Disclaimer: just borrowing, don't sue.
A/N: hey guys, this is another long one. Whatever I'm not editing my story just because half the population has ADD. Anyway, I hope you like where this is going. Oh, and I made some very minor adjustments to the last paragraph in the previous chapter. So minor that most of you won't even notice them, but to a perfectionist like myself, they're huge. Lots of love, and thanks for the reviews you guys rock!
"Hey Grissom?"
Grissom stood, unmoving, in the living room. Did he really just hear that? No, it must have been his imagination. Her voice echoed from the bathroom once more, nearly drowned over the rush of the running water. "Grissom, can you do me a favor?" He looked around for a moment, as though perhaps she was addressing someone else. When he had confirmed that he was indeed the only other person in the apartment, he slowly walked to the bathroom door.
"Sara, do you need something?" he called through the door.
"Yeah, would you mind grabbing some clothes for me out of my bedroom? Just go through the dresser, anything's fine," she called back.
Grissom walked down the hall and pushed open the door to her bedroom. The warm, feminine smell that met him was tantalizing. Stepping inside, he felt like a trespasser in the stillness of the room. He always found it strange to be alone in a part of someone else's house. He felt like an intruder, like every piece of furniture was staring at him as if to say, "Who the Hell are you?" It was no different now as he slipped inside and pulled open the top drawer to her dresser. Feeling like one of the many peeping toms he'd met in his line of work, he picked out a pair of underwear for her, choosing some plain black boyshorts. Still sexy, and this way he couldn't be accused of putting her in anything too risqué. He grabbed a lacy black bra from the top of the pile. Logically, she'd want them to match, right?
Moving down to the other drawers, he grabbed a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a black tank top, and headed back to the bathroom. The shower had stopped running, and she was standing, dripping in the doorway, with a towel wrapped tightly around her willowy body. Averting his eyes, he handed her the pile of clothes. "Can you manage?" he asked, not sure which answer he wanted to hear.
"I think so," she answered, her wet skin brushing his as she took her clothes. "Thank you." Grissom, both relieved and disappointed, nodded and headed back to the living room, seating himself on the squishy couch. A few minutes later a decidedly cleaner and better smelling Sara Sidle joined him, wincing at her body's many protestations as she sat down. She'd had way too much trouble with her bra, so she'd opted to go without. Her wet hair clung together in lazy ropes, framing her damaged face as the morning sun warmed her skin, her brown eyes on fire.
"The 24 hour time limit is up," coaxed Grissom, "why don't you take some of those painkillers now?" He was having a hard time trying not to notice how beautiful she looked. "You need sleep, you've got to give your body some time to heal."
Sara sighed, running her hand through her wet hair. "You're right. I can't even think straight I'm so tired." She scrunched her eyes shut for a second, rubbing them. Grissom stood and grabbed the medication she'd left on the counter, handing it to her with a glass of water. "Thanks," she said, giving him a tired smile. She downed the medication and curled up on the couch, resting her head in her hand. "And thank you," she continued slowly, putting a hand on his, "for what you did at St. Mary's. Giving me CPR, I mean. You saved my life."
Their eyes met, and both knew the time had come to let it all out. But the truth was, there was nothing either of them could say. There comes a point when words just aren't enough, and this was it. They'd each analyzed every sideways glance, pondered every gesture, and coveted every innocent touch enough over the past six years to know exactly how the other felt. After so long of that mental torture a conversation about "feelings" and "relationships" was laughable.
So instead, they sat in a comfortable silence, letting all the unspoken words settle around them like dust. The thought of Sara's attack weighed heavily on both their minds, making them think things they'd never before allowed themselves to think.
After a time, Sara's eyelids started to become heavy, the medication already working its magic. Without a thought, she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and crawled towards Grissom, curling up next to him. There were no thoughts of sex as her head came to rest on his shoulder, or of the consequences that might come the following day. They just needed to be close to each other. Removing his glasses, Grissom pulled the blanket over both of them, putting an arm around her, breathing her in. As the morning sun warmed the violet walls of the living room, the sweet scent of lemons lulled them both into a deep, satisfying sleep.
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12 blocks away at Greg's apartment, Joslyn was just stepping out of the shower in his tiny bathroom when she heard her cell phone ringing. "Shit," she muttered, grabbing a towel and dashing through the door into Greg's bedroom. She had been surprised at how clean he kept things, and how well mannered he was. She had actually been expecting something closer to a frat house. "Greg!" she called into the living room, rifling through the pile of clothes on the bed for her buried phone, one hand holding up her towel. "Greg, have you seen my – oh never mind!" she cut herself off as she saw a glint of silver underneath her bra. Not recognizing the number, she flipped her cell phone open and answered with a confused, "Hello?"
"CSI Grace?" came a husky voice from the other end of the phone.
"…Yes." Said Joslyn, trying to figure out where she's heard the voice before. Greg, having heard her shouts from the kitchen, came walking in. "Hey did you save me any lem-" Joslyn held up a hand to stop him, listening intently to the speaker on the phone. Something on her face made him stop short.
"I warned you, didn't I Grace? You and that Sidle woman. I warned you and you didn't listen. I'm giving you one last chance to drop the Wescott investigation. One, got it? I can't be blamed for what will happen to your sorry asses if you don't. A slut like Trinity deserved anything she got, and it's not worth your life, or your partner's, to find out who did it to her."
"Who in the Hell are you?" Joslyn shouted into the phone.
"Just call me "X"," the voice whispered into the phone.
"Why are you doing this?"
Her voice was panicky, and her whole body was shaking. Greg took that as his cue to walk forward and grab the phone from her, putting it to his ear in time to hear a muffled, tinny voice saying, "Let's just say I wouldn't want to see such a pretty face as yours go to waste." The phone went dead.
Joslyn, shaking in her towel, wet hair clinging to her, sat down heavily on the bed. Her breathing was erratic, and her eyes wide. Greg tossed the cell phone onto the bed and pulled her to her feet, taking her into a tight hug. He could feel her shivering against him, pressing her face into his chest. She pulled away after a moment, running a hand through her wet hair in a very similar fashion to the way Sara had run a hand through her own only minutes ago across town. "Has the entire world gone mad?" she panted. "I feel like I'm in a bad detective movie! Anonymous death threats, brutal beatings, phone calls from some heavy-breathing Deepthroat character…this is not what I had in mind when I decided to become a criminalist!" she was looking at him wildly; her towel had started to slip.
"It's not always like this, I swear," Greg said, trying in vain to calm her down. "Admittedly it has been a little detective movie-esque lately, but normally it's a lot more boring. You should actually be living it up while you can, before an entire shift consists of comparing tire treads and piecing together shards of broken window."
Joslyn let out a reluctant giggle, straightening her towel. Greg continued, "Let's just call Brass and tell him what happened. Maybe he can trace the call through your cell phone provider. And then you really should get some sleep. You're gonna burn yourself out, Grace."
"Thanks Greg," she smiled, beads of water still running down her arms.
"You get dressed before you freeze to death, I'll get a hold of that adorable detective we all know and love."
Half an hour later, after a promise from Brass to check into it, and a squad car placed outside the building to keep an eye on things, a lemon scented Greg walked out of the bathroom to find Joslyn passed out in his bed. Normally, some sort of photographic evidence would have been secured, but under the circumstances Greg just sighed wistfully and climbed in beside her. (After all, he wasn't supposed to let her out of his sight, right?) The room was bright with sunlight, the dusty air visible as it filtered lazily through the sunbeams. Warm and relaxed, Greg sank immediately into a heavy slumber. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was Joslyn curled beside him, her long lashes resting gently on her cheeks, and her blondish hair splayed on the pillow underneath her head.
To sleep, perchance to dream.
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In a city like Las Vegas, where even the public library is a 24 hour establishment, the population becomes divided into two groups: people who work days, and people who work nights. It's a very rare thing for someone who works the graveyard to have any sort of lasting relationship with someone who works days, mostly because it takes an entire day of calculated cat naps to get your internal clock in sync with theirs, and another to get it back to your own. A day shifter usually only comes into contact with a night shifter in passing, and so it was that a very well rested Sara Sidle inclined her head to a fellow CSI on his way home. Making her way to the locker room, Sara contemplated this funny facet of life in Vegas, completely unaware that she was about to plough into a short, blonde woman.
"Ow! Hey!" came the surprised protests as she knocked into Joslyn, sending her backwards onto the bench where she landed smack on her butt. Joslyn, half-smiling, half-scowling, rubbed her backside as she eyed the metal slats of the bench. "That is going to leave a very strange looking bruise."
Sara, hand at her mouth in shock, giggled apologetically. "Sorry, I didn't see you."
"Don't worry about it," laughed Joslyn, "everyone else is out to get me, it figures that it wouldn't be any different with you."
"What do you mean?" asked Sara, unzipping her jacket. Joslyn related the phone call from the night before. Sara's face darkened, "You should have called me."
Joslyn put up a hand, "There wasn't anything you could've done. We called Brass, he took care of it, and he's looking into tracing the call as we speak. The only thing calling you would have accomplished is deprive you of much needed sleep. Speaking of which," her tone changed, "how was it last night?" Her mouth curled into a mischievous grin.
Sara pursed her lips.
"Oh come on, you're not going to tell me anything?" pleaded Joslyn.
Sara opened her mouth to reply, but Warrick walked into the room, interrupting.
"'Scuse me ladies," he began.
"Hey Warrick," they answered in unison.
"Brass said he didn't have any luck tracing the cell number. Looks like the call was blocked." Noting the disappointed looks on their faces, he added, "But I just talked to Hodges, he says he's got some information for you on the trace evidence you sent him. He's ready when you are."
"Nice," answered Sara, standing as she slammed her locker shut. "Let's go." With a wink, he led them down the hall to the lab where Grissom was waiting with Hodges. Grissom, with a weary look on his face as Hodges nattered away, gratefully cut off the eager tech mid-sentence to greet his co-workers.
"Joslyn, I heard about the phone call, are you alright?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"Thanks, I'm fine," she answered.
Leaving it at that, Grissom turned back to Hodges, whose ears were glowing red in the light of the setting sun. "So what do you have for us?"
"Well," he began, "the fibers that were collected from her fist turned out to be from a suit. A high-end suit made by Armani. I managed to pinpoint it to their fall 2005 collection, powder blue pinstripe serial number 1024879. Not exactly my color, though, I prefer-"
"So she possibly pulled it off of her attacker during a struggle?" interrupted Grissom.
"Makes sense," answered Sara, "he tries to hit her with something, she grabs onto a fistful of suit, tries to push him off…"
"What about the red substance we found on her bra?" asked Joslyn.
"Nail polish," came the abrupt reply. "Revlon quick dry formula." He was speaking quickly so as to prevent interruption. "There was a piece of fingernail stuck in it, I sent it to DNA."
"Good work Hodges," Grissom congratulated. The lab rat's face lit up, and he continued the rest of his presentation with renewed gusto.
"As for the blue fibers in the barrel, they were silk. And from the weave and the way they were processed, they most likely came from a woman's blouse."
"Well the vic was wearing a white cotton shirt," pointed out Warrick, "so it probably wasn't hers."
"A high end suit," started Sara, "and a woman's silk blouse. Red nail polish present on the victim's bra… Looks like we might have two killers on our hands."
Grissom raised an eyebrow at her, "The plot thickens."
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"I got a match," pronounced a smug looking Mia as everyone entered the DNA lab.
"You did?" asked Sara, thrilled.
Mia pointed to the glowing screen on top of her desk, "Gloria Settler, R.N."
"She's a nurse," said Joslyn, "what's she in the system for?"
"Nurses aren't allowed to have criminal records," added Warrick, leaning against the desk.
"She didn't," Mia countered, "all hospital employees at Desert Palms are required to have themselves on file; prints, DNA, everything."
"Did you get an address?" asked Grissom.
"1254 Stormcloud lane," said Mia, putting her hands behind her head in satisfaction. If it weren't for the fact that she was gorgeous, her chocolate skin glowing in the blue light of the instruments surrounding her, her cocky attitude would have been too much. But, given that she was beautiful, her smugness was simply an endearing quirk.
"Thank you Mia," they all called as they filed out, Warrick throwing her a lopsided smile.
"All in a day's work!" she called at their backs.
They stopped in the hallway, figuring out what steps to take next. "Right," began Grissom, "Joslyn, call Brass. Get him to meet us at Gloria Settler's residence. Warrick, where's Catherine?"
Warrick jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, "She took Nick with her to a B and E on the Strip. She said it was pretty straightforward, it'll probably only take a few hours to process. She said to call her if we find anything for her to do, but for now 'too many cooks in one kitchen.' I think she took Greg too."
"That sounds like Catherine, alright," muttered Grissom. "Okay, let's sign out a Tahoe and see what Ms. Settler has to tell us." They all headed for the parking lot, Sara calling "shotgun" as they headed for the SUV.
"Yeah, picture that," laughed Warrick as he slid into the passenger seat.
"Hey!" scowled Sara, swatting him and getting in the backseat beside Joslyn.
"What you're too good for the back?" said Joslyn in mock offense.
"I'm too tall, my legs get all crammed in,"
"Suck it up, buttercup," teased Warrick from the front.
"Okay, children can we keep it civil please?" said Grissom, getting into the front.
"Speaking of which," said Joslyn, leaning forward between the two front seats, "did Brass find anything out about les enfants?"
"Yes," said Grissom as he turned out of the parking lot. "Apparently, les enfants is the name of a popular gay club on Fremont. I figured we could check it out after we talk to Gloria Settler."
"I've never been to a gay club before," said Joslyn, "I'm excited now."
Sara laughed, her bruised face stretching into a smile. Ten minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of a beige rancher, settled blandly in between…two other beige ranchers.
"Ugh," shuddered Sara, "cookie-cutter houses. Creepy."
"How can they even tell whose is whose?" asked Joslyn, bewildered as she looked down the long street lined with beige replicas of the house that stood in front of them.
"Good question," came Brass' voice from behind them.
"You made it," said Warrick, "we were beginning to wonder."
"Yeah, yeah, Brown. Tell it to someone who cares," joked the gruff policeman.
"I'm going to check out the back while you guys talk to this girl," he said, disappearing into the backyard.
The other four walked to the front door, the night slowly creeping across the impeccably manicured lawn. Brass knocked on the door, and moments later the door opened a fraction, a weary blue eye peeking out at them.
"Yes?"
"Gloria Settler?" asked Brass, holding up his badge.
The eye widened, and the door opened the rest of the way, revealing a slim, pretty woman with jet-black hair. She appeared to be in her mid to late twenties, with stunning blue eyes that contrasted nicely with her dark hair. She bit a full lip in nervous habit, and said, "What's this about?
"May we come in?" asked Grissom.
Gloria eyed him for a moment before giving them a reluctant "sure" and opening the door for them. She led them to a moderate sized living room, gesturing for them to sit on the couch. Joslyn looked around, noting that at least the house wasn't quite so bland on the inside. Although all the walls were white, the art and family photos that decorated them gave it more of a human feel. She sat beside Sara, who sat next to Grissom. Brass leaned against the arm of the couch as Gloria Settler took a seat across from them.
"Can I get any of you something to drink?"
"Thank you, no," said Brass, crossing his arms across his chest. "We were actually hoping you could give us some information."
"Information about what?" she asked, confused.
"Trinity Wescott."
"Trin…what about her?"
"What was your relationship with her?"
Gloria began wringing her hands, her blue eyes wide with fear, "Did something happen to her?" she choked in a strangled whisper.
"Yes," spoke Sara, "she was killed. Her body was found abandoned a few days ago."
Gloria gasped, standing, her eyes full of tears. "What! Oh God," she began to sob uncontrollably, putting a hand on the arm of the chair to steady herself. Brass guided the grieving woman back into her chair, and asked Joslyn to get her some water.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," said Sara, genuinely. It pained her so much to see things like this, and even more to know there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Joslyn returned from the kitchen with a glass of water, and sat on the armrest with a hand on Gloria's back, offering her the glass. Gloria raised her tear stained face long enough to take a sputtering sip of water and then returned to wailing. Joslyn smoothed a hand sympathetically across Gloria's back.
"Ms. Settler," spoke Grissom, "I understand that you're grieving. But it would be such an immense help if you could just answer a few questions for us. For Trinity."
That was enough to make the distraught woman rub a hand over her swollen eyes and nod her dark head, "Anything."
"What was your relationship with Trinity?" repeated Brass.
"We…we were lovers." Came the reply in a whisper.
"So that would explain why we found your nail polish on her underwear," said Grissom. Gloria nodded, coloring.
"And when was the last time you saw her?" asked Brass.
"Nearly two weeks ago. Her and her family were going to be hosting a Catholic camp for disabled children. I wasn't expecting her back until next week."
"How come you didn't go along?" asked Grissom, looking up from his notepad.
"I couldn't get the time off work. Plus, I'm not really religious, and spending three weeks with Sullivan Wescott was not exactly something a 'heathen lesbian' like me would want to do."
"How long had the two of you been seeing each other?" asked Sara.
"Two and a half years. We were engaged," she grimaced, trying to retain her composure, and then looked back to Sara, "She was murdered wasn't she?"
"What makes you say that?" asked Sara.
"Her father," answered Gloria, the bitterness in her voice evident, " He never approved of us. He said that Trinity was just 'going through a phase'. He used to tell people that I was Trin's cousin. He even had her in a fake relationship with some guy named Brad. He'd get them to go to benefits and charity balls together, to make sure people would see them. He was ashamed of her, and that hurt her so much. She only went out with Brad in hopes that her father would finally accept her. But he never did, and I tried to tell her he never would. The truth is he hated her, and everything she represented. If anything happened to her, the Senator would be the first person I'd be pointing the finger at." She looked at the ceiling, "This is my fault, all of this."
"Why would you say that?" asked Joslyn.
She sobbed, putting a hand over her eyes, "Because it was my idea for Trinity to come out to her father. She'd been living two lives for so long, it was tearing her apart. So finally I said to her, 'Trin, you've got to tell him. He's your father, he'll love you no matter what.' I said…" she stopped, the memory too painful. After a moment she continued, "I said 'the truth will set you free Trin.' So she finally told him."
"And what happened?" asked Joslyn.
"I've never seen anyone so angry in my life. He threatened to disown her. The only thing that stopped him from doing it was Trinity's mother. That's when he came up with the compromise; Brad. He said as long as she never went public about being a lesbian, he'd tolerate her presence in the family. I thought he might kill her that day. And if I and her mother hadn't been there, I know he would have."
Sensing they should leave her alone in her grief, Brass and the others stood. "Thank you very much for your time Ms. Settler," said Grissom. "And again, we're sorry for your loss."
She nodded, not bothering to stand.
"We'll be in touch," added Brass as they headed out the door.
"Oh, one more thing," said Grissom, stopping. "Would you happen to own a silk blouse? A blue one?"
Gloria, confused, shook her head. "No, I don't like wearing silk. It attracts too much static."
"Thank you," said Grissom, not bothering to explain himself.
"Well, now we know what was in the envelope in Marjorie Hudson's office," said Sara as they headed for the car. "A wedding invitation. Looks like he wanted to keep his daughter's sexuality under wraps." Warrick, who was already in the front seat, gave them the thumbs down from the window: he hadn't found anything.
"But," argued Joslyn, "that still doesn't explain why Charles Pierce attacked you for it. Unless the Senator hired him to do his dirty work. But why would he hire a homeless man to do that? I mean couldn't he have gotten one of his lackeys to do it?"
"Ah, but 'when beggars die, there are no comets seen.'" interjected Grissom. "Charlie Pierce is expendable, and furthermore he can't be traced back to the Senator."
"Not yet at least," said Sara. Sighing, she stepped into the backseat next to Joslyn, and remained quiet the whole drive to Les Enfants.
As they pulled into a parking stall in front of the club, everybody save Grissom and Sara stepped out, heading towards the booming beat that was emanating from the club. Grissom turned to face the backseat, silhouetted by the blinding lights of the strip. "You okay?"
Sara leaned forward putting her chin in her hand. "Just frustrated. I feel like we're chasing monsters with a butterfly net. Even if we do manage to prove that the Senator killed his daughter, chances are he'll get off without a scratch." She gave another exasperated sigh.
Grissom reached out a hand and touched her cheek, tracing his fingers gently across her bruises. The neon lights reflected in her clear brown eyes as she looked at him, leaning her cheek into his hand. "No one is above the law Sara. If he killed her, he'll pay for it."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because Gloria Settler was right. The truth will set you free. But, if the truth is that you killed your own daughter, it'll imprison you just as easily.
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