A/N: This chapter is more of a joint effort. Jellybean doubled up as co -author of the first half and beta of my 2nd half.

Chapter 38

After finishing a round of dry heaves, Grissom lifted his aching head up. Exhausted mentally and physically, he muttered an "I'm sorry."

Jacobsen had a bottle of water ready for his client. "You think you could drink something, Gil? Or if your prefer, you're welcome to use my wash room."

With Sara's hand upon his forearm, Grissom stood up. Sara rubbed his arm. "You need some…"

"No," Grissom interrupted as he reached for the water bottle with the hand not holding the trash can. He slowly made his way towards Jacobson's private bathroom at the far end of the room.

Jacobsen took the seat vacated by Grissom. "I can't imagine what you're feeling, Sara. Having Hobson in my office was a surprise, but I should have had enough foresight to try and contact you sooner. I cannot apologize enough to you."

Sara shrugged. "We were here half an hour early." Sara let out a sad chuckle. "I had Gil waiting all afternoon and I kept him occupied. He even took a nap. But he was pacing around the house late this afternoon. I wanted to get him out of the house. But right now, I sure as hell would take a half hour more pacing over what happened here."

She tried to hold back her tears but couldn't. She stood and went to turn her back to Jacobsen, who stood himself and put a supportive hand on Sara's shoulder. She turned around and allowed the older man to hug her.

He said nothing. It was not the first time he offered comfort to a client or a family member, and he knew that platitudes offered little solace in the face of raw reality.

Sara pulled back and biting her lip and swiping a hand at her eye. Jacobsen retrieved the ever-present box of tissues on the far edge of his desk and offered it to Sara. She pulled a Kleenex and sat back down.

"You going to be OK to drive home, because I'm sure Ferguson would be happy to drive for you."

"No, thank you," Sara said. "I'm OK. Thank you, Wilbur."

"My pleasure. If you don't mind, could you give me a call once you get back to the house?"

"We're leaving now?"

The duo didn't hear Grissom exit the wash room. He looked a fraction better, having washed his face and pressed his hair so it wasn't in so many directions. "We haven't talked about my case."

"Gil, I'm sure you're tired…"

Before sitting back down at his seat, Grissom handed the trash can back to Jacobsen. "I, uh… I washed it out. I found some disinfectant spray under the sink… but…"

"It's fine, Gil. Don't worry about that at all," Jacobsen said. "But we can talk tomorrow after some issues have been settled…"

"It's not easy to take a drive anywhere, Wilbur, and I'm here now."

"I understand that, Gil, I do," Jacobsen said, grabbing the seat that Hobson was using and pulling it closer to the couple. "And you're right. If I can give you some solace, I will, but a lot of the points I was going to tell you have changed with Ferguson's discovery of Hobson."

"But you still have a plan for the trial…"

Jacobsen had known Grissom for the better part of a decade, and never before witnessed the raw hatred in his eyes. Or had he ever witness Gil Grissom, known for his even temperament and introspective nature, shake with barely controlled rage. Jacobsen knew it was those unbridled emotions that led Grissom to vomit. That and his lingering physical pain.

But Gil Grissom was something else: tenacious. And Jacobsen knew he wouldn't leave the office without getting some resolution to his questions. "First and foremost, is to clear your name of any wrongdoing concerning the breakout and kidnapping, the probable deaths of the people on the bus and the obvious murder of David Fromansky. Clearing your name without a doubt would prohibit any inflammatory statements that ADA Ladd Sayers might put out in the press or use in the courtroom. Fortunately, I am confident it won't be a difficult task, especially since Hobson reappeared."

"But you can't just assume Hobson will help," Grissom said nervously. "He set me up and now, since I punched…"

"Gil, I still need to find out exactly what Hobson knows, but you should know that Sara was right when she said Hobson has no protection. For all his posturing, he was begging for help."

"For himself, not for me."

"True," Jacobsen admitted. "But my job is to ensure what he says does help you. Let's not forget two things, Gil. One, there is a prison guard in custody who was found with Dunbar."

"But he didn't say anything to confirm I wasn't involved," Grissom quickly retorted.

Jacobsen smiled. "Yes, but I would rather focus on the important fact that he hasn't implicated you either. Which brings me to point two, that guard hasn't talked but Hobson will." Before Grissom had a chance to interject, Jacobsen put up his hand. "Say what you will about Hobson, but he's a lawyer, Gil, and if there is one dance lawyers understand is 'first who talks gets a deal.' And Hobson wants a deal."

Grissom rubbed the side of his neck. "Wilbur, there's a video out there that has me confessing to evidence tampering and false arrest of a cop."

"A video that was filmed under obvious, tremendous duress."

"That could be leaked to the media."

"It would be a nightmare for the lab here and in Minnesota if that happens. No one would want defense attorneys having carte blanche to revisit your old cases."

Grissom simply wasn't convinced. "The leak is not impossible. Dunbar told me I've managed to piss off people on both sides of the law," he said with utter resignation. "Because of that, my life has been ruined. Maybe my arrogance has created enemies, and maybe I am to blame for what's happened. But I can't let that be the reason Sara's life is ruined, too."

Jacobsen scooted his chair closer. "You can't believe that. I know you, Gil. That's flawed logic. You were framed and you were kidnapped. There is no wiggle room for you to take blame."

"He's right," Sara said. "And you haven't done anything to ruin my life."

"What do you say, Gil," Jacobsen said as he stood up. "Go home with your lovely, supportive wife while I stay here and talk with Hobson. I need to know everything concerning his involvement from day one so that when the two of us go to the police tomorrow we have the best course of action."

Jacobsen offered his hand for Grissom to take to help him out of the chair. After a two-second pause he conceded and stood. "OK, Wilbur."

"Thanks for your time," Sara added. "Before we leave, could I use your wash room?"

"Of course."

"Gil, I'll be in the lobby for a moment, then I'll walk you and Sara out," Jacobsen said.

A moment by himself, Grissom listened to the warring factions in his own head. While a soft voice said, "You are employing false logic," that voice was being ripped to shreds by the louder voices telling Grissom his only future was prison and it was all his fault.

Sara came back out of the wash room and put a hand upon his back. "You ready for the ride home?"

"My mother didn't take Daniel to her house, did she?"

"No, she stayed at our house. Why?"

"I just wanted Daniel… at home."

Sara smiled. "Well, it's gonna get dark soon, so maybe your mom should spend the night."

Grissom nodded and they pair moved towards the door. Sara opened it spying that Hobson was nowhere near, which she figured was the reason Jacobsen went to the lobby while she was in the bathroom. She saw the lawyer, who gave an unspoken cue for the "All clear."

After walking them to the lot, Jacobsen returned to his office. He let out a long cleansing breath before he opened the door. Upon entering, he saw both Ferguson and Hobson sitting attentively before the lawyer's desk. Blood stained Hobson's shirt, but it would seem his nose had stopped bleeding.

He still had a handkerchief on his nose, but one dour look from Jacobsen made Hobson withdraw his hand from his face.

With an air of control, Jacobsen took a commanding seat behind his desk, his posture and expression no-nonsense. "Hobson, you are going to start from the beginning and tell me exactly how and why you were pulled in this situation. You will tell exactly what role you played and any tasks and duties performed by you. I have no patience for anything other than open honesty. No games. If I catch a hint of you lying, you will be taken directly to the police department without representation. Knowing you were present at the warehouse where Grissom was found and an assistant prison warden was found dead will not bode well for a wanted man without a lawyer. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

Hobson nodded his head. "I understand."

"Good. Now talk."

Later that evening, Sara was curled up on her left side with her back to Grissom. Grissom lay flat on his back. A frown creased his brow as his eyes moved rapidly under his closed eyelids. He muttered something unintelligible. He grew restless, but not enough to wake his sleeping bed companion.

His muttering continued and his heart rate increased. He broke out in a sweat, soaking his sleep-shirt. He began to shiver. He whimpered, his frown deepening, his chest rose as he fought his growing panic.

As he dreamt of the whip hitting the flesh on his back, he flinched and uttered a low groan as he felt the sting in his dream. His cries of pain and anguish went ignored by his tormentor. He'd thought he'd managed to escape this place of hell, but the burning sting and the blood trailing down his back told a different story.

His panic etched up a notch as Rory finally put down the whip, only to pick up the stun gun. He uttered a piercing shriek of agony, as Rory jabbed it against his balls as he refused to give Rory what he wanted. The chains above his head chinked together and his body continued to spasm after the two-second blast. His stomach wanted to rebel as he felt the nausea rise. He sobbed, begging for his punishment to end. It fell on deaf ears.

"I told you, I'll break you, Grissom," Rory intoned as he punched him twice, a jab to the stomach and another to his face. "Any way I can."

A metallic taste filled Grissom's mouth as blood dribbled from his lip. He almost bit his tongue as Rory shocked him with the stun gun to his bruised left side again. He screamed with pain and torment, until his throat felt raw. Tears mingled with the sweat on his face, and his arms shook as his body trembled with spasms.

"N-n-no m-m-more, p-ple-please!" he begged uselessly. "I-I-I nev-never men-meant.."

Rory grabbed him by his throat, mercilessly, his eyes blazing with unbridled rage. "I don't give a fuck what you never meant, you worthless bastard!"

With a strangled cry, Grissom's eyes sprang open, and he bolted upright in the bed. His chest heaved as panic overpowered him. His body shook and shivered while his eyes darted frantically around the room.

The sound of her husband jarred Sara awake. It became a familiar nightly routine, and this time she didn't bother turning on the bedside light. She discovered doing so startled her terrified husband further.

"Gil, it's alright, honey," Sara soothed, keeping her voice soft and gentle, aware to keep her movements slow. "You're safe, sweetheart."

"Ro-Rory….he-he was..." Grissom's voice cracked brokenly. "He...he...was...He was..."

Gently Sara rubbed his shoulders, feeling the tremors that coursed through his body. "Gil, it was a dream, sweetheart. Rory can't hurt you, baby. He's dead – he can't hurt you any more. I've got you, baby. You're safe, I'm safe, and so is Dan." She continued to soothe him, her fingers ran through his sweat-soaked hair, his shirt clung to him like a second skin.

She continued to rub gently across his back and shoulders and down his arms, speaking in soothing tones. Slowly he's head sank against her shoulders, his arms wrapping around her waist in a loose embrace. She gently ran her fingers through his hair and talked softly until his body relaxed and his breathing evened, letting her know his tortured mind had finally found a semblance of peace. She'd lain awake a further hour, just watching him sleep, alert to any signs that he might succumb to another nightmare, until she eventually drifted off.

With a brief sense of alarm, Sara awoke a little later than normal. With a hurried glance at the clock she headed for a quick shower, mindful not to wake Grissom.

Making her way downstairs, Sara thought the house sounded too quiet. It made her panic and she quickened her steps to the kitchen.

When there was no sign of either Betty or Daniel, she went into full panic mode. She searched downstairs and the garden. She retraced her steps to her son's room. That too was empty, and the twin bed neatly made.

The sounds of the front door opening had Sara hurrying back downstairs. She let out a sigh of relief as she saw Betty pushing Daniel in his stroller through the door. Sara raced down the remaining steps to greet them.

Sara bent down, and quickly released her son from the stroller and swept him into her arms. Seeing the panic on Sara's face made Betty's smile fade.

"I worried you," Betty quickly signed. "I'm sorry."

"Where were you?" Sara asked aloud.

"You'd ran out of milk, so rather than wake you, I thought I'd just get Daniel ready and walk to the store," Betty spoke, mortified that she had caused her daughter-in-law, unnecessary unease. "I really didn't mean to worry you."

Sara smiled and nodded. He knew the older woman had really meant no harm. A combination of the uncertainty they faced and Gil's nightmares made Sara far more jittery than she realized.

"It's okay, Betty. I didn't mean to oversleep," Sara explained. "Gil had a terrible night with nightmares."

Betty motioned for them to sit down. "Coffee?" she quickly signed to Sara.

"Yes. Please. Thank you," Sara replied in sign.

Betty came back to the living with a cup of coffee just like Sara liked it. It brought home just how much of a godsend Betty was in the last few months.

"Did he say what his nightmares are?" Betty asked worriedly.

"No, but I can only guess it's about what he went through," Sara said. "It took a while to calm him down. But he's sleeping now. He seems calm."

Betty nodded and put a comforting hand on Sara's leg. Then she signed, "I'm glad you are with him."

Sara smiled she felt like she had a friend in Betty. "I should have expected that he'd have a bad night after what happened at Mr. Jacobsen's office. Hobson Nash has been found, and we ran into him while we were at the office."

"That awful lawyer?!" Betty signed. She might not have said those words aloud, but it was easy to see the anger in Betty's signs.

"It was awful," Sara said, wanting to speak because she needed Betty to understand every word. "He goaded Gil. When Hobson said that he should be thanking him, Gil lost his temper and punched him. I don't think he would have stopped, if Ferguson the investigator hadn't pulled him off."

"Thank him?!" This time Sara heard the anger in Betty's voice. "After he helped to put Gil in the position he's in now? Then ran off to leave my poor boy to face the wrath of that terrible man. I hope when they throw his ass in jail, they throw away the key!"

"I do, too, Betty. But I know Hobson has information that can help Gil, and I'm so afraid he won't help."

"Gil struck him?"

"Yes," Sara nodded. "You know how Gil has been with his unpredictable mood swings. I know he can't help it."

"Has he had moods at home?"

Sara pursed her lips. "Yes, and he regrets them every time. He yelled at Daniel yesterday." Sara quickly put up her hand to calm her mother-in-law knowing that knowledge would upset her. "When he realized what he was doing, he felt so much remorse. And now, it seems he wants nothing more than to spend as much time as possible with him."

Betty nodded and stood up. Sara could see the disappointment in her eyes, disappointment in the way her son reacted. "I'm going to the kitchen. Dan likes to eat fruit now."

Sara nodded and picked up Daniel, but Betty dismissed her. "You need to lie down."

"Betty, I'm fine."

"No, dear. You rest. You look absolutely exhausted," Betty's face became stern in a motherly way as she signed, "Lie down. On the couch. Now."

Sara chuckled. Betty was not one to be reckoned with and, truth be told, Sara was exhausted. She handed Betty her grandson and complied.

Daniel happily sat in his high chair, his excitement increasing as Daddy came up behind him and kissed the top of his head.

Although Betty didn't hear her son come into the kitchen, she could see his limp and classify his exhaustion. The two exchanged signs in conversation.

"You look tired. Why are you up?"

"I woke up. Are you feeding Daniel lunch?"

"His fruit. He likes his fruit at this time."

"Can I feed him?"

The meek look on her son's face softened the disappointment Betty held knowing her son lost his temper with a small child. Sara said the mood swings were unpredictable and Grissom hated them as much as anyone. She approached her son and put a comforting hand on his cheek and nodded yes.

He hobbled around Daniel's chair to sit down, but Betty stopped him. "Your knee brace."

"Mom, I'm fine."

"No knee brace, no feeding Daniel."

With a frown, Grissom stood up and went back upstairs. Although in his 50s, he still knew his mother was a force to be reckoned with.