A/N: This is not the chapter I set out to write. It is the chapter that somehow managed to write itself. Originally, this chapter was called "Truth and Consequences," but the "Truth" section got so long that I decided to split the chapter in half. Unfortunately, my favorite scene ended up in the next chapter, so you'll have to wait a little longer to read it. I hope you like this chapter as is!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

I don't own CSI. Inspiration and some dialogue are taken from episode 301, "The Accused Is Entitled."

Truth

"Hey, Cath, have you seen Grissom?"

"I think he's in his office," Catherine replied. "What's up, Jim?"

"We've got quite the homicide on our hands," Brass replied. "A woman was found dead in Tom Haviland's room."

"Tom Haviland?" Catherine repeated. "The movie star?"

"That's the one. I need Gil at the scene."

"I'll go get him. Are you on your way now?"

"Yeah. Just send him on behind me."

"Sure, Jim."

Brass handed her the file with the limited details that were already known. "Thanks, Catherine."

"No problem."

Catherine left Brass and made her way down the hall to Grissom's office. His door was open; she could see him sitting at his desk, doing paperwork. She smiled, knowing that he'd be thrilled to leave the paperwork behind in favor of a new case.

"Hey, Grissom," she said as she walked in.

He didn't look up.

Catherine frowned. She had certainly seen Grissom too engrossed in a task to respond before, but that all-consuming task was never paperwork. He was usually at his most distractible when doing case reviews. She stepped closer.

"Grissom?"

Again, he ignored her.

Feeling a bit of panic, she walked up until she was standing directly across his desk from him. "Gil!"

He finally looked up, clearly surprised to see her. "Hi, Catherine."

She gave him an odd look. "Are you all right?"

He frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just … never mind. Look, Brass wanted me to give you this." She passed him the file in her hands. "A girl was found dead in Tom Haviland's room."

He looked at her in confusion. "Am I supposed to know who he is?"

Catherine couldn't help but grin. "I wouldn't expect you to."

Grissom scanned the file Catherine had given him and nodded. "Okay, I'll take Warrick with me. You, Sara and Nicky stay close, just in case we need you."

"Right."

Catherine left his office, and Grissom sat back in his chair. He felt all the breath leave his body as he exhaled. She had made it all the way to his desk before he even knew she was in the room. Things were getting bad – and fast. He made his decision in a heartbeat. He would not process evidence in this case. He would follow his job description to the letter and simply supervise. He couldn't let his problems jeopardize the entire team's performance.

An hour later, Sara, Catherine and Nick walked into a mass of reporters and outraged fans. They watched as Brass led Tom Haviland away in handcuffs.

"I like his movies," Sara said.

Catherine, on the phone with the DA, ignored her. Nick looked at her as though she had lost her mind. Tom Haviland's movies, while popular, were never considered true cinematic genius.

"Some of them are good," Sara said weakly. She hid her smile as she thought of the most recent Tom Haviland movie she had seen. Hank had brought it to her place to watch on their last night off. The beginning of the movie was good, but … she had no idea how the movie ended.

Within minutes, each CSI had been assigned a task to help with their extremely high-profile case. Grissom's instructions were to do their jobs as if this were any other case with any other suspect. Taking his words to heart, Sara did her best to forget that it was Tom Haviland who had blood in his nail beds, and followed Catherine up to the suite where the girl had been murdered.

Once inside the suite, Catherine made her way into the bathroom, while Sara began taking photos of the girl and the bed she was sprawled across. The body had just been removed when Hank appeared beside her. Sara glanced up from taking pictures of a bra that had been thrown on the bed.

"Hey, Sara," he said crouching down beside her.

"Hey," she said. "I thought you left."

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"Uh," Sara said, taking a picture and looking critically across the bed, "can it wait till after work?"

"It's about work. When I tried to revive the victim, the bra was in the way, so I repositioned it. I didn't think about it till I was at the elevator."

"Oh. Um … can you tell me where it was, exactly?"

Hank told her where to put the bra, and Sara took more pictures. He thanked her, but she brushed it off, telling him that she'd include it in her report.

"Sorry," he said.

She smiled at him, trying hard not to think about the Tom Haviland movie they had watched only days before. He returned the smile, and left just as Catherine walked in from the bathroom. Catherine's eyes followed the young EMT out of the room; in an instant, she was sure that he had been there to flirt with Sara. Retaining her professional, on-the-job attitude, she chose not to comment.

As her shift continued, her conversation with Hank was driven completely from Sara's mind. She sat in the break room with her team, eating lunch, when Grissom and Catherine dropped a bombshell on them: they had to be ready to testify against Tom Haviland in a preliminary hearing in less than three days. Greg's jaw hit the floor.

"I'm only done processing half the evidence."

"Well, you're going to have to call in help," Catherine replied.

Sara felt sorry for Greg. He always prided himself on his ability to keep up with the incredible pace of his lab. She was sure that this would be a blow to him.

But then, the bad news continued. Grissom informed them that the defense team included a forensic scientist, who would hover over them, watching them process their evidence. The evidence proved Tom's guilt; they all knew that. This scientist's job was to prove that it had not been properly collected and processed, which could have it excluded – which could mean that their movie-star-suspect would never stand trial.

"So, who's their guy?" Sara asked, already hating this person who made his or her living by making others – colleagues – look bad.

"Dr. Philip Gerard," Grissom said, giving Sara a significant look. He knew that she alone knew of this connection in his past.

This time, Sara's jaw hit the floor. "Philip Gerard," she repeated. "Your mentor is their forensic scientist?"

"Man, can you believe they're doing this to Griss?" Warrick asked as he, Nick and Sara left the break room.

"It's smart," Nick said. "He trained Grissom; he'll know his weaknesses – presumably, weaknesses that he passed on to us when he trained us."

"Um, he didn't train me," Sara said.

Warrick and Nick grinned at each other over her head. "Well, aren't you just the special one, Little Miss I-Came-To-This-Lab-Because-Grissom-Asked-Me?"

"Shut up," Sara said, lightly smacking Nick's arm. "I'm just saying, it's not entirely fair to think that we all do things exactly as Grissom does."

"Um, guys," Greg said, catching up with them in time to hear Sara's comment, "I hate to break it to you, but when it comes to physical evidence collection, you all do do things exactly as Grissom does."

Sara wrinkled up her nose. "Is there no individuality in this lab?"

"Not really," Greg laughed. "But, it's always been what makes you strong as a team. Don't look at it as this guy looking for your weaknesses or Grissom's weaknesses – look at it as a chance to prove how good you are."

"Hey, yeah, Greg's right," Nick said. "Look at that, Greggo! You've had a moment of brilliance."

"It happens from time to time," Greg grinned. "Okay, I'm going to go into my lab, which I will not leave for the next seventy-two hours. See you guys later."

"I think there's some surveillance tape with my name on it," Nick said, heading for the AV lab.

"Bed sheets," Sara said, turning a corner.

She pulled on a lab coat as she entered the lay out room, and found the bag containing the sheets from the hotel bed. She stretched out the bloody sheet, pinning it up so that she could study it.

It was easy to identify the blood that had come directly from the victim's wound. More confusing was a strange, waffle-like pattern, presumably in the victim's blood. Sara was comparing it to various objects from the hotel room when Grissom came in, his lab coat suggesting that he was ready to work.

"Hey," she greeted him with a smile. "Checking up on me?"

"Just trying to be of some assistance," he smiled. "I'm more than confident in your ability to do your job."

Sara sighed. "Grissom …"

"Yes?"

She wasn't sure exactly how to phrase her thoughts. "I can't believe they're doing this to you." Lame, but it got her point across.

Grissom shook his head. "This movie star wants the best defense money can buy. This is one way to get it. They're going to try to rattle us, Sara, but we can't let them. We all know what this lab can do. We all know that we always do the best we can." He smiled. "I can't ask for anything more than that from my team. I know you'll all make me proud."

Sara smiled. "I hope so."

Grissom walked away to look at some crime scene photos, while Sara returned to her scrutiny of the sheets. After a moment, he approached her again, shining his flashlight on the sheets to draw her attention to yet another unexplained blood pattern. They were deep in discussion when something flashed behind them.

They both turned to see a tall, older man taking pictures of the evidence Sara and Grissom had spread across the table. He looked up with a falsely apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Gil. Just doing my job."

Grissom introduced Sara to Dr. Gerard, careful to note that anything she said to him would be on the record. The older man began questioning Sara about the photos she had taken at the crime scene, the evidence she had transported and her storage of the gloves she had worn. Grissom couldn't help but feel proud of Sara as she spoke. With each word, she proved her ability and her excellence as a CSI. He had known that his team would come through this horrible ordeal admirably.

Dr. Gerard passed a folder to Grissom. "The DA just provided me with copies of your pictures of the victim's bra."

"Well, we already know the bra was moved," Grissom said, opening the folder. "Sara filed a supplemental report to that affect."

"I know," Dr. Gerard said. "I wish she'd mentioned her relationship with the EMT who moved the bra."

"Relationship?" Grissom said in complete confusion and shock.

For Sara, it was as though time stopped. She heard without processing as Dr. Gerard implied that her relationship with Hank had somehow changed the way in which she handled the case. Anger surged through her. She spoke to justify herself, but was quickly cut off by Grissom, who suggested that he and Dr. Gerard to go his office to talk.

Dr. Gerard left the room, and Grissom looked as Sara. She wanted desperately to look anywhere but his eyes. The pain, the disappointment in them was unbelievable. It was as if she had betrayed him, or as if he had never really known her.

Sara rattled off something about the sheets, the blood and DNA, and Grissom left, the disappointment in his eyes still visible.

Sara stood rooted in her spot after he had left. With all she had endured in her life, most things were bearable. But, in those few moments, she had found something that she could not bear: Grissom's disappointment.

Sara pulled on her most modest court suit, carefully placing her other clothes in her locker. She spent a lot of quality time in front of the mirror, fixing her hair and make up. She couldn't remember the last time she had taken such care with her appearance. Finally satisfied, she walked out of the locker room.

"Hey, hot stuff," Greg called.

Sara couldn't help but smile as she turned to face him. "Greg, I'm facing a horrific prelim interview. Can't you try to be serious?"

"I am being serious," Greg grinned. "You look hot."

"Well, thanks."

"I know you'll knock 'em dead in court," he added.

"I hope so." Sara glanced at her watch. "I need to leave."

"Good luck, Sara."

"Thanks," she said again.

Sara continued down the hall. She saw Grissom in the temporary evidence vault, comparing a watchband to the waffle-pattern on the sheets. She stopped to tell him that she had already checked it, trying to save him some time. They talked about the case for a moment before he fully looked at her, noticing how she was dressed.

"You look nice," he said.

"Thanks," she replied, expertly concealing her emotions. How was it that this one, almost off-handed comment from Grissom meant more to her than Greg's repeated compliments? "Wish me luck." She turned to leave for court.

"Sara."

She turned back to face him again.

"Whatever happens in court, it's not because you're seeing this guy. You deserve to have a life."

Grissom turned back to his evidence, and Sara left the room. Regret filled them both, but neither stopped to consider why. If they had stopped for a minute to think – which, given their intense work schedule, they couldn't – they would have realized what it was they were regretting.

The hearing was a veritable nightmare. Sara watched as her colleagues were destroyed on the stand, her one desperate thought being that maybe she would do better than they did.

Nick went first. The fact that he had not put case identifiers on his photos did plenty to hurt his credibility, although, as Catherine pointed out, they were fortunate that the judge was still willing to allow the evidence.

Warrick was next. He endured a far more personal attack than Nick did; Marjorie Wescott, the defense attorney, brought up his gambling addiction. Although Sara knew that Warrick had not placed a bet in at least two years, it didn't matter to the court. It was enough to call his character into question, to discredit his testimony.

Finally, it was her turn. She took her seat, and prepared herself to answer the questions as honestly and with as little emotion as possible.

As anticipated, the defense started by asking her about the repositioning of the bra, stating that perhaps Hank had moved to where she wanted it. To Sara, this was a completely asinine suggestion. What difference did it make to her where the bra was on the bed?

"I didn't want it anywhere," she said. "I collect evidence without emotion."

"You do get emotionally involved, though, with the men on your cases," Marjorie stated. "Hank Pettigrew isn't the first time."

"Excuse me?" Sara asked, already insulted. To imply that she routinely dated suspects, or paramedics, or, God forbid, Nick or Warrick, her two surrogate "big brothers" … what sort of twisted game was this woman playing?

"A murder investigation at the residence of one …" Marjorie flipped open a folder as though checking a fact. "… Charles Rentoria? Eyewitness stated he saw you and your supervisor, Gil Grissom, standing alone, outside, and you were touching him a romantic gesture."

Sara's mind flew back, trying to remember the exact circumstances. It all came back to her in a flood. She, Warrick and Grissom had been tearing down the walls in an apartment building, trying to find a dead body. Insect activity, as well as the smell, told them that it was there, but they couldn't find it. Completely frustrated, Grissom had gone outside; Sara had followed. She chatted with him for a minute, trying to help him calm down, and suggested that they take a walk. He refused, and she touched his face. His immediate reaction was one of surprise and confusion. Horrified by what she had done, Sara had quickly blamed it on chalk from the dry wall, stating that it was covering his face. Nearly a year later, she fell back on the same excuse again.

"I brushed chalk from his face," she said, trying her best to look insulted at the implication that she had been somehow fondling Grissom at a crime scene – which, really, wasn't all that hard.

"Is that what they're calling it now?" Marjorie asked viciously.

"Objection, your honor!" exclaimed the DA.

"Dry wall dust," Sara said, speaking over the DA. "We were looking for a body."

"It's a fair question, your honor," Marjorie said. "Just how far will Ms. Sidle go on the evidence to please her boss, Gil Grissom … whether he returns her attentions or not."

Sara felt as though she had been smacked across the face. She barely heard the judge dismissing her, and she wasn't quite sure how she made it back to her seat next to Warrick. He looked at her with concern, but she did not make eye contact.

She couldn't face them yet. And she had no idea how she would ever face him.

Sara barely remembered Catherine's testimony. Something about Catherine being an exotic dancer, about her proficiency scores … Sara was sure that Catherine did just fine. Once she was done, the court was granted an hour recess. Sara shot out of the courtroom. She practically ran down the hall, not stopping until she was outside. She took gulps of fresh air, hoping that it would help her calm down.

"Sara?"

She looked up to see Warrick coming closer to her. "Hi," she said listlessly.

"You can't take this so personally," he said, stopping next to her. "She was out to destroy all of us. It wasn't just you. She attacked my personal life too, and Catherine's."

"I know," Sara said quietly. "I guess … I feel like I'm the only one who had all her secrets put out on the table."

However Warrick chose to interpret her statement, he didn't show it. He put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her against him. "It's going to be fine, Sara. You'll see. Nothing's changed. We're all still the same team."

Sara sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "That woman is pure evil."

"So is Gerard," Warrick added. "I can't believe that man actually taught Grissom. They are nothing alike." He paused. "From what Grissom has always said, I don't think Gerard was always like this. I think it's hard for Grissom to see him this way."

"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Sara said. She paused. "Warrick … Do you think we're letting him down?"

"Letting who down?"

"Grissom."

"No," Warrick said empathetically. "We all know that everything we've done has been our best, right?"

"If it had been our best, would they be able to destroy us like they have?"

Warrick considered his words for a moment. "If you could go back in time, back to when we walked into that hotel, would you do a single thing differently?"

Sara was quiet for a minute. "No," she said at last.

"Then there's your answer."

Sara finally pulled away from him so that she could smile up into his face. "You're right."

Warrick grinned at her. "Of course I am." He glanced at his watch. "Want to go grab something to eat before we have to be back in court?"

"Okay."

Warrick took her hand to lead her back inside. "Let's go find Nick."

Sara smiled. "Good idea."

When the recess was over, Sara, Nick and Warrick walked back into the courtroom. Catherine had saved them seats near the front of the room.

"Who's up next?" Nick asked as they sat down.

"Grissom," Catherine replied.

Sara and the two men exchanged startled looks.

"I thought he wasn't processing evidence?" Sara asked.

"He changed his mind," Catherine replied.

"All rise."

They fell silent and stood as the judge entered the room, taking their seats again when instructed to do so.

Grissom was called to the stand; with the help of the DA, he explained that the unique waffle pattern that Sara had been staring at for three days had been made by Tom Haviland. The DA seemed content with this testimony, and did not ask any further questions.

Marjorie Wescott stepped up to cross-examine him, asking, in a far softer voice than she had used in the previous interrogations, how he had come to his conclusion. Grissom stared at her in complete bewilderment. He asked her to repeat the question. She did. He asked her to repeat it again.

Sara frowned. He was suffering, struggling, and she had no idea why. The tension emanating off him could be felt all the way where she was sitting.

Finally, Grissom answered the question. He enhanced photos of a scar on the suspect's knee, stating that it had produced the pattern on the sheets, thereby placing Tom at the murder. Grissom was so confident as he read quotes from tabloids and provided pictures taken from Tom Haviland's production files, that the team could not help but laugh.

"Where did Grissom get those quotes?" Sara asked in a whisper.

"Greg's magazines," Catherine whispered back.

Sara wanted to laugh even harder.

The judge ruled that Tom would stand trial, and the team gleefully leapt to its feet. They had made it – they had proved themselves to be every bit as professional and competent as their reputation made them out to be.

"We're going to celebrate," Grissom said as soon as they were out of the courtroom. "I'm taking you all out for dinner."

They all stared at him in shock. Catherine recovered first.

"Well … thanks, Gil," she said.

"Yeah, thanks," the others echoed, still floored by their boss's generosity.

He grinned. "We all look nice … let's go somewhere fancy." He glanced at Sara, and amended his statement. "Somewhere fancy that serves vegetarian meals."

Sara grinned, but couldn't help feeling a little nervous. She hoped he would be so willing to be kind to her when the news of her little "crush" leaked out.

Yet, even though she was terrified of what would happen, she couldn't help but notice how incredibly handsome he looked in his suit.