Big thanks to Kegel for catching all my mistakes :P

Thanks to those who are still with me, enjoy!

Chapter Twenty: A Final Chance

It was all becoming too clear now. Like a vision from the past, intensifying over time, slowly growing without her knowledge until it was before her. The past days, the last week…all of it had spurred through her mind in a single motion, every event intermixing into one long nightmare. No, not a nightmare; a nightmare she could escape…this, this she could not.

Sara had ignored the looks, the questions, leaving as quickly as she had come. After the third call she had turned her phone off completely. This was her own matter; it wasn't for any of them to worry over. She was off work by technical standards…the lab only required a set amount of hours, and she had already filled them. Normally she stayed longer, but the drawing, the face she had seen…

Sara could still feel his eyes on her, as she had felt them before. They were never the kindest eyes she had seen. When she had first come across them they had seemed genuine, almost inviting…then she learned they had been too inviting. Almost pleading. He had wanted her to be near him. And the more time she had spent with him, the more he wanted from the relationship.

It wasn't just the physical aspect. Sara had distanced herself from that. Had made it clear that she wasn't ready. Michael had respected that, but it hadn't phased his need to be near her, to broaden the relationship…to control it. Every passing moment they had shared, the more apparent his needs became. He wanted the ultimate say in everything, wanted to be right, even when he was wrong. She couldn't live with that kind of domination.

Too often had she seen it with her parents, her young mind capturing the imagery that would last her well through the next lifetime. A silent vow had left her lips after years of recuperation, years of therapy. Never would she allow herself to be consumed in such a relationship. Or any real relationship, for that matter.

She used to hold fantasies with Grissom, used to imagine what it would be like. Then again who could blame her? For the longest time Sara had held most men in detestation for the things her father had done. Grissom had changed that view, and for the first time Sara had found herself not only to tolerate the man, but found herself growing fond of him as well. Then there was Greg, and her longing for a partnership not only strengthened, but began to become possible as well. And at the first taste of love, she had shied away.

Sara had gone home, keenly aware of what might await her, taking her time to scope the parking lot. This time of day though, everything was quiet, calm and serene. One would have to hide rather well if they were planning some sort of attack. Even still, Sara parked her car further down than she normally did before getting out.

There was little she remembered about her father, she was young then. But certain qualities stay with you throughout time, and she knew in her heart that Michael was like him. That meant that he would not so easily give up. He would come back. After all, he already had, but it had not been for her. It had been for Greg.

And how could have Greg known the man was a threat? Sara had not said anything, never given him any reason to worry or doubt his own safety. It could have been prevented, if only she had said something, if only she had told him that night. Still it was complicated, her own mind abuzz with tidbits and snippets of all that had happened. If she herself could barely understand it all, how in the world would he? Greg could not feel the way she felt, and therefore could never truly comprehend all that was happening.

Sara shook her head, hand coming to rest on her gun that was strapped in at her side. She always carried it when she was at a scene, and having left so soon she hadn't any time to store it in her locker. There was another gun she kept, for her own safety, in the apartment, but it would do her little good out here. So in turn she was thankful for the inconvenient lapse in memory, even though it would prove her no use here. She reached her door without incident, fumbling with her keys as she managed to get the door open.

It was the same routine here; Sara moved cautiously, one hand on her gun as the other flicked on the light. Her place was small, a comforting reassurance this time as she searched the place easily. Only once she was certain she was alone did she allow herself to relax.

Her thoughts from earlier were still with her, consuming her mind now that the initial fear was over. But the question of what to do was the most blatant one. She had to do something; Michael had to be stopped before he killed. The man had proven that he was willing to, and it had been a close call. Too close for her own liking.

The logical explanation was to go to the department, to confess. But that meant she would have to tell them everything, to tell them why they first started dating, to tell them why she never filed a report when things got out of hand. She still couldn't even convince herself, and the speculation of only adding more drama into the mix…

The repercussions of the alternate though…of what would happen if she actually did what was truly on her mind...

Her fingers traced down her side, gripping the gun with a gentle yet firm grasp, reassuring herself that it was still there. Her mother had done something similar, to protect the ones that she loved. Sara hadn't realized it then, but as the years went by she slowly realized it.

The one difference? Sara had the smarts her mother did not. She was a crime scene investigator. She knew what they would look for, the things they would find. She knew how to lead them astray, how to fool them. Michael was a threat, and Sara knew that a flimsy charge of an assault driven by drunken rage wouldn't be much to hold the man. And if he got out…

No, she would die before she let the man harm the people she loved. With resolve she nodded her head, knowing for sure what had to be done. In a fluid motion she reached into her purse, pulling out her phone, ignoring the messages that spun through the screen as she searched for the familiar number. The phone rung in her ear, Sara trying to keep her breath even, trying to ignore the pounding in her heart.

Then the ringing stopped, the muddled voice on the other end breaking through the silence, a man suffering from a serious hangover. She could hear his groggy greeting, and Sara wet her lips, trying to find her voice.

"Michael…it's Sara…we need to talk."

It was frustrating. Every lead they found had been cut off shortly thereafter. Every brief idea had been ruled out. Even the evidence they had collected had come up with nothing. Brass himself had heard nothing since putting the broadcast out, and no one had come by the crime lab to give out details.

He tried to be patient, he really did, but that was a trait that did not come easily to Nick Stokes. Growing up with a large family there had always been someone there to cater to his every whim. As a child, he never had to wait for long for anything, and hardly was there ever a time he found himself bored.

It was only when he had left his household, and became truly independent, did he enter that reality, and he had never quite gotten the hang of being patient. One would think otherwise, considering his job, but the truth was he filled the downtimes in between cases and test results with other lingering activities. That including everything from playing the latest sports game on the newest consol, or pretending he actually had a life outside this job.

But try as he might, Nick could not get his mind off of the case. Most of the time he could distance himself enough, a fierce reminder to not become involved, and for most of the time it actually worked. Some cases you could never distance yourself from, no matter the cost, and this was one of them. Greg was not only a colleague, but a friend as well, and someone wanted the man dead. That wasn't going to happen, not if Nick had something to say about it.

Grissom was still in his office, and Nick wondered briefly if the man even had a home outside the lab. It wouldn't surprise him to hear different, Grissom practically lived here, his office fully decorated with mementoes and other personal effects you would expect to find in someone's bedroom or den perhaps. Nick shook his head, dropping the case file on the desk before taking a seat.

"Let me guess," Grissom muttered, his eyes transfixed on the computer screen in front of him. "No leads?"

"Nothing," Nick clarified, "Greg's only a CSI Level One, so there weren't many cases he actually took the lead on, just simple B&Es, basic robberies, and there was no motive for anyone to lash out at Greg. His scenes were more for insurance claims than anything else. The few cases in which he was more involved, such as his proficiency test, all suspects are still in jail. I pulled off minute trace from his clothes, mostly dirt and gravel that was picked up outside. Fingernail scrapings come back to an unknown male, which doesn't help us because we already know our suspect is male."

"Did you check all his cases?" Grissom wondered, watching him now.

"All the ones that he led, yes."

"What about secondary cases?"

Nick shook his head, frowning. "You have any idea how many cases he helped with? What would it matter even? He wasn't named as the lead; if this is from a case file, then they would have no reason to attack Greg. They would go after who led the case."

"Not if they had their sources crossed. If Greg was the only name they got a hold of, either from video or photo footage, then that's who they would believe would be responsible for the case work. Do a run through of every case he handled for the last four years, including DNA work, and times he helped out in the field before certification."

"Well," Nick nodded with a sigh, "that just filled my schedule again. Thank you."

"You can do it on your next shift," Grissom reminded him. "You filled your hours already for today."

The Texan nodded, but disagreed with him. "Greg doesn't get to leave until we figure this out. And I'll be a lot calmer knowing that we have our guy."

He waited for the man to respond, but as expected there was only silence. Nick shook his head, leaving Grissom to his own wonders as he headed back for the computer lab. It had taken him a few hours to go through Greg's cases from the previous year, and those had been just the main ones. Nick had automatically ignored the minor cases because he assumed they were irrelevant, but Grissom had reminded him of the one key thing that never changed: human nature.

He came to a pause as he passed the locker room, a smile crossing his face as he stepped inside, shaking his head quietly. "What are you doing?"

Greg was seated on the ground, legs crossed under him, a variety of paper and clothes strewn about him on the floor and bench behind him. He returned Nick's smile of amusement with one of his, before answering.

"Cleaning."

"You sure?" Nick wondered, his eyes casting about the mess. "In whatever universe you live in, this might be considered cleaning, but here on earth we prefer to call it 'making a mess'."

"Okay," Greg said with a sigh, turning back to his work, "I haven't cleaned out my locker for a while now. I haven't had the time. Since I'm being held hostage here, I figure I could do something constructive with my time."

"I'm sure you could find something better to do."

"I'm sure you could find me something better to do as well," Greg agreed, sorting the loose papers into one pile. "But if I remember right, you said 'don't worry Greggo, I got this case, I'll have our guy nailed in an hour tops and then you can go home.' That was four hours," he paused, checking the time on his phone, "and sixteen minutes ago."

"So I was a little optimistic," Nick confessed, "I was hoping the DNA sample would go through."

"No luck," Greg shook his head, thinking for a moment. "I wonder what the odds are of me sneaking out of here without anyone noticing."

"Not good," Nick told him politely.

"Seriously, Nick; we have nothing on this guy. As far as we know he's a psychopath who just randomly picks his victims and I was on the top of his list."

"You said he knew your name."

"Yes," Greg nodded. "maybe he's seen me with my vest on. My name is printed on it. We've been around enough casinos and what not, maybe he just didn't like my hairdo."

"How did he know your first name then?"

"Lucky guess," Greg offered, shrugging his shoulders.

"Nice try," Nick responded. "You're not going anywhere."

"You can't stop me."

"Hey," Nick shook his head. "Don't make me break out the handcuffs."

"Now that's kinky, and normally I'd be all for it, but I don't think Grissom would allow us to experiment here at work like that."

"Yeah," Nick nodded to him. "If I tell Grissom that you're planning to sneak out of here, not only will he okay it, but he'll probably do it himself."

"Now see, I draw the line when it comes to my boss. Not only kinky, but wrong," Greg told him.

"You need some serious therapy, man."

"I think I've been told that before," Greg commented quietly, pretending to think it over.

"Where are your keys?"

The man frowned, looking up at him. "Why?"

Nick held out his hand, motioning with a come hither sign. "Give."

"I'm not giving you my car keys."

"I want your wallet, too."

"Why, you don't trust me?" Greg asked innocently.

"Not even in the slightest. The only way you're going to get out of here is if you walk all the way home. I know you're not that crazy."

Greg muttered something under his breath, but Nick wasn't able to distinguish what. The ex-lab rat waited for a moment longer, hoping that the Texan would leave, but when it became apparent that it wasn't going to happen, he finally relinquished his valuables, tossing both his set of keys and wallet through the air. Nick caught them easily.

"There," he muttered, "happy now? Not only am I mauled but now no one trusts me, and I'm being robbed by my own friends."

"I promise I won't steal anything permanently," Nick responded sweetly. "Not even the money you still owe me for breakfast."

"Oh," Greg rolled his eyes. "Now you're my hero."

"Of course," Nick nodded to him, "now I'm going to be your hero somewhere else and see if I can find out who this guy is."

Sara had picked this spot for more than one reason. Surrounded by trees, off the beaten path, virtually in the middle of nowhere. Those were only some of the reasons. With no houses around, and no heavy traffic, the chance of someone seeing something was remote. Especially at this time of night.

The sun had long set, casting an array of colors into the sky before fading to a dark navy blue that drifted into complete blackness. Stars shone overhead, visible only when one was away from the prying lights of the big city. She took comfort in them, pulling the jacket around her tighter as she waited. Michael should be arriving at any moment now.

The thought chilled her, sending a shiver down her spine as she began walking in a small circle, a feeble attempt to chase away the chill of night desert. There would be those who would call her crazy, completely out of her mind, and part of her would have to agree. Inside her chest her heart was pounding, and the events of the night had yet to even begin.

She shifted the strap of her purse on her shoulder, one bare hand reaching inside to feel the cold weight of the gun. It was loaded, a fresh cartridge inserted before she left her place. The feeling was a perplexing one, because she had never actually shot a person before, had never before considered doing so unless absolutely necessary, and even then she had believed that she wouldn't be able to take a life. Shoot to injure, not to kill, even if it meant risking her own life.

Yes, that was what she had used to believe. But it wasn't her life she was worried about. Who would he go after next? Would he keep trying until Greg was dead? Or would he move onto someone else? Nick or Warrick, Grissom perhaps. Catherine even…she barely tolerated the woman, but at the same time she did not wish her dead.

Her thoughts drifted off, her mind clearing as she saw the car pull to a stop behind her own. He had found his way. Sara forced a timid smile, attempting to put her best act forward. She had called Michael earlier, had told him she wanted to make things up, had offered to meet him out here in this old park for a nighttime picnic under the stars. He had foolishly believed her, agreeing to meet up as soon as they could. Sara had used her work as an excuse for the nighttime exchange. She had convinced him that she slept during the day, but if he had truly wanted to make it work, then he would come.

He had dressed up, a bundle of flowers drawn over his arms as he came to a stop before her, smiling warmly. "I brought you these….to make up for what happened. I didn't mean to mess up your place…but you have to realize I was just trying to help you."

"I know," Sara responded quietly, taking the flowers that were in his outstretched hand. It was sickening, for Sara had heard that talk far too many times. It was always someone else's fault, never theirs, despite that it had been their doing.

"We need to talk," she continued quietly, watching him.

"About what?" he replied, his voice becoming gruff. "You still want to break up, don't you?"

"No," she was quick in shaking her head. The last thing she needed was for him to become angry and irrational. What she needed first, was a confession. "I like you, I want this to work out. But we need to trust each other. You can trust me…right?"

The response had surprised him, that much she could tell. He pondered it over, quiet and withdrawn, and then finally he nodded. "Sure, I guess."

Sara nodded, forcing another smile. "You were upset…I made you upset, and I think you might have done something…"

"You said you cared about me," Michael cut her off. "Then you go off telling me you don't want to see me anymore. Of course that made me upset. Wouldn't you be upset if it happened to you?"

It already had, Sara thought duly. Brief flashes of Hank drifted through her mind, but she banished them quickly, bringing herself back to this moment. "I have this friend of mine…someone tried to stab him last night, when he was leaving work. I think it was you."

"Why do you say that?" Michael asked coldly, his voice changing as he watched her closely.

Sara shook her head, hand reaching into her purse once more. Her fingers wrapped around the gun, the weight giving her a comfort she was so familiar with. "Well, it made me realize how much you do care. That you're willing to do something like that for me. I thought it was sweet…"

The very words had been forced from her lips, and it hurt to say them. She wanted nothing more than to strangle the man in front of her for even considering to try and harm her friends. But she had to say it; she had to make him believe she was being sincere.

She watched him shift, saw the sly smile that crossed his face. "Well of course. Don't want anyone coming onto my girl."

"So you did try to stab Greg then?" Sara shook her head, her voice caught in her throat. She had always known it of course, but part of her had wanted to pretend it wasn't real, that it hadn't happened. Her fingers tightened on the gun as he confirmed it, Sara's body trembling to prepare with what was about to happen.

TBC