Sara woke up in the middle of the day, her back still in a lot of pain. She was sure that if she looked in the mirror, she would still see the lines from the cane that had fallen across her back the night before. If, three months previously, someone had told her that she'd be making regular visits to a fetish club to be humiliated and beaten and that she'd enjoy it, she'd have recommended to them that they be committed. Then came that night when Grissom collapsed. She had been so worried that he would die on her before she got to take a chance and be with him that she had overreacted when she saw Lady Heather standing in the hospital corridor talking to Brass as though she belonged there. The way that Lady Heather—she could only use the title when thinking of her now, when before she could just call the woman 'Heather'—dominated her so completely in such a short amount of time without apparent effort made her aware of her own personality and body in a way that she hadn't ever been.

She was disappointed in the dominatrix that used her, though. She asked for the best, they gave her a diminutive woman named Devon. She tried explaining that she wanted Lady Heather herself, to which Devon and the desk receptionist had laughed and said that Lady Heather only took the clients she chose.

When Grissom woke up, Sara would apologize to him for all the ways she'd been throwing herself at him ever since he brought her here from San Francisco. She'd already resolved to apologize to Catherine for the way she'd acted. In fact, she planned on doing that tonight, once she got on shift.