A/N: Although mostly written by co-author, JellybeanChiChi, some of my writing still makes an appearance.

Chapter 37

Wilbur Jacobsen agreed to meet Sara and Grissom at the end of the work day. While Sara appreciated the lawyer taking time for them, the delay in the meeting meant Sara had to keep a very restless Grissom at home. With his mood swings so prominent and unpredictable, she didn't want to risk him losing his temper, especially in front of Daniel.

But since he had sat with Daniel, something had shifted in Grissom. While he still seemed somewhat uncertain and tense towards her, Sara noticed how Grissom watched Daniel closely, as if studying him. She wondered if Grissom was memorizing everything about the boy because he feared he might be gone from his life.

Instead of focusing or unintentionally fostering such a cruel notion, Sara tried to use his interest in their son to her advantage. She talked about things that Grissom might have missed while he was in prison.

"You know he is totally out of his blueberry phase?" she said to him while he watched as Daniel played on the floor.

"But he loved blueberries."

"Don't I know it," Sara said. "You know how tough it was to try get a bib clean that soaked up a bushel of pureed blueberries?"

The memory of white bibs turned more or less periwinkle made Grissom smile. "I told you we should have gotten him black bibs to begin with."

It didn't take long for the smile to evaporate and a look of intense concentration towards Daniel. "Do you think he remembers that I yelled at him?"

Sara could see her husband had nothing but remorse for his outburst. The anger she had at first, faded as she realized he was reacting to stimulus he couldn't control. "No, Gil, I don't think so. I mean, look at him? He's happy his daddy is around."

His small smile returned, and she took every look of love and softly spoken comment as a step in the right direction. As Sara sipped on a smoothie she made for herself, she got lost in watching her husband as he watched and interacted with their son. She preferred concentrating on the positive than wallowing in the depression that seemed to envelop Grissom. Because despite what he might think, that his future was lock-stepped in a certain direction, Sara had already witnessed positive shifts when it came to Grissom.

It happened in their own relationship just a few years prior, after she confessed her childhood to him. The shift started with him working to rebuild their friendship by doing small things — a meal here and there, even a movie. But nothing was ever classified as a date.

Then Adam Trent happened, and the shift was much more pronounced. The memory was still vivid in Sara's mind as it wondered to that evening two nights after the event. Grissom brought over Chinese take-out. Noodles.

And throughout the whole evening, Sara felt his eyes on her neck, the spot where Adam had held the shiv to her throat. He had looked at her that same night with the same loving, intensity that he now employed on their son.

"Glaring is not going to make it go away, Griss." Sara could still hear the slightly irritated tone in her own voice.

For his part, Sara remembered how Grissom had stopped chewing and glanced reluctantly down at his noodles. "It looks sore," he had stated, his brows furrowing as he had forced himself to continue eating. "Does it hurt much?"

"Only when you keep staring at it, and reminding me it's there."

She had smirked, to try and soften the harshness of her words, and always wondered if Grissom saw her smirk since he just returned his attention to the noodles and muttered a soft, but sincere, "I'm sorry."

Sara hoped she would never forgot how he had stared at her whenever her attention had returned to her own dinner. But she had seen his gazes out of the corner of her eye and those glimpses had offered her warmth and had made her believe maybe he was changing.

As she spun the straw in her smoothie, a soft smile spread across Sara's face as she recalled the major shift in their relationship. She had reached over the breakfast bar and had entwined her fingers around his. He looked up at her. She could see a mixture of innocence and intensity in his look. He had looked boyish in that moment and when Sara spied a quick glance at Daniel on the floor looking at his beloved stuffed ant, she could see that same look. Which made sense. He was Grissom's mini-me, after all.

Taking another sip of her smoothie, her gaze found Grissom's form as he sat on the couch. He did look different from those few years ago, but he was still her Grissom. She couldn't help but let her mind wander again to that moment in her apartment, when they were still holding hands across the bar, their noodles dinners forgotten.

"I know you care, Griss, and that you're concerned, but I'm fine, really. It looks worse than it is, and it will fade in a few days."

Despite her words, she once more had felt his blue-eyed gaze settle on the red mark on her neck and she had became lost in the intensity of gaze. When he had come around to her side of the breakfast bar, his eyes had searched her face, before settling on the red mark on her throat.

She'd been making coffee, when he came up behind her. He had gently tucked her hair behind her ear, and ran his thumb gently over the mark. Even years later, Sara could still imagine how his touch warmed her skin and lit her own desire.

The touch of his lips on hers had been as unexpected as it was welcome. He had kissed her, and she had kissed him right back. Their bodies had pressed tightly against each other, and the hand that had caressed the bruise on her throat wound into her hair. She had run her fingers through his soft curls, scraping against his scalp.

"Sara."

Their relationship had shifted beautifully, passionately into something she treasured.

"Sara is something wrong?"

His words broke her out of her daydream. Recalling those moments made Sara realize just how much she missed Grissom. Yes, he was just a few feet away from her, but there was still a chasm they had to cross before they could resume the intimacy she loved and, obviously, craved.

But for now, she had to believe the shift would happen. Just as it did years ago.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking… daydreaming," she said as she took another drink from her smoothie. "Are you OK?"

"You've been drinking a lot of those smoothies. Are you feeling OK?"

Sara was surprised he noticed. "I like them."

"But you aren't eating."

"No, Gil, I do eat," she said, as she rose from her chair to sit next to him on the couch. "You're the one not eating."

He looked down at his hands. "I know you, Sara. When you get stressed, you don't eat enough and end up losing too much weight. And this whole thing has been incredibly stressful for you. I don't want to see you… I feel like you have so much responsibility heaped on you… because of me."

She placed a hand on his thigh, feeling him tense up at the touch, but she didn't vacate her hand in response. "I promise you I'm not just drinking smoothies, I am eating too. Do I look like I'm losing weight?"

Grissom sought out her face and Sara wished she could hold his gaze longer than the few seconds he offered. "No. You don't."

"Good," Sara said. "I tell you what, we can eat something together after I put Dan down for his nap."

"He needs his nap now?"

Sara reached down to pick up Daniel, who was rubbing his eyes trying to get them to stay open. "Yeah, he needs one of his one-hour power naps."

"That's all he needs?"

"At this time of the day, yes. Sometimes it's an hour and a half," Sara answered as she began to walk slowly down the hall, glad that Grissom was slowly following her. "His nap schedule has changed a bit, but he goes down sooner at night."

"Well, I guess I'll lie down, too," Grissom said solemnly.

"You want me to have him lie down with you?" Sara asked.

Grissom looked positively conflicted, and Sara knew why without him saying a word. He was almost as restless in sleep as he was awake, and probably thought if he had a nightmare, he might wake up the baby or worse. "You know, you might feel more comfortable in the bed by yourself."

"Yeah, OK," Grissom said softly.

Sara didn't know whether his feelings were hurt or if he felt a modicum of relief, but she let it go and went into Daniel's room to rock him to sleep. After about 20 minutes, once she was satisfied he wouldn't wake up during the "dismount" from her shoulder to his crib, she stood up.

She was surprised to see Grissom standing silently in the doorway. "You OK?" she whispered.

He meekly pointed to the twin bed in the room. "You think I could rest in here?" he asked in a whisper.

Sara rocked her son as she stood with him. "Of course, hon."

Grissom sat on the bed and stretched across the bed. Sara put down Daniel and stroked his hair as insurance his eyes wouldn't pop open. She then turned around to find Grissom with his eyes closed. She went to the bed and sat on the edge of it so she could stroke her husband's hair.

"The room… it smells like both you and Daniel."

The words were spoken softly and wistfully and Sara wished there was enough room in the small bed for her to spread out next to him. So instead she pressed her lips against his. The kiss was chaste yet when he opened his eyes and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, she felt a familiar desire and warmth light up her body.

He closed his eyes again and she quietly got up and left them to rest.

Yes, she missed her husband, but a shift was coming.

The drive across town to Jacobsen's office took fifteen minutes, and Sara was thankful they were meeting after the heavy drive-time traffic passed. Although it was only a short drive, it was still quite painful for her husband.

Grissom's mood had soured as the drive continued. "We haven't heard anything from Jacobsen about Hobson."

"Wilbur said he gets daily updates from Ferguson, his investigator," Sara said as she drove.

"That doesn't mean shit," Grissom said, frustrated anger laced in his voice.

"I think it does," Sara said evenly. "I've talked to Ferguson. He's determined to find him and Jacobsen thinks he's close."

Grissom shook his head, stubbornly. "Even if Hobson is found, now that Rory is dead, he has even less reason to talk. He has even less motive to want to help me." Grissom sighed, and glanced with a look of dismay downward. "I'm sure if they could pin Rory's death on me, too, they would," he muttered gloomily.

"Let's not go there, OK," Sara said as she pulled into the lot of the law offices.

A security guard was getting ready to leave the building but still buzzed the Grissoms inside after Sara told him about their pre arranged appointment. They took the elevators to Jacobsen's office, expecting the lawyer to be waiting for them in the reception area.

When he wasn't there, Sara looked around. The uncertainty and lack of people made Grissom nervous. "You sure we got the right time?"

"Yeah. We're a little early but this is the right time," Sara said. "Come on. His office is over here."

The door was ajar just a bit, so Sara knocked on the door and pushed it open as she said, "Hello? Wilbur?"

When the door opened wider, the couple saw Wilbur Jacobsen at his desk, with the handset of the phone cradled on his shoulder. It looked like he was about to make a phone call.

But he wasn't alone in the office. As the door opened, Tom Ferguson stood up, as if to greet the couple. The third man in the office stayed seated.

It seemed Hobson Nash was more than happy not to see the couple.

Ferguson quickly took his seat and another from behind him and put them in front of Jacobsen's desk, as far away from the other two chairs as possible Hobson sat. While he hoped Grissom would take the chair furthest from Hobson, he didn't. Ferguson stood in the space between the two men, as if standing sentry. "Should I get another chair for you to put up your leg, Mr. Grissom?"

"No." The single word held so much venom as Grissom never stopped staring at Hobson.

Seeing the look of shock on Sara's face and the look of absolute hatred on Grissom's, Jacobsen hung up the phone and stood up. "Sara, I was hoping I would catch you before you arrived."

Sara finally took her eyes off Hobson and addressed Jacobsen. "Well, you didn't. What the hell is going on here, Wilbur?"

Jacobsen took a breath. "As you can see, Ferguson found Hobson."

"We just got here about 15 minutes ago," Ferguson said. "I came unannounced. I had no idea you were coming over. I apologize."

"The three of us have been discussing certain aspects of the case and the role Hobson can play in securing your freedom, Gil."

Sara watched as Grissom's chest inflated and deflated in a rapid pace. He never stopped looking at Hobson and the cowardly lawyer was beginning to wilt under his gaze.

"Gil," Jacobsen said, recognizing his client's proximity to losing his normally measured nature. "Gil. Let's talk about what's going on. Together."

Finally, Grissom turned away from Hobson. "Discuss what? Why is he here instead of giving a full confession to the precinct?"

"Upon finding Hobson, Mr. Nash asked Mr. Ferguson to bring him here so I could give advice as counsel."

"Oh, so you're defending him for all he did to me?!"

Hobson stood up."I had no other choice!" Hobson whined, desperately as he looked to each of the faces in the room, and finding no sympathy whatsoever in their stony countenances. "I have debts – thousands in gambling debts! I… I couldn't pay! They were going to kill me!"

"Kill you?!" Grissom stood up so fiercely, he pushed the chair he sat in violently behind him. "You fucking bastard!" Grissom shouted viciously. "You fucking bastard coward!" He took a pained step forward, but his progress was stopped by Ferguson. "You left me to die in that prison after you watched that maniac whip the hell outta me!"

"What was I supposed to do, huh? Say, 'Oh please, Rory. Please, stop.'" The sing-songy voice Hobson employed garnered him zero points from anyone in the room, but somehow the man without anything to lose couldn't care less. "Like that would have fuckin' worked."

"17 times!" Rage filled Grissom, as he stared at the man that had helped destroy him. "You watched him rip up my body 17 goddamn times without a fucking word!"

Hobson's face drained of colour and he turned as though to leave the room. But Jacobsen was having none of that. "Sit down, Hobson. Now!" Hobson did as he was told. "Gil, please, my friend, sit down so we can talk about this."

With Ferguson still near him standing guard, Grissom couldn't help but think of his time in prison when he's rage fuelled him to a point that led him to a stint in the hole. Sara put her hand on Grissom's arm, in warning, but Grissom shrugged it off. The adrenaline saved him from feeling the pain of his movements until much later.

He looked down at her and tried to calm himself. But he still wouldn't sit down. "I'm listening."

Jacobsen knew Grissom enough not to push. "Hobson will be going to the authorities to tell them what he knows — that he was pressured by Rory Dunbar to sabotage your defense and get you in a position where the kidnapping could take place."

"And that he was in the warehouse," Grissom added, his gaze returning to Hobson.

"Don't look at me like that, Grissom," Hobson said, an air of arrogance surrounding him. "I'm sorry! OK? Is that what you wanted to hear? I really didn't expect him to go that far! This wasn't his first plan, but when that Jake guy turned up, it was just the opportunity he was looking look for. I was just his go-to guy, in exchange for keeping those monsters from beating down my door. Rory's the one that took it too far, at the warehouse!"

"So you sold me out to save your sorry ass, and you think sorry is enough? You're nothing but a piece of shit!"

"I'm a piece of shit? You know Grissom, you should be kissing my ass coming out of hiding to help you!"

The comment didn't just anger Grissom, it pissed off Ferguson who found Hobson a cowardly mess just an hour before, desperate and begging for help. "You get one shot, Grissom," the investigator whispered for only Grissom to hear.

That was more than enough prompt for Grissom to quickly advance on Hobson. With his eyes blazing with a hellfire that was rarely seen, rage consumed Grissom as he swung his right fist in a vicious punch to Hobson's face. The blow caught him squarely on the nose, and blood ran freely. The force of the punched knocked Hobson backwards to the floor.

Ferguson grabbed Grissom's arm and pulled him back. Sara was already out of her chair as Grissom advanced towards Hobson and took her husband out of the investigator's grip and into her own.

"Gil, you'll hurt yourself, and the bastard isn't worth causing you even more pain!" Sara's voice was filled with concern.

Grissom's eyes burned, his breathing harsh in his anger. His hands clenched into fists and his arms shook. If he was allowed, he would have kept punching Hobson into next week. He sat down next to his wife and closed his eyes as pain replaced the adrenaline that had coursed through his body.

"He broke my fuckin' nose!" Hobson screamed, hoping again to gain sympathy.

"Ferguson, get him out of here and cleaned up," Jacobsen directed, not at all happy with the events that transpired. "Stay outside until I call you."

Without grace or compassion, Ferguson hauled Hobson to his feet and had a death grip on the man's arm as he lead him out the room and towards the bathroom.

Once they were gone, Wilbur retreated to sit on the edge of his desk in front of Grissom. He had known the man in front of him for many years and never seen him filled with rage in his life. "Gil, are you OK?"

Grissom took a deep breath. "No." This time the word was not filled with venom but resignation and pain. "I couldn't stop myself, Wilbur."

The lawyer crossed his arms in front of his chest. "While that didn't help matters, I cannot fault you one bit, Gil. I'm sorry this worked out this way. If we were meeting an hour later or an hour earlier, this wouldn't even be a consideration."

Grissom put a shaky hand over his face. "I've just ruined everything again, haven't I? Hobson's gonna leave town and they'll be no one to say I didn't kill Jake. I didn't break out of prison. And I didn't kill Fromansky."

Sara rubbed gentle circles on his back. "Hobson Nash has no one to protect him any more except Wilbur, Gil."

"She's right, Gil. Hobson has nowhere to go. He's burned too many bridges. And Ferguson sure as hell is not going to let him get anywhere out of his sight," Jacobsen assured. "I know things look bleak, but I'm working on a plan with Hobson that will prove you were a victim of crimes against you, not the perpetrator of any crime."

Grissom slumped against his chair. His left hand rubbed the upper arm of his right shoulder. Rory's laughter filled his head, recalling what he'd said in the warehouse, about letting his emotions get the better of him. He'd allowed it to happen yet again.

Sara gently ran her fingers through his hair, feeling his body shaking. His face was ashen, and beaded with sweat. His eyes were squeezed shut against the pain. He uttered a sobbing groan of pain, and Sara wasn't completely sure if it was sweat or tears than ran down his cheeks.

"This is never going to end," Grissom gasped, tearfully. He sucked on his bottom lip, swallowing heavily. "Rory's dead and I'm still … seen as guilty!" Grissom hung his head in defeat, uncaring of the tears that fell down his cheeks. Jacobsen was watching him with concern, and saw Grissom's expression change dramatically, as he uttered a small groan, as he struggled against the rising nausea. "I'm gonna throw up!" he muttered, a second before Jacobsen thrust a small trash can into his hands.

Sara watched her husband in pain and wondered if all the progress he made earlier in the day had been lost all because of Hobson Nash.