A/N : Apologies from both myself and Jellybean, for the long delay between chapters. We are slowly getting to the end of this journey, and despite the delays Unforgiven will be completed. Another great chapter as always from co-author, JellybeanChiChi. She has written an awesome chapter as always.

Ladd Sayers took a moment to take in the scene as he stood backstage of the Alumni Amphitheatre on the campus of the University of Nevada Las Vegas. The hustle and bustle of the pre-debate finalizations had students, campaign communication director, grips, and university staffers going to and fro. A cacophony of voices could be heard asking questions that might sound crazy to a political outsider:

"Why is that podium so tall? Is there a way to make it 2 and a half inches shorter?"

"We asked for three water bottles. Not two, not four, but three. And why aren't they ice cold?"

"Where are the opening remarks in that 16 point, sans serif font?"

"We need the fan at the feet, but at a 32 degree incline. No! Don't point it straight up!"

All the while, Sayers couldn't help but believe it was all for him. Because, in a way, it was.

This was the moment he had been preparing for his entire career, but especially preparing for in the last six weeks. The debate could seal the fate of the special election for an open seat in the U.S. congress. And Sayers believed he was ordained for that seat, made open thanks to the highly publicized corruption uncovered about the ousted official.

Highly publicized exit meant a highly publicized entrance for the next person. Sayers spied a look behind a curtain to see the auditorium. While he was pleased to see the seats in the first section full, he was more pleased to see the media section brimming with microphones and cameras.

He turned away from the curtain with a flourish and craned his neck back and forth before snapping his fingers towards a gaggle of four people. Before he needed to call out a name, his own campaign communication director approached him with a smile. "Yes, Mr. Sayers? Are you feeling OK? Can we get you anything to make you comfortable?"

Sayers put his arm around the waist of the woman in her late 20s, whose legs were the only thing longer than her blonde locks. "Hannah, I'd ask for a glass of champagne, but how about we wait until after the debate to toast my victory."

Hannah sly turned out of Sayers faux embrace and returned a politically-minded, media savvy smile back at the prosecutor who believed he was heir apparent to the U.S. Congress. "For now, I have some perfectly chilled bottles of water awaiting the last minute to be put into your reach while you are at the podium."

"Fantastic," he said, giving the young woman a serious look. "Now, how do I look?"

She reached up to tighten his tie just a touch before smoothing down his perfectly pressed $800 Christian Dior linen jacket. "Like a congressman and, shall I add, future senator for the great state of Nevada?"

"I like your thinking, doll," Sayers said.

"Confident?"

"As I would say in the courtroom, 'This is a slam dunk.'"

"I like that," Hannah said, typing something quickly into her handheld device. "We'll remember that for future ads. Now if you'll excuse me…"

Sayers gave her a nod and enjoyed the view she offered as she left. Then his attention came upon another woman. His opponent in the debate. Poor woman, he thought to himself, "doesn't know what she's got in store for herself.

He approached the woman, who had been watching Sayers, and strode towards him to meet in the middle. "Mr. Sayers."

"Brenda Madison," Sayers said, extending a hand to the 33-year-old black woman. "And please, call me Ladd."

"Thank you, Ladd."

"Well, don't you look lovely this evening? I hope that's not a brand new outfit. I would hate for it to go to waste at an event like this where someone like me will outshine you."

Madison's service in her community exceeds the efforts of most people twice her age. While young, her experiences have moulded her into a seasoned, yet innovative, non-nonsense, yet compassionate, professional woman whose mission was to improve the people's lives, especially vulnerable and underserved populations. She could sniff a self-serving, political animal from a mile away, so Sayers' stench was easy to distinguish up close and personal.

"I've been looking forward to this opportunity for a long time, Ladd. I'm sure there will be plenty of shining moments to go around."

"Oh, confidence," Sayers mocked. "I like that."

"You might not on the stage," Madison countered. "See you on the other side of the curtain, Ladd."

"I look forward to it, Brenda."

"Ms. Madison is fine," she said with a smile before turning to leave.

"Another woman with a chip on her shoulder," Sayers said under his breath. "No idea who she's up against."

The beginning of the debate offered the standard greetings and introductions. The moderator then asked a general question about experience that would serve the candidates well in Congress. Brenda Madison spoke about her service to the community and how her desire to help all citizens, regardless of economic standing, colour, race or creed, would not waiver. She spoke briefly about goals to ensure the district had an important voice in terms of weighing development of infrastructure and conservation of water and land and weighing that into big business that could bleed citizens' pockets and resources dry. "Yes businesses bring in jobs and money, but it cannot be at the expense of citizens' well-being. Our district is blessed with hard-working individuals who will allow businesses to flourish. But this is our home and fat cats and big business cannot be allowed to push us around. They need to pay their share of taxes and fair wages."

"Thank you Ms. Madison," the moderator said after her succinct introduction. "Mr. Sayers, same question."

In contrast to Madison's introduction, Sayers used his minute and a half to talk all about his favourite platform – himself. He took pauses every once in a while to use his hand to slick back his hair and pointing at an area of the audience and smiling, as if he could recognize someone. And he used the end of his 90 seconds to boast about his "incredible and unwavering" law and order platform.

"No matter what position I have held, my goal has never been 'to make friends,'" Sayers concluded, using air quotes on that last phrase. "I fight to win. I give special concessions to no one. And that's it. Think about that for a minute. A candidate who fights to win – not compromise, certainly not to lose. But to win. And a candidate who's not interested in special concessions. I've never doled out law to the highest bidder, and you can sure as hell believe I'm not going to sell out the citizens of the great state of Nevada to anyone!"

His voice was full of flourish and bluster, and there was a glint in his eye as he gave each camera a nod and an occasional wink. He mentally noted what words seemed to get an extra clap or two when he spoke.

To Sayers, the introduction definitely went in his favour, judging by the applause, made more loud thanks to the gaggle of people gathered by his campaign manager who solicited seat warmers $25 gift cards prior to the debate.

What he wasn't gauging was the reaction to the woman on his right. She was not impressed by his intro, but definitely knew it offered points of contention she was ready to question.

But first the moderator opened up the floor to another question, one that was definitely tailored to Sayers. "Law and order is a huge issue for our citizens, so let's have the candidates delve deeper in that issue. Mr. Sayers, you have the floor first."

Sayers was prepared for the question, mostly because it was one of the questions he offered the moderator – a good friend from a FOX news affiliate who always got first dibs on an interview when Sayers prosecuted a high-profile case – during a lunch two days prior of the debate.

And his response? A lot of cliches and bluster once again. Police good. Criminals bad. There was nothing of a track record of prosecutorial wins. It was an answer no different than Sayer's campaign commercial, which he was planning to run at the end of the debate. And again on cue, applause fuelled by gift cards followed his basically empty rhetoric.

"Quite an inspired, passionate response, prosecutor," the moderator said. "Ms. Madison?"

"You know, 'law and order' is more complex than demonizing law breakers. While my candidate would like to reduce it to hot button talking points, there's a whole lot more to unpack about that issue layered with back-door deals, decisions do more to advance political campaigns rather than preserve public safety and terrible transgressions with real world consequences that seem to disaffect high ranking officials."

Sayers let out a loud, audible huff at that last comment, which was meant to dismiss her comments and throw Brenda Madison off her game.

But instead, it gave her a perfect opening.

"Mr. Sayers, you seem to be in disagreement, but you are not immune to critique."

"What kind of unsubstantiated claim is that?"

"It's quite substantiated, sir. You have used your office to hide your own bad decisions and backroom deals at the expense of innocent people."

"What kind of …"

"This is my time, Mr. Sayers, and I would like the record to offer me my full three minutes since Mr. Sayers has tried to subvert it."

After a moment of silence, something any media professional despised, regardless of whose side they favour, the moderator conceded. "The clock will reflect two minutes, 30 seconds,"

And with that Madison was off and running. She started with, "Gil Grissom is a former crime scene investigator who was targeted, beaten and framed by kidnappers and murderers. Yet, he is the man whose mug shot is unapologetically propped on your campaign commercial. Why? Because you are hiding the fact you almost hired one of those murderers for your legal team."

Sayers was blind sided. Madison knew the ins and outs of everything he carefully had hid under layers and layers of cover-up. She brought up Patrick Davies. She brought up correspondence blocking pension funds, and even more damaging emails that outlined why a man with an impeccable record should be in prison instead of jail while awaiting trial while men with long rap sheets were afford the exact opposite. "Your office has the responsibility to prosecute more than 55,000 felony and misdemeanour cases each year. Yet, in the cases you have personally prosecuted, Gil Grissom is in a minority of suspects sent to a maximum security prison to await trials. Those also in the minority? Men already in maximum security serving other sentences. And this was a man who was a victim of kidnapping, along with his pregnant wife."

One hundred fifty seconds doesn't seem like enough time to submarine months upon months of preparation for election day, and preparation with a high price tag. But every second that ticked unravelled Sayers web. And he knew damage control needed to start immediately.

"That man is not in jail. If nonsense and fairy tales are all you have against me, then maybe we should say our good nights now."

Madison put up a finger. She still has 20 seconds. "That man is Gil Grissom and it's true he's not in prison. He is fortunate to be a free man thanks to family and lawyers. But it only begs the question, how many other people – especially people of colour or less economic standings – were innocent yet unable to fight your mistakes and cover-ups?"

"You want to say I'm a bully? Fine, I am a bully when it comes to making sure my community and my constituents are safe," Sayers fired back. I'm an unwavering bully when it comes to providing law and order."

He always wanted to have the last word, so Sayers made grand gestures as he tried to remove his shirt microphone.

But Madison's mic was still very much alive. "Tenacious prosecutors can be bullies, but they still must be fair and just. But there is a huge difference between a bully and a thug. Someone who wields their power for themselves, their friends and overflowing checkbooks. Fair and just aren't considerations for thugs. Especially ones who continue to hurt and harass innocent men like Gil Grissom.'

"Daniel, stop eating my cake."

Daddy's mock stern voice made the now 12 month 14 days Daniel Grissom pause, but only for a moment as he looked his daddy straight in the eye, while his chubby hand meandered to his left to swipe a few icing covered crumbs off daddy's plate.

"Daniel…." Daddy said, extending his son's name much to his own chagrin.

Upon hearing that, Daniel erupted in full giggles and quickly drew his hand in his mouth. In retort daddy tickled his tummy which just made Daniel laugh more and more. And when Daddy's nose got close, Daniel placed a handful of whipped cream on his daddy's nose.

The sight and sounds caught the attention of Ramona, a cordial, 20-something waitress of the Garden Street Bistro where the Grissom's were enjoying a late afternoon lunch. "Is this little scamp trying to get a 2 for 1 dessert offer?"

Sara laughed at both the sight of Grissom wiping his nose and Ramona's comment. "It sure looks like it. And I'm not sure any got in his mouth."

"He's a mess and absolutely adorable," Ramona said. "Should I get you another slice of cake, daddy?"

"What? Oh no, that's not necessary. We need to head out for an appointment."

"You can always take it home."

"That's what I'm doing with the cheesecake," Sara said, gaining a nod of agreement from Ramona. "Gil, you seemed pretty excited about the cake and you know how horrible a baker I am. Remember the last time I tried to make you a birthday cake?."

Grissom smiled at his wife, as he mentally recalled the chocolate hockey puck cake she had tried to make while they were dating. She had tried to ice it with a peanut butter frosting which could only be described as peanut butter flavoured dish water. "I appreciate that, dear, but It's OK I had some."

"Did she say birthday?" Ramona said, putting a friendly hand on Grissom's shoulder.

"It was a couple of weeks ago."

"Well, happy belated," Ramona said, as she exchanged a look with Sara. The two women seemed in sync when Ramona acted like she was bringing a fork to her mouth, Sara slyly gave her a nod of "yes." If there's nothing else, I'll get your check, and make sure the cheesecake is at the front with the cashier."

"Thank you," Grissom said, trying in vain to use a few more napkins on his son.

"I do not think you are getting anywhere, Gil," Sara said, as she stood. "If you don't mind waiting a few minutes, I'll take him into the bathroom and wipe him down and give him a change."

"You sure? I can take him to the men's room."

"We're OK. Gives me time to freshen up too," Sara said. "You take care of the check."

While Sara retreated to the left more towards the back of the bistro, Grissom went into his wallet and left a nice cash trip for Ramona. Then he went to the cashier at the front. He gave the bill to the man behind the counter along with a credit card. "We are buying a slice of cheesecake to go, but it's not on the bill."

"Oh, Ramona probably will bring up an extra slip when she delivers the slice. I can combine them into one."

"Thank you, that's fine" Grissom said, as he looked at the man's name tag, which read Xavier, manager. "Just hold my card, so you can swipe it when Ramona brings the ticket."

"Will do, sir," Xavier replied.

Spying a bench behind him, Grissom took the seat and checked his watch. They had plenty of time to make their important late afternoon appointment. He was glad they took some extra time not only to get to the appointment without a hitch, but also to have a nice meal with the two people he adored. The soft smile on his face became even more pronounced as he thought about Daniel and Sara and "tba" - to be announced.

But that smile quickly faded as he turned to see the two people entering the bistro. He should have looked away but his gaze was fixated on the man he had not said one word to in the past year, and yet he was the man who worked to destroy Grissom.

And he almost did.

Ladd Sayers approached the front counter in the same manner he would in any situation – like he owned the place. "Helloooo" he called out in a voice that was mock friendly and not-so-mock insistive.

"Seems busy, Ladd," the other man said. "Let's go some place else."

"What? Why? I'll get us a table right away. Just need them to realize I am here," he said, putting great emphasis on the "I."

And that's when Sayers caught Grissom's eye. It was as if time stopped for a moment as they locked stares. While Grissom had to crawl his way out of the hellhole Sayers put him in and continually tried to push him down into, Sayers' own professional life had hit a snag due to his connection to Grissom.

The debate with Brenda Madison turned out to be one of the worst decisions in Sayer's professional life. She had humiliated him onstage to the point he left the debate, which was a decision that had his campaign manager quit on the spot. She wanted no part in the work that would go into the post media clean up after a debacle like that.

And a debacle it was. While Sayers left to close the conversation on his bad actions against Gil Grissom, Madison kept the conversation going during a media conference at the Lee Pascal Memorial Rose Garden on the north-east side of campus. Sayers couldn't believe the intel she had about his working relationship with Patrick Davies. That was something he had hidden quite well, or so he thought. There had to be a mole in his office. Probably Edmund. He never trusted that kid.

The election was a loss – both at the ballot box and from donors. Sayers still had the re-election for district attorney to look forward to, but even that race has become crowded with challengers since that ill-fated debate.

Ill-fated because of the man he was locking eyes with in this little bistro that still hasn't recognized his existence.

"Sir?"

I'm Ladd goddamn Sayers, he tried to communicate with his eyes. Fuck you Grissom.

"Sir?"

Grissom stood up, noticing Ladd taking a half step back as he did. He kept his eyes on Ladd, his stare strong and unwavering. Sayers might think he has an intimidating stare from years in the courtroom, but Grissom's stare was honed sitting inches away from and locking eyes with dangerous suspects.

"LADD!"

While he didn't move from his spot, Grissom looked Sayers up and down, and then gave him a snarling smile. Fuck you back, asshole.

"Jesus, Ladd," his companion said as he grabbed the attorney's arm. "The guy's been trying to get your attention."

The moment between the two men lasted maybe 15 seconds, and both Xavier and Ramona, who had come to the counter with Grissom's extra food, noticed every second of it. Xavier took a look at Grissom's card, before he returned his attention to Sayers.

"You have a reservation, sir?" Xavier said.

"A reservation? Since when?" Ladd asked incredulously.

"Seasonal traffic," Xavier said nonplussed.

"Look," Ladd started closing the gap between him and Xavier, "I'm district attorney Ladd Sayers and I'm here to have an important meeting. So…"

Xavier looked at him with what could only be described as customer service nonchalance. "If you give me a moment, I can see what I can do, but if you don't mind, I'm going to close out this other customer who was here before you."

While Ladd didn't move, Xavier looked him in the eye and then nodded towards Sayers' hand as if gently shooing him to move. Sayers moved a hair.

After amending the bill, Xavier pleasantly gestured for Grissom to approach.

Sayers didn't move, but Grissom didn't hesitate. If anything, the literally, and figuratively, still-standing Grissom walked to the counter and stood tall next to Sayers who slouched as he leaned against the counter.

When Sara approached her husband from the direction of the restrooms, her smile was slightly muted as she saw who else was in the area. Although she went to Grissom's side at the counter, his attention was on the bill. "I'm sorry, Xavier, I think there's been a mistake."

Xavier gave the older man a kind smile and a thumbs up. "No mistakes, Mr. Grissom. You deserve it. Be well."

With that Ramona proffered a bag with two pieces of cake. "Don't let the kiddo eat both pieces."

Grissom let out a small laugh and nodded humbly, "Thank you. Both of you. I appreciate it." Then he fished whatever bills he had left in his pocket and put it in the tip jar next to the register before taking his son from his wife. While he didn't even glance at Sayers as he walked around him, Sara put extra flourish in securing the diaper bag and "accidentally" smacked Sayers with it as she passed by.

She neither said nor did anything in apology.

Seeing that made Ramona put down her head and suppress a laugh, but again, Xavier was nonplussed as he looked at his computer.

Sayers had seen the bill marked as "zero dollars," and then seeing Grissom get free cake on top, was just too much. His patience was waning.

"Hey," he said, slamming his hand on the counter. "Paying customer here."

"Ladd, take it easy," his companion said.

"This guy's ignoring me."

"Actually sir," Xavier said. "I was just confirming a cancellation and giving you an open table, however if you would prefer to make a reservation for later, Mr. Grayer..."

"Grayer?! Absolute nonsense. We're out of here."

Once they left, Ramona put a hand on Xavier's shoulder. "Grayer?"

"First thing I could think of that rhymed with Sayers."

Ramona laughed. "Pretty good for on the fly. But, we probably lost 'Mr. Grayer's' business for good." Ramona said with air quotes.

"No big loss."

"He's been here before. Shitty tipper," Ramona added. "You know, I didn't see the debate, but I think I saw that commercial a couple of weeks ago."

"Yeah, I've seen that commercial and I thought he was familiar when he came in, but once I saw the name on the card I remembered it from the debate."

Ramona spied a look in the tip jar that only had a couple of ones before Grissom's contribution. "You know he already put a nice tip on the table. He put two more $10 bills in here."

"Makes you think he probably is a decent guy," Xavier said.

"Certainly someone who deserves a good slice of cake."