Disclaimer: They're not mine, okay! So stop asking!

A/N: hey guys, sorry this took so long, I'm fighting Strep throat up here. Anyway, I made it extra long to make up for the wait. Hope you like it darlings! Oh and I think you'll all be happy with the GSR factor on this one. Let me know if I went too far or not far enough, I'm interested to hear people's different opinions. And speaking of GSR, I think my mouth was open for a good 45 seconds at the end of the finale.

The soft moonlight slowly made its way across the bedroom floor, creeping along the milk-white bedspread like a wayward ghost. Sara opened one eye and then the other, relishing in the gentle touch of the full moon on her skin. The open window allowed the sweet night wind to play with the curtains, the whispering hush lulling her in and out of warm dreams.

Never could she recall ever feeling more safe, more relaxed. She found it funny that she'd never enjoyed having lovers – or otherwise – in her bed for any reason other than sex. She'd always found it so suffocating, like she was being smothered as they held her. And yet here she was with Grissom's body pressed against her own, his soft breath warm on her neck, and nothing could have felt more natural. He had an arm wrapped around her waist protectively, as though she might fall apart if he let her go.

Maybe she would.

Nothing overtly sexual had happened when they'd come home of course, it never did. But with some luck, maybe that would change. They'd stumbled blearily into her apartment, only stopping to shed their clothes (Sara with a little help from Grissom) before crawling into the cool, crisp sheets. Smiling to herself at how many times she'd imagined this scenario in her head, she decided to enjoy the moment while she could.

She rolled over, not an easy task between the sling and Grissom's tight embrace, and turned to face him. Letting out a sleepy, contented whimper, she buried her face in his neck, her head tucked neatly underneath his chin. The scent of his Old Spice aftershave met her as her arm snaked around his back, her fingertips lightly grazing the waistband of his boxers. Her father had worn Old Spice, and she wasn't sure if she liked the association or not. She felt Grissom stirring under her touch and willed him to stay asleep; to let the moment last a little longer, just a little longer.

But alas all good things must come to an end. She felt his grip on her loosen as he slowly took his arm from around her body. He did it gently, whether it was so he didn't wake her, or because he didn't want her to know he'd been holding her, she didn't know. She rolled away from him and onto her back, stretching her arms above her head.

He sat up a little, leaning back against the pillows, looking down at her. "Good morning."

She smiled. She always thought it so strange that they associated darkness and moonlight with the morning. It used to depress her that the sun made her sleepy, but she had grown to like the fact that her neighbors thought of her as mysterious, a "mistress of the night."

"Good morning," she answered, sitting up. She had become painfully aware of the fact that she was in only a thin white tank top and panties, and was enjoying watching him struggle to find an appropriate place to look.

Seeing as how they were together in bed, she found it amusing that he hadn't forgone such formalities. She didn't mind if he looked, anyway. Sweeping back the wild curls that had fallen into her eyes, she tucked them behind an ear and leaned to the bedside table, grabbing his glasses. She looked at them for a moment before turning back to him and holding out her hand in offering. He reached out to take them, but before he could she closed her long fingers around the spectacles and slowly drew them back, holding them to her chest.

He looked up at her in surprise, and saw a strange glint in her eyes. "Sara?"

Without breaking eye contact with him, she took the glasses and put them on. "What are you doing?" he asked, trying to disguise the fact that this was the single sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. Here he was in bed with the slender, long-limbed Sara Sidle; her mess of soft curls loose around her injured shoulders, her sweet, healing face soft in the moonlight, looking back at him from behind his wire rimmed glasses. Her eyes were full of lust, uncertainty, and strangely, disappointment.

"What's wrong?"

"Well," she said, pushing the glasses up onto her head, "I thought that maybe if I saw things the way you see them, I might start to understand."

He knew he'd regret asking, but he couldn't help himself, "Understand what?"

"You," she replied simply. She looked at him with her arms crossed, waiting. He didn't know what to say. He knew he hadn't treated her the way he should have. And he also knew that she was aware of his reasoning: in his mind he had been too scared to risk everything that he'd worked for for so long. And not only that, but to risk it for something as fragile and complicated as a human relationship. But what she didn't know was how many times he'd kicked himself for making that mistake. Because he knew now that that's what it had been: a mistake.

"What do you think?" she asked, smiling a sad smile, "maybe if I wear them in front of the mirror I'll know what you really think of me." She started to laugh, but stopped as he reached out to her, putting a hand on her mouth. She looked up at him in surprise.

"Don't," he said quietly, "don't laugh about things like that. I know it's how you deal with things Sara, but…don't."

"I'm sorry," she said though his fingers, eyes wide. She sounded shocked. Were those tears in her eyes?

"You want to know what I really think of you?" he asked, not taking his hand off her mouth. She nodded, and he could feel her body tense, as though she were bracing herself.

He sat there staring into those rich brown eyes, willing his brain to put it all into intelligible words. But how do you measure love? How do you weigh respect, or catalogue trust? Things like that can't be filed, and they can't be categorized. You can't process matters of the heart, and therefore Gilbert Grissom couldn't form the feelings he had for her into words. He just didn't know how.

Like always, he didn't know how.

His cell phone began to ring, the chirruping drilling through the moment like a jackhammer. She looked at him, voice still smothered, and pleaded with her eyes for him to ignore it, to talk to her, to touch her. He knew that he was aching to do all of those things, so for once; he did.

The ringing stopped, and grateful tears swept down her face, rolling, hot, across his knuckles. She reached up and pulled his hand away from her mouth, dropping it gently in her lap. "Grissom," she whispered, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and slowly pulling him closer. "Tell me. Please," she begged. Their faces were inches apart. "Please, I need to hear."

"Do you really want to know?" he asked, his voice husky in the dark room.

"Yes," she breathed, her grip on his shirt tightening.

"Here's what I think." He reached out and slid his fingers into her hair, careful not to disturb the stitches that hid there, and pulled her face to his; pressing their lips together in a searing kiss. He felt her melt into him, her arm coming up to run her slender fingers through his hair. Both of their bodies were on fire as she pulled him down onto the pillows, their kisses more passionate and meaningful than anything he could have said to her. Actions speak louder than words, after all. She wrapped her legs tightly around his body, cinching him against her as he pushed his hands up underneath her shirt. He could feel her heart racing against his chest as he kissed along her jaw line, working his way down to her neck.

She whispered his name in the darkness, her hot breath tickling his ear as she started to pull off his t-shirt, running her cool hands across his bare skin. Her hands traced slowly, deliberately, across his back. Her fingers were lazily drifting downwards, sliding underneath the waistband of his boxers as the phone rang again. Hers this time.

Grissom drew back from her, both of them breathing heavily as he looked down at her, seeing what she wanted to do. Her hair was splayed, wild and dark against the white pillow, her lips full and eyes brimming with lust. Her chest was heaving with excitement, but they both knew that they were needed at the lab.

Her face full of regret, she unwrapped her legs from around his waist and leaned over to the night table, grabbing her phone from its charger. She flipped it open and lay back down with him still mostly on top of her, looking at him as she said, "Sidle." He could hear the tinny sound of Catherine's voice through the phone, and watched Sara listening. "I'll be right there," she sighed. "Give me twenty minutes." She closed the phone and tossed it beside her, reaching up and pulling him down onto her. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, giving him a squeeze, and said, "Will you finish telling me what you think of me later?"

He disentangled himself from her, sitting up. "Grissom?" Her face was full of concern.

He reached down and slid one arm behind her back, the other under her legs, and pulled her into his lap, cradling her like a child. "Of course I will," he answered softly.

She laid her head down onto his chest, settling against him as he rubbed her back. "You promise?"

"I Promise," he answered. He sealed it with a kiss.

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After showers (separate showers, they needed to cool off) Grissom and Sara made it to the lab after a silent, and sexually tense car ride. Sara's skin was still practically humming with unfulfilled lust, and she found it so hard to be in such a close proximity to Grissom and not be able to touch him. As they stepped out of the car and began to walk towards the lab, it was all she could do not to grab him arm, throw their kits down on the wet pavement of the parking lot, and pin him up against the Tahoe. Little did she know he was thinking the exact same thing.

The general chatter of the lab was a nice distraction from their dirty thoughts, and with one last wistful glance at each other, the two went their separate ways, Sara to the locker room, and Grissom to his office. Sara walked in to the locker room and found Joslyn sitting exactly where she had left her. The memories of Sara's abrupt departure came flooding back, as did a pang of guilt. "Hey," she started lamely.

Joslyn glanced up and gave her a frosty, "Hello."

"Did you stay at Catherine's last night?" She had never been good at apologies.

"No, I'm just going to stay with Greg. It's easier than moving from house to house. Although I think the whole thing's a bit unnecessary. Obviously you have no new injuries, so maybe Mr. X is on vacation."

"Listen Jos, I'm sorry for snapping at you like that. I was tired, and frustrated, and…a bitch. I really didn't mean to take it out on you though." She put an arm around the smaller woman's shoulders, leaning her head in until their foreheads touched. "Still mad at me?"

Joslyn smiled, "I was never mad. I was just as tired and pissed off as you were. What I am mad about is that you've been here for all of thirty seconds and you still haven't told me what happened with Grissom last night.

Sara's jaw dropped, her eyes wide. "How did you know?" she hissed, looking behind her, making sure they weren't overheard.

Joslyn gave an evil laugh, green eyes sparkling. "I didn't, but I do now, thanks. I saw him heading for the parking lot and I figured he was going after you. I was just going to ask if he talked to you, but judging by your reaction you two did a lot more than that."

Sara groaned, closing her eyes and putting her head between her knees.

"Hey," said Jos softly, the teasing tone gone from her voice. She put a hand on Sara's back, "hey it's nothing to be ashamed of. And you know your secret's safe with me. " She leaned her head down closer to Sara's face and whispered, "I'm really happy for you Sara."

Sara looked up and met her steady gaze. "What, you're not going to make fun of me?"

Joslyn exhaled the word "no" and waved a hand as she shook her head, "I never tease when it comes to matters of the heart. That's just cruel. But that's not to say that details wouldn't be appreciated."

Sara smiled. She was actually happy to know she had someone she could trust to talk to about the situation. It frightened her to think about it, but her relationship with Grissom was in limbo. But before she could relate even the first scrumptious kiss, Greg slid into the room. Joslyn kicked Sara lightly so she wouldn't say anything she may not have wanted Greg to overhear, and mouthed the word "later." Sara nodded conspiratorially. Greg looked from one to the other suspiciously.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing," they both answered at once.

"What, you don't trust me?" He actually sounded offended.

Joslyn sighed and rolled her eyes, "Alright Greg, if you must know, I was asking Sara if she had a tampon I could have."

The color drained from Greg's face, and Sara had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"Oh, sorry," he said dismissively, trying to act un-phased. "Anyway, Grissom wants to see you two in his office ASAP."

"What about?" asked Joslyn.

He shrugged. "I have no idea."

The two exchanged a glance and stood, heading to Grissom's domain.

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The chilly blue light of Grissom's office bathed their faces as they entered. Sara gave her usual greeting to the fetal pig, giving his glass jar a little "plink" with her fingernail as she passed. Grissom rolled his eyes and gestured for them to sit down. They each took a seat across from him, their faces cast in shadow.

"What's up?" asked Sara. "Any news?" She was surprised at how normal she sounded, and was immediately proud of herself for not stuttering.

"Well Marjorie Hudson, the soup kitchen manager is still MIA. Brass is working on it. I'm thinking we should get her son Charlie Pierce back in here for another interview."

"To what end?" asked Joslyn, her face all angles in the dim light. "He didn't co-operate last time, and he made it abundantly clear that he has no intention of helping us. Like he said, we can't protect him. If I were him I probably wouldn't talk either."

"Yes," granted Grissom, "but remember that last time we were going in blind, we had nothing to work with. Now that we have new information, we might be able to use it to our advantage. And don't forget that he did give us Les Enfants. If he didn't want to help us, why would he get us to go there and learn about his past? He was obviously trying to tell us something. The question is what."

"Well let's ask him, shall we?" answered Sara.

"Where is he now?" Joslyn asked.

"He's still awaiting trial for Sara's attack, he's in county lock-up. Brass is bringing him in now."

The silence settled over them as the thoughts of the interrogation to come weighed on their minds.

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Charlie Pierce sat with his attorney in the steel and concrete interrogation room, the reflections of Grissom, Sara, and Joslyn hovering in front of him like ghosts as they watched him through the glass. He had definitely improved in appearance since the last time they'd seen him; his hair, once wild and snarled, had been shaved nearly to the scalp. He had been scrubbed clean, had his nails cut, and his face no longer looked gaunt with malnutrition. His dark eyes still sparkled with intelligence and something else that you just couldn't put your finger on. Had it not been for the orange prison jumper he was wearing, he might have looked like he was a lawyer representing his client, rather than the reverse.

He looked up as the three entered the room with Brass, and stared as Sara sat down across from him. "You're looking better since the last time I saw you," he said gruffly, noting that the swelling on Sara's face had gone down considerably; the bruises just beginning to fade.

" I could say the same about you," she answered.

"I take it you went to Les Enfants," he said, leaning his elbows on the table.

"We did," spoke Joslyn from where she stood behind Sara, "It appears you have a rather darker past than we suspected."

Pierce narrowed his eyes, "What's that jerk Damien been telling you?"

Joslyn tucked a stray hair behind her ear, "Well, he says you used to own Les Enfants. But then you got hooked on drugs and he tossed you out on your tin."

"That son of a bitch!" Pierce erupted in fury, jumping to his feet. Joslyn took a step back with her arms over her face as the officer in the room slammed Pierce back into his seat by his shoulders. Everyone watched in silence as Pierce's attorney, a man in a pale gray suit who looked like he was sincerely regretting taking Pierce as a client, attempted to subdue the seething criminal. After a time, Charlie's breathing mellowed, and Sara deemed it safe to try and ask him some more questions.

"Okay, so it would appear that Damien Price tells a different story than you do. Would you care to tell us your side?"

Charlie's eyes were unseeing; he was clearly weighing his options. After a time, he sat up in his chair and gave a small nod. "Yeah alright." Grissom, taking a seat beside Sara, got out his notepad, pen poised. "I can tell you right now, I'm not on drugs, and never was. It was Damien who was the drug lord. I found out he was using Les Enfants as a base to sell coke, getting people to do deals in his back room. When I confronted him on it, he kicked me out of our partnership. He said if I went to the police he'd have me killed."

"And you believed him?" asked Sara, her eyes glued to his.

" 'Course I believed him, he's been making a fortune over there. He's got enough money to have every person in this room and their mother taken out, and never have to bat an eyelid."

"So then what happened?" asked Joslyn, having recovered from Pierce's outburst enough to rejoin the conversation.

"I lost everything," snarled Pierce, balling his hands into tight fists, knuckles whitening.

"I hadn't saved much while I was running the club, there had never been any need to. And Damien had made sure I'd never work again in this town, at least not in the nightclub industry. So once my rent money ran out I ended up on the streets."

"Couldn't you have gone to a relative?" questioned Sara, frowning.

"My mother's my only living relation, and she believed I was a drug addict. Since she's so caught up in her bible-thumping group, she didn't think it would look good to have me staying with her. Bad image and all that," he finished, the bitterness dripping off every word.

"And when was the last time you spoke to your mother?" asked Joslyn, crossing her arms.

"That was in 2000. She tried to contact me after that but I told her to go to Hell. I hear she tried filing a missing person's report or some shit."

"And you ignored her attempts to talk to you?" asked Joslyn, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"Yeah I ignored her, has your mother ever just abandoned you?" he spat sarcastically. Sara winced.

"Yes she has," answered Joslyn quietly, her face and voice carefully neutral.

Pierce raised his eyebrows a fraction. He obviously wasn't expecting that answer, but that didn't stop him from saying, "Well then, what the Hell would you do if after all that she decides she wants to see you again?"

This time Joslyn couldn't keep the emotion out of her voice as she tactfully turned the conversation's focus away from herself, "So were you and your mother close before all this happened?"

Pierce was becoming tense again, "Why are you all so suddenly interested in my mother?"

"Hey," said Brass, putting his hands up in mock defense, "what's with the hostility cousin? We're just trying to get to know you." Charlie just glared at him and said nothing.

"Alright," said Sara, leaning forward, "here's the deal. We know your mother is Marjorie Hudson, the director of Saint Mary's soup kitchen." Pierce's face became as white as Sara's sheets. "We also know that you have spoken to her since 2000, because we know that she was the one who ordered you to attack me." Grissom and Joslyn did a good job at hiding their surprise. They had no proof of that at all, but they were interested to see if Pierce would call her bluff.

There was a light layer of sweat visible on Charlie's upper lip and forehead, and his breathing was becoming erratic. "You can't prove that," he choked.

"How do you know?" whispered Sara, raising an eyebrow. Pierce was now shifting in his seat like a child. Sara ran a hand through her hair nonchalantly, "We also believe that she is in hiding, as we can now tie her to Trinity's murder."

The guard behind Pierce took a step forward, ready, as Pierce shouted, "She didn't kill anyone! She would never do that!"

"Then why did we find her blood at the scene?" asked Sara calmly.

"It was him! If she's involved at all, then he made her do it!"

"Who made her do it?" hissed Joslyn, leaning forward with her hands on the table, urging him on.

"THE SENATOR!" bellowed Pierce, slamming his fists down on the table.

Joslyn's face broke into a satisfied grin, as the horror of what he'd just said washed over Charlie Pierce's features. He tore at his hair as his face twisted into a grimace. He looked as though he might cry.

"It's just as well that I told you that," he said in submission, "if she really is missing I'm a dead man either way,"

"What do you mean?" asked Sara.

"If you can't find her, then it's not because she's in hiding. Wescott killed her. And I'm next."

"Why would he do that?" she prompted.

"Look," sighed Pierce, "You guys have no idea what you're getting yourselves involved in. Once you hear the truth you'll probably wish you never knew."

"Try me," said Sara, leaning forward on an elbow.

"The Hands of Mercy, the charity group my mother worked for, isn't really a charity group at all."

"Then what is it?"

Pierce scrubbed his face with his hand. "It's the most elaborate drug ring ever conceived. And Les Enfants was its hub. Most of the people working for the charity, people like my mother, have no idea what it's really about. Mercy does do a lot of great charity work. But its main purpose, and all of its funding, is drug money."

"So how does it work?" asked Grissom, intrigued.

"Well to give you the very simple version, Wescott and two other prominent society figures created it back in the early eighties, before they had made names for themselves. They would use the charity as a way to smuggle drugs across borders, saying they were carrying shipments of food and blankets for shelters. After a while, they really did start to open up shelters here and there as a front in case people started asking too many questions. The drug ring, and the charity, grew over time, gaining popularity with the churches."

"So how does your mother tie in to all of this?" Grissom asked, writing furiously in his notepad.

"Well at the time that I got kicked out of Les Enfants I still had no idea that it was affiliated with the Hands of Mercy. After I had been on the streets for a few years, Mercy opened up the soup kitchen over by the Strato. My mom, upright citizen that she is, became the manager, and when she recognized me and saw what I'd become she begged the Senator to help me out, give me a job. So he did."

"So what was the job?" asked Joslyn, sliding onto the table.

"He assigned me the job of trailing his daughter Trinity. Apparently she was a dyke, and he wanted to make sure no one found out about it. He had me keep an eye on her, make sure she was keeping up her end of the bargain they had together: she kept her sexuality in the closet, and he didn't have her bumped off."

"But she wasn't keeping her end of the bargain, was she?" asked Joslyn.

"Nope. Her and her girlfriend Gloria would hit Les Enfants, an infamous gay club, about twice a week. Eventually I tried to warn her, told her to watch her back, but she wouldn't listen to me."

"That was when you started to yell at her at Les Enfants," stated Sara.

Pierce nodded, "She just thought I was a crazy homeless man, though. Anyway, I knew it was only a matter of time before Wescott found out I'd tried to warn her, so I went to my mother to tell her I was getting out of Vegas. I didn't get a chance to tell her though, because that was the day you three came in to investigate.

She told me to hang out in the office until she got rid of you, but then you, Sidle, decided to start snooping around. I was behind the door when you came in, and I saw that you were about to find that envelope."

"The wedding invitation," Sara confirmed, her mind flashing back to the pink envelope on the ground.

Pierce nodded. "What you may not have gotten the chance to notice was that it was splattered with blood. I don't know whose, but I knew that if anything found at that soup kitchen later incriminated the Senator, it would be my mother's life on the line. So…I panicked and hit you with the frying pan the chef had put in the office."

"And then you took the envelope and ran out the fire exit, leaving Sara to die," finished Grissom gravely.

"Look," Pierce spoke to Sara, "I really didn't mean to hurt you so bad. I was just worried about my mother. I wasn't thinking." He looked at her as though to say, "Forgive me?"

Sara pretended not to notice his half-hearted apology. "Where's the envelope now?"

Pierced leaned back in his seat, "What difference does that make?"

"Well," started Joslyn, her voice bursting with sarcasm, "it may be the only piece of evidence tying the Senator to the murder of his daughter, but other than that it makes no difference at all."

He glared at her, "You really think you can peg any of this on the Senator? The man's smart enough to fund his entire campaign with drug money and not get caught, do you honestly believe you can convict him of anything and make it stick?"

"Probably not the drug ring," admitted Grissom, removing his glasses, "but that envelope might have trace evidence on it that even a politician won't be able to talk his way around. So where is it?"

"It's in my pack, under a bridge near the tracks on the edge of town. I was planning on trying to use it to blackmail the Senator into leaving my mother and me alone. The only trouble was I had to figure out what it was all about first."

Sara rested her chin in her hand, "And what made you think that it had anything to do with the Senator at all?"

Pierce shrugged, "It was just lying on my mother's desk, covered in blood, I couldn't not read it. And when I saw it was an invitation to his daughter's gay wedding, I knew the blood had to be from his "RSVP". There's no way he would have let it happen. He always said he'd kill her before he let her ruin his career."

"Take us to it," said Sara, her entire body on overload. Pierce had just dropped a bombshell on them, and it was going to be a while before her brain could sort it all out. She didn't underestimate how brave Pierce was being by finally coming clean. She knew he really believed he would die for what he had told them, and maybe he would. But not if she could help it.

Everyone stood, letting the officer lead Pierce out of the room and get him ready for transportation to wherever the Hell it was he'd left that envelope. Grissom, Sara, Joslyn, and Brass eyed each other wearily as they thought about how the scope of this case had just widened exponentially.

Grissom left to bring around the Tahoe, and Brass went to accompany Pierce, leaving Sara and Joslyn sitting in an overwhelmed silence. Both were grateful as Greg walked in, his funky spirit immediately breaking the tension.

"Hey I heard Pierce just spilled the beans on the Senator, congratulations." They both gave him weak smiles. "So what was with the change of heart, why'd he just give it all up?"

"Well," sighed Sara, "I think he believes he's a dead man either way. And if you were about to go down, wouldn't you want to take the rest of them down with you?"

"Good point," Greg admitted. "Oh and Joslyn, I talked to Judy at the front desk and she said she had something for you," he said, reaching into the pocket of his cargo pants.

"What?" asked Joslyn, eyeing him with curiosity.

Greg pulled out two tampons and handed them to her. "And she says anytime you need one, all you have to do is ask."

Joslyn fought hard to keep her face serious as she said, "Thanks Greg. I really owe you one."

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