Disclaimer: CSI belongs to Bruckheimer, Shakespeare owns Romeo and Juliet, Jodi Picault owns The Pact.

A/N: It helps if you've read Tunnel Vision and Desperate to know what's happening.


7:48 am.

Grissom looked around, trying to look like he wasn't trying to avoid someone as he hurried through the lab. How could he forget his phone, his keys, the reports… everything! He hurried through the corridors, heading for his office. Well, there was the excuse that his mind was elsewhere at the time. And, boy, had it been elsewhere.

Sara… How could you say something like that?

At the thought of Sara, Grissom pulled up short. He checked around the corridors, trying to see if she was still here. She wouldn't be… her case was over. There was no reason for her to be here.

But then, hadn't she come back just to drop that bombshell? And then what? Was she still here, waiting for him? Come on, think, Grissom, would she really hang around after you did what you did?

"Grissom!"

Grissom jumped, almost guilty, brought back to the present by the sound of Brass's voice. The CSI turned to see the detective almost jogging down the corridor towards him.

"You're in a hurry." Brass said dryly.

"I was just leaving." Grissom said. He almost winced at that - no, he hadn't been 'just leaving'. He'd been 'just coming back to pick up everything he forgot half an hour ago', and then he'd be 'just leaving'.

"Well, don't," Brass said, catching up with Gil. "I just got a phonecall from the Mayor." The detective did not look happy. "He's got a problem that he wants you to solve."

"Me?" The mention of the Mayor was enough to push thoughts of Sara from Gil's mind for a while. "Why me? Why not Ecklie?"

Brass shook his head. "Because Ecklie and his crew are still busy dealing with multiple multiples. Because you're a better CSI than Ecklie'll ever be. Because you solved that missing supermodel case so quickly and saved the Mayor a major headache."

"And what better a way to repay his loyal servant," Grissom said dryly.

Brass frowned at Grissom. "I'm going to presume that's Shakespeare, and move on." He looked dark, and unusually serious. "The Mayor wants this case to get solved and go away, Grissom. They call Las Vegas 'Sin City' because of the gambling, not because of the kids. Tourism doesn't need this. The Mayor doesn't need this. The last thing this town needs is Romeo killing his Juliet on the front page of every tabloid, giving this city a worse name than it already has."

"I thought you said you were moving on from Shakespeare."

Brass scowled. "Cut the quips and get your whole crew here. You're going to have a few sleepless nights - days, rather - on this one. It's already been botched up on our side, so you guys are going to have to work fast to smooth it all over."

Grissom stared. "Jim, what happened?"

Brass sighed, and pointed to Grissom's office. "I'll explain in there. We don't need Ecklie or his buddies hearing about this just yet." The detective and the entomologist hurried to Grissom's office, Brass's anxiety and tense mood already affecting Grissom. What could have happened that would make the Mayor call for his help?


7:52 am.

Brass seemed unable to keep still. He paced back and forth in the small space of Grissom's office like a tiger in a cage. Grissom sat down and waited.

"At three am this morning," the detective said, still pacing, "Desert Palm admitted two teenagers, two seventeen-year-olds, into the ER." Brass paused in his pacing to close his eyes and sigh. "The girl didn't make it. But the boy did." He resumed pacing. "Chris Harte and Emily Gold - two good, bright, upstanding kids, head-over-heels in love with each other, with their futures way ahead of them - apparently left their homes last night with the intention of performing a double-suicide at an abandoned fairground."

"The Romeo and Juliet you mentioned." Grissom frowned. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Brass shrugged. "Well, what happened was the gun went off, and Emily took a bullet through the brain, and Chris got head wound that knocked him out. The police arrived before he could come to and turn the gun on himself. Or so he says."

Grissom frowned, tapping the tips of his fingers together. He watched Brass pacing for a moment, then asked, "So why is this such an important case? Teen suicides are common enough…"

Brass stopped pacing. "Because the Mayor says it is. And like I said, Gil, the PD is going to take a lot of flak for this. We've ruined the case for you, and you're going to have to do your best to salvage it." The detective took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. It didn't work; a vein stood out on his neck. "Detective-Sergeant Marrone, wonderful cop as she is, took things into her own hands. She went to the scene, saw the blood, the booze, and the gun, and jumped to her own conclusions." Brass paused in his pacing to grip the back of the chair in front of him, speaking directly to Grissom. "She told the parents of the dead girl that Chris killed their daughter. In cold blood."

Grissom removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Brass was right - this case was just made much more difficult. With the parents of the victim firmly believing one thing, it could compromise any evidence gathered. If there were any suicide notes or anything which could have shown why the two teens decided to commit suicide, a protective parent would destroy them. A parent's denial of the truth in order to protect their child was often the biggest hindrance in a case.

In the silence that followed Brass' announcement, the detective exploded in anger, though his anger was not directed at Grissom. "She deliberately breeched protocol! You would have thought that ten years in the force would have taught her something, but no… Marrone has to be number one in Vegas and solve the whole case herself." Brass fumed. "I'm looking forward to making her explain her actions to the Mayor. You know, sometimes transfers just aren't worth the trouble they cause."

Grissom sighed. Best to get down to business, get this whole mess started now before it got any worse. "So who's working the scene now?"

"Warrick."

"Wait a minute…" Grissom frowned. "Warrick went to the scene? Without my authorisation?"

Brass spread his hands wide. "It was kind of urgent, Gil! I needed someone from your team there!" Brass frowned. "Besides, I paged you a dozen times and left you at least four messages." Grissom cleared his throat, beginning to explain that he'd left both his pager and his cellphone in his office, but Brass waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You don't read your messages. If Catherine were here, she'd either chase you down or take over for you. But she's in Hawaii for another four days so we're going to have to deal without her. And we're already up the proverbial creek with neither boat nor paddle."

Grissom folded his hands. "I gather that the best is yet to come."

Brass nodded, smiling a thin-lipped smile. "Yeah. The reason the Mayor wants this to go away fast is because the Hartes and the Golds happen to be good friends of his… As well as a large percentage of the population. This is going to hit the fan in a big way, Gil. The Mayor wants this case to be solved and ghosts to be put to rest. ASAP and faster."

Grissom nodded and rose from his seat. "Alright. I'll call the rest of the team and get them working on this."

"You do that," Brass said, pulling out his phone and putting it to his ear. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some ass to kiss. This is not going to get smoothed over by itself. Oh yeah," Brass added, almost as an afterthought as he left Grissom's office, "And good luck." You'll need it.

Brass didn't need to say the last part aloud - Grissom was thinking the same thing himself.


A/N:
If this story seems a little incomplete to you at any time, it's because I had originally intended to put in paragraphs of Jodi Picault's work, but that would be a breech of both copyright laws and of Jodi Picault's own wishes. So, just a story based on the story, then. And this chapter here had two sections I had to take out… oh well. I don't wanna get in trouble. :P