Captured By the Past

Disclaimer: The characters of CSI were created by A. Zuiker, and are the property of CBS and its affiliates. All other characters depicted in these stories are fictional; and there you are.

Nods: thanks again to my two betas, TAE and Sybelle, for keeping me honest to the characters and clear in my direction.

Rating: R for angst and subject matter.

Where this fits: dunno where, it just does. It's my AU.

Chapter 1

Grissom continued to work on the pile of paper that seemed to envelop his desk. He had started working Wednesday night and if he read his pager correctly, it was now Friday morning. Sara was due in court every morning that week, so they were on split shifts, making life even more difficult. He sighed and read on until the phone interrupted his concentration.

"Grissom," he answered.

"Hi, why are you still at work? Did I get my wires crossed? I thought we were having breakfast, here." Sara asked.

Grissom groaned and leaned back in his chair.

"Ah, honey, I'm sorry. We solved it a couple of hours ago and I got lost in the paperwork. Damn!"

"So we'll do dinner, then, no problem. Come home and get some sleep."

"I can't, at least not yet. I have to finish this one stack."

"Take care, sweetheart. You're tired and this case hasn't been easy."

"I'll talk to you later."

"Bye,"

"Bye," he said, and hung up the phone.

She was right, it hadn't been easy. A prominent investment banker's wife was murdered; big deal. It was the method that raised everyone's hackles. She had been dismembered and left that way at the scene; not put into neat plastic bags, but laid out in a macabre setup as if she were a loose paper doll. There was a lot of blood and more than one suspect and it took all of Grissom's knowledge to prove it was the banker's boss who did it out of a jealous rage. He had been smart, but Grissom was smarter.

Grissom looked at his desk again and realized that he was getting diminished returns. He looked around his desk and stood to leave when the phone rang again.

"Grissom,"

"Me too," the voice replied.

"What?" Grissom asked, his hand starting to shake.

"Hi, Junior, it's Dad." The voice continued.

"No, you're dead. You died on 9/11." Grissom replied into the phone, reaching his other hand to his desk for support.

"Still scared of fishing poles?" the voice taunted.

Grissom hung up the phone quickly, feeling the familiar panic attack start. He left his office, hearing the phone ringing from behind the closed door. Standing in the hallway, he thought about going to the roof, but it would be too hot, even at this hour. He needed quiet and cold. Grissom took the stairs down to the morgue and walked into Al's office. It was empty, so Grissom paced for a few minutes as he felt the fear manifest and then he melted into a dark corner and stayed quiet.

Friday 9:15am

Doc Robbins walked into his office. It had been a long night. The investment banker's wife was a mess and required a lot of work. In addition, he had two gangland shootings. Sitting down at his desk, he pulled his legs up onto the typing tray and leaned back. The chair creaked loudly and then there was another noise. Al looked towards the dark corner, but could only make out a shape.

"Who's there? Who is it?" He asked, concerned.

"Me," Grissom replied softly.

"Jesus, Gil, you wanna give me a heart attack? What are you doing here, anyway?" Al asked, still sitting back in his chair.

Grissom remained quiet, unwilling to share his problems.

"Just take it easy. You're safe, here. Why don't you stretch out on the couch for a minute?" Al asked, standing slowly to walk towards him.

Grissom looked up at him and reached up. Al helped him to his feet with some effort and then to the couch. Grissom stretched out on his stomach and Al put a comforting hand on his shoulder before moving to his desk to start making phone calls.

"Brass."

"It's Al,"

"Hey, Doc, what's up?"

"Well, I guess Grissom had a panic attack. He's down here."

"He's also been on the clock since Wednesday's shift." Brass noted.

"Can you come over here and take him home?"

"Not now. Last night was the full moon, but all the whackos that can't read a calendar have been coming out today. I'm pulling a double myself."

"I'll try to find Sara to take him home."

"She's testifying. You could leave her a voicemail, though."

"Sure, that would work. Thanks." Doc Robbins said, hanging up the phone.

He searched on his desk for his phone list and called Sara.

"Sara, it's Doc. Call me as soon as you can. It's about Gil. It's about 9:45 or so. Thanks," Al said, hanging up the phone.

Sighing Doc Robbins walked back to his charges, leaving the desk light on.

10:30am

"Doc, have you seen Grissom? His car is still here and someone thought he was headed in your direction." Catherine said, breezing into the morgue.

"Yeah, Catherine, he's sacked out on my couch. Something I sorely wish I could do right now." Doc answered, not looking up at her.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I got called in early. Thanks," Catherine said, heading off to his office.

She opened the door softly and looked at the empty couch. Taking a cursory look around the room, she did not see Grissom and walked quickly back to the morgue.

"Doc, he's not there," she complained.

"Catherine, he's a grown man. He was there when I came out to work, around 9:30 or so. Maybe Sara picked him up?" Doc suggested.

"I'll keep looking. Thanks, Doc," Catherine said, leaving quickly.

Doc shook his head and returned his concentration to the body laid out before him, hoping the day shift would show up soon.

12:00pm

Doc washed his hands and walked into his office. He turned the lights on and stood studying his furniture. Grissom wasn't on the couch, but when Al had left the office earlier that morning, furniture wasn't clustered into a corner, either. He walked quietly to the corner and peered down, seeing Grissom curled up, surrounded by chairs and other furniture. He turned the light out and walked out of his office to the hallway, only to bump into Sara.

"Doc, sorry, I just got your voicemail. They dismissed us early. I was close by so I decided to see you in person. Where's Gil? His car is still here." Sara said, still wound up from court.

"He had a panic attack and is now curled up in a corner of my office." Doc replied softly.

Sara's mind took the information in and processed it.

"Doc, can you give me a few moments alone with him?"

"Sure, I'll be out here in case you need an extra set of hands," Doc said, settling onto a stool.

"Thanks," Sara said, walking into Doc's office.

She turned on the lights and walked to the corner full of furniture. Slowly, she started to remove it to view Grissom. He slept through the small noises she made, but she couldn't help but notice that he was holding a letter opener tightly in his hands. Taking a step back, she took a chance.

"Grissom?" she called loudly.

Grissom opened his eyes and sat up in attack mode, until he saw Sara. His eyes spoke volumes as his arms dropped limply at his sides; the letter opener making a clatter when it hit the floor. She walked up to him, slowly, and knelt in front of him. Running her right hand through his curls, her left hand traced his jaw. He leaned forward, allowing his head to rest on her shoulder. Slowly he put his hands on her shoulders, too.

"Let's go home, okay?" she suggested softly.

He pulled back and looked at her. Grissom was exhausted both mentally and physically. He needed her to take charge. Nodding his head, he slowly got to his feet and felt the security of her arm around him as she managed to guide him out of the morgue, past Doc, and upstairs to her car without running into another staff member. He sat in the passenger seat, his head back, eyes closed. Sara got into the driver's seat and reached across to strap him in. That done, she started the engine and drove home

He wasn't asleep, that much was sure. Sara pulled into his driveway and when she stopped the car, he got out. He walked up the stairs and pulled his keys from his trouser pocket, unlocking the door. Grissom headed in and deposited his personal effects in the tray on the table by the front door. He continued to the kitchen and took out a bottle of water. Passing it over his forehead, he opened it and consumed the contents. Sara walked into the townhouse and locked the door behind her. She, too, placed her pockets' contents in the tray before walking further into the townhouse. Grissom walked by her, unseeing, and headed up the circular stairs to the master bedroom. She wasn't tired, but he needed her and, therefore, followed him.

Grissom walked into the bedroom and then straight to the bathroom. He took his face cloth and put it under the cold water before washing his face. Taking a few extra moments, he walked back into the bedroom and then into his closet. He stripped to his shorts and walked back into his darkened bedroom. Pulling back the bedspread, he got into bed, rolling to his left side.

Sara walked upstairs and stood in the doorway, watching him. When he seemed to be comfortable in bed, she walked to the closet and stripped to her underwear. She walked into the bedroom and opened a drawer; spying a Cubs t-shirt, she slipped it on, shut the drawer, and got into bed. Slowly, she backed into Grissom, who naturally felt for her and spooned against her back.

2:00pm

Grissom woke up from a nightmare; his father was home, drunk, threatening him and his mother. He was exhausted and struggled from the bed, wiping still fresh tears. Walking downstairs, he stood in the living room, tired, fragile, and trying to figure out what to do. The phone rang and he answered it before the second ring, hoping it didn't wake Sara.

"Grissom,"

"Junior, it's Dad. I need to see you. I'm in trouble and need your help." The voice said.

"No, no, you're dead," Grissom whispered, feeling the beginnings of a migraine charge into his brain.

"No, Junior, I am very much alive. I'm staying at the Wynn. Please meet me tonight, eight o'clock sharp at the lobby bar."

"No, I can't. You're not…" Grissom uttered.

"Please, son, you're the only one who can help me." The voice said.

Grissom's headache increased exponentially. He hung up the phone and walked to the fridge. Taking his migraine medicine and a bottle of water, Grissom fought his headache and another panic attack. He tapped out a pill and drank it down with the water before picking up the phone again. He hit speed dial twenty and listened to the ring on the other end.

"This is Roger, leave a message," the voice said.

"Roger, it's Moss. I need you to check the information on my father as soon as you can. I'm at home. Please," Grissom said before hanging up.

He walked upstairs on autopilot, his instinct taking over. Grissom walked into his closet, shut the door and curled up under his clothes, hidden from sight; succumbing to the medicine, fatigue and pain.

3:00pm

The phone rang, waking Sara from a deep sleep.

"Hello?"

"Sara, it's Roger,"

"Hi, Roger, how are you?"

"I'm returning Moss's call. He seemed pretty upset."

"Yeah, he had a panic attack at work. He was on quadruple-plus and I have been on day shift, reporting to court the last five days."

"No, Sara, he said it had something to do with his father. Please tell him my sources are solid."

"I will,"

"He's not in your sight, is he?"

"No, Roger, I don't know where he is right now," Sara admitted, sitting up.

"Have him call me when he wakes up or when you find him, please," Roger implored.

"I will," Sara confirmed, hanging up the phone.

She stretched and then went in search of her lover. The master bathroom was clear, so she walked downstairs. On the kitchen counter was a half full bottle of water and his migraine meds. Sara put the medicine back in the fridge. She walked into the lab room but was only greeted with the hisses from the cockroaches. The guest room was empty, as was the first floor bathroom. Sara headed to the front door and confirmed it was still chained from the inside, and Grissom's keys were in the tray. Sighing, she stood for a moment before smiling. Sara took the stairs as fast as she dared and pulled open the closet door. She looked hard for several minutes before seeing the pink of a finger under some clothes in the corner. Walking up to him, Sara pulled off a sweater and saw he was asleep, and curled almost in a ball. She reached for him, running her hands through his hair. He didn't move. She sighed again and looked at her watch. Grissom had the night off and would probably sleep for the next four hours anyway, after taking his migraine meds. Looking at him, burrowed in his clothes, she felt that he was safe. She decided to take her book and read by the pool; a truly decadent thing. Walking back into the bedroom, she slipped off her t-shirt and underwear, placing them on a chair. She took her bathing suit out of the drawer and put it on. Finally, she wrote Grissom a note and put it by the bathroom basin. She took a towel, her book, and a tube of sunscreen and padded downstairs to grab a water bottle, her phone, sunglasses, and house keys before leaving the townhouse.

The pool area was empty, so she had her pick of lounge chairs. Sara moved one of the chairs into the full sun and then got settled.

6:00pm

Grissom woke up, needing to use the bathroom. He was still in pain and three hours of sleep didn't really make up for almost forty eight hours of consciousness even without his migraine. Slowly, he got to his feet and walked into the bathroom. He used the toilet and washed his hands. There was a note, but he couldn't focus. His headache was increasing as he walked back into the bedroom and suddenly blacked out, sinking onto the grey carpet.

7:00pm

Sara had spent a wonderful afternoon, alternating between lying in the sun and swimming laps. She felt refreshed and rejuvenated. The sun was dipping, though, and she felt a chill. Gathering her belongings, she headed home. Just as she was inserting her key into the front door lock, her cell phone rang.

"Sidle,"

"Sara, it's Sofia. I'm sorry to be calling on short notice but my Mom just called, my Dad was in a bad car accident. I need to fly to Seattle tonight." The voice said.

"So you need me to work your shift?" Sara asked.

"Yeah, I tried calling Grissom, but I didn't get an answer."

"He's sleeping. He pulled a triple." Sara explained, annoyed that Sofia didn't know that.

"Wow, oh, he let me go when the shift ended. I didn't know he stayed at the lab." Sofia said, honestly.

"Of course, I'll take your shift, Sofia. Call Grissom or me when you get to Seattle and tell us how things are. We may need to get someone from days or swing to cover for you. At this point, I'm due in court all next week as well." Sara explained.

"Oh, right, I forgot about that." Sofia said.

"Alaska Airlines flight 348 for Seattle is ready to board," Sara heard over the phone.

"Thanks, Sara. Gotta go," Sofia said, hanging up the phone.

"Bitch!" Sara exclaimed as she shut her phone and continued to unlock the front door.

The house was quiet when Sara entered. She dropped her keys and phone in the clay dish and noticed Grissom's phone. Curious, she picked it up and looked at the screen; no missed calls, no voicemails. She put the phone back down, shaking her head, and moved to the kitchen to throw out her water bottle in the recycle bin. Setting her sunglasses on the kitchen counter, she headed upstairs. She walked into the bedroom and stopped for a moment when she saw Grissom face down on the carpet. Sara dropped her book, towel, and sunscreen, and ran to his side. She felt for his pulse and found it strong and steady. Grissom generally sleepwalked during a migraine, but this was different. She went to the closet and pulled a cotton blanket from one of the shelves and covered his back and legs. Fighting the urge to cry, she picked up her belongings from the doorway and started putting them away.

Next, she walked into the closet and tried to organize the mess Grissom had made. Starting to hum, Sara lost herself in the process.

8:00pm

Sara finally emerged from the closet. Grissom was still asleep, not having moved a muscle. She realized that she was still in her bikini, so she pulled out some clothes for work, stepped over a sleeping Grissom, and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She started the shower and stripped. Stepping into the shower stall, her breath caught as the hot water hit her skin. She turned down the hot and up the cold, before soaping up. Humming again, she took a long shower.

Sara turned off the water, toweled dry, dressed, and walked out into the bedroom. Grissom was in the exact position he was in when she walked into the bathroom. Looking at her watch, she realized he needed to get up and she needed to make dinner.

"Grissom? Griss? Time to get up."

Grissom groaned and rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to look at the ceiling.

"Grissom, Sofia had a family emergency, we need all hands on deck. I know you weren't scheduled, but can you come to work?" Sara asked, crouching next to him.

"Yeah, I can work," Grissom said, biting back the pain from his headache.

Carefully, he got to his feet, using the bureau for support.

"I'm going down to make dinner. Is there anything you want? I'll put it in a container and you can eat it later." Sara asked.

"Coffee and plain pasta would probably be the only thing I could keep down." He grimaced.

"Take a shower, sweetheart. I'll see you when you come down," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

He smiled and walked slowly into the bathroom, dropped his shorts and started the shower. Stepping in, he focused on the warm water.

9:00pm

Dressed in his classic loose fitting trousers and shirt, Grissom headed downstairs. He still had a headache, but it wasn't a migraine and seemed to be manageable. He walked into the kitchen and came up behind Sara as she was dishing her pasta. Slipping his arms around her, he kissed her neck.

"I love you," he said softly, his breath tickling her.

"I love you, too." She said, leaning into him.

He let her go and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. Sipping it slowly, he watched her quickly consume her dinner.

"A little hungry?" he asked with a smile.

"Yeah, I forgot lunch. We were released from court early and then I picked you up from work." Sara said, barely looking at him.

Grissom's face darkened as he remembered the phone calls.

"Oh, Griss, I'm sorry. Roger returned your call. He said 'it was solid'. He said you'd know what that meant. He wants you to call him." Sara said, finishing her pasta primavera.

Grissom walked into the living room and started to pace. Sara took her dirty plate to the kitchen and put his plain pasta into a container. She poured the brewed coffee into a thermos and then wrote a note, taping it to the container.

Drink after 10pm.

"Ready to rock?" she asked, putting the Tupperware container and thermos in a canvas bag.

"Yeah, let's go," Grissom said, walking to the door to get his office trappings.

Attaching their various electronics and weaponry, grabbing their house and car keys, they were off. Grissom settled into Sara's car, strapping himself in. She put on the CD he had burned for her the previous month. He called it "Songs for Sara" but she knew he liked the songs as well. As 'Comfortably Numb', interpreted by Dar Williams, played through the sound system, she stole a glance at him. His eyes were closed, but the muscles in his jaw were jumping and the veins in his neck were visible. She would bet that he still had a headache. Something was bothering him, but she had learned to give him some space to work things out before offering to help.

Pulling into the parking lot, she parked next to his Denali.

"Hey, sweetheart, we're here," she said softly.

He opened his eyes and sighed before unbuckling his shoulder strap and exiting the vehicle. He crossed around the front of the car and embraced her.

"Thank you," he said before kissing her deeply.

They broke apart and he took the bag from her hand with his dinner and coffee, settling the other hand on her lower back. They walked in together and split up at the receptionist's desk.

"Grissom, I'm sorry, I was unaware that you were on the schedule, tonight," Steven said.

"That's all right, Steven. Sofia had a family emergency."

"Let me call in a man from day shift. No need to go iron man." Steven remarked.

"No, I guess not," Grissom said, waving a handful of messages as he walked to his office.

He walked in, seeing his office keys on his desk, and quickly put them in his pocket. Turning on his computer, he walked to his fridge and opened the door. 99 of it was filled with experiments. He put his pasta in and shut the door. The thermos, he placed on his desk before sitting down. Logging in, he groaned as the popup said he had 250 messages. Ignoring his computer for a minute, Grissom started to spread out his phone messages: Brass, Doc, Mom, Dr. Wu and a stack from Senior. The phone rang, and Grissom stared at it for several moments before picking it up.

"Grissom," he said softly.

"It's Andy,"

Grissom relaxed and sat back in his chair.

"Hi, Andy,"

"Brass called me. Are you okay?" he asked.

"I don't know. It seems my father is alive. He called me twice and left about thirty messages at the lab; wanted me to meet him. Said he needed my help," Grissom said, almost laughing at the ludicrousness of it all.

"What? Did you see him?"

"No, I had a migraine. Today hasn't been my best day." Grissom replied, softly.

"How many shifts did you work?"

"I started Wednesday night and ended this morning." Grissom said, honestly.

"Why are you at work?"

"Sofia called in a family emergency and yesterday was a full moon. We'll be swamped."

"I can't fault your logic, Grissom, but you have to take it easy. Your father, being alive, well we know you still have issues. Geez, look, you have my numbers. Before you throw your fist into something or someone, call me, okay?" Andy asked, slightly flustered by this revelation.

"I'll do my best," Grissom responded.

"Night,"

"Night," Grissom said, hanging up the phone.

He went through the messages again and tossed those from Andy. His computer beeped and he looked at the screen. He found tonight's assignments and printed them. Checking his watch, he poured his mug full of coffee from the thermos. The exterior of the mug had earthworms painted on it and the handle was a fully realized annelid. Reaching over, he pulled the assignments from the printer, stood up, grabbed his coffee, and went to the break room. Grissom walked in and found Greg, Sara, and a man he didn't know.

"Dr. Grissom, I'm Brian Randolph, CSI Level 2, from days," The young blonde started.

"Relax, Brian, I'm not going to eat your young." Grissom said with a small smile.

He sat at the head of the table and sipped his coffee while reading the assignments. He paled slightly at one of them.

"Greg, you and Brian have two cases tonight. First case is a trick roll at the Rio. Second is a missing person at the Wynn. Call me, please if you have any problems or questions. Sara, you and I have a db." Grissom said, sipping his coffee again.

The younger men left the room and Sara stood and walked up to him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Grissom said, smiling at her.

"I'll meet you at your car in five minutes." Sara said.

Grissom nodded and walked back to his office. Cracking his neck, he looked through all of the messages except those from 'Senior' and saved the ones he really needed to answer. Looking at his watch, he left his office and met Sara at his car. She put her kit in the back and got in beside him. Starting the car, he hit select on the CD player and Vince Gill's voice played through the speakers. They drove in silence, listening to the music. The Strip disappeared behind them as they entered the warehouse district. It was quiet and dark; at least until they saw the worklights and police beacons in the distance.

Arriving at the scene, Grissom got out of the car first and grabbed his kit. Brass stood, anxious at seeing Grissom.

"Uhm, I didn't know you were on tonight."

"Sofia had a family emergency." Grissom explained.

"Okay," Brass said as Sara joined them, "John Doe, approximate age, seventy, double tapped to the head.

Grissom set his kit down and walked to the body. Seeing the face, he dropped to his knees, the sound causing David, Sara, and Brass to turn their heads to the crime scene. With a shaking hand, Grissom reached into his vest and gloved.

"Gil?" Brass asked.

Grissom raised his hand in the air for absolute silence. Sara walked over to him and crouched at his side, gloving as well. He reached for the victim's right hand and turned it over.

"No fingerprints," he whispered, seeing the still fresh void in the pads of all of the fingers.

"His suit is silk," Sara remarked, feeling the cloth through her gloves.

"Yes, Hong Kong, probably. Maybe Shanghai," Grissom replied, staring now at the victim's trousers.

"No ID on the vic," Brass offered softly.

Grissom reached for the victim's left arm and pulled back the sleeve.

"They took his watch," Grissom said quietly, seeing the tan line.

They remained in silence, watching Grissom as he gently went through all of the pockets. Finally the pain in his knees was too much. He stood and then leaned over, his hands on his thighs, fighting the vertigo, the headache, and the pain.

"Sara?"

"Yes, Griss,"

"I need you to work the scene."

"Of course, but what will you be doing?"

"I'll accompany the body to the morgue. There's nothing else I can do here." He said, pulling off his gloves before standing slowly and walking back to pick up his kit.

"What does that mean?" Sara asked towards his retreating back.

"That means that my hunch was right. The vic looked vaguely familiar and I wasn't sure why. He was Grissom's father and Gil can't do any more work here without compromising the case. He can, however, be a dutiful son and identify his father's body for the coroner and inform his mother."

"Roger said his father died at the Twin Towers," Sara said softly, the pain in her chest for Grissom starting to build, as she stood up.

"He's my next call. Go ahead and process. I'll get you back to the lab." Brass said, giving her a quick hug.

Sara took one last look at Grissom getting into his car and then forced herself to concentrate on the job at hand.

11:00pm

Grissom had his cellos playing in an effort to keep control. He arrived at the lab and walked to his office. Pouring the rest of Sara's coffee into his mug, he headed down to the morgue.

"Hey, Gil,"

"Hi, Albert," Grissom said, putting on a gown, gloves and sterile tape on his coffee mug.

"This one special?"

"Yeah, I think so." Grissom said, mysteriously.

David brought the body in and then left the room. Grissom helped Doc take the clothes off the victim. He took care in touching the body. Finally, Doc started his exam.

"August 5th, 2005, John Doe number 121"

"No," Grissom said firmly, shaking his head.

"Excuse me?" he asked, looking across the table at him.

"His name was Gilbert Aaron Grissom. He was born February 4, 1931 in Cincinnati and he was my father." Grissom said in tones so soft that Doc had to strain to hear him.

"Gil, you shouldn't be here," Al started, his glasses dropping to his chest.

"I have to be," Grissom said, staring at the naked body in front of him.

"Very well, against my better judgment. The deceased is identified as Gilbert Aaron Grissom age seventy four. The c.o.d. is multiple gunshot wounds to the head. Judging by the size of the hole and the lack of an exit wound, I would guess it was a .22."

"Ligature marks on the wrists and ankles," Grissom noted, examining the extremities.

"Yes, and he was kneecapped." Doc said, looking at the pulverized patellas. "Grissom, forgive me, but you haven't seen your father in almost forty years, how do you know it's him?"

Grissom reached to his father's right forearm and turned it, exposing the underside and a brutal scar.

"My mother was making pancakes. He thought she was cooking them too much and came after her. I pushed him into the stove."

"What did he do to you?"

Grissom pointed to the scar on his left eyebrow.

"Coffeepot; I saw double for days." Grissom replied, looking at Doc.

"I think you're done here." Doc said, walking towards him.

Grissom smiled and took one last look at his father before leaving the morgue. He pulled off his scrubs and deposited them into the open bag. He took the tape off of his coffee mug and headed upstairs. Reaching his office, he called Brass.

"Brass,"

"Hi,"

"How are you?"

"Tired, anxious; sort of lost, I guess. I wanted you to know my father called me several times. He said he was in trouble and that he needed my help."

"Did you go to see him?"

"I couldn't. I had a migraine," Grissom said, the sadness in his voice palpable.

"I'm sorry, Gil. I called Roger. He is calling his sources to find out who screwed up,"

"My father was in witness protection," Grissom offered.

"Shit, are you sure?"

"Call it an extremely educated guess," Grissom replied.

Grissom's cell phone began to ring. He looked at the screen.

"I have to go. Greg is calling."

"Take care,"

"And you," Grissom said, hanging up the land line.

"Grissom,"

"I need you at the Wynn. Come to room 417." Greg commanded, his voice more nervous than usual.

Grissom drove quickly, arriving within fifteen minutes. He flashed his badge and took the elevator to the fourth floor. He moved to the room and walked in. When he smelled it, he knew. This was his father's hotel room. The aftershave confirmed it.

"What do you have, Greg?" Grissom asked, careful not to touch anything.

"This," Greg said, escorting him to a laptop on the desk in the corner.

The computer was on, the email screen was open, the 'to' line was Junior. The email was ggrissomcsilv.gov.

"Yeah, Greg, the missing person was my father." Grissom said sadly. "The db that Sara and I had was my father as well."

"Jesus, boss," Greg whispered.

"Greg, I need you and Brian to be extra vigilant on this. The Feds are involved in a big way. Obviously I cannot help you process. Take lots of photos and don't forget the bathroom. Always evidence in a bathroom." Grissom remarked.

"Thanks, I will."

"I'm going back to the lab now. Call Sara, if you need anything, okay?" Grissom asked.

"Right, gotcha," Greg affirmed.

Grissom walked out of the room and headed for his car.