So, here's the chapter you've all been waiting for! (Er, I hope. I'm assuming the GSR tagline is what caught your attention… if not, I apologize. No, I don't. What are you thinking? You should be a GSR fan.)

Keep them reviews coming! Please?

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Grissom sat in his office, thinking.

He usually felt alive when solving cases – he enjoyed the puzzles, the twists and turns, the missing pieces and the ones that didn't fit. But this one was different. He just felt tired.

He took off his glasses, rubbing his sore temples. He had gotten a sample of Rachel's DNA after Sara left, and he had dropped that off with the lab before returning to his office. It was going to be another couple of hours before the results came back, but Rachel had admitted that she could very well have been a match. She was a smart girl, quick to understand what the implications meant, but also quick to point out several good reasons as to why her hair could be on that seat.

Either way, Grissom was very nearly convinced that Rachel was not the killer. There was something more perverse about this murder, something more than any old crime of rage due to jealousy. The way the body was positioned, the circumstances, and the rape –it was all about power, not revenge.

Upon returning to the lab, he had tried to find Sara, to try to talk some reason into her, and more than anything, see if she was all right, but she was nowhere to be found. The rest of the team was less than helpful. Greg only looked slightly abashed when Grissom asked, and Catherine had hastily tried to change the subject. Nick had gone missing as well, and Grissom could only hope that, wherever he was, he was with Sara.

He picked up the case files again. Warrick, it seemed, was still checking out the horse hair lead, which Grissom was starting to wonder was a lead at all. Nothing in this case seemed to fit. He knew he was missing something, something that seemed so close… and Sara. No matter how hard he tried to just focus on the case, his mind kept drifting back to her.

I have to talk to her, he resolved. Nothing is going to get done if I don't, and I'll end up worrying myself to hell. He wasn't going to wait for her to show up. He stood up, pushing in his chair determinedly. He had to deal with this now. He had to find her.

"Hey boss?"

Nick was at his office door. Grissom frowned. "Nick, where have you been for the last two hours? I was looking everywhere for you!"

Nick grimaced. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I… listen, could you go over to Sara's?" His voice trembled a little. "I know it's weird, but please, just do it."

Grissom looked at the CSI. Nick was clearly troubled by something. "Sara. Is she all right? Were you with her?"

"Yeah. She's fine but… please just go. Please, Griss."

"Well what about the lab?" Grissom asked. "What about this case?"

The younger man took a deep breath. "It's about the case."

Nick clearly knew something that Grissom didn't know. He felt a slight pang of… what was it? Jealousy? Was he jealous that Sara chose to confide in Nick instead of himself? He had to admit it wasn't something he felt everyday, and it confused him a bit. It was not the best of times to expand his emotional horizons. "Well, what is it?" he asked with a touch of annoyance.

Nick shook his head stubbornly. "It's not my place to tell. I'll keep the lab running. Don't worry, Griss. Or – or I'll tell Catherine, if you don't trust me. Just… please."

Grissom paused. He had always look highly upon Nick Stokes and had considered him to be a likely successor – though the young CSI always seemed to underestimate Grissom's confidence in his abilities. Perhaps this would be a good chance to see what Nick was capable of. And there was Sara… something in Nick's voice told Grissom that this was no joke. "No, I trust you, Nick," he said. "I'm putting you in charge. Warrick is still pursuing the horse hair, but he should be back soon. I dropped a sample of Rachel's DNA to lab; that should be back soon as well." He nodded. "You know what to do."

He left Nick standing there. A second later, Grissom heard footsteps behind him, and he knew that the young CSI was stepping up to the challenge. Taking the exit, he quickly got in his car, heading straight for Sara's apartment.

His mind whirled as he got out and stepped into the elevator. What could possibly be going on? Sara fit Mackenzie's profile – had she been hurt? His heart skipped a beat as he considered this possibility, and he cursed the elevator for rolling amicably up at its own leisurely pace. He had never wanted to see her more in his entire life.

He paused when he arrived at her door, a surge of anxiety washing over. What if she really wasn't okay? No, that couldn't be possible, Nick wouldn't have left her. But what if... He was only good with dead people, and Sara dead… even the thought brought a sick feeling to his stomach. He had always taken the presence of Sara Sidle for granted, something that could be put off, something that he could deal with later. He had never considered that it could just… disappear.

Hesitantly, he ran the doorbell. When no one responded, he tried again. "Sara?" he asked, a lump starting to form in his throat. "Sara? It's Gil. Please, open the door."

She opened it a second later, and he could immediately tell that she had been crying. "Griss," was all she said, and a moment later, he found her in his arms. Instinctively, he hugged her back, letting the feeling of her sink into him. She had a wiry frame, yet he had never realized how frail she actually felt.

"I'm here," he whispered. "Sara, I'm here."

She was outright sobbing now, and he let her have a moment to calm herself before he slowly maneuvered the two of them into her apartment and closed the door behind him. He sat them down on the couch. "It's okay," he told her as he stroked her hair. "I'm here." His heart was still pounding in his chest – he wasn't sure from what.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you sooner."

"Told me what, Sara?" he asked softly.

"Boston. Sixteen years ago. They thought they caught him but it's him, I know it's him, we put the wrong man in jail, it's him, it's him, it's him…"

The pieces suddenly snapped into place. That was what had been missing. That was what had seemed so familiar about this case – there had been an assault on a young Harvard undergrad sixteen years ago that mirrored almost exactly the same circumstances. He had just never considered pulling up the details of the case since he had hardly remembered, but he was seeing the report as clear as day now, just as he read it sixteen years before. Without a word, his hand slid over to her sleeves, and he pulled them back a bit to reveal what he had feared to see: the thin, elevated lines of scars stretching cleanly across her pale wrists.

Suddenly, he found his mouth on hers, her body pulled in for a closer embrace. In retrospect, he supposed that he had just acted on impulse – clearly he had not thought at all. She jerked, a little surprised at first, perhaps at his audacity, but responded a second later. He felt her sweetness flood into him as her tongue met his. God, I waited how many years for this? In a sudden moment, he hated himself. All for a little awkwardness and a little bit of what I considered… what, self-dignity? All this he finally discovered, at the mercy of losing it entirely.

They finally broke away. "Sara," Grissom heard himself say, feeling a wetness on his cheeks he wasn't entirely sure was only from her tears, "I swear, I'm not going to let him win. He's not taking you from me."

"Taking me?" Sara asked. "But he's not – we're only trying to catch –"

"No, it's not like that." Grissom hated the words coming out of mouth. He wished he could deny them, but he knew it wouldn't do either of them any good. "He's started killing again for a reason. After sixteen years… these people, everything they do is calculated. He must have laid low for a while, seeing as you survived, but sixteen years is a long time and…" he paused. "He's going to try to finish his job."

He could see that she was trying to face up, and he wished he could be half as brave. "Hey," she finally replied, a little quirk in her voice, "I've done it once before." She took his hand. "And I didn't even have you around."

Grissom smiled weakly, thinking, as he let her lean back on his arm. At this point, he figured there really wasn't too much he could do. These people were smart, uncannily so at times, and there was no knowing what this killer already knew about Sara. A sudden chill slithered through his spine as he considered the possibilities. Could the killer know where Sara lived? He cursed himself for not bringing his gun, and a quick glance around the room told him Sara didn't either.

He felt her snuggle up against him, and he put his arm around her, drawing her in. Fool, fool, fool, he thought bitterly. But there wasn't much use in dwelling on his mistakes – he just had to not make anymore. He stole a glance at her, and saw that her eyes were closed. There was no knowing if she was already asleep, but he didn't want to bother her. She had been through quite enough for more than one day.

He thought about calling Brass. What would that do? He could tell that Sara didn't want any more people knowing about what had happened to her; he wondered if she would even tell the rest of the team. That was up to her, and Grissom had no right to spill anything that personal. He couldn't just leave her to get his gun, and he didn't want to bring her back into the lab, to where she had to face the brutality all over again. She looked so peaceful as she just lay there against his shoulder, and he decided that he would just stay with her. Sometimes, you don't have to do anything, he realized.

He had just about dozed off lightly when he thought he heard something at the door. Suddenly awake, he paused, listening carefully. For a second, all he could hear was Sara's even breathing, and he relaxed. Then again – he heard that noise. It was like something was scratching at the door, something metallic… He tensed. Sitting up, he crouched at the edge of the sofa.

Sara stirred from her sleep. "Grissom?" she asked woozily, lifting her head. He silenced her with a look, then turned back to the door. The noise came again, and this time, Sara sat up. Their gazes met, and Grissom knew that she was thinking the same thing he was.

Quietly, he motioned for her to go into the kitchen and call the police, and she complied, getting up from the sofa silently. Then suddenly – there was a click, and Grissom knew that it was too late. Adrenaline pumped through his body as he held his breath, waiting for the right moment.

The door opened slowly, and a short man strode in purposefully, closing the door behind him. He paused when he saw Grissom, then his face broke into a wide smile.

"Ah, Dr. Grissom. I can't say I ah, expected to find you here."

Grissom stopped. He had seen this man somewhere before… the store! The truth came crashing down on his head. The killer was the one who was least obvious. Grissom had thought nothing of the awkward, nervous little man who had reported the body. Yet he was the one behind it all, committing the crime in his own backyard. It was the perverse brilliance that was so typical of a serial killer.

"Get away from her," Grissom replied coldly.

"I would say that, perhaps, as her supervisor, your presence here is just as unwarranted as mine," the man responded, that smile still on his face. Something moved in his hand, and Grissom caught a glint of metal. The killer's eyes flicked over to something behind Grissom, and Grissom realized with horror that Sara had frozen in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. "Ah, there you are. Grown a bit since Harvard, haven't you? Still nice though." He turned his gaze back to Grissom. "I would be angry if I was going to lose her, too."

A strange rage welled up in Grissom, and suddenly, he launched himself off the sofa towards the man, pinning him against the wall in one move. The man struggled, and suddenly, Grissom found a knife twirling in his face, the light reflecting off blinding him in the eyes as it flashed back and forth. He moved, trying to avoid the blade as the man slashed at his face. He felt a slight sting as the blade nicked the tip of his ear, and he heard Sara's gasp as he sensed a warm, sticky liquid stream down the side of his face and neck. Gritting his teeth, he reached for the knife, grabbing at the man's wrist and twisting it until he finally heard the metal clang as it fell on the floor.

"I swear," he whispered in the man's face, "if you lay one finger on her, I will kill you myself, you sick bastard."

The man chuckled through his pained expression. "You should know, Dr. Grissom," he replied in a strained voice, "the knife was for her. Luckily, I brought extra precautions." In a swift motion, he twisted one hand free, and suddenly, Grissom found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Now," the man said calmly, "let go of me, or I blow your brains out before I do your girlfriend."

Grissom paused, trying to think on his feet. The knife was a couple feet away, but he had to bend down to get it, thereby exposing a clean shot to Sara…no. He suddenly realized that was the key. The man was a creature of habit. He had always killed his victims with this knife, and that's the only way he was going for Sara. As long as Grissom could keep the knife away… and himself alive, Sara was safe. Holding his breath, and hoping to dear God that his line of reasoning was correct, he bent down for the knife.

He heard the click of the gun as, presumably, it swung for Sara. "Bad move, Dr. Grissom," the man said. "Look, a clean shot in the head for me. Boom."

"Is that so?" Grissom asked, standing with the knife in his hand. "That would be too easy for you, wouldn't it? No, you're all about power. The power to make someone suffer. You're not going to let her off that easy."

The gun swung to point at him again. "So, you're saying that I should kill you, get my knife back, and proceed as planned?"

"Grissom, no!" Sara's voice pleaded behind him. "Grissom, please, don't do it. He's going to do it no matter what. It's not worth it. Just leave, just go, just drive away, you don't want to be here…"

Drive away… what was she saying? Grissom glanced back at Sara, who was looking at him desperately.

"That's right, you don't." The man's voice cut through his thoughts. "Watching someone else screw your girlfriend is not a pleasant experience, I imagine."

Suddenly, Grissom realized what the Sara was trying to say. She was trying to buy time, time for him to drive back for help, and hopefully come back before the killer took his final blow. Unconsciously, the man had conveyed her message with his scathing remark. Creature of habit… creature indeed. The man had a one track mind, and for all the careful planning he had executed before, he now only had one thing in front of him, and was carelessly discarding everything else.

Perhaps finally, heart won over mind for Gil Grissom. Perhaps it was the selfishness that he wanted Sara for himself, no matter how logical her plan was, no matter how many million times it was better than the feeble idea he had in his head. The man had a clear agenda – rape first, then kill. But he knew he would not be able to leave her apartment, even if it was to get help, knowing what she was going to suffer through. Not Sara… "No, I told you," he said firmly, "I'm not going to let him win."

"Win?" The man guffawed. "Win, sir? I've already won. All right, then, I suppose I could say you asked for this. Er, I'm not one for goodbyes, so I might as well make it quick and painless." He grinned that grin again. "Well, at least, for you."

There was a shot and a scream, and for a second, Grissom thought he had been hit. He staggered backwards, yet a couple seconds later, it was clear there was no bullet through his face. When he finally began to process what he was seeing, he realized that he was facing the figure of Nick Stokes in the doorway, a smoking gun still outstretched in front of him, the body of the store owner slumped on the floor with a pool of blood slowly flooding out onto the golden wood underneath. A furious Brass was off cursing somewhere in the hallway.

Nick seemed as dazed as Grissom. "Oh hell," was all the young CSI said. "Oh hell."