Note: alright gang...here's the new chapter. Sorry for the delay...the computer has been prime real estate in my house this last week...and my dad has quite often won the battle...but with no more delay...here we go! (just for noting...this is probably my favorite chapter)

Chapter Twelve – Blood Evidence
Emily Harris's breathing was deep and even; her sleep free of dreams, free of pain. The pseudo-leather chair in which Nick sat was hard, his back muscles screamed at him as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin resting in the palm of his right hand, his eyes resting on the sleeping girl.

He was tired three ways from Saturday. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

Emily's words, her voice, were haunting. They resonated in his head. The fear in her eyes made his heart ache, made him long to take her in his arms and promise her everything would be okay. Everything within him wanted, needed, to help take her pain away.

But, he couldn't do that.

He couldn't promise her things would be okay.

How could he when he himself didn't know that they would be?

He couldn't make her pain go away.

How could he when he himself still struggled with so much of his own pain?

He couldn't offer her hope.

How could he when he'd yet to really experience it himself?

Watching her sleep, the moments of peace, however brief they may be, were enough to bring balance to the chaos of his world, a chaos that had suddenly come crashing down into this little girl's life, corrupting it forever. It was that peace, it was that balance within the still quiet of the hospital room that had all of a sudden become deafening, suffocating, and compressing. He could feel his chest tightening, his ear drums pounding against the overpowering silence, his brain screaming out against the void.

He had to get out, if only for a minute, he had to get away. Yet there was something holding him back, keeping him steadfast in his watch over the child. There was a power, a bond. He'd do anything to hold onto that, to keep it from fading.

Standing from his chair he bent and grabbed his field kit. In all honesty, he really needed to get back to the lab. There was evidence to process. The case could be break any minute and he wanted to be there when it did.

"You leaving?" the soft, sweet voice of Emily asked. Her eyes were open, boring into his.

"I have to get back to work," he nodded, his eyes full of tenderness as they gazed upon the child. "I'll be back, though."

"Promise?" she asked, her eyes drifting closed once more.

"Promise," he smiled, his hand smoothing back the child's thin hair.

Turning slowly, reluctant to break his connection with her, he left the room, quietly latching the door behind him.

"Headed back to work?" Sam asked as he passed the nurse's station.

He nodded, not trusting the stability of his voice.

"Coming back?"

Another silent nod.

He really had to get out of there. He had to get away.

Quickly, he turned his focus to the elevators, willing his feet to move, to carry him to his one and only way out.

The heavy elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside the empty vault. Pushing the button for the first floor, he immediately pushed the stop button, ceasing the lift's decent, halting it between floors. Leaning heavily against the wall, he crumbled to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. He felt weighted, unable to handle the heavy load. Tears, the tears he'd worked so hard to hold back, silently rolled down his face, flowing freely, as he leaned his head back on the wall, the thud of its impact echoing slightly.

Everything within him ached for Emily Harris, for her family.

How could such a small child be so strong, so brave?

How could he be so scared?

Scared that he may never have answers?

Scared that he may lose?

But most of all, scared that Emily may never know real peace ever again?

That he may never know real peace ever again?

The sob he'd been working so hard to hold in, finally found its escape piercing the silence of the empty elevator, ringing hollow in his ears.

The dam was broken.

He was broken.

He let his emotions take over. He let the pain take over. He welcomed the release.

Everything within him longed to make things right, longed to find the bastard that brought the pain to Emily, that brought the indescribably fear to her eyes. Everything within him, everything that he was, cried for her, felt her pain, her fear.

Time passed.

Forgotten and alone, Nick sat with his eyes closed. Slowly, he felt his pain ebb away, replaced by the drive of anger rising within him, a fire of determination.

He would bring peace to Emily. He would find the answers he so needed to find, the answers he needed to be able to provide.

Slowly standing he pressed the button resuming the elevators descent. Swiping his hand across his face, he rubbed at his eyes, rubbing the tears away. He exited on the first floor, amid looks of disgust and impatience.

He had one stop to make before he returned to the lab.

There was one thing he knew only he could do. There was one answer only he could get, and there was only one way he knew to get it.

"Cynthia Glover was at the Harris's house last night," Sara burst into Grissom's office.

"Say what?" Brass asked nearly jumping from his seat at the surprise of the CSI's abrupt entrance.

"She was at their house," she said again, her eyes wild with the intensity of a possible lead in the case.

"Wait a second, slow down. How do you know?" Grissom raised a hand, hoping it would bring calm over the female before him.

"Greg just told me," she smiled taking a seat next to the detective. "The shoeprints we found outside the garage window?" she started, nods from the detective and supervisor urging her to get to the point. "He said they were a female, size ten."

"Right," Grissom nodded, the report still sitting on his desk was fresh in his mind.

"How does that lead you to Cynthia Glover?" Brass asked not yet picking up on the clue.

"Well, the impressions were of a pair of New Balance cross trainers. You were there when Greg said the man would have to be around ninety pounds and maybe five feet tall," she looked a Brass who nodded in response. "You saw Cynthia Glover, how much would you say she weighs?"

"No more than a hundred pounds," the detective's eyes lit up.

"She was wearing a jogging suit when she came in tonight. You think she likes to go for walks?"

"Maybe late night ones," Brass smirked.

"Maybe she took a walk over to her neighbor's house?" Grissom raised an eyebrow.

"Let's go find out," Brass stood from his seat. Sara quickly flashed a grin to her boss and followed the detective into the halls of CSI.

"Hey Sara, I thought you were helping me!" Greg called from the garage as he watched Sara shuffle down the hall. He laughed as Sara quickly turned, raising her hands offering a silent apology, and quickly picked back up on Brass's trail.

"Seventy percent of patients waiting for bone marrow transplants die waiting," Sam said. She sat with Nick in the hospital cafeteria. It was nearing the seven o'clock hour and the dinner crowds were finally starting to dwindle. "Chances of finding a donor…" she trailed off taking a drink from her water bottle. "The fact that Emily has been waiting for four months now, well it doesn't make her chances any more likely."

"What do I have to do?" Nick asked.

There was a look in his eyes that sent chills up the nurse's spine. It was a look of unfailing and unwavering determination.

"What, to be a donor? Nick, chances of you matching Emily specifically are…are astronomical at best."

"What do I have to do?" he asked again.

"Well…" she sighed in resignation, "there's preliminary blood work for starters," she started. "A blood sample will have to be taken and tested for compatible HLA types."

"HLA?"

"It's the Human Leukocyte Antigen," she explained with a nod. "If you're a match, and that's a big if, then there will be more blood tests. Your blood will be compared with the patients to determine further compatibility."

"And if it's compatible?"

"Then you'll have a physical, some counseling sessions, and then eventually you'll be prepped for the procedure. But, Nick…"

"I want to help," he shook his head, not allowing her to finish her thought. He knew what she was going to say and nothing she could say would stop him.

There was nothing that could stop him. This was something he had to do. He knew it wasn't a sure thing. He knew chances were slim of coming out a match, but he had to try.

He had to. For Emily. For her family.

"Can you do it? Can you help me?"

His eyes bore into hers. They were deep, an abyss full of emotion, full of…so much more than she could ever begin to understand. Whatever it was, it went so much deeper than anything she'd ever experienced.

She couldn't say no to him.

She nodded, her blue eyes holding his gaze.

"Look, maybe I shouldn't be asking this, but…why are you doing this? Why do this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes full of sympathy for the man sitting in front of her. As soon as the question was asked, though, she'd wished she hadn't. It was the first time since they'd been sitting there that he had broken his gaze from hers.

Slowly, he tried to form the words to his answer. But he couldn't. Everything that pushed him, everything that told him to do this…there wasn't a single word to define it. It wasn't a word. It was a feeling. A feeling he couldn't describe pitted deep in his stomach.

Why was he doing this?

He grabbed at the bottle of water he'd yet to open since he'd called Sam and asked her to meet him in the cafeteria. Fumbling with the cap, he finally managed to unscrew it. Bringing the bottle to his dry lips, he tilted his head back welcoming the cold wet as it hit the back of his parched throat.

"Nick," she tried again.

He shook his head, not able to trust his voice.

"I'd love to help you…" she started, leaning back against the booth in which she sat.

"Everyday…" he tested his voice. "Everyday I meet one more person I was too late to help, I was too late to save," he kept his eyes on the table in front of him. "Everyday."

When he did lift his eyes, the pain she saw within them was almost too much for her to bear. In her years as a pediatric nurse, she'd met parents on the brink of losing their children. The pain she'd seen in their eyes was unimaginable, indescribable, and unthinkable. But, the pain she was met with now, the pain she saw in Nick's eyes was so much more. Somehow, it went so much deeper.

"Every once in a while, there's one person…" he felt his voice catching. He could kick himself for cracking in front of her. "Every once in a while there's one person we can help, one life we can help bring back into balance."

It hadn't been what he wanted to say. No, what he really wanted to say, what he really wanted this nurse, this girl, to understand was so much more. What he really wanted to tell her, to make her see was everything he couldn't get out of his mind.

The urine stained floor.

The blood spattered walls.

The massacred family.

The scared little girl lying lonely and orphaned in a dark hospital room.

"This…this is just something I need to do," he shook his head.

That determination slowly re-surfaced, shining through the layers of pain.

"Okay," she nodded. "I'll do everything I can to help."

The sun was setting as Nick made his way back to the lab. After giving Grissom a call he made a run by his place for a quick shower and a clean change of clothes. He knew he'd be going straight through the night, and most likely into the next morning, so he had to grab what down time he could whenever he could. A quick shower was about as good as things were going to get for the next twelve hours or so.

Now driving down Boulder Highway, he felt refreshed, ready, for the most part, to tackle the evidence waiting for him back at the lab.

Traffic was surprisingly light as he pulled into the lab parking lot. Finding an empty space, he pulled the Denali to a stop and climbed down grabbing his field kit from the back seat. The air was quickly becoming cool as the sun sank in the west, making him grateful for the black fleece he now wore.

The air inside the lab was only slightly warmer than outside.

"Hey Nicky," Catherine smiled falling into step with him as he walked past reception. "How's the little girl?"

"Sleeping when I left," he responded taking in the files in her hand. "What've you got?"

"Photos from the scene. Listen, where you headed right now?

"Uh…DNA. Why?"

"I'm really backed up here. I've got to get this to Grissom, think you could check up on the results from the cigarette Sara collected from the scene?"

"I thought she was on it."

"Yeah, well she and Brass are out chasing old ladies," she shook her head, "she asked me to do it, but I'm kind of in a corner."

"Yeah, sure," he nodded stopping just outside the DNA lab watching as Catherine picked up her pace and headed on down the hall.

Wendy Simms busied herself setting up the Mass Spectrometer, her back to Nick as he entered the quiet lab.

"Hey Wendy," he said, his eyes on the evidence in his hand, as he walked up beside her leaning back against the counter. "I've got a couple samples for you to run."

There was no response from the lab tech, as her back was still turned to him.

"Uh…Wendy?" he looked up now. The lab tech was consumed in her work, completely unaware of his presence. "Wendy," he tried again a little louder, a grin crossing his face as he noticed the lady's head bobbing. It was then he noticed the white ear buds clogging her ears. Carefully reaching over her shoulder, he pulled gently on the chord dangling from her right ear dislodging the device from her ear.

"What the…" she swung around. "Shit Nick!" she exclaimed pressing a hand to her chest.

"Hey," he raised his hands in defense, "I tried getting your attention," he smiled, trying hard to stifle his laughter.

"Damn it," she finally let out the breath she'd been holding, turning back to the task at hand. "Now I'm going to have to start all over with this. Damn it; I could kill Greg."

"Greg? What'd he do?"

"It was his idea to listen to music while I worked," she shook her head, her attention back on the spectrometer.

"Yeah, that figures," he smiled. "Look, I've got a couple samples for you to run," he said again. "I got a DNA sample from Emily Harris," he laid the two swabs on the counter.

"Why two swabs?"

"I took a sample of my own to show her how it's done. Need you to distinguish which is mine and which is hers," he shrugged.

"You didn't label them?"

He shook his head, his eyes scanning the lab.

"Did you…uh…did you get the results done on that cigarette Sara gave you?"

"Yeah, I thought she was picking it up."
"She was, but the task got pushed to me. What'd you find out?"

"The sample I was able to obtain was minimal at best," she handed over the file. "But I got enough to work with. I ran the sample through CODIS, got a hit. It came back to a Jesse Overton."

"Damn," Nick shook his head, his eyes on the now open file in his hands.

"As it turns out, this guy has a record," she nodded turning to face the CSI. Her normally smooth appearance was somewhat frazzled, her brown hair, though pulled back in a ponytail, hung loosely at the nape of her neck.

"Yeah, I know him," he offered a heavy sigh.

"Well, I kicked the cigarette over to trace."

"Okay. Look, run the samples I gave you, and then compare Emily Harris' DNA to the samples I gave you from her room. Page me when you know something?" he pushed his weight off the counter.

"You got it."

"Oh, anything on those hairs yet?" he stopped just short of the door.

"I'm working on it."

Quickly, with the weight of the new evidence fresh in his hands, he worked his way down the hall. He needed to get this information to Grissom.

"Check out this void," Catherine shook her head as she leaned against Grissom's desk. Silently, Nick leaned into the door jam. Watching. Waiting. "From this spray pattern, Mr. Harris tried fighting back."

"That would explain the defensive wounds Doc found on his hands," Grissom nodded, now aware of Nick's presence.

"The killer was standing in front of them as he killed them, just watching…watching them die," she said, disgust and anger thick in her voice.

"What'd you find out?" the supervisor asked alerting Catherine to the man in the doorway.

"Well, Emily Harris didn't see much. She saw a man with brown hair, but that's all she could give me," Nick entered the office, taking a seat in front of the desk. "I just got DNA back on the cigarette Sara pulled from the back yard. Matched Jesse Overton," he entered the office handing Grissom the file.

"You're kidding," Catherine read over the supervisor's shoulder. "I thought you said he was still in prison."

"He is. He still has about five years before he's eligible even for an appeal," Nick nodded. "Wendy kicked the cigarette over to Hodges."

"If Jesse Overton is still in prison, how did his DNA get on a cigarette in the Harris's backyard?" Catherine asked.

"That's a good question," Grissom nodded pulling out his cell phone. "Only one way to find out."

"Go ask him?" Nick asked.

"Go ask him," Grissom nodded.