There was a mild shaking at her shoulders. She tried to dismiss it with a wave of her hand. Or, at least, she thought she waved her hand. Maybe that was just in her dream...

"Sara?"

That distorted, distant voice sounded familiar... Someone she worked with. Was it Grissom? No, it must be Catherine...

"Sara, wake up."

No, no, no... That was Doc.

And sure enough, when she opened her eyes, that was who was waiting for her. Immediately, she shielded her eyes from the sunlight – it appeared to be getting dimmer, at least, but it was still bright out. How long had she been here?

...Wait, where was she, to start out with?

"Sara?"

She sat up slowly, and looked to each side of her for him. He was on her right. She smiled. "Hi, Doc. How's it going?"

Doc slid a stool sitting beside him over. "Don't ask about me. How are YOU doing?"

She pondered this for a moment. How WAS she doing...? In the last unknown number of hours (although, she was sure she'd have a vague idea, if she just thought about it), she felt like she'd been drug through the ringer. After working a fairly easy case and thinking she'd been about to go home, just about everything had been turned upside down.

First, Lady Heather had shown up, and her appearance had reminded Sara that Grissom was still, in fact, all too attached. Watching him go towards her with his arms out – like he'd never really done with Sara – stung, to put it mildly. Not as much as watching the two of them unite the way they had on the case, though...

Then, from completely out of the blue came Nick's arrest. A friend, a teammate... she watched him taken to a holding cell. Watched him cry, watched him rush to Warrick. Eager for some comfort. She could only imagine what it had been like between he and Catherine, to put her in the state she was in by the time Sara'd seen her. Nicky... afraid and embarrassed in front of all his co-workers...

If that hadn't been bad enough, her reaction – unexpected and overwhelming, even to her – had also scared and embarrassed HER in front of her co-workers. While she'd sat in the locker room and cried it out, at least three people had gone through and seen her. Then Grissom, of all people, had come for her.

She was pretty sure she'd just about been fired for her interference with the woman Nick had saved, too. And probably for almost killing Hodges because of the comments he'd made about Nick.

And that had finally made her question (but not admit to herself that she was questioning) what, exactly, was going on in her mind. Why couldn't she stop thinking about Nick? Why did this hit so hard in the first place? Sure, nobody likes to see a friend arrested, but she would have expected this strong a reaction from Catherine, maybe...

And now – because she'd been unable to hide it – Grissom had caught on. Remembering his smug expression while she'd told the story about her night star watching with Nick made her eyes narrow of their own accord. Remembering how she felt when it was actually happening drove her even crazier, though. It was so warm and comfortable, being there, like that...

So, yeah, definitely a lot to think about. But when she looked up at Doc and smiled to respond, all she said was: "I'm fine."

"Oh, no, you aren't," corrected Doc, kindly. He patted her shoulder a few times. "You're in the trenches, at the moment."

Her smile faded a bit. "Yeah," she admitted easily. "I'm worn out, to be honest." She let her forehead fall onto the table. "I went to see Nick."

Doc rested his cane against the table. "Oh?"

"Yeah. He tried to make light of it."

"That IS usually his way..." shrugged Doc.

"Yeah, but he shouldn't do it," Sara immediately snapped back. "Everything's not all right, and he shouldn't pretend that it is."

"Well, maybe facing it would make the situation worse."

Sara eyed Doc sarcastically. "We don't control the way things turn out, in situations like this. It doesn't matter how Nick chooses to react."

Doc looked at the table, and plucked a photo off of it. "I don't know about that, Sara. I think we can always help – if nothing but ourselves – a situation along in some way. If we choose not to get too bent out of shape about it." He raised the photo and squinted at it. "When was this taken?"

Sara looked at it for a moment, and then quickly sighed afterwards. "It was taken a few weeks ago."

It was a picture of her and Nick. They were standing by a large fountain, and Sara had a balloon tied around her wrist. She remembered whining about looking like a kid, but Nick insisted, after the day THEY'D had... and bought it for her. Watching him tie it on had made her smile. And by the end of the next day, she was saddened when it began to lose its helium.

Nick had his arms around her from behind her in the picture. His teeth were flashing, inches from hers. He was wearing, as he frequently seemed to be, a sweater. She had a long, dark blue coat on. The sun was going down in the background, but casting enough light to create a purple skyline. The wind was blowing her hair across his shoulder. The streetlamp next to them created a cool lighting effect that fell on them, and lit up the edges of their bodies. The kindly lady who had stopped to take the picture had asked them if they were getting married...

Doc set it down. "Do you do this frequently?"

"What? Walk with Nick? Yeah, sometimes..."

Doc cocked his head to the side.

Sara fought back the grin, but lost. "Okay, okay," she admitted. "We do it often."

Doc's eyes surveyed her. "He's a good friend."

"He is," she replied with a deep breath, and stared at the table. Then after a moment, "I don't know what I'm going to do if he's convicted of murder."

Doc gave her a one-armed hug. "I don't think that's going to happen."

"I hope not," said Sara. "Because I really don't know what I'm going to do..."

She could feel Doc's eyes probing her. She knew what he wanted.

And somehow, she knew he knew. Knew what she didn't know, herself. "Doc, I–" But she stopped.

He waited, expectantly.

She pressed her lips together, for a second. And then, "I don't know what to do NOW." She couldn't look at him, but she was vaguely aware of him shifting.

"Sara..." he finally tried, "...Nick will be just fine. You'll get your chance."

She knew what he meant, but for some reason, it was this that made her head snap towards him. "What?"

"You'll get your chance," he repeated. "Just wait for it."

He started for the door, and she watched him go.

But he stopped halfway through it. "Oh! And be ready... I think Nick may be more eager than you are, if possible!"

And he winked before leaving.

Sara watched him continue down the hall and back towards the elevator. Headed for the morgue, most likely.

She banged her head once on the table, and shook it with growing embarrassment.

Catherine entered the materials lab with a renewed sense of determination – there WAS a chance, after all! If the little soldiers in the bag in her right hand led to anything, it could break the case wide open... and take them all one step closer to getting home. And she was proud to see Greg running over the big four evidence pieces he'd gotten from the initial crime scene. Rather than napping, as she had already done...

But the reason for his studious professionalism became more apparent when she looked a little closer, and found Grissom hunched over something at one of the other tables. She rolled her eyes, and approached cautiously.

"Find something, Gil?" she asked formally.

"I think I may have..." was all he replied with.

She waited for him to expound. But when he didn't, she turned to Greg, instead. "I think I may have something, here."

He looked over, pulling his heavy eyelids back up. "Good. Please, let it be this simple..."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" She slid onto the stool next to him. "It looks like someone was having a little fun at the crime scene, not too long ago." And she whipped the bag up onto the table. "Bring out the old DNA work, huh?"

Greg blinked disgustedly. "Is that... Is that–"

"–cum. Yes."

Grissom looked back over his shoulder at the two of them and shook his head. Had she really just called it "cum"?

How very grown up, he thought. But he decided to keep quiet about it. There wasn't time for another fight with Catherine. He bent over the glove, and continued swabbing it.

The saliva sample was still fresh and thick. It gleamed underneath the lights overhead. The first order of business had been confirming it really was Lady Heather's. But the skin cells from inside the glove indicated it was.

But who spat on her?

Grissom's teeth gritted just to think about it. Heather, fighting desperately to escape someone who had found out she was interfering... Just like he'd said. He shouldn't have let her go, but how could he have stopped her? Why didn't he go WITH her, instead? The whole thing... just like just about everything else on his plate, at the moment... was totally...

"...my fault," he whispered to himself. He removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. "Nick, Sara, and now Lady Heather... All my fault."

"Uh..." said Greg.

Catherine looked up from her notes, expectantly. "Did you get it?" she asked.

Greg looked perplexed. "I did. You'll never guess who it was..."

"The Crest CEO," Catherine tried.

"No."

"Archibald's? It was latent..."

"No. Try someone of the female sex."

At this, she jolted. "What?"

Greg turned the printed papers towards her. "Female. The ejaculate you picked up was female."

Catherine squinted at the papers. Slowly, the picture came into focus. From the system, there was a result: a woman, who looked awfully familiar. Catherine's eyes widened.

"Claire?" she questioned, incredulously. "Claire? The Crest CEO's secretary?"

Greg nodded. "Yep."

Catherine put two hands up, and reeled back, somewhat exaggeratedly. "God..."

Behind them, Grissom stood up – not suddenly, but still sharply. The stool wheeled back and banged into something.

"Ow!" protested Catherine.

But Grissom barely noticed. "Greg... Did you say the ejaculate was the Crest CEO's secretary's?"

"That's right," answered Greg.

"My leg..."

"Well, guess whose saliva ended up on Lady Heather's glove?"

He turned in time to see Catherine looking to him, eyebrows furrowed and mouth half-open. "Excuse me?"

"Lady Heather... uh, kindly... offered to help. You knew that Archibald Gracie's son... Frank Gracie... was Zoe's father?"

Catherine stopped rubbing her leg entirely. "Zoe Kessler? Lady Heather's daughter?"

"That's right," confirmed Grissom.

"Well, then she must know our victim," said Greg, excitedly.

"She knew the family, but not Archibald. She went to see Zoe's great grandmother – a Lynn Gracie." He indicated the glove on the table. "This was hers, but..." He looked down.

Catherine scooted out of her seat and went to put a hand on his shoulder. "Gil..."

But he shrugged it off. "I, uh– I..." And smiled. "Thank you, Catherine. I'm okay."

She rolled her eyes, halfheartedly, and went to pick up the folder on the table. "If you say so..." She cleared her throat whilst opening it, then addressed Greg. "So, what do we know?"

"Archibald Gracie was found in the vents. By the housekeeper, Delora. The wife came home, claimed she was on vacation," recapped Greg. He began to pace a bit.

"But she was lying," said Catherine. "The DNA from the luggage was all male. And it was the Crest CEO's."

"The other Greg," interjected Grissom.

Greg grinned. "Yep. The other Greg."

"Right. And according to Mrs. Gracie, she was having an affair with her husband's boss... because he was having one with the boss' secretary: Claire."

"And now, Lady Heather knows them. She goes to see the great grandmother of her daughter, and she, what... disappears?"

Grissom nodded stoically in response.

"Okay, so what's the connection?" asked Catherine.

"The secretary," answered Grissom. "No word on how she relates to Heather's situation, but she knew both the wife and the husband."

"Or, she was important enough for them to bring her up. Even if it's a frame job, there's gotta be something for her name to keep showing up," suggested Greg.

"Correct," said Grissom.

"So, it sounds like... we need to bring her in. And this time, if she doesn't cooperate, we get a warrant," said Catherine. "There's evidence, now – pretty strong evidence, I'd say – that links her directly to the crime scene."

Grissom smiled to himself while Catherine and Greg smiled at each other. It was one of those moments – watching them bask in their accomplishment – that made him proud of them...

"Good job, guys," he allowed. "Let's go talk to Brass – I'm going to sit in on this one."

"She's got an attitude, just for your forewarning," said Greg.

"Perfect." Catherine grinned. "I like me a challenge. Especially when I'm in this kind of mood." She and Grissom would be in on this one together.

"Good luck," said Brass.

She nodded her head once, and then proceeded through the door, breathing ice instead of fire.

When she slammed it closed behind her, both Grissom and Claire looked up.

Far lacking in the usual formality, Catherine stormed over and banged a hand down on the table. "Alright, sweetie, here's the deal: your lying is keeping me at work, way past the end of my shift. I have a daughter, and she's waiting on me. So how about we cut the crap..." she sat back into the chair behind her, "...and get straight to the truth." She folded her arms across her chest, and inclined her head to the side. "We'll ask you one more time."

"What do you know about Archibald Gracie's murder?" added Grissom.

Claire shrugged. "How am I supposed to know?"

"You tell us," Catherine snapped back. "We found some very... intimate DNA in the Gracies' living room: ejaculate."

Claire's eyes widened, minutely.

"Female ejaculate," continued Catherine. "Yours."

"If you don't want to come clean, Claire, that's fine – we'll find what we're looking for, anyway. It just means your uncooperation will be counted against you, when we do."

"You'll be in prison for the rest of your life if we find anything that ties you to his murder. Anything, at all..."

She exhaled the breath she'd been holding. "Okay," she said. She let her hands go from the side of her head to the table. "Okay."

Catherine settled into her chair for a story. She was fairly sure it would be fictional, at least in part, but still... It might be entertaining, if nothing else.

"Look, you gotta remember, it's... different now. Not the same as how it used to be, when we were all younger." She looked between them. "All of us." A tear escaped her eye, but she brushed it away, immediately. "I was... not having an affair with Archie – I was having one with Ginger."

Catherine's lips parted slowly.

Beside her, Grissom seemed unfazed.

"We, uh... we met at that Christmas party. We didn't want anyone to know." Her tears flowed faster, and she gave up trying to staunch them. "It was just... immediate. We had a connection, right away. She was so beautiful...

"We were trying to make our relationship work. But things just kept getting in the way. Greg would call me in for work, or Archie would take Ginger away... There was always something. We finally got a moment to ourselves last night... after Archie died..."

NOW Grissom seemed fazed. His lips fell apart. "You killed him, and then..."

A devious looking smile came across her face. "Oh, no. No, no, no... Someone else did that for me. I don't know who, I swear, but... God, I'd like to meet them." Her eyes rolled back into her head. "SO... hot..."

The revelation finally sunk into Catherine. An army of earthworms crawled from her feet to the top of her head. A violent shiver of repulsion ran through her when they all combined at the top, shaking her brain...

"I'm-I'm sorry?" asked Grissom, carefully.

Claire leaned forward. "Have you ever had sex with a dead body? Do you know how incredible it is? It's like... their souls are still with you. They watch you, but there's nothing they can do to help themselves. It's the ultimate form of rape."

Grissom's eyes closed, and his hands rattled on the table. But Catherine clenched her stomach, where an increasingly-heavy weight was settling. Oh, my God, she thought. Oh, my God...

After a few moments, she looked back up. Their discomfort was obviously amusing to Claire.

"So... so, what you're saying is..." said Catherine, "...you went back to an unreleased crime scene... with the victim's wife... to have sex where her husband's body had been?"

"Hey, you bastards got the body before we could," shrugged Claire. "What were we supposed to do?"

"You think our problem, at this point, is that you trespassed on a police-protected crime scene?!" demanded Catherine, incredulously. "I'm sorry, honey, but this is a whole new level of 'illegal'. And absolutely disgusting..."

"Wait a minute..." interjected Grissom. "You said, 'someone else' killed Archibald. You never mentioned who."

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Because, I think you work for him," replied Grissom. "I think he..." and Grissom yanked two pieces of paper out of the folder, "...took a friend of mine." He dropped them before her: the DNA results on Lady Heather's glove and the suitcases. "Both Greg, that's right," he pressed in response to her confused expression. "So, where's he taken her?" He stood and leaned over the table towards her. "STOP PLAYING GAMES, AND TELL ME WHERE HEATHER IS!"

Claire raised one eyebrow. "Oh, I think you know. One of you already found us. Before."

Catherine's eyes widened slightly.

"'Us'?" repeated Grissom.

"That's right," said Claire. "Greg, Ginger, and I." She shook her head with mock sadness. "Poor old Greg... Never should have trusted me with his secret."

"What secret?" questioned Catherine.

Claire opened her eyes. "Just a little survival measure." And her expression became even more smug. "The government would call it insurance fraud. Mass insurance fraud, more like. So, Greg did us a favor." She wrapped her arms around herself. "We don't get to, uh... indulge in our habits very often, Ginger and I. It's hard to find bodies."

"So..." said Catherine, "Greg was bringing you–"

"Bodies, "interrupted Claire. "In the desert. Where one of you was. I believe I heard the arresting officer calling him 'Nicholas Stokes'? And, if I'm not mistaken, he's doing time, now, isn't he?"

Catherine's hands shook. But with rage, this time, as opposed to sadness. Nicky...

Suddenly, one of Grissom's hands came down over hers. "Catherine."

Without taking her eyes off Claire's smug face, "Let's go."

Suddenly, Greg burst in. "Wait! One more thing..."

Both Catherine and Grissom looked over at him, and watched him reach into the folder. He withdrew a photo and held it in front of her, forcefully.

"Know him?" he demanded.

Her eyeballs swept up and down. "Frank, huh?"

Grissom leaned even closer. "What?"

"That's Frank. Ginger's son. So, you got him... and you couldn't figure all the rest of this out?"

Catherine turned to gauge Brass' reaction – just in time to see his mouth fall open.

"Let's go," she repeated.

Whilst staring at the ceiling, Nick sighed. It was getting cold... Overhead, there was a little more light still coming through the window. The shadows of the bars on it were jagged, telling him that he'd been imprisoned for almost a whole day, now. He wondered what the others were doing...

His door suddenly clicked, and he sat up with more reflex than he thought he'd have after a whole day of lying on his ass.

"Mr. Stokes?" asked the attending officer – a new one from when Sara had visited. "You've got another visitor."

"Really?" asked Nick. He was beginning to understand why prisoners looked forward to their visiting schedules. If he made it out of this – and his credibility and influence survived to any extent – he'd see what he could do for others in his position... "There's-there's someone here, for me?" He looked out the window. "This late?"

The officer smiled, and stepped aside. From around her came Doc Robbins, bearing a wide grin.

Nick rocketed off the bed towards Doc. He didn't see Doc's slight wince when his arms clapped tightly around him.

"Doc!" he exclaimed.

Doc chuckled, and returned the hug with one arm. "Hello, there, Nick."

"Wow, this is a surprise," said Nick, pulling back.

Doc eyed him with fake offense. "Oh, please... I'm not Grissom."

Nick sucked air in through his teeth. "Ooh... THAT'S not somewhere anybody wants to go..." He indicated the bed. "Here, if you wanna have a seat. Sorry, this is all I got..."

Doc waved a hand dismissively. "I'm an easy house guest." He grunted slightly on his way down to the seat. "So... how are you holding up, with all this?"

The officer disappeared through the door.

Nick joined Doc. "I'm okay."

"Yes. That's what Sara said you told her."

Nick's lips jutted out. "Sara...?"

"That's right. I saw her, after she'd been here."

"How's she doing?" asked Nick eagerly. He'd kind of hoped she'd have been back by then, but he was mildly sure it had only been a few hours since she'd been there last. Even though it felt like it had been much longer...

"Oh... you know..." sighed Doc. "She's Sara. Still holding on, there." He grinned knowingly. "She still won't admit she's tired."

Nick nodded, all-too-familiarly. He leaned back against the wall, hands on the back of his head. "Yep. Sounds like Sara."

Doc looked at his feet for a second, but then again affixed Nick with his gaze. "Yes. She tells me... that's your MO, too."

Nick shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe... But I'm allowed, she's not."

Doc cocked his head to the side, slightly. "And why's that?"

His facial muscles grinned wider by themselves. "Because she's Sara," answered Nick. "She's been through enough, you know? Somebody's gotta watch over her. Keep her safe, keep her from burning out." He turned to Doc, still all smiles. "I assume you been stepping in for me? While I've been... preoccupied?"

Doc put a hand out to the side of his arm. "Nick..."

Looking at Doc's hand, his composure weakened a bit. His lower lip shook.

"Sara's been... doing rough," continued Doc. "But she's doing better. She was smiling as wide as you were just then, when she got back from seeing you."

It took a moment to control himself enough to speak. "Good," he finally got out. "I was worried, kinda, that she would... feel worse, after... after sh-she saw me."

"Yeah," said Doc. "Do her a favor: she was worried that you were... well, she called it 'making light'?"

Nick took a deep breath. "Is that so...?'

"It is." Doc leaned back against the wall, as well. "So, make sure you... resolve that, when you're done in here."

His polite, optimistic expression only made Nick feel worse inside.

But he did his best to return it. "I will."

"Oh! And go for a walk."

Nick's eyebrows furrowed, and he looked over. "A walk?"

"Yes. With Sara, I mean. Like you did when you bought her the balloon?"

A warm, comforting feeling seemed to envelop Nick in his stomach. It manifested as a falsely-innocent blink-and-stare. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Nick. This old man has seen a thing or two, you know?"

Nick's smile faded. He stared at his feet, lost in the memory... Absentmindedly, his hand reached down his side. Where was his copy...?

He looked back up as he retrieved it – Doc was watching, expectantly.

Nick took his hand and set something down in it. When Doc looked down at it... and saw that it was the exact same picture as the one Sara had shown him... he grinned.

"Brass let me have it," explained Nick.

Doc looked between the photo and Nick, and then back several times. Finally, he shook his head. "That was awfully nice of him."

"You know, I never understood why people called it 'awfully nice'..." mused Nick.

"I suppose, I understand that," said Doc. "It's contradictory."

Nick pressed his lips together. "Very," he said.

And then they laughed together about it.