A/N: Thank you all so much for the fabulous feedback on the first chapter! GSR'er and I hope you enjoy this one as much.

I don't own CSI. Some inspiration and dialogue are borrowed from episode 323, "Inside the Box."

October 2015

Standing outside her daughter's school in the designated "student pick up" area, Sara watches as more and more children stream out of the building. She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, not to become concerned when she can't find Anna.

"Calm down, Sidle," she whispers to herself. "There are a million reasons she's running behind."

And, truthfully, there are. She checks her cell phone once again, only marginally relieved to see that she hasn't missed any calls. Surely, if something had happened to Anna, the school would have called her.

Finally, at long last, Anna appears, clutching her teacher's hand as they walk out together. Sighing with relief, Sara smiles brightly in greeting. Her smile fades as Anna and Mrs. Johnson draw closer and the tearstains on her little girl's face become evident.

"Anna!" She kneels down in front of her daughter and touches her cheeks and hair. "What's wrong, baby girl?"

Anna begins to cry again, and throws her arms around her mother's neck. Sara holds her tightly and looks up at Mrs. Johnson with concern. The teacher nods slightly.

"I knew you'd be worried; that's why I walked her out."

"What happened?" Sara asks, lifting Anna into her arms as she stands up.

"Anna and Timmy got into a fight," Mrs. Johnson explains. "Not a physical fight," she adds quickly, seeing the shock in Sara's eyes. "From what I've been able to gather, it was something over a few poorly-chosen words."

"What happened, Anna?" Sara asks.

Anna won't answer; she buries her head in Sara's neck.

"It happened at the end of the day, so she's still very upset," Mrs. Johnson says. "I'm sure it will all blow over by tomorrow. But, until it does …"

"Thank you," Sara says. "We'll talk to her."

Mrs. Johnson smiles and rubs Anna's back. "You'll be all right, Anna. You'll see. I'll see you tomorrow."

Anna nods against Sara's shoulder, and Mrs. Johnson smiles.

"I'll see you both tomorrow."

"Yes," Sara agrees. "Thank you again."

With one last smile, Mrs. Johnson turns to make sure her other students have found their parents or buses. Sara looks down at her daughter as best she can.

"Do you want to walk, baby?"

"No," Anna whimpers – rather pathetically, Sara thinks.

"Okay," she sighs. "Mommy will carry you."

Sara adjusts Anna more securely in her arms, and carries her the short distance to the car. She buckles her into her seat, then climbs behind the wheel. She glances back at Anna, who is still crying.

Deciding that it will be better not to force her to talk before she stops crying, Sara sends Grissom a text message to let him know Anna is upset, turns on the radio and drives them home.

By the time they arrive at home, Anna has stopped crying and is willing to walk in on her own. Grissom meets them at the door, his eyes showing his concern.

"Hi, Anna Banana," he says, taking her book bag and lunchbox from her. "Mommy says you had a rough day."

Tears well up in her eyes again. "Timmy doesn't like me anymore."

Grissom frowns. "Timmy's your best friend."

"But, he doesn't want to come over on Saturday."

Grissom and Sara look at each other over her head with matching frowns.

"Why is Saturday special, sweetie?" Sara asks.

"I wanted to play with him on Saturday," she says. "So, I asked him to come over. I said we could play with Hank. Timmy doesn't have a dog."

"But, he didn't want to come?" Sara asks.

"No," she replies, her tears spilling over. "He said he doesn't want to play dumb girl games. I didn't talk to him anymore after he said that."

"Ah," Grissom says, understanding dawning. "Were there other boys around when you and Timmy had this conversation?"

"Yeah," Anna says tearfully. "Josh and Kevin."

Sara smiles and nods for Grissom to explain. She takes Anna's lunchbox from him and carries to the kitchen.

"Why doesn't Timmy want to play with me anymore, Daddy?"

"It's not that he doesn't want to play with you," Grissom says. "But, sometimes, boys make fun of other boys if they play with girls too much."

"Why?"

"Because boys are stupid."

Anna smiles at that. "That's not true. Mommy says you're a genius, and you're a boy."

"Well, maybe it's better to say that sometimes boys make stupid decisions. And, sometimes everyone – boys and girls – can get upset over silly things. Sometimes, people can say things badly – or say something that they don't really mean."

Anna frowns. "Daddy …"

He smiles. "I'm not making sense, am I?"

"No."

Sara returns in time to hear the last few lines. "Look, sweetie, what Daddy means is that sometimes, we can say things that we realize later aren't the truth. Timmy probably didn't mean it when he said he didn't want to play with girls anymore. He probably just wanted to play with the boys right then, and did a very bad job of explaining it to you." Sara kneels down to look her daughter in the eye. "Anna, the important thing is that Timmy is your best friend. And, even if you have a fight with him, you're allowed to make up with him and still be his best friend."

"But what if he doesn't ever want to play with me again?"

"I very much doubt that that will happen."

Anna looks from Sara to Grissom, who nods his agreement.

"It's just like here, Anna Banana," he says. "Sometimes, when you do something wrong, Mommy or I get angry. But, we still love you very, very much. You understand that, right?'

Anna nods. "I want Timmy to be my best friend forever. I'll tell him that tomorrow."

Hank wanders into the room and presses his nose against Anna's face. She giggles and hugs him.

"Come on, Hank. Let's play."

Grissom and Sara watch as Anna and Hank begin a game of tug-o-war. Grissom smiles, and pulls Sara to his side, wrapping his arm around her.

"You're very good at explaining things to her."

She smirks. "Well, I think I heard you say that you didn't want to play with girls anymore more than once."

"Ouch," Grissom says with a smile. His smile fades. "You know … there was always a reason … maybe not a good one, but at the time, it seemed …"

Sara leans up to kiss his cheek. "It's okay. I always knew you didn't mean it."

Grissom raises an eyebrow. "Always?"

"Yes," Sara smiles. "In the end, anyway."

May, 2003

"So, what do you think we'll see when we get there?"

"Aside from an extremely upset bank manager? No idea."

Catherine smirked at Grissom, then turned her eyes back to the road. "Come on, Gil, play along. Let's guess."

"No," Grissom said. "Bank robberies can take too many forms. It's impossible to guess."

"You're no fun."

"I've accepted that fact about myself. Now it's your turn."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "You're not going to give me anything?"

Grissom sighed. "Okay. I'm guessing we'll see … chaos."

Catherine shook her head. "Thank you, Dr. Grissom, for using all your years of accumulated knowledge of forensic science and the criminal element to give me that guess."

"Hey, I didn't want to play. You were the one who insisted."

Catherine rolled her eyes again and pulled as close to the bank as she could before parking the SUV. Ambulances and news crews were on hand for the unfolding drama. People were milling around everywhere, gawking, yelling, and fighting with the harassed-looking officers who had been charged with keeping them outside the crime scene.

"Well, you were right – chaos."

Grissom smiled. "You expected anything less?"

They climbed out of the car, and were immediately accosted by a thousand noises. The sound of the bank's alarm rose above the voices and street noise, piercing the air around them. Catherine stopped to talk to a uniform, but Grissom ducked under the crime scene tape. He had already started to walk up the steps to the doors when silence fell all around him. He stopped walking and looked around in confusion.

The people were still there. They were still yelling, still talking, still demanding answers. The alarm was still ringing, he was sure of it. Yet, all he could hear was an eerie silence that was broken only by the muffled sound of the alarm.

Catherine walked past and said something to him. He stared at her, knowing that he had somehow heard the tone of her voice but that no words had been intelligible. She stopped and turned, asking if he was coming inside – able to read her lips when she was facing him, this time he was sure he knew what she had said. She inclined her head toward the door before walking into the bank.

As suddenly as it had left, the sound was back. The hundreds of voices, the alarm – which stopped only moments later – filled his ears again. Sighing with relief, Grissom followed Catherine inside.

Further chaos greeted them inside the bank – albeit a quiet, "just after the storm" sort of chaos.

According to the statements Brass had taken from the witnesses and tellers, the robbers had entered the building and forced everyone against the counter. Despite the orders not to move, a woman had desperately tried to get her little boy away from the danger. Their movement nearly cost them their lives; to their great fortune, Detective Lockwood, one of the homicide detectives, had been in the bank. He had drawn his weapon to defend them, but was shot before he could do anything more.

Brass watched as David examined the body of his friend and colleague. Grissom crouched next to him, taking photos and collecting evidence.

"Okay," Catherine said as she joined them. "Sara and the guys are on their way."

"Good," Grissom replied. "We'll need them. We've got to process this entire bank."

"And to reconstruct the vault with all those safety deposit boxes," Catherine added, referencing the only part of the bank to sustain any serious damage – or to lose any of its treasure.

"Yeah," Grissom agreed.

"I'm going to go start some overall sketches."

"Okay," Grissom replied.

Catherine walked away, followed by Brass, leaving him and David alone with Detective Lockwood. They wrapped up their work, and David called an assistant to help him take the body to the waiting van. Grissom, too, stood up. He stared at the scene as though waiting for an answer to jump out at him.

It was quiet with everyone else gone; he barely noticed that his hearing was fading. It wasn't until Catherine put her hand on his shoulder that he realized his entire team had arrived – talking amongst themselves – without him hearing them. He knew he did a poor job of hiding his surprise when he turned around and saw them all looking at him.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I was thinking."

The look in Catherine's eyes was enough to tell him he wasn't fooling her – and probably hadn't been for quite some time. "Well, I was thinking that we need to start processing this bank," she said in a gentler-than-normal tone.

"Right," he agreed. He thought quickly. He needed something that would keep him secluded, and, preferably, away from Catherine. "I'll take the safety deposit boxes." He brushed past Catherine. Sara was standing next to her, holding her kit. Perfect. After everything that had happened between them recently, Sara probably wouldn't be inclined to chat with him. "Sara, you're with me."

Rage filled Sara. How dare he? It hadn't even been a week since he had refused her dinner invitation. She had only gotten the stitches out of her hand hours before. How could he demand that she spend hours – potentially days – alone with him in a small room?

She took a deep breath, held her temper, and followed him to the vault. She could handle this. She would be the consummate professional.

And, maybe … just maybe … Grissom could have an ulterior motive in mind. Maybe he wanted to be alone with her for a reason. Maybe he wanted to discuss what had happened between them. Maybe he wanted to get some things out into the open.

Grissom was already at work when Sara reached the site of the explosion. He barely looked up as she walked into the room. Sara stared at him for a moment, feeling another shot of anger jolt through her. Typical. He asked her to work with him, getting her hopes up that maybe he wanted to actually talk to her, then ignored her when the opportunity for conversation presented itself.

Shaking her head slightly, she set her kit down and opened it. It was time to get to work.

Grissom waited until he knew Sara was absorbed in photo documentation before looking at her. She was working efficiently, as he had known she would. Aside from the fact that she was the member of his team who was currently the least likely to make any attempts to engage him in conversation, Sara's work ethic and ability made her the perfect choice for this assignment. There was no one he would trust more to reconstruct the scene of an explosion.

Pleased with his ability to know his team and their strengths, Grissom looked away from Sara. He silently returned to his task of sifting through the debris on the floor.

They worked quietly until Grissom began to find pieces of the bomb. He held it up for both of them to see.

"Electric blasting cap," he said, breaking the silence.

Sara's interest was piqued; she lowered her camera and leaned over to see the fragment in his hand. "Brown leg wires feeding into the grommet," she observed.

"Means they could have used C4," Grissom said.

They both looked away from the evidence in his hand to study the wall that had once been home to neat rows of safety deposit boxes. Quite of a few of them were gone now, in pieces on the floor. Grissom shone his flashlight around the blasted square on the wall.

"Utah, New Mexico, Colorado and Arizona," he said.

Sara hid her smirk at his very geeky way of describing what had happened. "Four corners," she said.

"What does that tell us?"

"Whatever they were looking for was definitely in the center."

"Monroe Effect," Grissom said, studying the floor again. "All force generated toward one central area."

"How are we ever going to find out what's missing?" Sara asked, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Grissom ignored her question as he found another piece of evidence. "I just found the detonator."

If Sara said anything, he didn't hear it. He knew he should hear something; she was obviously still moving around behind him.

Suddenly, she was talking again. "… think we should –"

"I need to get this back to the lab," Grissom said quickly, cutting her off. "Can you continue here without me?"

"Yeah, sure," Sara agreed, blinking in surprise.

Grissom bagged the pieces of the bomb, tucked them into his pocket, and nearly ran from the vault. He knew he was probably being unfair, leaving Sara alone with such a mammoth task, but he couldn't stay with her. Not anymore. Not if his hearing was going to fail him around her. She wasn't Catherine, but she knew him far too well for him to be able to fool her for much longer.

He needed to get back to the safety of the lab. The sooner the better.

Sara couldn't believe that Grissom had left her with the huge job of processing the vault alone.

"He finds two pieces of a bomb, and leaves me to do the rest?" she muttered. "God, that is so Grissom. He'll probably be at the lab processing them for the next five days."

Brushing her hair back from her face, she looked around slowly. Before she could become overwhelmed again, she went to find a broom. She'd push the debris to the side and worry about the puzzle of the safety deposit boxes first. Maybe that would help her keep her sanity.

"Hey."

Grissom looked up as Catherine walked into his office. "Hi."

She frowned slightly as she crossed to sit across his desk from him. "What are you doing here?"

"Going over results from Trace."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry; that wasn't specific enough for you. Why are you here now? Why aren't you reconstructing an entire wall of safety deposit boxes?"

"It's not an entire wall, Catherine."

"Don't try to divert my attention, Gil."

Grissom sighed and put his glasses on the desk. "I came back with pieces of the bomb to process. Sara's got everything under control at the vault."

"You left her alone with that entire room?"

"She'll be fine."

With a sound of disgust, Catherine stood up. "Come on."

"Come on where?"

"To the bank! That poor girl needs some help! Or, at the very least, a break. And, you need to get to work."

Grissom sighed and stood up with her. His true hesitation had very little to do with not wanting to work, and everything to do with not wanting to work with the two women most likely to realize that he was quickly losing his ability to do his job.

Sara worked for hours. And hours. And hours. She worked on putting the wall back together until it got tedious, then moved to sorting through everything else in the room. Once she got bored with that task, she returned to the wall. And, finally, her hard work had paid off. She had determined what box the robbers had taken.

"Wow."

Catherine's voice broke the silence and brought Sara's head up. She and Grissom were descending the steps into the vault together, both obviously impressed with her work.

"Almost looks good as new," Catherine said.

Sara smiled slightly at the compliment, and looked at the wall. Grissom and Catherine stopped beside her, also looking at the mangled boxes.

"This was the epitome of precision," Sara said. "The outer rim of boxes sustained the most damage. The intent was not to blow out the twenty-three surrounding boxes, but to preserve the sanctity of the center box, box 729. It's history. It's the only thing that's gone."

"It's the box they were after," Catherine agreed.

Grissom stepped closer to examine the space where box 729 had been. "And, we still don't know what was inside."

"Well, I was hoping we'd be able to get the owner's name," Sara said. "I'm sure he or she would be more than happy to report what was inside as stolen property."

Catherine smiled. "Let's talk to the bank manager."

"Hold on," Grissom said, holding up a hand. "We'll need a court order."

"Why?" Sara asked. "The man's bank was blown apart. He's been very cooperative."

"Yeah," Grissom agreed. "But, when it comes to protecting confidentiality – especially when it involves owners of boxes like these – banks get rather protective."

"You're right," Catherine agreed. "I'll call Brass."

She stepped out to make the call, leaving Grissom and Sara alone. Sara drew a deep breath.

"How's it going with the bomb?" she asked.

"Slowly."

She smiled. "As usual."

"Mm," Grissom agreed. "You … you've done well, Sara. Catherine's right; this is impressive work in here."

Sara blushed a deep shade of red at the compliment. She bit her lip to hide her smile. "Thank you."

"All right," Catherine said as she re-entered the room. "Brass says to give him half an hour." She glanced at her watch. "Want to grab something to eat? Sara, you've got to be starving."

"Yeah, sure," she agreed.

"Grissom?"

"Um, no, thanks," he said. "I need to run an errand. I'll meet you back here in thirty minutes, though."

Catherine frowned. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay. Come on, Sara. Let's go."

They walked out together, chatting about where they wanted to eat. Grissom sighed with relief.

His relief vanished as their voices faded before they had even left the vault. Dread filled him.

It wasn't going away on its own. It was getting worse.

Still … what if …?

He needed a second opinion. Soon.

Forty minutes later, Grissom and Catherine sat in the bank manager's office, waiting to speak with him. He had been informed of their arrival ten minutes previously, but had yet to appear.

Catherine gave a sigh of disgust. "What is up with this bank manager? We've been waiting forever."

Grissom remained silent. He barely heard her. This time, however, it wasn't because his hearing was failing him. His mind was too busy processing the fact that his hearing could fail him at any moment to be able to register her words.

"Hey!"

Grissom looked at Catherine, watching as she brushed her hair back from her face.

"How long have we known each other?" she asked.

Her voice was soft – far too soft for Catherine's normal speaking levels – but he could still discern the words, which was something. "In days, months or years?" he asked.

She said something else, but he had no idea what she was asking – the look on her face said it was a question, but all sound was gone, and her lip movements … he hadn't been able to follow them. He frowned, looking at her closely.

"Can you hear me?" she asked, raising her voice, hoping he'd hear the question.

Grissom could read her lips that time, but was too stunned by the question to answer. He had known that she was figuring him out, but to have her ask him point-blank like that … He should have expected it, really. Catherine was never one to beat around the bush.

"Sorry I'm late." The bank manager rushed into the room, apologizing for his tardiness.

Grissom, once again, felt relieved. The man had saved him from a very uncomfortable position.

It felt like years before they could return to the lab. After the bank manager read the court order, he provided them with the name of the owner of the box: Benny Murdoch. While it was a name that meant nothing to Grissom, Catherine knew him – rather, had known him. Before his death, Benny had been a friend of Sam Braun.

Unable to talk to Benny, they found themselves in Sam's office. To no one's great surprise, he was very unwilling to tell them anything that was helpful.

At the end of their marginally productive morning, they returned to the lab. While Catherine immediately got to work, Grissom found himself going to the morgue. Doc Robbins wasn't performing an autopsy when he arrived, which Grissom counted as a stroke of luck. At the moment, he didn't need him as a colleague. He needed a medical professional – and, a friend.

"Albert," he called as he walked down the hall. "Got a minute?"

"Sure," Doc Robbins replied easily. "What's up?"

"I'd like a second opinion."

The doctor's eyebrows shot up. "A second opinion?"

Grissom nodded. "If you don't mind."

He waved him into his office, shutting the door behind them.

"Now," he said, turning to face Grissom, "what's this about?"

"I've been told I need surgery," Grissom said. "I'd rather not do that unless I don't have another choice."

"Okay," Doc Robbins said slowly. "What kind of surgery are we talking?"

"A stapedectomy."

Robbins's eyes widened. "Otosclerosis?"

Grissom nodded. "Would you …?"

"Of course. Sit down."

Grissom sat down and waited while Doc Robbins studied his ears. Finally, the older man straightened up and sighed.

"I wish you'd come to me sooner. Your condition's pretty far along. Why'd you wait?"

Grissom sighed and smiled slightly in embarrassment. "I hoped it would go away."

"Doesn't your mother have this condition?" Robbins asked.

Grissom nodded. "Yeah. It's hereditary."

Robbins gave him a look.

"I know. I wasn't rational."

"Look, Gil, I'm not going to preach to you. You came to me. But … doctor to doctor … There is a chance the bone deposits have spread into the inner ear, in which case, your hearing loss will eventually be permanent. If I were you, I'd schedule surgery as soon as possible."

Grissom looked up at him for a moment, then looked away. He was suddenly overcome by the desire to see his mother. He felt like a frightened child, and wanted her to tell him that everything would be fine.

Almost as soon as he had the thought, he chuckled. His mother wouldn't tell him everything would be fine. She would smack him for waiting so long, and schedule the surgery for him.

He knew what he needed to do. He had known for a long time. Robbins's words of advice were enough to make him do it.