A/N: Greetings from China! This is one part of the world I never thought I'd visit, and yet here I am. I also did not think there could possibly be any good thing about a 13.5-hour flight but, lucky for me, I discovered that, when you're 35,000 feet in the air and sick of the in-flight movies, there's precious little else to do but write. So voilá, I offer you the next chapter. Hope you like it. :-) And, if not, I'll just blame it on jet lag. :-)

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: OK, my claim to own CSI: is about as strong as my claim to speak Chinese. Well, really less so, because I can actually say "ni hao" ("hello") in Chinese. :-)

Oh, and I have to give credit to another author for the name "Claire" for Doc's wife. Unfortunately, I can't remember whose story it was that used it.The namejust seems right to me, so I hope it's OK if I use it as well. Just wanted you to know that's not my original idea, and no plagiarism is intended here.

Chapter 17: Putting the Pieces Together

Greg had one final errand to complete before he could rejoin his partner to begin processing the evidence in their case. As usual, Nick had tasked him with being the gofer, and the young scientist had already made stops in trace, DNA, and ballistics to drop off a variety of evidence. Normally, such menial chores would have exasperated him, but Nick's earlier vote of confidence had smoothed ruffled feathers and allowed him to see that even the seemingly trivial jobs he was given were necessary – both to the case and to his growth as a CSI. It's amazing what a little encouragement can do.

And, thankfully, this last errand was an enjoyable one. He swung the plastic bag from his fingers as he turned the corner into the layout room, but his toothy smile faded quickly as he surveyed the chaos covering the table.

His wide eyes skimmed the flat surface, taking in every square inch and finding it covered either with plastic-encased evidence or with paper reports. On the opposite side of the room, Warrick and Sara, nearly hidden behind a pile of bagged dishware, were staring at a pair of tagged nylons. The comment spewed from Greg's mouth without conscious thought. "Wow, it looks like the evidence locker threw up in here."

Warrick snorted, and Sara grinned as she looked up at the trainee. "Hey, Greggo. Are you coming to help or just to rub it in?"

He returned her smile as he stepped into the room, extending the plastic bag to her. "Neither, actually. I'm just here to drop this off. Nick said it was something you asked for?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, taking the bag and inspecting its contents enthusiastically. Greg and Warrick both craned their necks to see what was inside, but she kept it judiciously just outside their line of vision. "Curiosity killed the cat, guys," she said, glancing up at them with a smile.

"C'mon, Sara, we just wanna see what's in the bag." Greg made his plea while trying to grab it from her hand.

But she was quicker, and she shook her head with the smile still firmly in place. "Not a chance, wise guy."

"But I'm the one who brought it to you, remember? I could have just looked then, but I respected your privacy," he whined.

"Good thing, too, Greg," Warrick chimed in with a chuckle. "Knowing Sara, she probably had that thing programmed to blow up in your face if you violated her privacy."

"Hey!" Sara said with mock indignation. "I'm sitting right here."

Warrick laughed. "So, you gonna show us what's in the bag or what?"

"Well, let's see," she responded, looking up at the ceiling as she pretended to consider his request. "I hadn't planned on showing you before and, now that you've insulted me, hmm…" She met their gazes with a smile. "Nope, still not."

"You're mean, Sara," Greg complained, and Warrick could only shake his head as he turned back to the panty hose. Sara gave the young man a bemused smile before placing the bag on the floor beside her chair and dropping her eyes back to the table.

The trainee watched as the two veteran CSIs worked, quickly becoming intrigued by the order they were bringing to the chaos. Finally, he asked, "So what is all this stuff anyway?"

She responded without looking up. "All of the evidence from the Ellis and Shea cases. Warrick and I are just going through it to see if we find anything with fresh eyes."

The young man nodded and watched for a moment longer before turning to leave, and he was almost out the door when he remembered his earlier conversation with Brass. He popped his head back into the room and said, "Oh, hey, I talked to Brass a while ago and asked him to check with the husband to see if Mrs. Ellis might have had any female visitors that could have left the DNA on that plate."

When they both looked up at him, he reddened. He glanced from Warrick to Sara, shuffling his feet as he said nervously, "Well, um… I just thought that, um… well, female serial killers are so rare and all and… well, maybe she had a friend over for lunch or something…" He shrugged, staring at his shoes as his voice trailed off. "It was just a thought."

Sara's voice glowed with pride as she told him, "And it was a good thought, Greg. A really good thought." She smiled warmly when he met her eyes. "Keep us posted, OK?"

He nodded, the increasing confidence in his abilities adding a noticeable spring to his step as he strode off in search of his partner.

XXXXXXXXX

Grissom sighed quietly as he closed his eyes and pressed his thumb and index finger against his forehead. Squinting at the small print on the page was beginning to give him a headache, and the pain seemed to be compounded by the monotony of the task. Desperately seeking some sign of progress, he glanced at the pile of phone records next to him, but his mood only darkened at the sight of the stack appearing, if anything, larger than before. His second sigh was much louder.

Catherine glanced across the desk at her frustrated friend with no small measure of amusement. He had never been known for his patience with mundane tasks like paperwork. Noting his mounting aggravation, she pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh. "Problems?"

He glared at her, annoyed that she could still be so cheerful after what seemed like hours of reviewing phone records, especially considering her earlier outburst. Narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously, he cocked his head and asked, "Are you putting some of your records into my stack?"

Her eyebrows rose in shock at the absurdity of the accusation. "What?" she sputtered. "Have you lost your mind?"

He shook his head and blew out a breath as he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I just hate this."

She grinned at his understatement of the obvious. "I know, Gil. Paperwork's never been your thing."

He shot her a half-smile that faded as soon as he looked back at the stack, and he felt the exasperation return in a mad rush. Suddenly, he pushed himself back from his desk and strode quickly from the room, tossing over his shoulder, "I need a break."

Caught off-guard, Catherine barely had time to respond before he was out the door. "Gil!" Her cry was strident, but he ignored it as his long steps carried him swiftly down the hall. With any luck, she'll be done by the time I get back. He chuckled as he turned the corner toward the layout room.

XXXXXXXXX

Warrick looked up, his eyes settling on the comparisons listed on the board. Typical Sara. Meticulous, thorough, completely anal-retentive. He grinned as he rotated his neck carefully to work out the kinks, his thoughts drifting to their earlier conversation as he stared at the perfectly straight columns on the dry-erase board. Man, she's good with this stuff. She really would've made a great FBI agent. A regular Clarice Starling.

Sara sounded amused as she asked without looking up, "You bored?"

He huffed a breath through his nose. "Yeah, right. Frustrated maybe, but not bored. Who could get bored with a puzzle like this?" he asked as he spread his hands over the table. Unfurling his long legs slowly, he stood and walked to the opposite side of the table, surveying its contents as he leaned against it. Raising his eyes to meet his colleagues', he said, "Let's run it."

She grinned and nodded. "OK," she replied, furrowing her brow in concentration as she considered the crime. "Our perp meets Ally Shea, gets to know her, watches her for a while to learn her routines. He can't get too close, though, because she'd know he's a stalker and get scared away."

Warrick nodded. "But she has to know him well enough to let him into her house."

"And he knows that she's a marine biologist who wants to save dolphins from tuna fishermen," she responded, reaching for the fishing net that had been used in Shea's case. "Hence the restraints that say something about the vic. Sort of a sick commentary on what he knows about her. Part of his signature."

Her partner cocked his head as he looked at her, and she watched as a look of puzzlement crossed his face. "What?" she asked.

He shook his head and stared into space for a moment longer. Then, suddenly, his gaze snapped into focus, and he intently surveyed the contents of the table. When he found what he was looking for, he grabbed the report, perusing it quickly before holding it out to Sara with a smile. "The restraints aren't the only thing that's a part of his signature."

She squinted in confusion as she took the paper and scanned Allison Shea's autopsy report. While she read, he elaborated, "She was killed with salt water. That's pretty interesting commentary on a marine biologist, don't you think?"

The brunette's eyes widened, and she carefully studied the report before looking up at him. "We have to tell Grissom."

"Tell me what?" The voice floated in over Warrick's shoulder, and Sara sucked in a breath when the tall young man turned to reveal their supervisor leaning against the doorframe. Whether her gasp was a result of surprise at his sudden appearance or of pleasure at the sight of him, she couldn't be sure.

Her partner cocked a knowing eyebrow at her reaction before turning to face their boss. "Hey, Griss, check this out. We figured out that the killer's signature is pretty much a direct reflection of the victim."

Grissom's brow furrowed with interest, and he pushed himself away from the door to step further into the room. Surveying the chaos spread out over the table, he asked, "How so?"

Sara supplied, "OK, Ally Shea was a marine biologist who wanted to go to work for Greenpeace saving dolphins from tuna fishermen, right?" At his nod, she continued, "Well, our perp had to have known that because she was restrained with fishing net and killed with salt water." She extended the bagged evidence and autopsy report to him as proof.

The older man took the proffered evidence, glancing over it for a second before handing it back to Sara with a nod. "Makes sense. What about Marilyn Ellis?"

Warrick replied, "Well, she was restrained with nylons and killed with bleach. She was a housewife, right? It sort of fits."

Grissom said, "Well, I can see the bleach as a reflection of the killer's view on housewives – or homemakers, to use the more politically correct term – but nylons? That's not a common association."

Sara chimed in, "No, but Marilyn Ellis wasn't just any housewife. Er, homemaker," she amended with a grin. "Her husband was an executive vice president for a bank, and I'm sure she had to attend her fair share of society functions. Events which would, of course, require panty hose as part of the dress code. I think our perp knows these women pretty well, and he's telling us that."

Their boss nodded, dropping his gaze to the table and examining the pieces laid out there. "OK, guys, good pick-up. Keep working the evidence, and see if you can find anything else." He glanced down at the tox reports from the cases, and his eyes narrowed as he picked them up. Suddenly, he started toward the door, reports in hand. "See you around."

Confused, Sara and Warrick glanced at each other and, eyes trained on her supervisor's back, she called, "Um, Grissom? Are you going to bring those back?"

He stopped short and turned on his heel, glancing at the reports in his hand before meeting her eyes. "Yeah, in a little while."

Satisfied, she nodded and looked down at the Ellis autopsy report. Grissom watched her for a moment, and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly as he said, "Hey, Sara, I'll be back in an hour. We're going home on time tonight."

Her head snapped up at that, and her mouth dropped open in shock as she watched him leave. Her mind raced as she tried to comprehend his words but, try as she might, their meaning eluded her befuddled brain. Warrick's chuckle shook her out of her reverie, and she turned to stare at him.

Her dumbfounded expression only made him laugh out loud, and he shook his head as he told her, "Oh, man, that look on your face is priceless. I guess things must be going pretty well at Grissom's these days, huh?"

He bit his lip to prevent the laugh from escaping when her expression morphed into irritation. When she shook her head and looked back at the autopsy report, he shook his head with a grin before reaching for a new piece of evidence.

Suddenly, Sara reached across him for the Shea autopsy report, and he watched in surprise as she studied the two pages side by side. After what seemed an interminable interval, she looked up at him, eyes wide and jaw dropped open slightly. "Hey, War, wanna go with me to the locker room?"

Though her request did little to alleviate his confusion, he knew better than to argue. He simply nodded and followed her out of the room.

XXXXXXXXX

The concrete walls of the morgue, though they were intended to keep in the smells and sounds of the dead, performed the opposite feat for Al Robbins. They kept out the stench and noise of the living, freeing him from the politics and unpleasantness of life in the crime lab. Outside work, he cherished the time he spent with his wife and their children and grandchildren, and he even enjoyed the company of a few of his colleagues at the lab. But there was entirely too much insincerity and backstabbing among the majority of his coworkers, and he relished the fact that most of them stayed away from his domain unless they had a reason to be there.

He smiled as he increased the volume on the Bizet aria, the sweet strains of the music swelling to fill the cold hardness of the room with warmth and light. The soprano's honeyed voice tripped across intervals with an easy grace reserved for the best of musicians, and the emotions she conveyed with each note brought tears to his eyes as it evoked memories of the early days in his relationship with his wife, back when love was new and he couldn't imagine anything as beautiful as his Claire.

It's funny how some things never change, he thought as he wielded his scalpel expertly to make a perfect Y-incision on the young man lying on his table. I still can't imagine anything more beautiful. They had been together for 32 years now, had parented three children and now doted on seven grandchildren. And, though their love wasn't new anymore, it was still just as real as the day he married her.

He looked up from his inspection of the young man's abdominal cavity when he heard the door bang open, but his scowl turned to a smile when he recognized the man who had dared to intrude on his sanctuary. "Hey, Gil. Turn that down some, would you?" he requested, gesturing towards the CD player on the shelf to his right.

The scientist complied before walking around the table to face his friend, and the physician grinned at him. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Did you come to inspect my work?"

In no mood for small talk, Grissom shook his head and replied, "I came to ask you a question about these reports. Allison Shea's tox screen showed traces of fluoride in her system. Did you run that particular test in the Ellis case?"

Robbins' forehead wrinkled in confusion, but he shook his head emphatically. "No. I don't remember the first case you mentioned, but I'm assuming it's an older one. The generic tox screen these days doesn't include fluoride. It only incorporates the most common poisons, and fluoride got taken off the list a year or so ago because it was too unusual. Too hard for criminals to come by, I guess, since it's a gas," he shrugged. "They re-evaluate every few years or so and revamp the generic tox screen so that it includes the top twenty or so."

The CSI narrowed his eyes at the medical examiner. "Can you still do the test for fluoride?"

Robbins nodded. "Sure. It's a send-out lab that has to be ordered specifically, but you can get it if you want it."

"Good," Grissom replied. "Can you do that on Marilyn Ellis for me, please?"

"OK. I'll send it out this morning." The scruffy coroner squinted at Grissom as he asked, "Got a hunch?"

The scientist shrugged. "Maybe. Let me know when you get those results."

And, with that, he headed for the door, but he stopped dead in his tracks at the doctor's voice. "I hear a beautiful brunette's sleeping in your bed these days."

Slowly, a pallid Grissom turned to face him. The physician doubted the younger man could have looked more shocked if he had slapped him, and it took everything in his power to prevent the laugh from escaping. He allowed himself a small grin as he continued, "Sara, Gil. I'm assuming you're allowing her to stay in your guest bedroom and not forcing her to sleep on your pitiful excuse for a sofa."

The color gradually returned to Grissom's face, and his expression changed into a mixture of confusion and annoyance as he cocked his head slightly to the left. Raising one eyebrow, he sarcastically replied, "Is there a wiretap somewhere in the crime lab that I'm unaware of, Albert?"

The coroner laughed as he responded. "No, I just keep up with the juicy office gossip."

The CSI rolled his eyes and said, "Ah. I'm glad to know your information comes from a reliable source."

Robbins nodded with a smile and then cocked his head to the side with a curious expression. "Must be different having someone in your home. Are you OK with it?"

The physician watched in utter fascination as Grissom stared into space, his face softening considerably and transforming itself into an expression that was caught somewhere between wistfulness and joy. When the CSI met his eyes again, Robbins grinned. "You don't need to say a word. Your face says it all."

The younger man smiled as he turned to leave the room. The medical examiner shook his head with a grin as he shuffled over to the CD player. "Ah, amoré. Such a beautiful thing," he said aloud as he turned the knob to increase the volume on the opera. Bizet had never sounded more alive.

XXXXXXXXX

Grissom's long strides took him quickly through the halls of CSI in search of Nick and Greg. He'd been wrapped up in the Shea and Ellis cases and hadn't checked on the two all evening. Feeling a little bad about abandoning them, he decided to find them and ensure that they were making progress before he and Sara left for home.

He heard them before he saw them. Greg's shrill voice echoed down the hall outside the breakroom. "C'mon, Nicky, just tell me what was in the bag!"

"No way, Greggo. If she wanted you to know, she would have told you."

When their boss stepped into the room, the two young men looked up from their coffee guiltily, and Nick said, "Hey, Grissom."

"Hey, guys," he responded, one eyebrow raised in question. "How's your case coming?" He looked at each of them in turn and, when they averted their gazes from his, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Curious, he watched as they glanced up at each other before Nick answered his question.

"Um, pretty good. Just waiting on trace. We think the vic and his girlfriend had a fight out in the desert, and she shot him. Brass is bringing her in for questioning."

Their supervisor eyed them for a long moment, nearly laughing when they both squirmed uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Finally, he nodded and said, "OK. Keep me informed."

Nick exhaled gratefully and said, "Will do."

Grissom didn't see the two exchange looks as he turned and headed for his office, readying himself to face the wrath of Catherine. He glanced at his watch, glad to see that there were only twenty minutes remaining in their shift. With any luck, he could tell her to take off early, and all would be forgiven. And, if worst came to worst, he'd only have to sit through a twenty-minute tongue-lashing.

He took a deep breath before opening the door to his office, steeling himself for the onslaught. He was surprised to find the room empty, and he frowned slightly at the sight of a note lying on the desk directly in front of his chair. Shutting the door behind him, he walked slowly toward the note, approaching it cautiously as though it were an animal to be feared.

He opened it carefully, his eyes skimming over the large flowing cursive and a smile spreading slowly across his face as he read: "Grissom, considering how much you owe me for this, I didn't think you'd mind my leaving a few minutes early. Knowing you, I'm sure you were planning to let me go home early anyway rather than face the music. There were no matches to the Desert Palm OR waiting room in Allison Shea's records. And, yes, I did look through them all. You can tell me how much you love me next shift. See you then. Catherine."

The smile widened into a full-fledged grin when he read the postscript: "Oh, and don't think I won't collect. Like I said, you owe me. Big. Dinner-at-a-French-restaurant big. I'm looking forward to it. You can bring Sara, and I'll bring a date."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, but the smile remained as he slipped the note into his pocket. He quickly dropped the phone records back into their respective evidence bags and packed his briefcase before locking his office and moving off down the hall. After a short stop at the evidence locker to drop off the phone records, he headed for the layout room.

When he arrived, he stood silently in the doorway, content to simply watch Sara for the briefest of moments. The mess had been cleared away, presumably safely back in the evidence locker where it belonged, and she and Warrick leaned against the table while they studied a case file before them. Grissom watched as she raised a slender hand to brush a strand of hair from her face and tuck it behind an ear, and he longed to discover whether the skin of her cheek was as soft as it appeared. With a swift shake of his head, he cleared his throat, partly to alert them to his presence and partly to drag his own dangerous thoughts back into a more professional arena.

When Sara looked up at him, he saw her face light up, and she graced him with a genuine smile. His breath caught in his throat, and he had to force himself to look at Warrick to regain his control. The younger man flashed him a knowing smirk, and he pursed his lips in annoyance. Glancing back at Sara, he couldn't quite meet her eyes as he asked, "You ready?" His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

"Yep," she replied, and he watched as she reached down to grab a plastic bag on the ground at her feet. He met her eyes with a questioning glance, but she ignored it as she closed the case file and tucked it under her arm. "See ya, War."

"You kids have a good time at home," he chuckled, earning a mildly irritated glare from both colleagues as they walked out the door. "Catch ya later, Agent Sidle," he muttered with a chuckle, but the quiet laughdied away quicklywhen he realized the implications of his comment. Warrick had to sidestep a startled Archie as he rushed down the hall toward the evidence locker.

TBC…