually looked awake since…"

His vision growing clearer, he was shocked at how worn she looked. "Have you been here the whole time?" he asked, his voice clearer but still rough.

"No, we've been taking shifts." She smiled faintly at him. "You really scared us, you know? Do you remember what happened?"

He furled his brow in concentration. "There was a gun," he mumbled. "At the scene, he surprised me. Fromansky!" he remembered suddenly and tried to sit up. "Fromansky and Murdock. That poor kid, they-"

"Hey!" Catherine interrupted and put her hands on his shoulder to hold him down. "Calm down, okay? You're going to get the doctor called back in here and he'll kick me out."

Grissom nodded in acquiescence, suddenly feeling as though all the energy had been sucked out of him and his shoulder began to throb.

"Now, what about Fromansky and Murdock? You're talking about the police officers, right?" she asked once his was still.

"They showed him the pictures," he mumbled. His eyelids felt like heavy weights as they slid closed.

"Gil? What pictures?" Catherine pressed, but he'd fallen asleep. She stroked his temple again, comforting herself more than the sleeping man. "That's okay, you rest and get better."

Jim walked in on the tender moment. "Hey Catherine," he said from the room's entrance. "How's he doing?"

She pulled away from Grissom's bed slowly and joined him in the doorway. "He was awake for a few minutes," she told him quietly.

"Did he say anything about the shooting?"

"Yeah, I think so." She rubbed her face tiredly and leaned against the frame. "He remembered a gun, and I think he remembered the shooter, but then he started talking about Fromansky and Murdock and got really upset. I guess he tired himself out because he fell asleep right after that."

Brass stared at her curiously. "Fromansky and Murdock? He thinks they shot him? Are you sure this isn't part of some drug induced dream he had?"

"Hell, I don't know. Coulda been. He said something about them showing the shooter pictures? Anyway, I can't follow Grissom's thought process when he's lucid, much less when he's drugged to the nines."

"Yeah," Brass chuckled slightly. "I know what you mean. Probably a good thing too or I'd have to worry about your sanity."

"Hey," a weak voice called from the hospital bed. "No teasing the sick guy."

"Sorry," Brass said as he walked over to the bed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Not your fault," Grissom muttered.

"You're shoulder hurting?" Catherine asked. At his nod, she placed a small box with a button in his left hand. "This is for your morphine drip. And this," she pointed to another button, the wire looped around the bed's railing, "is to page the nurses. Which reminds me, I called them the first time you woke up but haven't heard back yet. I'll go see what's keeping them." She gave him a pat on his uninjured shoulder before leaving.

Grissom lifted the hand with the button, examining the back where the IV needle was taped down.

"How do you feel?" Brass asked after an awkward moment.

"Like I ran ten miles and stopped in front of a speeding semi."

"Ouch."

Grissom's examination moved to the sling holding his right arm immobile.

"So, uh," Brass began hesitantly. "How much do you remember about what happened yesterday?"

With his brow furled, he thought a while before answering. "It's vague," he finally answered. "I have these images, but parts are blurry…" His face started to tighten even more as he concentrated, staring straight ahead.

"Don't worry about it, I'm sure it's all the drugs they have you on right now," Brass assured him. "We have enough to hold the shooter now, I can wait a few days before taking your official statement."

Grissom nodded, but didn't relax. "There was something I needed to remember," he mumbled. "Something I needed to tell you."

"Your system's had quite a shock, Mr. Grissom," the doctor spoke up from behind Brass. "Between that and the drugs, you'll feel like you're out of it for a few days. Which is fine, because your only job is to rest and let your body heal itself." He walked around the bed to inspect the wound. "I'm Doctor Schultz, I was the vascular surgeon on call when you were brought in."

"What's the prognosis?" Grissom asked as the doctor pulled off the dressing.

"Well, the wound is healing as it should, and there's no sign of infection. The bullet caused some muscular tissue damage, which will heal with physical therapy. In fact, if it wasn't for a torn vein causing you to almost bleed out, you'd be walking out of here tomorrow."

He nodded faintly, his energy waning again.

"How long will it take to recover?" Brass asked.

"It's too early to say," the doctor told the captain. "Right now, he'll feel groggy and tire easily. If he falls asleep without warning, it's normal, don't worry. I expect him to fade in and out for a while." Sure enough, Grissom was dead to the world already. The doctor walked to the end of the bed and studied the chart. "In fact, he may not remember this conversation. Again, it's normal. Well, things are looking good. His BP is normal, temp is a bit higher than normal but not excessive, all tests look good."

"Yeah, uhm, there's something I've been wondering about," Jim said slowly. "Now, I'm not a doctor, but when I saw him down in the ER, he had a tube down his throat and a bag breathing for him. Is there any chance that there might be, you know…"

"Brain damage?" Schultz asked with an understanding smile. "No. He developed respiratory distress when his blood pressure dropped, but the overall effect was no worse than if you held your breath for too long."

"Good, good," he nodded. "That's one less thing I have to worry about."

The doctor made a few notes on Grissom's chart before looking up at Brass. "Your friend is going to be just fine, Captain."

"You're sure about that?" Brass pushed. "You're not going to hedge your bets, say something about 'barring complications' or anything like that?"

The surgeon studied Brass intently before answering. "If Mr. Grissom fails to follow directions, yes, he can cause complications that might lengthen or reduce his recovery. But that's true of every injury, even a paper cut can result in a fatal infection if left too long. Now, there is a very small chance the repaired vein could begin leaking, but we won't let him out of here until we're certain our repairs will hold."

"Thank you, Doctor," Catherine spoke from the doorway.

The doctor replaced the chart and turned to leave. "Have the nurse page me if you have any other questions," he offered as he left.

"Is something wrong, Jim?" she asked as she pulled him out into the hallway. "'Cause you were grilling that doctor like he was a suspect."

"No, I'm fine. Listen, I've got to go, there's some stuff I gotta get done at the station."

Catherine watched him for a moment. "Have you slept any?"

"A few hours, yeah. I'll be fine, I've run on less."

She nodded faintly in acceptance, but her disbelief was clear in her face. "Hey, if you need to talk about anything," she offered.

"Like I said, I'll be fine. Page me if his memory clears up," he instructed and stalked off.

Once he was clear of the hospital, Brass pulled out his cell phone and dialed the station. "This is Jim Brass, I'm calling about Grissom's shooter again." He waited outside his car while the information was pulled up. "Yeah, thanks." With a frustrated sigh he forcefully flipped his phone closed and threw it in the passenger seat. He dropped into the driver's seat and let his head fall forward to rest against the steering wheel. He stayed like that, considering his options, before pushing himself upright and starting the engine.

Fifteen minutes later he pulled into the parking lot at the crime lab. It took another three minutes to find his target, the man peering into a microscope in one of the labs. "Hey Warrick," he called into the room. "You got a minute?"

Warrick looked up from the scope. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

"Is that from Grissom's case?" Brass asked, stalling.

"No, there was a DB in Henderson. Grissom's case is pretty much rapped up, and we have a confession for the murder too."

"That's good. Uhm, have you seen Grissom yet?"

"No, I'm due to take the watch in a few hours. Why, is something up?" He pulled the slide from the microscope and placed the evidence back in its envelope.

"No, well, kinda, he woke up about half an hour ago."

That pulled Warrick's attention away from the evidence. "Hey, that's great! How's he doing?"

"Groggy, getting lots of drugs. He was only awake for a few minutes. The surgeon says he'll be fine though."

"Have you told the others yet?"

"No, you're the first one I saw. Listen, uh, how's the investigation into the shooting going. You got enough to make sure this guy goes away for a long time?"

"Oh yeah, no problem. Gun with his prints, GSR on his hands, bullet matches the gun, we even found a few drops of Grissom's blood on the guy's sleeve. The holy trinity, man," Warrick assured him. "Between the evidence and your testimony, there's no way a defense lawyer's gonna get him off."

"What about an insanity plea?"

"Catherine mentioned something on the phone, what's up with that?"

"Our suspect flipped when we got him into custody, and we need make sure we can prove he was fine before the shooting. I don't want this guy to escape just 'cause he 'feels bad about it'," Brass bit out dryly.

"Hey man, I'm right there with you. O'Reilly traced the gun. It's registered to Jason Gary. Jason says our suspect asked to borrow the gun a few hours before the shooting, said he was really upset about something, so Jason gave it to him."

"Proving premeditation," Brass finished. "Thanks 'Rick. Let the other's know about Grissom, okay?"

Warrick watched as the detective left abruptly with no explanation and shook his head. Something was up with Brass, but he wasn't going to kill any brain cells figuring it out. Instead, he finished sealing up the evidence and left to find Sara and Nick.

He found them both in the break room, chatting about a case over left over Chinese. "Hey guys," he interrupted as he walked through the door. "I just talked to Brass, said Grissom was awake and talking half and hour ago."

"Awesome!" Nick cheered.

"We should go visit him," Sara added.

"I'd hold off on mobbing his room," Warrick cautioned. "Brass said he was only awake for a few minutes, he's still on a lot of drugs."

"Still, it's a good sign, right?" Sara asked. "I mean, he could be coming out of it any time now, right?"

"Relax, I'm taking the bedside shift in a couple of hours," Warrick told her, "and you know I won't leave you out of the loop. If Grissom gets so much as a sniffle, I'll page you. But there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Brass asked me about our case against the shooter, sounds like he's angling pretty heavily for the insanity plea. I just want to go over what we have, make sure we can fight it."

"We've been over it five times already," Nick protested. "Just chill, okay? We have the guy, it's air tight, there's no way he's wiggling out of this one."

"Yeah, that's what I told Brass, but then I realized we're missing something."

"What's that?" Sara asked.

"Motive. Why was this guy in the house? Was he a friend of the Holcomb's? An enemy? Was this something personal against Grissom or did the guy have a grudge against the department? We know the guy got the gun ahead of time, but if we really want to nail him, we need to find out why. We get the why, we can prove he wasn't crazy."

"Well," Sara contemplated, "we can't talk to the shooter while he's under observation. Do we know if he has any family in the area? Or a job?"

"Uhm, no actually," Nick answered after a moment. "I don't think anyone's looked into his background at all. Why would they, we have rock solid evidence and a rock solid witness."

"But we're not dealing with 'did he do it', we're dealing with 'is he responsible'," Warrick interjected. "Now, I don't know about you guys, but I don't want to give this guy any leeway in court just because we thought we had enough."

"I'll check to see if he has any family in the area," Sara said as she rose.

"I'll find out where he works," Nick added as he did the same.

Looking around the empty room, Warrick told no one, "I'll check out his apartment."

TBC