You were wrong

The team stared down at the words in stunned silence for several seconds before the silence was broken by Greg crashing into the room.

"Whoa – what's everybody staring at?"

Sara pointed to the table and Greg came around to peer over her shoulder. "'You were wrong'," he read aloud. "Cool – a message written in invisible ink. Wait – does this mean that Gris was right all along, and the miniature killer wasn't Ernie Dell?"

"It appears so," Catherine sighed.

"Then why all the long faces?"

Gil turned to stare at Greg. "Because this means we never solved the case – that we did get it wrong the first time – and most importantly, the miniature killer is still out there, with his or her sights set on this lab now, and me in particular."

Greg whistled. "Yeah, that is bad."

"Gil, this wasn't here before-" Sara interrupted Greg before he could go off on another tangent.

"What do you mean?" Nick frowned.

"These words, this message – it's new."

Gil nodded. "She's right – I studied every single millimeter of these miniatures the first time, and I used UV lights, black lights, ultraviolet lights, the whole spectrum. The doll pictures have fascinated me from the beginning because they have felt out of place with the crime scenes – almost as if they are the killer's signature."

"Makes sense," Warrick nodded. "I don't remember finding a picture like this at any of the crime scenes – how about the rest of you?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"So, what's the significance of a bleeding porcelain doll?" Catherine asked.

"And is it a symbolic or a literal representation of some event in the killer's life?" Sara added, her forehead creased in thought.

"All good questions," Gil nodded. "But not the most pressing."

"What's the most pressing one, then?" Nick asked.

"If we're right and these words were added to the pictures after the miniatures were already in our possession here at the lab – we're looking for someone who had access to this building."

Gil's statement had the effect of a bomb going off. At first no one said anything and then everyone talked at once.

Sara: "You think there's a mole in the lab?"

Nick: "Gris, that's crazy! The security here is too tight!"

Warrick: "You think the killer has another accomplice – someone who works for us?"

Catherine: "We don't have any proof – you go around spreading accusations like that, you better be able to back it up."

Greg: "Maybe it's a prank – someone around here with an odd sense of humor."

Grissom waited for their shouts and exclamations to die down before he spoke again. "We don't have any evidence one way or the other except for Sara and my own conviction that these words are new – they weren't part of the original miniatures. Someone added them – whether it was the killer or an accomplice or someone playing a prank remains to be seen. We'll have to investigate and see what evidence we can turn up. Now, Greg, do you have an update-"

"Yes! Sorry, I was distracted by this – Hodges and I identified the poison that killed Alina. Liquid nicotine."

Sara and Gil exchanged a look as Warrick spoke up. "Wasn't that the COD in the Penny Gardner case?"

Greg nodded.

Catherine threw up her hands. "All right, I'm convinced. I know I've been on the fence, waiting for the evidence to convince me that Ernie Dell wasn't the miniature killer but after all we've uncovered today along with Alina's COD – you were right, Gil. The miniature killer is still out there. And we've got to stop them."

Sara was exhausted by the time she and Gil arrived home. Hank met them at the door, tail wagging, over the moon to see his favorite humans. Sara gave him a quick head scratch but soon headed for the bedroom to lie down. Gil had been with Sara long enough to know that she needed some space after a day like today, so he went to the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich, Hank following to keep him company.

It had taken the two of them a bit to find their footing once they had gotten together. Feelings had been present from the moment they met, but the two of them had spent years dancing around each other, before Sara had finally kissed him one night after a particularly emotion-filled case, and he had stopped running. But it had still taken time to figure out how two fiercely independent people could come together, love each other, and one day share physical living space. Gil was surprised how easy it had been for him to give up his bachelor ways – but once he had loved Sara completely, he never looked back. He wanted everything with her: marriage, children, even a nice retirement away from Vegas one day.

Sara was the one who had the harder time adjusting to sharing her living space and he thought it was due to the fact that she had grown up in the foster system and hadn't had anything that was truly just hers until she had reached eighteen and moved out on her own. He understood that but at the same time, he was tired of being alone – hell, he had practically lived a lifetime without her, looking for her, and now that he had her, he didn't want to let her go. It was his greatest fear that he would wake up one morning to discover Sara gone, her closets empty, her toiletries missing from the shower, and her organic vegetarian food absent from his shelves.

Gil finished his sandwich and sat down with the crossword puzzle that they had been working on earlier in the week. Before long, he was dozing, the paper falling unnoticed to the floor.

Sara woke up and reached out to the other side of the bed and found it empty. She frowned but then remembered that Gil hadn't followed her upstairs, instead reading her mood correctly that she wanted some space. But now she was lonely and wanted nothing more than his touch to help her forget the horrible reality going on around them. A plan formed in Sara's mind, and she hummed to herself as she got up and began to look through her drawers.

Gil stirred when he felt the light sensation of fingers stroking his cheeks. He opened one eye and swallowed, taking in the vision of Sara sitting next to him on the sofa. Her hair was up in a loose ponytail, shorter hairs already escaping and falling around her face. She was dressed, if one could call it that, in a light, filmy, negligee with spaghetti straps that fell to mid-thigh and was deep red in color (Sara had called it something else, but he forgot. He just knew it was his favorite color on her – and she knew it too.)

Seeing that he was awake, she grinned and swung a leg over his lap, straddling him, as she began to unbutton his dress shirt. "Hi."

He opened his other eye and grinned. "Hi, yourself. I thought you'd gone to bed already."

Sara stuck out her lower lip. "I did – but I woke up and you weren't next to me – you know how much I hate that, Gil."

He lifted a hand and rubbed it up and down her arm, watching in fascination as the goosebumps rose on her flesh. "My apologizes, honey, but I fell asleep out here."

She laughed and dropped her head to his chest. "Run out of steam?"

He gripped the sides of her head and lifted it until their eyes locked and held. "I may be tired, but I'm not dead." He crushed his lips to hers and she matched his fire, winding her arms around his neck and pressing her upper body to his.

Gil felt his desire building and he tore his mouth away enough to pant against her cheek, "I think I'm a little overdressed for what you have in mind."

Sara reached up and pulled out her ponytail holder, letting her hair cascade around the top of her shoulders, feeling her pulse quicken as his eyes darkened. "I want you," she whispered.

He cupped her cheek, brushing away a tear that had fallen. "You have me."

Turning his body, he pressed Sara down into the couch, his weight on top of hers. She sighed in satisfaction, wrapping her long legs around his hips, as she reached up and pulled his face down to hers, giving him a series of short, intense kisses.

"Love me."

Gil swept some hair out of her face. "Sara, I don't remember a day I didn't love you – and now, it's as natural to me as breathing."

Sara didn't let him talk anymore after that, as she attacked his mouth and any skin that was revealed as she stripped him until he was wearing less than she was.

It wasn't until they were lying skin to skin, slightly out of breath, a bit sticky with sweat that she breathed the words into his ear:

"I love you too."

Gil slipped out of bed a few hours later after their third round of lovemaking.

They hadn't been this amorous in several months and he wondered what had brought this on – perhaps Sara was truly just trying to forget about Alina and the miniature killer. Perhaps she was ovulating, and they were trying to make a baby.

Or perhaps there was something else bothering her.

Time would tell. Sara would tell him when she was good and ready – and not a moment sooner. Neither of them was the best at communicating their deep feelings and fears, though being together now for so long had certainly improved their interpersonal relationship skills.

He wanted to surprise her with takeout from one of her favorite restaurants before heading back into work tonight. Her appetite had been insatiable lately and he was glad to see it. So many times, he had to nag her to eat, and when she did, she just picked at her food. He could have kicked Catherine under the table yesterday when she had commented on Sara's eating habits. She needed to leave his woman alone – in his opinion she was finally eating a healthy amount of food!

When the stoplight turned green on Ocean Avenue, there was one car in front of him. Gil had just taken his foot off the brake when the first car was slammed into from the side by a red Mustang that had run the light in opposite direction. He slammed on his brake, but he still bumped into the car ahead of him, getting a bit of whiplash from the impact. The red Mustang sailed through the air from the impact and landed upside down in the intersection.

Great. Just great.

"Gil!"

He turned at the sound of Sara's voice in time to see her ducking under the police tape, carrying her evidence kit. He waved and turned back to the traffic cop. "Any more questions?"

"I don't think so – if I do, I know where to find you, Dr. Grissom."

Gil winced at the cop's attempt at humor and stepped over to the sidewalk to meet Sara, who was scanning him up and down with a frown.

"I'm fine, Sara. I wasn't injured, air bag didn't even deploy."

She reached out and stroked his arm. "Why did you leave – I mean, why aren't you at home?"

He smiled into her eyes. "I left to get my girlfriend dinner – it was going to be a surprise – served in bed – before work."

She sighed. "I'm sure she would have loved it – but not at the cost of you getting injured in a traffic accident."

"There was no way to foresee this happening, Sara," he reassured her gently, as he steered her away from the scene, around a corner where they had a little privacy and were out of the public's eye for a minute.

She threw her arms around his neck. "When I heard-"

"How did you hear?"

She pulled back enough to see his face. "We have a scanner at home, remember?"

"Ah, yes. I thought you'd given up listening to that thing."

She shrugged. "When you're home, yes. But when you're not – well, it still keeps me company."

"You need more diversions, Dear." Gil ran his hand down her back and watched her shiver.

Sara laughed. "I think I have enough of those now, thank you very much." She glanced around before leaning in and pecking his lips. "Let's get to work, shall we?"

"After you."

Natalie knew that she was taking a risk in following Grissom. After all, she wasn't trained as a CSI, or a police detective, and therefore she knew that she could be spotted. But so far luck had been with her, and the man hadn't noticed that she had been following him for two days now.

The biggest surprise came when she called in sick so she could follow Grissom home this morning. She watched as Sara Sidle went with him and instead of dropping her off someplace, the woman accompanied him to his townhome, and she didn't come out. Natalie sat outside in her car for hours and waited, watching to see if Sara would emerge and go home, but she never did. There was only one conclusion to be drawn from the evidence in front of her: Grissom and Sara lived together. They were romantically involved.

Did their co-workers know? More importantly, did their bosses know?

Natalie mulled these questions over in her mind until Grissom drove out of his garage shortly after noon. She followed him to a diner and waited while he went inside and came out a short while later loaded down with takeout cartons.

She was a block behind him when the accident occurred, and she pulled into a small vacant lot to park and then mixed in with the crowd that formed to see what happened.

It was about fifteen minutes before Sara arrived, ducking under the crime scene tape right next to her, not sparing her a glance, not having any idea who she was. Natalie melted back into the crowd a bit as Sara called Grissom's name, his first name, and the man turned towards her. Even from where she stood, she could see and feel the love between them, something she hadn't experienced since her foster parents were alive. Sara reached out and touched Grissom's arm, letting her fingers linger, and Natalie watched the way Grissom watched Sara.

Natalie watched as the two of them disappeared around the corner of a nearby building, shielding them from the eyes of the crowd and she knew what they were doing. Ernie and Belle used to sneak off like that for private time from the kids, to kiss and do things that weren't fit for the kids to see. They always came back relaxed and with huge smiles on their faces.

Kind of like Grissom and Sara- they were walking side by side, barely touching, but Sara looked happier now, the tension gone that had been present when she had first arrived at the scene. She said something and Grissom bent down to hear her, a slight smile on his lips.

A knot of envy, jealousy, and anger built inside Natalie. She would never have time with her dad again. Never be called his special girl again. And it was all their fault: Grissom and Sara.

Who would suffer more without the other? Natalie would have to think about this very carefully – she even might have to revise her plan after what she had seen and learned today.

"Where is he?"

"Interrogation one."

"Have you talked to him?"

Brass shook his head. "He's very upset. He's demanding to know what happened to his aunt – doesn't realize yet that he's a POI, or that she's been murdered."

Gil stopped in his tracks and turned to look at his old friend. "Have you told him anything?"

"I was letting him cool his heels until you got here – and then you were delayed-"

"I can't help that I was in traffic accident, Jim-"

Brass held up his hands. "I know – but it was lousy timing-"

Sara walked up just then, looking between the two men. "Am I interrupting something?"

Gil shook his head. "Nope. Let's go meet Lionel aka Mitch Peters."

As soon as Sara opened the door, a dark-haired young man in his mid-thirties launched himself across the room towards them. "What's the meaning of this? Am I under arrest? I flew to Vegas to get some answers about my aunt's death, and I've been detained here for hours, with hardly anyone checking in on me-"

Sara spoke up, her voice level and calm. "I'm sorry about that, Mr. Peters. I'm Sara Sidle from the Las Vegas Crime Lab, and this is my supervisor Dr. Gil Grissom-"

Mitch's eyes widened. "Crime Lab? I – I, ah, don't understand. Why is the crime lab – was there something suspicious – oh God, was Aunt Alina murdered?"

Gil took a seat to Sara's right. "Now, why would you think that Mr. Peters?

Mitch ran a nervous hand through his hair. "It's Mitch."

"Oh, does Mr. Peters make you think of your father?" Brass spoke up from the corner of the room.

Mitch gritted his teeth. "Mr. Peters was my grandfather – I never knew him. My father's name was Dell, Ernest Dell. And I was born Lionel – I changed it to Mitch when I turned eighteen." He paused and studied their faces in turn. "Why do I get the feeling that none of this is news to you?"

"Because it isn't," Sara stated as she opened a folder. "We got this same information from Alina, your aunt."

"Yes, about my aunt. I was notified of her death and asked to fly out as soon as possible to answer some question regarding her death. Please tell me what happened to her."

Sara looked at Gil and he took over. "Alina was poisoned –"

"Poisoned?" Mitch choked on the word. "How?"

"Liquid nicotine in cherry cordials – that you sent to her."

They watched as Mitch's face went from deathly pale to bright red with indignation. "That's a damned lie! I never sent my aunt any chocolates! What proof do you have?"

Sara slid the note that had come with the box of chocolates sealed in an evidence bag across the table. Mitch picked it up and scanned the words, his face once again draining of color. "This – this isn't my handwriting! I mean, it looks like mine – but it isn't, I swear it!"

"Will you give us a sample of your handwriting for comparison?" Brass asked.

Mitch shrugged. "I guess. I have nothing to hide."

Sara slid a pen and a tablet of paper across the table. "Then you have nothing to fear, do you?"

"What do you want me to write?"

"Exactly what's on the note."

Mitch grabbed the pen and began to write, muttering under his breath, "Doesn't even sound like me. I don't know why she thought it was from me in the first place."

"You've never sent your aunt chocolates?" Gil pressed the young man.

Mitch finished writing and set the pen down thoughtfully. "Well, I guess sometimes I'd send something for her birthday, but it's been a couple of years-"

Sara pressed her lips together in a hard line. "What a devoted nephew."

Mitch slapped his open hand down on the table. "I loved my aunt! She took me in when – look, you have no idea what my childhood was like-"

Sara leaned over the table. "Don't talk to me about traumatic childhoods – I've heard it all before and I've lived through my own, all right? Don't think your case is special just because you had to share your parents with damaged foster children-"

Gil placed his hand on Sara's knee under the table, knowing that her emotions were running high, and he needed to check her before she said something she couldn't take back. She fell silent and waited for Mitch's response, which wasn't long in coming.

Mitch snorted. "Yeah, right. I'm sure you know exactly what it was like to go to bed every night and worry that you were going to wake up with a knife pressed to your throat, wondering if it was going to be slit before you could scream for help. Or that one day while you were playing a game of hide-and-seek with the chosen ones, you would be pushed down the stairs or shoved out of the treehouse."

Gil spoke softly, but his words carried weight and Mitch swung his head in the older man's direction. "You're telling us that you feared for your life?"

Mitch leaned forward, emphasizing each word with a finger tap.

"Every. Single. Day."