Author's Note: I love the myth of the Sword of Damocles. And I think it's a very apt parable for this chapter for multiple reasons. I'm wrapping up Phoenix now... I hope it doesn't read rushed, because it feels that ways as I write it, but I'm anxious to work more on Salam and this story has drawn on for fricking ever. OK, enjoy. :o)

Grissom looked up at the knock on the door and saw Ecklie stepping into his office without even waiting for Grissom's go-ahead.

"Can I help you?" he asked sarcastically, hoping he was passive-aggressive enough in letting Ecklie know he was unwelcome.

Ecklie closed the door as he fixed Grissom with a hard gaze. "I hear you suspended Sara Sidle."

"Is that a problem, Conrad?" Grissom asked with raised eyebrows. "I thought suspending people was a personal hobby of yours."

Ecklie looked at the ceiling, then back at Grissom. "I've been evaluating her performance over the past few months, as you know. I've spoken to her psychiatrist, Dr. Amy Waterstone too. I didn't exactly trust Catherine's preliminary report, and I'm sure you can understand why. Sara has been sketchy in her performance at best, Gil. She argues with you, not to mention I find out that the two of you have a romantic history…"

"What are you getting at, Ecklie?" Grissom interrupted, not exactly eager to talk about his and Sara's now obsolete love life.

Ecklie looked down, then back up at Grissom. "I think it's best if she takes an extended leave of absence."

"Are you trying to fire one of my best CSIs?" Grissom asked flatly.

"Except she's not one of your best CSIs anymore, Gil," Ecklie exclaimed. "Even you don't trust her."

"That's a lie," Grissom snarled defensively. "How do you know who I trust and who I don't?"

A smile tugged at the corner of Ecklie's mouth. He knew he had struck a nerve. "Well, I hadn't meant anything by it, Gil…" He opened the file in his hands and flipped through it. "All I meant was that you've been sending her on simpler cases, rookie stuff. You haven't trusted her with a serious case since her psych eval in August."

But Grissom was shaking his head. "You mistake my prudence for mistrust, Conrad," he explained calmly. "Sara Sidle went through an unimaginable trauma. I'm worried, and so is her psychiatrist, that if she handled any cases that resembled the Volkov case she would relapse back into a former state. See, Conrad, you aren't the only one whose been updated by Dr. Waterstone. She and I have been working closely together to ensure that Sara makes a full recovery and is back to her old self as fast as possible. And from what I hear from the good doctor she's been making plenty of progress."

Ecklie looked to be in deep thought. "I'm under a lot of pressure here, Gil."

"Sword of Damocles dangling over you, is it?" Grissom said calmly as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. He gave Ecklie a smug smile. "Don't you worry, Conrad. Sooner or later, no matter what you do, that thread will snap."

"You and your obscure references, Gil, you think you're so much more well-informed about everything and you know what? I don't give a shit about useless information!" Ecklie was livid. "I care about the wellbeing of the lab. I'm just worried about a lawsuit or something. She's unstable, and she has random outbursts, she argues with her superiors… The sheriff—"

"Don't talk to me about the sheriff, Ecklie," Grissom interrupted. "Or the mayor. Or anyone else, for that matter. You've had it in for Sara ever since you were in a position to control her. Don't tell me you're just finding out about our 'romantic history,' as you call it, because I could see it in your beady little eyes from the moment you got promoted that you could tell and you've been out to make me miserable ever since."

"Well everything is all about you, now, isn't it Grissom?" Ecklie snapped. It was obvious that the first-name-basis part of the conversation was long past. "You're always thinking about you and your team—"

"Well if I don't then no one will," Grissom snarled. "You very obviously don't. I'm just looking out for me and my own, Ecklie."

"But you never think about your lab, do you, Grissom, and that's what I have to think about every day."

"Before we continue on in this argument, I just need to know," Grissom said calmly. "Are you going to put me on an 'extended leave of absence'?"

Ecklie glowered at him. "You sure are treading on thin ice here, Grissom."

"Sara stays," Grissom returned, hardly. "I've fought for very little with you, Conrad, and generally it's because I don't like dealing with your administrative affairs, but when Sara comes back from her suspension she stays, and she will continue to work her old shift under me because she works well under me. Are we clear?"

Ecklie was chuckling. "From what I hear she doesn't work under you at all anymore."

Grissom kicked the chair back as he rose to his feet so fast he thought he was going to vault the desk and attack Ecklie right there. "Get the hell out of my office, you sniveling son of a—"

"You're still my subordinate, Gil," Ecklie said glibly. "I've been lenient and understanding thus far, but I'd be careful what you call me if I were you."

Grissom forced himself to calm down as he slowly sat back in his chair. Ecklie turned to leave, but Grissom wasn't about to let the bastard have the last word. "He was a courtier."

"I beg your pardon?" Ecklie raised an arrogantly curious eyebrow at Grissom over his shoulder.

Grissom remained stoic. "Damocles. He was a courtier who wheedled the ruler of Syracuse to trade places with him for a day to know what it was like to be a tyrant. He enjoyed the position of power, having people wait on him hand and foot. He ate lavishly and relaxed and was doted upon. Until he looked up and realized there was a sword constantly hanging over his head held in place only by a single horse hair tied to the hilt."

Ecklie frowned, obviously annoyed. "I don't get it."

Grissom was smug again. "I didn't expect you to." Ecklie slammed the door, which made Grissom feel even better. He had finally won against Conrad Ecklie.

He sat down and just stared at her behind the glass for a really long time. A slow and sinister smile crept across her features as she took him in. At last, he reached for the receiver and picked it up, his face inscrutable as he continued to stare at her.

"Greg Sanders," she cooed into the receiver. "Last I saw you, you were painted beautiful in red black and blue."

Greg didn't know what to say. All he could do was breathe angrily into the phone.

She chuckled softly. "Why are you here, zaznoba? I'm sure you have better places to be."

Greg pursed his lips and shook his head. "You're really twisted. Do you know that?"

She simply smirked in reply. "You came for a reason, didn't you?"

"I did," he said. "I heard you were pregnant."

To his surprise, the smirk fled from her face and she looked vacant, almost… sad. "Yes," she replied tonelessly. "It seems irony has at last blessed me with a child when my husband is dead and I'm scheduled to die as soon as it's out of my womb. In a way, this child is the only thing keeping me alive."

"That is a shame," Greg acknowledged with a shrug, sympathy miles away from his tone. "Really, it is. The kid comes into this already unforgiving world without a father, only to have its mother stolen away from it as soon as it's born. What's going to happen to it after you're born?"

Vera shrugged and looked at the ceiling. "I think it's going into foster care or some such thing like that. I have no relatives, or at least none that would want anything to do with me. My brother, Leon expressed interest in raising the child, but we haven't spoken in years ever since I…" She trailed off. She seemed to be remembering something and smiled fondly at it, shaking her head at the memory. "Oh dear. She was a sweet thing. The youngest by far that I've ever taken, but still…" She snapped back to the present and looked at Greg. She leaned forward on the table, getting very close to the glass. Although she couldn't touch him, Greg instinctively leaned away. "What is the real reason for your visit, Greg? Surely it can't be to ask about my health, or the wellbeing of my unborn child?"

Why won't she tell me it's mine? Greg asked himself silently as he fixed her with a steely gaze. She has to know. Catherine said Sasha was infertile, so it has to be mine. Doesn't she know that? "When's you're execution date set?"

Vera scoffed. "Don't underestimate me, Greg, you didn't come all the way down here to ask me that and I know it."

"What are you going to name the baby?" Greg blurted out.

Vera looked surprised. "Why so interested in the child of the woman who tortured you, Greg? Are you looking to adopt?"

"Maybe I'm looking into it," Greg replied noncommittally.

"There's something you're not telling me…" Vera said slowly.

Yeah, Greg thought bitterly to himself. There's something you're not telling me too. "Names?"

Vera looked down at her rounding belly and rubbed it maternally. "Oh, who knows, really. Perhaps Sasha, after his father." She grinned up at Greg. "I've been considering naming him Gregory. After my last and most handsome victim."

Greg narrowed his eyes and the disgusting insult hidden within a compliment. "And if it's a girl?"

Again, her lips curled. "A girl… Lydia, perhaps. Or Stasia. You know the name means resurrection. I think it's quite appropriate. She will be my resurrection. I will live on in her. That is, if she is indeed a she."

Greg rose to his feet. "I like Lydia," he said. "If it's a boy, try the name Aidan."

Vera made a face at him. "You march in here thinking that you have a say in what I call my child?"

Greg cast his gaze downwards as he tucked his right arm under his left elbow. He spoke coolly into the receiver. "I think you and I both know that you'll choose my names, when the baby comes. Besides. If you want him named after his father, you should definitely call him Aidan." He made to hang up the phone but Vera jumped to her feet, hoping to stop him.

"Why?" she asked curiously into the phone.

Greg watched her unblinkingly for a moment. "Because it's my middle name." And without waiting for her to respond, he hung up the receiver.

He strode away without looking back, but he heard her banging on the glass and screaming after him until she was suddenly silenced, probably by the guards who had pulled her away from the window. He nodded calmly at the guard at the door before heading out to Sara's to hopefully gain comfort from her presence.

He stayed in the car a long time, looking at the pills in his hand, trying to think about what he was doing. He clutched them tight in his hands as he looked at his bloodshot eyes in the rearview mirror. Had it really come to this?

Everything in his life was falling to pieces. The Efexor had worked fine enough, did he really need to go this far? But Rachel had refused to write him another prescription. She said he'd used all the pills in too short of a time period. She'd been afraid that he was abusing them. But he wasn't. They just tended to calm him down. And wasn't she the one who insisted that it was impossible to get addicted to antidepressants?

But these… these wouldn't calm him down, and he knew it. He also ran a higher risk of dependency if he used these. He'd seen what amphetamines could do to people. In college, his roommate had taken Ritalin once to help him pull an all-nighter. Or at least, he had assured Greg that it was only that once. Eventually, after Greg found the third empty bottle under his bed, he had to confront his roommate. Soon after that, Greg had joined his fraternity and his roommate had checked into rehab.

But this was different. He had gone off prescriptions; Rachel had refused to write him another one for any pharmaceutical drug used to treat anything, depression, PTSD, ADD or otherwise, and he knew Amy, Miss 'Natural Remedy' wouldn't write him a prescription unless he was in dire need of it. No, this was uncharted territory. And it wasn't exactly… legal. He could lose more than his job if anyone found out about this.

He knew this. He knew all of this. But he didn't know how to deal with all the knowledge that he had. Sara was still broken, his rapist was pregnant, and he couldn't get the images on that tape, or Woodward's eyes out of his mind. The old dead Texan's hard gaze still sharply in his mind's eye, Greg closed his eyes and popped a pill from the bottle, taking a swig of a bottle of water.

He looked back at his guilty eyes in the mirror, but they suddenly seemed just a little less tired. It's only for a little while, he assured himself. Just until I sort things out and we can both be happy again. He had to stay happy. He had to keep up the façade he held so dear. If anyone knew the frightening nightmares he still had in waking, what would they do? No, he'd just cause everyone more worry, especially Sara, and that was the last thing she needed. He resolved himself to be happy for her, to smile for her, to be the one to cheer her up.

He looked up at the apartment building he was parked outside of and stepped out of the car, ready to face the mess that was his life with renewed vigor.

He knocked on the door. He had asked for a key a few weeks ago, considering he was over there so often, but she had yet to supply it. He suspected she was still wary of giving her key to anyone, and he tried to respect that.

When she opened the door, he was surprised to see she was wearing an apron. To his greater surprise, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and ushered him in before returning to the kitchen. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. He heard Joni Mitchell playing quietly in the background.

"I'm glad you're home," she called over to him. "I was wondering where you were. I have your lunch ready, you can eat it before crashing if you want." She looked coyly at him over her shoulder. "Or we don't have to sleep right away…"

He smiled dimly at her, the way she looked in that cute little apron reminding him all over again of why he loved her so much. She was strong and resilient. But he wondered if he mistook her stubbornness for resilience. Sara Sidle was a master at suppressing unwanted thoughts, and she hadn't been even slightly depressed since the night she had fallen asleep during the Princess Bride. He knew she didn't want to deal with it, and he didn't press the matter, for now at least. Dealing with Sara was like taming a horse. You had to take things slow, and gain her trust, not her resentment.

Trust… It was a thing that Greg thought he and Sara already possessed for each other, or at least they had before the Volkovs. Before they were dating. He knew from her relationship with Grissom that she didn't deal well with romances after a traumatic event. What she needed from him was a friend, first and foremost, and a lover second.

With this in mind, he answered her previous innuendo. "I'll have to take a rain check on that, angel, I'm beat. What are you cooking anyway?" He didn't want to tell her that it smelled burned. She had worked so hard on it after all.

She beamed at him proudly as she waved her oven mitt clad hands at him. "Casserole!"

"What kind of casserole?" Greg inquired cautiously.

Sara knelt down in front of the oven and opened it up. She waved away the smoke that billowed out before reaching in and pulling out her prize and straightening up. She looked down at it and wrinkled her nose before looking up at Greg. "I don't know. Are there… different kinds of casserole?"

Greg couldn't help but smile. "What's in it, Sara?"

She shrugged. "Celery… cheese… mashed potatoes… tofu… peas and carrots..."

"You just made a very deranged vegetarian Shepherd's Pie," Greg laughed, shaking his head.

"I don't know," Sara said with a shrug. "I just thought casserole is what you called it when you threw in a bunch of different foods and see what comes out."

"See, Sara, this is why I do the cooking," Greg laughed.

"It was either this or take-out," Sara explained. "I've been cleaning all day."

Greg felt a headache coming on. "Again?"

Sara glanced up at him before looking back at her casserole and waving away the steam. "What do you mean 'again?' This place gets messier everyday, don't you see it?"

"I think it looks beautiful," Greg said, approaching Sara with a flirtatious grin. "Just like you."

She turned around and returned his smile. "Oh?"

A fire began to burn in the pits of Greg's stomach. He became aware of everything as all his senses were suddenly heightened. A smile began to spread across his features at this new rush of power which was disrupting his brainwaves, making his thoughts race at a mile a minute as his previous logic suddenly seemed utterly ridiculous. He was a man, and she was a woman, and they both had healthy libidos. He felt his heartbeat quicken as the blood surged through his veins. He had the notion that he had never before felt more alive.

The sight of Sara made Greg want to throw her against the wall and ravage her, making her feel the intense ferocity he was feeling at that moment, make her scream, make her soar, make her forget about life altogether and explode in a supernova of passion. He wanted to share this sudden feeling of rapture. He wanted it to pour out of her. He wanted to fall so deep into her that he'd have trouble ever untangling his soul from hers.

This in mind, he approached her slowly. "Mm…" he intoned as he put his hands on either side of her, pinning her against the counter.

"What's come over you?" she asked, leaning back slightly, but she was still smiling playfully. "I thought you were tired. Suddenly you want to sleep with me? What about lunch?"

"I'm not hungry," Greg growled. She filled him with an overwhelming sense of joy. Somewhere in the back of his brain, his headache warned him that it wasn't just Sara who was inducing this new sense of euphoria in him, but he pushed it aside as he ravished her with his eyes. "At least, not for food."

She giggled and kissed him softly, but he returned it hungrily, his hand entangling itself in her hair. She pulled away suddenly and gave him a nervous look. "Let's… not get too carried away here…" she said slowly.

For a moment, Greg wanted to kiss her again to test her timid theory, but it took all his willpower to hold back. What logic was left in him reminded him of her condition. She had been shattered by a man only three months ago. She needed gentility more than passion. He grit his teeth and begrudgingly cooperated, deciding it best not to point out her deviant behavior during the last time they had tried to have sex. Instead, he softly kissed he cheek and nibbled lightly on her earlobe. She moaned softly as her hands found their way up his shirt and she ran her fingers up his spine. Her palms pushed upward towards his shoulder blades, taking his shirt with them. He pulled back and cast her a playful look as he raised his arms, assisting her in her endeavor.

Soon enough, they had found their way into the bedroom and closed the door. It took all of Greg's strength to hold back, as much as he wanted to release his passions on her, and this time Sara didn't flip out on him. He directed his adrenaline into controlling this newfound power growing inside of him as opposed to unleashing it and devouring his lover. Controlling a beast like that was energy well-spent. Slowly, he was able to unbutton her blouse and it delicately fell off her shoulders and onto the floor where it was quickly forgotten. Soon enough, they were undressed and under the covers. They moved slowly at first, and Sara emitted little gasps of surprise as Greg suddenly and daringly tried things he'd never done before. She would warn him when things became too heated for her liking, and he would back off reluctantly, but it didn't happen often.

And as they made love, for the first time in weeks, and the adrenaline was pumping through his veins, Greg felt happier in that moment than he had in a very long time. Blinded by bliss, it didn't even occur to him that this was a warning sign of something worse to come, like a storm cloud looming over a distant horizon during the sunniest day of the year. He would worry about that later. Much later. Because now, with whatever help he had, he was content, more than content, he was happy, and he was with Sara, and she was happy, and that's all that had ever mattered to him. He was ready to bathe in the sunshine and appreciate it while it lasted. He didn't even want to prepare for the torrential rains to come.

In that moment, Greg Sanders found everything he had ever wanted and he didn't even care about the unscrupulous means he had used to find it.