A/N: Woah, woah, woah... This is... Woah. I can't begin to express how sorry I am for taking so long. You wouldn't believe the story even if I told you and showed the pictures. But hey, better late than never, right? Right? Please don't throw tomatoes at me, I rot in the acid! Please say I still got some reviewers though. Please please please. I promise I won't go so slow anymore. I promise on everything I love dearly. Please? Well, here's a long chapter for you guys.

Disclaimer: >O!

Chapter 11: Bring It On!

Brooke's POV:

Fuming from the previous encounter, I watched with raging eyes as the pale woman walked inside with her date for the evening.

Heh... Like it's gonna stay that way. Not if I can help it.

Eventually, Sara got me to move on and I maintained my temper as we approached her group of assembled friends. My body may have been under control, but that hardly meant that my mind wasn't wandering to the many ways in which I could get the woman back. Not to hurt her. No... She's not worth the jail time. To humiliate or piss her off would satisfy me all the same.

Besides, it's guaranteed that she'll eventually do something to really piss me off enough to hurt her.

"What was that about?" A cool and deep voice asked once we stopped walking, unknown to me.

"I'm not too sure. Warning me about something, but she was mumbling the entire time. Didn't catch it." Sara responded with a shrug. "Anyways, guys... I'd like you to meet a very good friend of mine. Brooke. Brooke, these are my colleagues and good friends as of six years ago. Greg Sanders..." She indicated a rather lanky and slightly pale guy that definitely looked out of place in a suit. He appeared to be more of a T-shirt and jeans kind of guy instead. "Warrick Brown..." Her hand flew in the direction of an impossibly tall, dark skinned man with the most electric green eyes I'd even seen. "Nick Stokes..." Beside the man known as Warrick was his companion, a slightly shorter and lighter skinned man with a warm smile on his face as he waved a hello to me. "Catherine Willows, who you already met..." The familiar blonde head nodded in acknowledgment of my presence. "And Jim Brass, our resident homicide detective." The remaining man, who had his back to me the entire time, now turned. And when he did, my eyes grew to the size of the moon and the first instinct to run for the hills was strong enough that the only thing keeping me in place was the shoes I was wearing. I didn't feel like breaking my ankle tonight.

He was the same cop that handcuffed me to his car's grill. And from the shocked look on the old man's face, he hadn't forgotten about his car's missing parts.

As they all mumbled their polite "Hellos", with the exception of the homicide detective who still stood there – now in a smugness that disgusted me to the bone because of the fact that he saw my discomfort – I discreetly grabbed for Sara's wrist, pulling her along. The less time I spent around that particular cop, the better off I was.

"Phew, can you feel that breeze? It is freezing out here. You feel that Sara? Let's go inside. I gotta use the bathroom anyways." Excuse after excuse came out of my mouth as I continued to drag a very confused Sara Sidle into the building, away from her group of friends.

Not a single word came out of her mouth, or at least, that I paid attention to until she clenched onto my biceps with an intensity that forced me to pay attention. Biting back a swear, I looked from her hands to her questioning face.

"What are you doing? There wasn't a breeze to be felt, and I trust that you're old enough now to go to the bathroom by yourself." Sara sarcastically remarked as we stood just barely to the inside of the entrance's threshold. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I quickly said as I tried to recompose. "I just thought you'd wanna get a jump on the plan. I mean, you're friends are gonna be around all night, right? Your boss doesn't seem to be the type to go to these things too often, from what you've told me. So what makes you think he's gonna stay around for long?" Nice! Go Brooke, go Brooke.

Apparently that excuse worked on Sara in a second, as she slightly relinquished my throbbing arms from her firm hold. Whether she knew it or not, Sara had a tight grip when it was called for. Not that this was called for, but that didn't change the fact that I most likely had two bright red imprints of Sara's hands on my biceps.

Good thing I don't have a boyfriend to speak about... I would have some serious explaining to do about why someone else's hand prints were on my arms instead of his. I thought with a silent chuckle to myself.

"I suppose you're right. Sorry about that. You just kept on rambling on about the weather and the bathroom the entire way." Sara apologized with a laugh of her own. "Had to get you quiet somehow."

"Apologize accepted, Miss Hulk. Damn that hurt." I rubbed my arms with my face scrunched up at the waning pain that was at a dull ache at the moment. "C'mon, let's scope out the club from the bar. Please tell me they have a bar up in here." I asked mock-desperately as we began our walk there, myself clinging to her arm desperately for a moment before pulling back with a silly grin on my face.

As time wore on, the more people that arrived. And they just weren't any ordinary people. No. They were cops. As was to be expected, but the actuality of the situation had me sitting nervously in my stool at the bar. Soon enough, I was completely surrounded.

I had thought I could handle it. Sure, my complications with the law went above and beyond getting in several or more altercations with them in the past, but I thought I could brave it out and stick in there for Sara. There was only one part of my past that Sara didn't know about, therefore, she didn't notice my discomfort as we created a conversation of small talk for the most part. Sara, I could be comfortable around. She was my family and someone I would trust with my life, and the fact that she was in law enforcement didn't seem to affect me. But all of these other people did.

And despite what I thought I had a handle on, I soon learned I didn't when a cop, dressed up in his suit and obviously carrying a slight buzz, tripped into my lap and waggled his eyebrows at me mischievously. Getting up and shoving the man off of me without creating too much of a scene, I advised Sara to loosen up with a drink as I went off to find the lady's room.

As if the bathroom's gonna help the paranoia. I said internally to myself as I gave it a passing glance as I continued to shove through the thickening crowd of cops to get to the expansive balcony.

With every passing step, my pace quickened as I could literally feel my throat tighten with the upcoming panic attack I was trying to avoid. After the paranoia set snuggly into my system, the claustrophobia followed it's predicable course and attacked me next.

I SAID SHUT UP DOWN THERE!

Do I have to go and get the gasoline and matches again?

That's it! Now I won't even send down that chicken bone from last night's supper. How you like that one!

Just do as you're told and you'll get hurt less. Now lift up your shirt.

I am an officer of the law, and if you don't do what I say, I'll have you locked up in a worse place than here. Now DO WHAT I SAY!

His voice assaulted my ears, but I knew this time that I was the only one to hear him. That's part of the reason why I was in psychotherapy several years ago – when I told my therapist about the voice that came in my head whenever I was surrounded around numerous cops. It was almost inevitable for the voices to turn up... Even years after, I suffer from the trauma, or all of these head doctors keep telling me. They would be too if the one person they were suppose to depend on for love and caring turned on them like that.

But the incessant commands coming from the voice I dreaded to hear didn't stop. It built up the momentum inside of me until I finally reached the two French doors that led outside, shoving through them carelessly. Flinging them back until they crashed with a startling clash against the side of the building before swinging back into place from the amount of force. I didn't stop walking until my ribs came into contact with the balcony's thick marble railing, making me bend over with my head in my hands as my arms propped themselves upon the railing for support.

Running my hands over my hair and over my face countless times before stopping, I realized it was a subconscious act that I did every time this happened. It was as if I was trying to rub away the small – yet significant – part of him that I couldn't seem to erase fully.

A cool breeze from the lake swept over my sweating form and seemed to take a part of my problems away with it. The anxiety that had risen only a second ago, now found it's way back down as I sucked in a calming breath.

Breath deep. Breath out. Breath deep. Breath out. I continued the mantra in my mind over and over again until I began to speak it out loud. "Breath deep. Breath out. Breath deep. Breath out."

The dreaded panic attack was now out of sight and out of mind after several minutes of me self-directing myself through the simple steps, albeit the claustrophobia still left the uneasy feeling behind in its wake for me to cherish. Even after the attack was gone, I continued to breath deep, inhaling the smell of the water from the lake that was a couple yards away from me and glistening in the moonlight.

To an outside observer, I truly must've appeared to have more than a few screws loose in my head, and that was a hopeful saying. I'd always considered my head to have no screws to bind it together. But I didn't dare to look behind and count how many pairs of eyes were staring at me with unasked questions hidden behind them this time.

I always know that they're there. There's never been a time when this has happened and there's never been less than a pair of eyes staring at me in puzzlement. All of my psychiatrists keep telling me that I'm not the only person out there that's suffered what I'd suffered. But I've given up on that thought.

After all, I haven't seen any support groups for the children who've lived with cop for a parent and were abused as severely and uniquely as I was around.

Sara's POV:

It was safe to say that Brooke wasn't going for the bathroom. I came to this recognition as soon as I saw her give the bathroom a quick glance and then pass it by. And it wasn't like you could've missed it. The signed for the Men's Room and the Lady's Room was designed in a eye catching bright pink neon sign above the doors. A blind man could've found it way in without any difficulties.

No need to lie, Brooke. I thought to myself as I ordered a plain water. As tempting as it is, I won't give in to alcohol just yet. It's best if I stay alert for at least a half an hour.

A loud crash almost sent my water into Greg's face from my startle, but thankfully for the both of us, it didn't. Looking around for the source of the noise, I quickly gave up the effort momentarily when Greg took a seat next to me.

"What was that?" I questioned him, going back to my search for the noise.

"No idea. Must not be too life-threatening though if people aren't running." Greg said playfully as he leaned against the bar. "So, what's the deal with that friend of yours? Is she single or what?"

"Sorry Greg, but I don't think you're her type." I tried to conceal my smirk as I took a sip of the water.

"How do you know? I'm adaptable!" Greg exclaimed as he ordered a water for himself.

"I don't believe you're that adaptable. Brooke's a little more than you could handle, trust me on that one." I said as I took a quick glance at the anxious lab rat turned CSI. Oh how he's grown.

"Oh, I get it. It's just because I'm white, isn't it? You think I can't handle a little dark meat, huh?" Greg said as he twirled around in his stool like an ADD child. "Well, I'll have you know, Sara... I've handled all types of races."

Letting out a small hum in mock-contemplation for a moment or two, I shortly after shook my head no. "You still have no chance, Greg, even with my help." With another sip, I quickly changed the subject. "So, you look very nice tonight. I haven't seen you dressed this nice since..." After a moment, I realized the answer to the question I'd thrown in the air. "Never."

"Yes, well... I dress to impress." Greg said as he tugged on the collar of his white suit that would've been identical to Grissom, had it not been the color it was. "So can you believe that Griss actually showed up with Lady Heather? I was not expecting her to be attached to his arm when they arrived."

Just at the very mention of the woman's name, I winced. "Yeah, it was a shocker."

"How do..." Greg began to question, but was at a loss of words when a red-headed woman passed by, giving him a "friendly" wave and a smile.

Looking up from my drink, I noticed Greg's eyes sticking in the direction the woman had left in, mouth open with the words he was about to speak stuck inside. Rolling my eyes with an inward laugh, I took another sip of my water and patted him on the shoulder.

"I won't keep you Greggo." I said as I turned back to the bar.

"Thanks Sara. I knew you'd understand." Greg said absentmindedly as he removed himself to pursue his target.

For the next half an hour, I learned that the music came in all different styles. It seemed to satisfy everyone with the variations in the genres, from R&B to oldies to punk to rock. At one point or another, everyone recognized a song that was played. And I stayed rooted to my stool at the bar, making casual conversation with the barkeep that seemed to be my biggest companion at the moment. Catherine had gone off and relived her clubbing days, dancing with anyone that had legs. Warrick, to no one's surprise was discreetly – or what he thought was discreet – checking out Catherine as she freshened up on her dancing while Nick was trying to associate himself with a blonde woman that had just finished up being Catherine's dance partner. Greg was beyond association with the red-head that'd passed us earlier in one of the corners of the room, talking in private. But the biggest relief was to see Grissom, by himself, sitting at a lone table on the edge of the expansive dance floor, fiddling with his shot of scotch. And while I was somewhat rejoiced that Grissom wasn't with Heather, it led me to wonder what Lady Heather was doing. This certainly wasn't a place where I would figure she'd be most at ease, so I could only wonder who she was mingling with.

"Scotch on the rocks, please." A gruff voice ordered from the far left to me.

Glancing down in the direction of the voice. It appeared that I had found the final member of my close departmental friends. Jim Brass.

To say the least, he was wishing for a 419 anywhere at this point in time. I could just feel it. I suppressed a smirk as I turned back to my drink, finishing off the second glass of water. Another thing I could read off of the detective as well, he just wanted alone time with his scotch. Quality, bonding time, and it would be far from my place to step in and disrupt that time of his.

As another dance-able R&B song came on, I turned in my seat to see what people actually tried to dance just for a laugh. It was beyond amusing to watch some of the younger cops get out on the dance floor and try to dance like they came out of an Usher music video only to come to their senses that they truly had little to no coordination to pull it off. I was surprised and slightly worried that Brooke hadn't gone out on the dance floor yet.

Now that I began to think about it, I hadn't seen Brooke since she left to "find and use the bathroom". I knew from the beginning that was a complete lie, but this just added the evidence onto the crime. And with Brooke missing and Lady Heather no where in sight, I began to worry. The more I worried, the more it began a very big possibility that Brooke had taken care of Heather in her own... unique, way.

Not possible. My mind bickered back. You would've heard something.

Not always. Brooke is deadly and quick about it whenever the occasion arises. I thought as I searched for my sister with my eyes.

Do you truly believe your sister is capable of murder? My conscience questioned.

Absolutely.

Around a whole dance hall full of people on law enforcement, though? My conscience fought for my sister's innocence.

I couldn't seem to argue against that. Brooke was impulsive, but hopefully not that impulsive. Absolute wishful thinking is that Brooke would never truly live up to that killer side of herself that I knew existed without a doubt, but another part of my wishful thinking would be that she'd have common sense not to do anything stupid like that around the people that would arrest her for it.

I couldn't deny it. I knew Brooke had every capability to kill someone and would have the willpower to do so under a certain degree of pressure, yet the law enforcement side of me begged to anyone that she never would. Or never has. Because then that would mean I would be associating with a murderer.

I shoved the idea out of my head immediately. It was one of the subjects I simply didn't want to dwell on, or even allow it to cross my thoughts. I didn't want to contemplate the probability that my sister could be a murderer. And sitting here, where my thoughts would sit beside me was not the place I needed to be.

Pushing my glass away from me, I stood up, forced to stretch from my prolonged sitting. I turned to the barkeep, Marc, and gave him a grateful smile as he turn the glass I'd just pushed forward.

"Finally getting out to enjoy yourself?" He asked with a smirk of his own on.

"Yes. Thank you for the company, Marc." I expressed my sincere gratitude through another smile.

Turning back now, I was about to start my trek when I heard a wave of cheers in excitement resonate from the center of the dance floor. Then as a single mass, everyone moved away from the center. Having a height advantage on most in the crowd, I was able to see that a ring had formed in the center of the room, holding only one person in the middle to soak up all of the attention.

Brooke. If anyone could make someone clear out that fast on a dance floor, it had to be Brooke.

Pushing toward the middle with a medium amount of difficulty. But it wasn't enough to make me turn back now. I let out an over amused laugh, however, when my eyes landed on two people instead of just one. But when I realized who the other person was, my mouth fell open wider than Greg's did earlier.

Lady Heather.

Well, at least she's not off killing her.

Then I noticed it. The "in your face" and wild dancing that she was doing. And finally, the song entered my conscious state of mind.

UH OH! The fight is out...
I'ma 'bout to punch yo...lights out
Get the FUCK back, guard ya grill
There's somethin' wrong, we can't stay still
I've been drankin' and bustin' two
And I been thinkin' of bustin' you
Upside ya motherfuckin' forehead

Brooke may not have been committing homicide on her, but she was certainly implying her complete... distaste for the woman in question. Lady Heather didn't even have to reciprocate the action to see that she wasn't exactly thrilled at the fact that she was within a close proximity of my sister, however. To everyone around us, it was just dancing to them for they didn't know how Brooke challenged people. Getting in their faces and putting on a wilder form of street dancing was just a level of her challenging. This was the form of dancing I could never copy and look nearly as professional as she did. I'd most likely just look like an angry white girl that was having involuntary muscle spasms.

I wasn't sure what Lady Heather's reactions would be if Brooke continued this form of challenging, so I took it upon myself to intervene anyway I could. I knew that Brooke was waiting for Heather to snap so she could truly demonstrate her dislike for her, but I couldn't let that happen. I had to draw the boundary somewhere.

Don't say I never did anything for you. I said silently to Lady Heather as I entered the ring.

Going up being Brooke, I did the one thing I just said I'd never do just a second ago. I temporarily mimicked her maniacal form of dancing after tapping her on the shoulder. I didn't quite know where the moves came from, but I could only hope I didn't make too big of a fool of myself doing them in the center of it all.

If I had to describe the dancing in one sentence, it would be that I was almost instigating a fight with my body language upon Brooke with her mirroring the idea back to me. Of course, between the two of us, it wasn't serious – just a dance – but that's what it appeared like. She beat me in comparison by a long mile, but I couldn't have been doing too bad myself for the crowd was cheering myself on as well.

Her movements were fast paced and jaunty – snapping back at a second's notice. Several of her moves I was actually able to do for myself. But I had to hand it to Brooke. She owned the dance floor with her unique moves and style. It plastered a permanent smile on my face as she showed off and flaunted it like no other. Even as she approached me, plucked my shirt up between her index finger and thumb and scoffed at me with a mock-disgusted face. Pulling back, Brooke reached around to the hood of her sweater, lifting it up to appear like she was hanging herself – gradually lifting herself off the ground on the tips of her toes. She continued to pull upwards until she couldn't lift herself any higher without her feet leaving the ground before popping her hood and jumping up in the air, throwing her arms out in one fluid movement – ridgedly yanking back her arms before her feet touched the floor again. The message was, in her own language, "Compared to you, I'm fresh to death."

By the time the song had ended, Brooke had lost the provoking side of her to a more cheerful side of herself and Lady Heather had long since disappeared from the scene.

"And here I was thinking I was the only one who could dance like that." Brooke remarked, slightly out of breath and perspiring. "Guess I'll have to move onto the next style, huh?"

"All right ladies and gentlemen, this is the first slow song of the night. So grab your partners and remember this... It's not your 8th grade dance here, so get original with the dances. Not just that swaying back and forth stuff." A low chuckle accompanied the baritone voice of our hired DJ: DJ Tron. "It's kind of a flash back for the 80s R&B children here in their clubbing days and for fans of the early 90s R&B. I Wanna Know by Joe."

Just as I was about to join the growing number of people exiting the dance floor, Brooke ensured that I did anything but such things. At the sound of the beat, Brooke tookthe small of my backin one hand and my right hand in the other as she led me into an overly-energetic waltz, tearing across the floor on a straight path to the balcony.

Brooke only tossed me outwards only to reel me back in once before I held her there as she was about to wind me out again. "Brooke, what are you doing?" I whispered.

"Helping you."

I couldn't fit another word in as she completed the waltz with the second out throw, only to restart from there. One, up up, two, up up, three, up up, four, up up. Out, slide, slide, slide, out, in, out, in, and start from the top all over again. To my utter surprise, Brooke knew the steps well even if she was being hasty about her steps. Her behavior didn't make much sense until the reason came into view.

Grissom.

Trying my best to take the lead now, I pulled her in the opposite direction only to be rewarded with Brooke purposely stomping on my feet before yanking me back in the general direction of Grissom. In a state of sharp pain, I bit back a long line of curse words and went along with her for a moment longer – knowing she would step on my feet again if I didn't.

"Whatever you think you're going to do, don't think about it." I casted a glance over my shoulder at the solitary Gil Grissom.

"You'll thank me later Sizzle. Average humans live to their 80s and you're already in your 30s. You've got half a century to go and there's not much waiting for you in the last 10 or 20 years of your life... Unless you've got a good retirement plan going for you." My eyebrows creased at the thought and the fact that Brooke was already calculating the rest of my life and death as well. "Trust me, you'll be praising me like God after this."

The time it took for Brooke to lead us over to the oblivious entomologist was as quick as a blink of an eye and as nerve racking as being a parent to a missing child. I prayed for amnesia to strike Brooke so whatever plan she was concocting in her head would vanish without a trace. At the very least, I hoped someone would inject her with truth serum so she would at least tell me what she was plotting. It was a surefire fact that if I asked, Brooke would reply saying to wait for the surprise. And surprises of Brooke's were never to be deemed good when it involved match making. Past horrors taught me that.

But there was no such luck with either the amnesia or the truth serum. Now I wish I was one with amnesia. Were my only thoughts as Brooke tossed me out and let go of my hand.

With the built up momentum and the given fact that Brooke had been dragging me more than dancing with me, I feel backwards and directly into the lap of a very startled Grissom. Brooke simply continued dancing the same steps – but now by herself – on her way to the bar, looking like a fool. But not as big of a one as I felt. Not nearly. Not even with that goofy grin on her face.

Shooting straight to my feet, I fixed my wrinkled clothes to conceal the slight blush that rose to my cheeks. That wasn't going to work Brooke. Maybe with the Grissom I knew when I first came out here, but not now. I thought with agitation as I sensed Grissom getting up from his seat.

The music continued to fill the otherwise silent air around us. I wanted to apologize but where I normally over-talk when I'm nervous around him, I was grateful when he spoke up first.

"Seems like you've lost your partner to herself." Grissom joked as we both turned in time to witness Brooke sliding with herself happily. "Do you... uh... need another one?"

Looking up now, I realized he was actually asking me to dance. Sending an inward word of thanks to Brooke like she said I would, I took his offered hand and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor.

"I hope you know how to waltz." I remarked as his hands dropped into position like it was natural for him.

"Just don't go as fast as she did. I'm not that good."

TBC

A/N2: All right, confession time? This is quite literally my first attempt at a WIP GSR. Despite my fanaticism with the ship, I never had too much confidence to write it, so I felt like this chapter was crap. Please tell me if I'm doing well with the GSR. And if I'm not, give me some pointers. I'm suffering to know how well I write GSR and I wanna know if it's making you guys suffer just to read it. So do yourself and me a favor by reviewing and telling me. And as for the past reviewers thank you so damn much. It means so much to me. Much love to all y'all. Oh yeah, and those directed steps for the waltz? Yeah, that's not a real step - just something I made up. Okay, not I but it was something that I was taught to be the waltz. So don't get all technical on me for the waltz steps. Hmm... I wonder if any of you even noticed before I mentioned it. Damn, well I just ruined my image.

Peace out, one love,
MC New York