Disclaimer: I do not own the canon characters; I do own the original characters

Author's Notes: Everything I've written for the past three days has been crap. But, I suppose a funeral and a service will do that to you. But...I'm better now. And as my AP Statistics teacher used to tell us when we complained and argued: "Quit your bitching, and pull through it. What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger."

I'm pulling out my creative license. Just to let you know.

"It's gone gone baby it's all gone, there is no one on the corner and there's no one at home"

-Matchbox Twenty-

"So, what exactly is this?"

The Mississippian native raised his head from his workplace to his dark haired companion who had posed the question. Don Eppes had joined him downstairs; why the man agent found mold fascinating when it wasn't part of his job was beyond his comprehension, but Titus had no problem with him. Don was fair, honest, and a good leader. He had a passion for protecting and serving the people that was not seen nearly enough in law enforcement these days. Besides he was easy to talk to and he was nice, not to mention Kathryn had told him that there was something going on between this leader and his own.

"Penicillium marneffei is a mold native to southeast Asia. It can be carried just like any other typical mold or fungus. Rats are the most common of the penicillium marneffei, particularly bamboo rats. Nasty little creatures," he answered, adjusting the slide and examining the mold. Rats were nasty creatures. Back home, he and his friends, had used to shoot them for fun. He rolled to the right, making room for his guest to see.

The agent slid from leaning on the table to look through the microscope. "And this can be carried by the rats on the container ships? Meaning at some point the body of our third victim came into contact with something or someone that was around the Port with this mold?" Don asked as he looked at the slide.

Titus nodded, even though he couldn't see him. "Exactly. But this mold grows where the environment is warm and moist. The environment in the area surrounding San Pedro Bay is a perfect breeding ground and judging by the activeness and growth of the trace, it makes it probable to assume that our guy is still somewhere in that area. The farther you move away the less ideal the environment and the less active the mold is. Meaning no more growth."

Don leaned back, pondering for a moment and then said, "Right. The Port of Los Angeles was built as a wharf. The railroad later cropped up around the area. Wilmington was originally an industrial town. There are plenty of old abandoned warehouses and buildings around there. It would be a perfect place for this guy."

"And a perfect breeding ground for our mold."

"Let's just hope Charlie can help us find out just where and soon." Don sighed, running a hand through his short dark hair.

Titus grinned. "I hear 'ya."

The agent's cell phone rang and he stepped away, holding up a hand to excuse himself from their conversation.

Titus went back to his report, eavesdropping and watching as Don talked. Going back to his earlier thoughts and Kathryn's words over coffee this morning, he supposed that Don was all right. True, Peyton was a grown woman who was capable of making her own decisions, but the two of them had taken to looking after their friend. The woman had once come to work with the flu and refused to leave until Kathryn and he had filled out the leave of absence form themselves and forged her signature. Their genius could be so stubborn sometimes. But, if Kathryn was okay with Don, then he supposed he was okay with the man as well. Kathryn was ultimately the final judge, having known her for all of her life.

"Something wrong?" He asked as Don reattached his phone to his belt, interpreting his facial expression.

Don shook his head and then added in a voice in direct opposite of his words, "No. Nothing. Just my boss wanting to see me."

Colby removed the highlighter from his mouth, eyeing the chew marks in distaste. He couldn't remember when he had picked up that habit. Probably around the same time that he had traded his job on the front line for this one which incidentally sometimes involved reading over boring files and listings.

"Hey, David, do you think the new shipment of Ford parts received three weeks ago is of any importance?"

David didn't bother to turn around at his question. "Does Ford have anything to do with selling chemicals or items that can be used as medical supplies, Granger?"

Colby pondered the thought for a moment, having not meant his question as anything but sarcasm, and responded cheekily, "Probably not."

"Then that's a no."

He went back to studying the inventories. Furniture and electronic part listings from China and Taiwan went on in a never ending cycle.

"But I can tell you what is of importance, Granger. After this, I don't want to ever read about container ships and their cargo ever again," David said after a minute.

He nodded. "Agreed. If we have to read through these again it will be far too soon."

"Hey, Colby, David. How's it going?"

Colby wheeled to the right, turning to face the source of the new voice, and tossed another packet into the box near where her feet now stood. Their newest doctor had come around the corner to stand in between their two cubicles. "It's going nowhere," he stated and reached for another stack.

Peyton looked at him and then over at David. "You too, David?"

He laughed quietly as his partner made a grunting noise from his hunched over position.

She smiled and rested her chin in her palm, elbow leaning against the top of the glass shield. "I'm sorry, boys." She didn't sound the least bit sorry in his opinion, certainly not with that smile on her face.

"Yeah? If you were really sorry you'd come over here and help sift through these listings." Colby looked over his shoulder, his face falling as she let out a short bark.

Peyton shook her face in her palm. "I don't really do that anymore. It's good to be second in command. Then you don't do those things; other people do them for you. That's the natural order of things. Just think, one day you'll be able to get other people to do it for you. But, I would help you guys out, since I like you and all. However, I'm taking a look at another case this morning. I just returned from the scene in Beverly Hills."

Colby turned back to her, noticing the black vest over her blouse. He had only seen the doctor in the CSI vest one other time; she didn't wear it often, probably having to do with the fact that while not nearly as heavy as their flak vests, it was still bulky and awkward.

Colby was about to come back with another one of his clever replies, convinced that with one more he could reel her in to help, when a young agent joined them at her side. He recognized the younger man from upstairs in the cyber division, as well as one of the agents who dealt with the press and the media.

"Dr. Huntzberger?"

Peyton straightened, her hand falling to her side, and turned. "Yes. Can I help you?"

The man nodded and answered curtly, "The Assistant Director would like to speak with you upstairs."

"Very well. I can be up there in ten minutes, there's something I need—"

"No. He means now."

Assistant Director Merrick, of the Los Angeles FBI, watched as his forensic Assistant Supervisor and one of his finest agents gazed at the television screen in his office. They sat quietly next to each other, their hands gripping the sides of their chairs the only indication that something was troubling them. Their faces were masks, unreadable and stony. His eyes flickered to Agent Thomas who was not watching the screen but their faces. Merrick had asked the young agent with a history of dealing with the press to assist with their problem.

His gaze went back to Eppes and Dr. Huntzberger. He was pleased that the two were finally cooperating and working together. Both were as stubborn as mules, and had fought for the first few weeks. Frankly, he hadn't had the time to deal with their petty problems about bureaucracy and who was the alpha male on the team. The Director had an entire branch to run, in a dangerous city no less, and he couldn't afford to have two of his best employees fighting with one another.

"How did this leak out?"

He met the gaze of the scientist, reading the anger in the harsh set of her jaw and eyes. "That is what we would like to know."

"We?" She asked.

Merrick waved a hand to the other agent positioned behind them. Eppes and the doctor craned their heads around to look. Eppes nodded at the fellow agent, but the doctor merely looked him over and then turned back to him. "Agent Thomas is here to help us determine just what should be released in a statement. What we want to know is how this happened."

She shook her head at him, puzzlement replacing the anger. "It was not anyone on my staff. Only a few have had direct access to the specifics of the case, and they would not speak of this. As for the rest of the members on our team, I think Agent Eppes can attest to the fact that none of them would have done this."

Merrick turned to Eppes. "Is that true, Eppes?"

The agent nodded and said, "Yes, sir. Neither of my two agents would have done this or had the opportunity to do this."

"This reporter was able to catch you on location with the third victim," he searched the paper on his desk, hunting for the name. "…David Elium. The footage doesn't reveal anything of the body itself, but she did catch it being transported. She also has information on the second victim found in the bay area. Which leads us to believe that somebody leaked information about it."

They were silent after his words, neither of the persons in the room knowing what to say or wanting to offer anything. The high pitched voice of the reporter filtered through the speakers and around the room as she continued on with her news report.

"…And another victim was found near the San Pedro Bay area. It has been reported that this victim was murdered in the same manner of the victim found in Harbor City. No official statement has been made about this sudden rash of violent murders…"

"Perhaps, it is possible that since the body of Sofia Friedman was found in the San Pedro Bay that this reporter gained her information from some of the workers there. It's a public place; she could have talked to anybody from there and got what she wanted. In my experience, reporters know just what buttons to push to get the information that they want. As for the Harbor City scene, if she was in a good enough location, she could have overheard any of us talking about the logistics of the case. Reporters are like roaches. Sneaky and never staying gone no matter how hard you shoo them away. But, the question now is how much do we release," Dr. Huntzberger said, a speculative infliction in her words as she turned in her chair.

Agent Thomas stepped forward for the first time. "That is the question. Say too much and we risk starting a city wide panic and general fear of a serial killer who goes after victims that match about one million of the people in this city. Say too little and we look like we're hiding things. It's a fine line and one that we are going to have to tread carefully. Director Merrick has set a conference for three this afternoon, where you, Dr. Huntzberger, will deliver a statement about this case. Hopefully, it will reverse the damage that this reporter has already done."

-------------------

Ryan Thomas stood on the step above the podium and microphones. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for anyone that stood out among the reporters and spectators. No one had struck him and caught his eye yet. The Director and he had hoped that maybe the press conference would draw the killer out; at least to see how much they really knew about his operation. It was a ploy that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't, but they were willing to try anything at this point.

He shifted his gaze back to the speaker behind the podium. Dr. Huntzberger had been perfect when answering the reporters' questions. Not giving away too much, sticking to the perimeters of what the Director had cleared to be released, and staying cool when the reporters had turned from vague politeness to annoyed and frustrated. At least this press conference had been good for something, he thought. It would keep the news media off their backs about hiding and covering up things.

Dr. Huntzberger finished her final answer for the conference, stating that it was over and thanking them for their patience and time. She stepped back and gave him a pointed look before striding back into the building.

With his face turned to watch her exit, he didn't notice the man in the crowd that moved and weaved to watch her leave, eyes never leaving her blonde hair. If he had of caught him earlier, he would have noticed that the man had never let his eyes leave the doctor as she spoke. The man, who Ryan Thomas didn't see, waited until she was inside and then slowly slinked back into the crowd, dissolving and disappearing at once, as if he had never been there.

She was tired. After answering questions repetitively fired at her for ninety minutes by rude and annoying reporters, she had found herself completely fed up with humans and any form of interaction with them. The press agent had not been helpful either; Agent Thomas had remained his stiff and curt self, hovering behind her the entire ninety minutes. She didn't like when people hovered around her. It made her nervous and more than likely stemmed from the fact that she was so short.

Peyton grabbed her towel from the counter, folding it over the silver rack, as she left her bathroom. Her bare feet smacked across the tile, shuffling as the cool floor changed to plush carpet, and came to stop at her bed. Her hands pulled the black tee over her head and over the long sleeved gray shirt; quick fingers looped and piled her fair hair up onto the top of her head.

She suddenly paused in her actions, hands frozen around her head. Cocking her head, Peyton waited, straining to hear. She could have sworn she had heard something. Kathryn was out late for the night, so it couldn't have been her. It didn't come again, but the hair on the back of her neck prickled and a feeling of unease washed over her. Caesar didn't make a noise like that.

'It was probably nothing, Peyton, she convinced herself, you're tired and hearing things.' As the seconds ticked by and nothing came again from the downstairs area, she shrugged her shoulders and dismissed the thought. A nice glass of merlot would calm her nerves and do wonders; it certainly was needed after a day like today.

The bottle called to her from the kitchen, her feet moving down the two flights of stairs in the townhouse. She flicked on the lights, moving across the marble and around the counters.

Moments later, with a full glass of wine, she moved down the hall, toward the couch and television. Later she would recall that the only thing that warned her of what was about to come was Caesar. She halted as her vision landed on her giant Maine Coon ten feet in front of her. His back arched as he hissed, tail lashing, fur standing on end. He let out a yowl, and it took her a second to understand that Caesar wasn't looking at her, but something behind her. A faint whistling noise reached her left ear and she quickly spun around.

Peyton let out a scream and acted upon her first instinct, lashing out at the man standing right behind her and throwing the full glass of wine into his face. The man growled and cursed as the glass shattered, sending shards and fine wine into his eyes. The red liquor ran down his face, dripping like blood between his fingers as he clutched his eyes. Startled, she moved backwards, trying to do the only thing that came to her mind: getting away… getting far away.

Her feet stumbled over something and she tripped and fell backwards, falling hard onto the wooden floors. She raised her head to see the brown and white streak of her cat running from the room. A groan from behind her regained her attention to the man that had invaded her house. She was up in a flash, trying to remember where her gun was. It was on the couch where she had tossed it on her way upstairs. Humorously, her memory remembered that she had worn it ever since this morning's crime scene, only taking it off after getting home.

By this time, the man had wiped his eyes clean. Warily Peyton backed away from him, inching slowly towards the couch only a few feet away. She was mindful of the situation. So far, she was the only one with a gun. Still, she weighed somewhere around a hundred pounds and this man was definitely twice her size. Her thoughts jumbeled together as her emotions ran rampant and out of control. Her brain dredged up what she had learned in training and what to do in situations like this. 'Remain calm. Keep the upper hand. No sudden movements. Keep your distance. Get away.' Unfortunately for her, he was currently blocking both exits. "Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?"

He snarled at her, moving forward as she backed away. "Stupid bitch. You weren't supposed to know we were here. Damn cat." His arm made a slashing motion and she noticed the syringe in his right hand. That had been the whistling noise she had heard. Filled with ketamine, he had been trying to knock her out.

The man lunged forward and she darted away, fingers grabbing the cold metal butt of the Glock as she passed by. With a roar that frightened her, he flipped the end table over, sending it into the wall.

Her fingers tightened her grip, nails making quick work of the safety. Her arm raised and leveled the weapon at the man's chest. He wisely froze at her movement, stunned and shocked. "Don't move," she commanded, shuffling away and towards the nearest phone. The intruder didn't move, raising his hands so she could see them. She was safe now… She had the gun…She had the upper hand… Now, she could get somewhere…. They could bring this guy in and find the others… No more deaths… No more…

Her body twisted and she yelped as someone grabbed her neck from behind, clamping and grabbing for her arm. The gun discharged, firing wildly off somewhere in the room. She twisted and struggled around. Rolling her eyes upward she saw another man behind her. The thought of another intruder hadn't even crossed her mind. He too held a syringe in his hand and was already bringing it to her neck. She twisted again, hoping to break free. Entered intravenously ketamine only took two minutes to render a person devoid of any movable functions. With her body mass it was bound to be less than that.

It didn't help. She was too small and not nearly as strong as the man holding her neck. Kicking backwards with her leg and swinging her right arm holding the gun, she tried anything to get loose. She clawed and scratched anywhere she could get her hands on, refusing to go down without a fight. The second man only clamped her arm tight to her side and increased the pressure on her neck. Stars swam in her vision as her lungs constricted. The force of the needle entering her neck made her cry out again. Vaguely Peyton wondered if she screamed would anyone hear her. Apparently it did nothing because no one came to her rescue. The first man lunged forward and she managed to get one good kick as he jabbed the needle into her arm. It dislodged, only entering half of the liquid. But one and a half syringes were good enough.

She swayed and the man released her, both of them moving back and she stumbled away. The Glock slipped from her fingers as they lost their strength. Her body bunched and clung to the wall. The two men stayed back, knowing that she wasn't getting anywhere now. It was too late. Her ears caught snippets of hushed words. The anesthetic made it jumbled, a side effect of the drug, but she still heard "press conference", "reporters", and "right one".

'Fucking Agent Thomas…Fucking reporters…' She thought as her body fell to the ground.

Her vision swam and the colors of the painting above her swirled… Red…Blue…Green…Orange…

And everything faded to black…

See that is why you shouldn't be smart... And there is a reason why it has to be her... It was supposed to be another, but after long deliberation and consulting, it had to be her.

If there is anything you guys want to see or feel I can improve on... let me know. You guys have been wonderful as to that.

I hope not to leave you guys waiting this long for an update... Especially with this ending.. But, your reviews do make me go faster.

Medical lesson: Ketamine is an anesthetic. And given the right dosage, it can be used to get high, and sounds become very distorted as you hear them. Given a larger dosage and considering your body mass, ketamine can cause you to become completely unconscious.

CSI lesson: Contrary to CSI, forensic people don't often wear those big black vests. Whether or not they carry a gun is up to the department they work in. I would assume that those who work for the FBI and are in the field a lot, would carry a gun.