A/N: Another awesome job from JellybeanChiChi, who doubled up as beta and co-writer on this chapter.

CHAPTER 42

Sara sat in the Prius, hands gathered tightly in her lap, as she regarded the entrance to the CSI HQ building. Her nervousness was on high alert, and she felt like a rookie on her first day on the job.

Realizing she ran the risk of running late, she took a breath and started a pep talk. "Come on, Sidle. You're a level 3 CSI with 10 years under your belt. Get a grip and go to work." With that, she exited her car, locked it, and hurried into the lab.

Sara could still feel anxious tension as she strolled the hall to the locker room. She couldn't tell if her anxiety was warranted or just in her head. But as she passed by different labs, rooms and offices, she hadn't heard anyone welcome her back. But she did see people avoid her gaze more than once.

But just as she began to feel sorry for herself, she heard a familiar voice. "Hello, Sara."

Kahlil sported a smile as he greeted Sara. A brief smile tugged at her lips, despite her anxiety. She felt if there were one person on day shift she could count on, along with Karson, it would be Kahlil. Even when circumstances had been at their worst, it was Kahlil who had quietly offered support.

"Hi Kahlil. How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you," he said modestly. "Shall we?"

The two entered the conference room together, Sara grateful to have someone with her. It made her feel less alone and less on display. She sat down at the table with her fellow shift mates, immediately noticing neither Karen O'Shea nor Patrick Davies was on staff.

Before addressing the group, Karson paused briefly to pass Sara a smile. "We're all here, so let's get to work. We've got a big caseload, and I wanted to thank everyone for showing up for shift."

"When's Karen coming back?" one of Sara's co-workers asked.

"And Patrick?" another colleague asked.

As her colleagues posed the question that served as two elephants in the room, Sara could feel tension rise and head her way. She felt the stares of her colleagues upon her.

Karson witnessed the silent exchange and went to close the door. He returned to where everyone was seated and put both hands, palm down, on the table. "We are a team here and I expect every member to do their job efficiently and professionally. Despite recent events in the last eight weeks, I still expect that from every single one of you. Our shift has been rocked, terribly. Trusts have been broken by people we all trusted and people have been hurt. But I will not tolerate anything short of teamwork from all of you. There will not be alliances made with others against others. That will not be tolerated in any way, shape or form. We are a bare bones shift right now and there will be changes to our shift in the future. But for now we are five men and women who will work together to do our job — solve cases and be the voice for victims. I am going to ask every single one of you to answer me when I ask, 'Have I made myself clear?'"

With that he asked each person by name if they understood, and each person responded with, "Yes, sir."

"Now, if you need to talk to me about anything, and I mean anything, my door is open," Karson said. "I know you have asked me questions about other members on shift. I can tell you that Karen should return in three days time, unless something changes. As for Patrick, I do not have a definitive answer. When I do, I will tell you all honestly."

With that, Karson passed out the assignments.

Karen had arrived back to work in three days time, just as Karson said. He had suggested to Sara not to come in that shift but she was adamant about coming into work. There was too much work to do, and Sara told Karson, "If I do not reflect the professionalism you expect or I am a source of contention, I will go home."

It was a deal, and one Sara didn't take lightly. Although it felt good to get back to work, things at home did not get easier. Every morning Sara woke up alone as Grissom would retreat to the sofa, or, as two on occasions, never left the living room for the bedroom.

He would snap or jump every once in a while, but he never had harsh words for Sara and had spent as much time as he could with Daniel. He was reserved and Sara could feel him retreating into himself. He couldn't leave the house because of the ankle bracelet. He hadn't received any visitors or calls from anyone other than Sara and his mother.

His attitude worried Sara, who used a lot of her free time to research depression, post trauma and available therapies. There were several things she wanted to share with Grissom. But she knew she couldn't broach the subject with him until there was some resolution in the case.

And that was the biggest problem. Sara truly thought she might glean some information after returning to work, but everything was tight-lipped. She knew it had something to do with Patrick but no one was willing to share that gossip with her. And unfortunately, Wilbur was locked in another case and couldn't make as much headway as he wanted soliciting information in Grissom's case. While he had called and emailed Sayers several times, there were no responses back.

There was one person who did know what was happening, and that was Karen O'Shea. On her drive to work that third day, Sara pepped herself up again. Maybe the two women could set aside their differences. If Karen were in some way involved in Grissom's frame-up and kidnapping, maybe she would have some remorse that would lead her to share with Sara. Maybe Sara needed to be the big person and tell Karen the slate was clean. They had worked together occasionally. They were both female CSIs, so they should make a united front.

But as she entered CSI, she saw Karen and the two women locked eyes in a silent challenge. Despite Sara's pep talk, she knew the two of them would never be friends and that Karen would never openly share her involvement in the events that had led to Grissom being accused of murder.

Karen showed her true colors all too many times; she was simply a sloppy, second-rate criminalist who loved to gossip. She and Sara had exchanged heated words over Sara's relationship with Grissom more than once. Karson had once overheard Karen lewdly asking if sleeping with her boss and consequently baring his child had helped to further her career. Karson had been quick to put the younger CSI in place, citing Sara's higher solve rate was down to merit, and nothing else.

No, clearly there would be no united front. Yet, recalling her promise to Karson, Sara simply nodded at Karen with a blank expression. Karen in turn glared at Sara with a stare that was meant to turn her to stone, but Sara was already a rock solid person with a respectable career and a loving home life. No glare with the office loser could challenge that.

After that moment, both women tried to avoid each other as much as they could.

Ladd Sayers parked his Mercedes Benz turbo convertible in a spot far away from the other residents of the Kalula Apartment complex. He undid his tie and the top two buttons of his dress shirt as he looked at his reflection in his car's vanity mirror. He coiffed his hair, making sure his slightly receding hairline didn't seem as stark. He grabbed the bottle of wine in the front seat and exited his Benz full of excitement.

That was until he immediately bumped into someone.

"Jesus Wilbur!" Sayers jumped in surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hello Ladd," Wilbur said, his face and tone calm and collected. "I've been waiting for you to arrive."

"Really? Waiting?" Sayers was sweating a bit under the heat of the setting sun. His tone was both angry and nervous. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"I've been trying to get in touch with you for days, so I figured this would be the most civil place to get your attention."

"Yeah, real civil," Sayers said, looking over his shoulder every once in a while. He was overly cautious, as any man would be in the parking lot of his mistress' apartment complex. "Look anything we need to say to one another can be done during office hours."

Wilbur stood in his path before Sayers could get toward his destination. "If you prefer we talk inside Apartment 352, I would be more than happy to go with you, however, I think it is best you take a few moments now and get things cleared up now."

"Should I even ask how you knew I would be here?"

Wilbur Jacobsen knew better than to offer up that information. He simply kept his expression even and neglected to answer the question. "Why wasn't I informed that another man was charged with the murder of Jake Sullivan?"

Sayers knew Jacobsen would ask that question, but he still didn't feel like offering any civil exchange. "I'm not having this discussion with you right now, Jacobsen."

"Patrick Davies was charged with the murder of Jake Sullivan three days ago." No longer was Jacobsen's tone civil or even. "I want to know why I was not informed of this arrest and why my client is still under police custody when another man has been charged."

"Davies was charged for his role in the murder of Jake Sullivan, but that doesn't mean that Grissom had no hand in it."

"Give me a break, Ladd," Jacobsen said. "The evidence you relied on to hang that crime on Grissom has been turned around to hang the crime on Davies. Think about it logically, Ladd. You can't have two men wear the same pair of boots. You'll lose on both defendants."

While Ladd Sayers had not returned any of Jacobsen's calls, that didn't stop the lawyer and his private detective from finding out the progress of the case. Ellis Crossan, the prison guard who was with Rory Dunbar during Grissom's time in the warehouse, had not said a word to authorities despite being found in the hotel room with Rory's dead body.

But once he was told Patrick Davies was in custody, Crossan became a motormouth. It would seem that Davies was supposed to get rid of evidence that would implicate Crossan in any way but was neglecting that duty. So the honor among thieves disappeared and Crossan spoke about his role, Fromansky's role and most importantly Davies' role. Davies had killed Jake Sullivan that night after he had already stolen Grissom's shoes. It was all the CSI's idea, who said he could stage the perfect set-up crime. Even if Grissom's shoes were too small for Davies' feet.

Davies was also at the motel where Dunbar was killed. And the two men were pointing the finger at each other as to who landed the fatal blow with a knife to Rory's femoral artery.

But the one thing Crossan never confessed was that Grissom was part of any plan to kill Jake Sullivan or any plan to break out of prison. "This was all about Rory Dunbar's need for revenge," Crossan said. "He didn't care who got involved. He didn't care how much money it took. He didn't care who had to die. He thought that Grissom guy did the unforgivable, and he was going to make him pay."

"You know he had nothing to do with any of these crimes, Ladd. Between what the guard has confessed and want Hobson offered there is not a grand jury around who would recommend a trial," Jacobsen continued. "For God's sake, hasn't he been through enough for doing absolutely nothing wrong?"

"OK, Grissom probably had nothing to do with the jail break and he might not have committed the actual murder of Jake Sullivan," Sayers conceded, "but that doesn't mean he never paid Davies to kill Jake Sullivan in the first place."

"That might be true if there wasn't evidence that David Fromansky was the one who paid Patrick Davies for the crime!" Jacobsen said in a raised voice.

Sayers grabbed Jacobsen's arm. "Stop shouting."

Jacobsen pulled his arm away. "Stop being an asshole about this. You were wrong, Ladd. Dead wrong. So make this right. Drop the charges on Grissom. If you don't, I will be forced to press civil charges against you and your office."

"You think you can come down here and make demands and then threaten me?" Sayers voice was seething. "There's no proof of Grissom's total innocence. Ask that CSI who used to work for him, you know, the one that said he committed the crime in the first place? Grissom hated Sullivan."

Jacobsen calmed himself and looked at his fellow attorney forlornly. "This will bury you, Ladd. For the sake of your career, swallow your pride, do the right thing and drop this."

Before Sayers could offer a retort, Jacobsen turned and left with the last word.