AN: Another chapter for you guys – some more investigating, an intimate moment between our two favorite geeks, and a confession… hope you like

Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI

Chapter 36

The case file from Wisconsin has arrived in Grissom's inbox by the time they get to the lab, so Sara heads to the break room while he prints everything. When he joins the rest of the team, it's to report that, somehow, things are still quiet – he sends Greg and Catherine out to handle a trick roll at a seedy motel while the rest of them gather in one of the layout rooms to go through the six cases they believe are tied to 'their' serial killer.

"First victim," Grissom says, pinning the photo of Lacy Trenton to one of the whiteboards. "Found outside Columbus, Ohio on the morning of May fourteenth back in ninety-five, killed at some point during the night. The necklace she's wearing in this photo – or an identical one, which isn't impossible but highly unlikely – was found in Pritchard's little trophy collection." He pins a photo of the necklace to the board as well, followed by several of the crime scene photos.

"Did we get anything from Wendy on the hair?" Sara asks, and he grimaces.

"No follicle attached, unfortunately. Hodges said a visual comparison might be possible, but considering Lacy has been embalmed and buried for over thirteen years, I think that should be a very last resort. She's going over the other pieces of jewelry now, said she'll let us know if she finds anything."

She nods – hopefully they won't need the hair comparison anyway, having the necklace should be enough. And maybe Wendy will find something else useful on one of the other trophies.

"The M.O. is completely different, though," Nick points out, frowning as he looks between the photos and the case file in his hands. "Now, I know some serial killers change their M.O., either consciously or just due to circumstances…"

"Bundy," Warrick pipes in. "Watts."

"Exactly," Nick agrees. "But even so… do we have anything except the necklace?"

"DNA was collected from an SAE kit," Grissom says. "It was never entered into CODIS, but the local sheriff claims it's been stored properly, hopefully it's still viable. He's sent over that, along with the other evidence they collected, and it should arrive tomorrow. For now…" He pins the photo of Lily Johnson on the next whiteboard. "Second victim."

"Lily Johnson," Sara takes over as he arranges more photos. "Found under a bridge across the St. Croix River east of Minneapolis on the morning of October fifth in 2000. There was a necklace with the name 'Lily' among the trophies, might be hers."

"And number three," Grissom continues, pinning a printed photo she hasn't seen before. "Janelle Ames, found under the same bridge on the other side of the river, only a few thousand feet from where Lily was found, but not until October eighteenth. They were killed within two or three days of each other, though."

"Definitely closer to his current M.O.," Warrick notes. "And he's obviously got a type."

"Victim four, five, and six." Grissom pins photos of Amy, Yolanda, and Liz to three whiteboards. "All found on park benches in different areas of Denver between February twelfth and twentieth in oh-four."

"So he's been accelerating," Nick muses. "Or… counting up? One vic, then two, three, and now four."

Sara hadn't actually thought about it that way, but he's right. "Yeah, that's an odd escalation," she says. "Normally, we'd see an escalation time-wise…"

Grissom turns to write the years on a separate whiteboard – 1995, 2000, 2004 and 2008. "Five years between the first victim and number two and three, then four years until four, five, and six, and four years until our victims… not really an escalation."

"Could be a trigger, something that happened in Pritchard's life," Warrick suggests. "A family member dying, losing a job… some sort of rejection, maybe?"

"He was still employed when we picked him up," Nick objects. "The company didn't say anything about layoffs, but I can give them a call and check."

"Yes, do that," Grissom agrees. "Check with his old employers as well, his employment records should be in his file. Sara…"

"I'll go through public records, see if there are any deaths related to Pritchard that might have acted as triggers," she takes over, picking up on his train of thought.

"Good. I think he has a sister…" He flips through a couple of pages. "Yes, Samantha Dennis, lives in Florida. If there's nothing obvious in his employment or family history, might be worth giving her a call to see if she can think of anything that happened around the times in question. But wait until the end of shift – no need to wake her up in the middle of the night."

The sound of his cell phone pulls all eyes to the device in question, and he picks it up. "And I guess Warrick and I will head out to Red Rock Canyon – someone's dug up a hand."

"Have fun," Sara says, already reaching for the file on Pritchard.

"Always do."

The rest of the week continues along the same lines – the criminals of Las Vegas seem to be taking it easy, leaving at least a couple of people working the serial case each night. Sara's conversation with Pritchard's sister confirms what Grissom suspected – she's almost relieved her brother has finally been arrested, says she's been waiting for it for years. She had no idea he'd actually killed anyone but tells them of dead pets and at least one sexual assault during their adolescence, hushed up by parents and teachers to protect the high school's star quarter back.

A text-book psychopath, in other words.

She also remembers break-ups around the times of the murder sprees – all ex-girlfriends similar in looks to the victims – which could easily explain the time that passed between them and his proclivity for a certain type of victim.

Both the DNA from Lacy Trenton's SAE kit and the blood trace from Janelle Ames turn out to match Pritchard, connecting him to the first three murders, and even though they have no physical evidence tying him to any of the Denver victims, all necklaces from his trophy collection are identified by family members as belonging to the three girls.

By Friday morning, they have the case more or less wrapped up. The only thing left before the DA files charges is an interview with the man in question, which is scheduled for Monday. He still hasn't spoken, but they're hoping they can get something out of him with all the evidence they have.

All in all, a very good week. And Grissom would be lying if he said that part of it – a big part – wasn't that, with the exception of Monday afternoon, he's spent almost all his time off the clock with Sara.

When he wakes up on Friday afternoon, she's stretched out on her stomach next to him, the sheets only covering her lower half. She prefers sleeping in a shirt – his old LVPD t-shirt, which does things to him he would rather not admit – but claimed to not be able to move after their lovemaking in the morning, and fell asleep without it.

Which he definitely doesn't mind.

Tempting as it is to push the sheets the rest of the way off her and wake her up with kisses and caresses, nature calls, so he gets out of bed carefully.

She's still out like a light when he leaves the bathroom, and a rumbling in his stomach guides him down the stairs and into the kitchen instead of back to bed. Maybe he has time to make breakfast and bring it upstairs before Sara wakes up.

A quick check of the pantry and he decides on pancakes, finding a bowl and the ingredients needed. Ten minutes later, he's so focused on getting the batter smooth, he doesn't realize he's no longer alone in the kitchen until two arms slide around him from behind.

"I have a distinct memory of someone promising me I would never have to wake up alone again," Sara mumbles. "Not even a week ago, as a matter of fact. Still, the bed was completely empty when I woke up…"

"Sorry," he apologizes, placing one hand over hers and squeezing. "You looked so peaceful, and I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed. Besides, that was more… symbolic. I can't actually promise to always stay in bed until you wake up."

She lets out an exaggerated sigh. "I guess." Moving from behind him, she peeks into the bowl. "So, you decided breakfast in bed and thought… pancakes?"

The confusion in her voice makes him frown. "Well, when you say it like that, it doesn't sound like such a good idea."

She laughs quietly. "I love syrup, but not on the sheets – too sticky – so it was probably a good thing I got up when I did."

"Oh, I don't know…" he drawls, letting his eyes run down her body and back up – she's wearing nothing but his t-shirt, hair still slightly rumpled, and she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "I can think of a few uses for syrup in the bedroom."

He can actually see her eyes darken at his words. "Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh."

She steps closer, sliding one hand up his chest and around his neck to tangle in his hair. "We might just have to explore those at some point."

Before he can retort, her lips are on his, and he loses his train of thought.

The minty taste of her mouth tells him she must have brushed her teeth, and for a moment, he regrets not doing the same himself, but she doesn't seem to mind, so he pushes it out of his head.

Turning them around a little, he maneuvers her back a couple of steps, and she groans when he pushes her up against the kitchen island.

All other sensations are secondary – the sun through the blinds, slanted to let in light but keep out curious looks, warming his back, the cool tiles against his bare feet, the distant sounds of the street wafting in from the outside – as he focuses on the feel, the taste, the scent of her, letting her fill every little crevice in his mind.

His hands are resting lightly on her hips, and now he slides them down as far as he can reach, fingers mapping her soft skin, and pulls the shirt up on his way back. When he doesn't find the underwear he's expecting, he pulls away a little.

"Commando?" he questions, raising an eyebrow, and she bites her lip on a smile.

"I might have been hoping to lure you back to bed," she admits.

"No luring needed," he assures her. "All you have to do is ask."

"I'll keep that in mind." She puts her hands flat against the countertop behind her and hoists herself up onto it. "But for now, I'm happy right here."

She hooks her legs around the back of his, pulling him closer, and he comes willingly, nudging her to the edge of the counter so she's pressed against him, and he can feel that she's already wet through his boxers.

"Perfect height," he notes, kissing her shoulder where the t-shirt has slid down a little, exposing wonderfully soft skin.

"Mmm, who knew."

Before he can wrap his mind around what's happening completely, she reaches for the waistband of his boxers, trying to push them down and failing due to her own legs wrapped around him. He chuckles against her skin as she lets out a disappointed whine. "Slow down," he tells her amusedly, pulling back to look at her.

"Nope," she replies, redirecting her efforts and instead sliding her hand into his boxers to wrap around him. "Want you."

He groans at the contact, eyes sliding closed, and feels the smile on her lips when she pulls him in for a kiss. Her urgency contagious, he slides a hand between them, fingertips skating her skin and raising goosebumps on his way to his goal. She moans as he pushes two fingers inside her, curling up, and then whimpers when he withdraws them again, breaking the kiss to frown at him. Nudging her legs apart a little further, he pushes his boxers down and, picking up on his intentions, she gets him lined up.

As always, there's a moment of complete stillness when he's finally inside her, the whole world falling away around them. They breathe together, neither moving, for an infinite moment, eyes locked.

Then she wraps her legs around him again, pulling him even deeper, and with another groan, he starts moving, mouth finding hers for a frantic kiss.

They find their rhythm quickly, bodies moving together in a dance as old as time, hands exploring, lips and tongues battling for dominance, until she breaks away on a gasp. When she buries her face against his neck, he knows she's getting close and, slipping a hand between them, he pushes her into her climax, which in turns triggers his own, and together they fall over the edge.

She recovers first, and when he lifts his head from her shoulder, she's smiling lazily. He smiles back, kisses her lightly before stepping back and pulling his boxers back up.

And then he freezes.

"Shit!"

She frowns at his word. "What?"

"The condoms are upstairs. I forgot."

To his complete surprise, she laughs.

"Sorry, just the 'deer in headlight' look on your face," she says. "Relax. I have an IUD, so there's no risk of… well, that."

"Oh." Somehow, he hadn't even thought about that possibility, but why wouldn't she? She's young, gorgeous. There must have been someone in those three and a half years she was gone. The thought makes him feel cold, even though he knows he has no right to be jealous or angry.

"I didn't actually get it for, you know, that, but I assume it still does the job it's supposed to," she says with a shrug, as if she can read his mind.

Her words distract him for the moment. "Wait, there are other reasons to get an IUD?"

"My OB recommended it maybe six months after Shelby was born, my cycle was all over the place," she explains. "The hormones work to regulate that whole thing."

"Right." He considers for a moment. "Well, with our track record, two forms of protection might not be a bad idea."

"Right." She looks away, teeth worrying her bottom lip.

"What's wrong?"

She shakes her head, still not meeting his eyes. "Nothing, it's just… when I was packing up, before I moved back to San Francisco, I was obviously emptying out drawers and all that, and I realized that box of condoms was actually six months past its expiration date, something like that."

"Oh."

"Obviously, I had no idea when… I wasn't trying to…"

"Hey," he interrupts her when he realizes what she's getting at, reaching out to tilt her head up so he can look at her. "Stop it. I wasn't thinking that, OK?"

She nods.

He leans in for a kiss. "Besides," he then continues, deciding to tease her a little to lighten the mood. "If you had been planning that, you probably wouldn't have left town."

She stares at him for a moment, but not long enough he has time to worry he upset her, and then she starts laughing.

The sound makes him smile, and he reaches out to tuck some hair behind her ear. "I'm glad I didn't check the dates on that box."

She returns the smile, leaning into his touch. "Me too."