A/N: Thanks again for reading and for the reviews. I appreciate it. Also, this site has been acting up lately and I just want to thank everyone for being patient with the chapters, and me, and everything. Thanks again for all the support.

Part 6: Gone

Chapter 16

Thursday, March 14th, 2002

Captain Jim Brass circled the block twice as he searched out a place to park alongside Larchmont Boulevard. The building Warrick told him to meet at used to be a Mexican restaurant a few years ago but now the red neon lit up 'Stacks and Bricks'. At four in the morning, he expected the restaurant to be closed and was surprised to find the open sign lit up in red, white, and blue. He spotted a young man and woman seated at the counter that faced the front windows but couldn't see any further inside.

He settled on parking in the back of the building instead of off the main street. There was a small one lane road that led between the two buildings that took him around to the back. The Ford sedan parked beside the dumpsters and in front of an ivy bush with pink flowers that was stretched out across the fence that separated the parking lot from the residences on the other side. Sticking up high over the fence and ivy bush was a palm tree.

Getting out of the detective's car, he surveyed the area as he made his way towards the backdoor that had the name of the restaurant printed on it. Three other cars were in the back lot. A Dodge Charger, Toyota Corolla, and a Jeep. There was a wrought iron gate that closed off the parking lot of the building across the road. Mounted on the fence and wall of the building were security cameras. There was a sign stating that trespassers would be prosecuted and anyone illegally parked would be towed. Graffiti was spray painted over the walls and both signs.

Above him, power lines zigged and zagged from the buildings to the electrical poles that lined the back yards and alleys along the boulevard. He heard a dog barking in the distance, cars rushing by on the other side of the building, and music. It was something in Spanish, and he couldn't make it out. One of the residences over the fence was playing their music so loud he could hear it as he walked to the door and pulled it open.

The door entered into a long red and brown bricked hallway. He passed the restrooms, a storage room, and the kitchen before it opened into the seating area. It was a long narrow space that offered booth seating along one brick wall, two-person seating along the other brick wall, and counter seating at both the front window and at the back counter where customers paid. That's where he spotted Warrick. Their eyes met as Warrick had positioned himself to have eyes on the front door and anyone entering from the back hallway.

Other than the couple seated at the window, they were the only ones there. Brass walked over to Warrick and slid into a tall high back chair adjacent to his partner. Warrick was sipping on a cup of coffee and in front of him was a file folder. After their meeting earlier that day with Sara, Grissom, and Annie, they'd gone home to get some sleep. Once the sun went down, they'd split up. He went to Parker Center while Warrick vanished into the night as he hit the streets.

The waitress walked over, and Brass noticed her earrings immediately. They were flowers and looked oddly similar to those on their Jane Doe's. Her name tag read 'Carolina' and her dark hair, eyes, and skin complexion told him she was most likely Hispanic. The menu only consisted of breakfast items, particularly pancakes, crepes, pastries, and an array of coffees, lattes, and teas. He ordered a coffee and a pecan cinnamon roll; heated. It's been hours since he last ate anything and didn't like the thought of coffee on an empty stomach.

As Carolina walked away, Brass turned to Warrick and said, "What's this about?"

"Did you notice anything about her?"

"You mean the earrings? Yeah."

Warrick slid the file over to him as he turned in the seat to face him. "Before I joined you on this case, Sara and I realized that the victims could have been parentless children. Homeless, runaways, or foster kids. I've scoured this entire city, been to every shelter and homeless camp, trying to find anyone who recognized these girls."

Brass listened to Warrick as he opened the file and first saw the missing person's flyers of the victims before he flipped through and saw pictures that looked to have been taken from a couple of school yearbooks. The first girl was named Cindy Michaels. Cindy was twelve years old and had been born in Tucson, Arizona. The other girl, the one Sara had investigated, was named Stephanie Wyles. She was also twelve years old but from Sacramento, California.

He read that both girls were from single parent households and had been transplants to Los Angeles. Cindy's mother, Josephine, moved to Central LA three years ago. Josephine, nicknamed Joey, had a job at a call center before she was fired a year ago. There was no record of her after that. Stephanie's mother, Debra, moved to LA when she joined the Los Angeles Philharmonic orchestra. Two years ago, Debra died in a car accident. Her daughter was placed in foster care. That was all there was on Stephanie.

"How'd you identify the girls?" Brass asked but thought he already knew the answer.

Warrick picked up his coffee cup and gestured to Carolina who returned with Brass's order. "Carolina."

Carolina placed the plate with the cinnamon roll in front of him and then said, "Warrick told me that you're a Captain with the police department."

Brass glanced from her to Warrick before answering, "That's right."

Her face was stern, lips tight, as she said, "I came to you months ago and told you how Vic Patterson beat the living hell out of me. You know what you did? Nothing. I was accused of lying, that it was my pimp who beat me, and I was sent home with an ice pack." She pointed to the scars on her face. "That one took ten stitches. This one", she said as she showed her other cheek. "Twenty. He'd used the butt of a gun."

"Whoa," Brass said as he held up his hands, "I'm not sure who you talked to with the police, but it wasn't me."

"Yeah, maybe not, but you're all the same—"

"Hey," Warrick said, cutting the Carolina off. "We're not all the same. We're here now."

"Yeah, only because now the victims are white and dead."

Warrick shook his head and told her, "No, I'm here now because I believe you. If I thought it was some bullshit story, I wouldn't be talking to you. I wouldn't have called my Captain to come down here and talk to you."

Carolina crossed her arms. She gave a nod, saying, "Yeah, okay."

Brass asked, "Can we go somewhere to talk?"

Carolina gave another nod as she looked at the clock. She untied her apron and pulled it off as another waitress, an older woman, walked behind the counter. "My shifts up. We can go to a booth."

Brass took his cup and plate to a booth as Warrick tossed money on the counter before joining them. Carolina sat across from him as Warrick grabbed a chair and turned it to face the head of the table before sitting down. Brass thought it was a smart move to not sit next to her. They didn't want her to feel trapped but free to leave whenever she wanted.

"From the beginning, okay," Brass said. "I want to know what happened. How you met Vic and everything else all the up to and including who you talked to with the PD. Nice and slow, and with as much detail as possible. I'm here to listen. I'm sorry for what was done to you, and I'd be upset too if it happened to me, and I went to the police and was ignored. I believe that what happened to you is important. So, whenever you're ready."

He made a show of taking his time as he sipped on the coffee and slowly took bites of the pastry. He was in no hurry; he wanted her to know it. Warrick also took his time drinking his coffee before asking for a refill. After the other waitress refilled both their cups, Carolina finally spoke. And what she told him made his headache and hand tense as he held tightly to his cup.

"Up until February of last year, I used to be a call girl. I worked for Daisy Girl Services. High-end prostitutes for high-end clients. You know, rich guys. I met Vic Patterson after I was hired by a friend of his, Todd Piccone. He was the one to arrange everything with my employer, not Vic. Anyway, it was for a party at Todd's. I've been to several of these parties, but never—The guys would get rough at times, but never violent. One night, all that changed. January 11th, 2001, the night of this party, it was just me and Vic. It was Todd's house, he picked me up, and took me there, but he didn't stay. This was a party for one. It was fun at first. Todd supplied everything including the coke. Then Vic, he got really upset for no reason. I was doing everything he asked. But not good enough, he said. He grabbed my hair, smacked me around and then he pulled a gun on me. I was scared. He smacked me with it across the face. All I remember is hitting the floor and then he was on top of me. He hit me again. I don't know how many times. I passed out. I woke up in my own blood on the floor. My clothes were missing, and I'd been..." She reached up and wiped the tears off her face. "I found my clothes torn up and scattered around the living room. I pulled them on and left. That's when I went to the police. The station off Wilcox. The cop I talked to took me to see his captain. I told her what I'm telling you now. She told me I was lying."

"What was her name?" Warrick asked but Brass felt his body go slack, almost numb, as he already knew the answer.

"Kramer. Captain Kramer. I didn't get her first name," Carolina said.

Before his wife was transferred to Parker Center ten months ago, she'd been the Captain of the Wilcox Police Department of Wilcox Avenue that was only six blocks over in Hollywood.

Warrick glanced his way as he asked, "Can I ask where you got those earrings?"

Carolina reached up and touched them as if just realizing that she was wearing earrings. "Oh, these, um, my employer gave them to me. She gives all of us earrings. Daisy is a kind-of flower. That's what she calls everyone who works for her, all us girls, we're her flowers."

"What's her name? Your former employer?"

Carolina shook her head. "I can't—"

"Carolina," Brass said once he found his voice again.

"No, you don't understand. When you work for her, you sign these papers. NDA's. I can't talk about it. I broke protocol by going to the police."

"How'd you get out?" Warrick asked instead. "Or are you?"

Carolina glanced over at the older woman who was working behind the counter. "You never get out." She gestured to the woman behind the counter. "Maria. My titi. Aunt, on my father's side. She's the owner. She gave me this job but it's not legal seeing how I never filled out a contract or taxes or anything. It's the only way to keep anyone from finding me if I'm not exactly employed anywhere."

Brass tapped the file, "And these girls."

"Stephaine went by the name 'Scarlet Sage' and Cindy was 'Canna Lily'. We all have flower names. The men only know us by those names."

"Do you know what happened to them?"

Carolina shook her head. "Why they're dead, I don't know. Maybe they tried to leave, or they caused problems. Maybe someone like Vic got too violent. I don't know. I just know they worked for her."

"What was your flower name?"

"She called me 'Catnip' because I made all the boys go wild."

Over an hour later, he and Warrick stood in the back parking lot as the sun broke over the horizon. It was dawn, their shift was ending, but Brass was nowhere close to being done for the day. Carolina's words ran through his head like a broken record.

Warrick asked, "You believe her?"

He gave a nod. "Yeah. I do. Wasn't Vic Patterson's name on the suspect list?"

Warrick nodded. "Right along with Judge Silvio Peters and former governor Brian Newhart, and two others, including Todd Piccone, who Carolina mentioned as her go-between—"

"Between her employer and Vic Patterson," Brass said as he finished. He fisted his hand as he punched his other hand. He was thinking.

Warrick asked him, "Is this going to be a problem?"

"Oh, no." He shook his head. "Not at all."

"You sure? Because if my wife's name got dropped like that, I'd have a serious problem. Carolina said that it was Captain Kramer who sent her home—"

"I know what she said, and I said it won't be a problem," Brass said as he squared up to Warrick. "See, there's a difference between myself and Annie. A reason why she works days, and I work nights. You can say that's us, ya know, night and day. I don't care about my career, Warrick. I'm not politically motivated. I'd do this job whether I'm a Captain or street cop. This is what I do and if my investigation takes me to the doorstep of some rich asshole of an actor who goes around beating women for kicks, that's where it takes me. And I'll do whatever I can to get justice, according to the law, that is. Now, Annie, she likes mingling with the politicians. She likes the parties and social gatherings. She knows their wives and husbands and all their kids by name. She wants to be Chief one day. So, if a strung out call girl arrives on her doorstep saying that Vic Patterson beat her, and she knows that Vic and Judge Peters are friends, that he's friends with the police department, and attends benefits and so on and so forth…She's going to pat the girl on the head, thinking all she wants is a pay day, and send her on home with an ice pack. She wouldn't risk her career to look into something that at the word 'go' is a career killer."

Warrick nodded as he stared at the pavement. Lifting his eyes, he said, "And she's in charge of this operation."

Brass let a deep breath out of his lungs. "Right. She's in charge."

"The vultures are circling, but we have to ask ourselves if they're circling the guilty, or us."

"You think Annie would jeopardize this case—"

"I'm asking you," Warrick said. "You're the one who said it. She's politically and career motivated. The ones with her career in the palm of their hands, they're our suspects."

"She'll do the right thing," Brass said in defense of his wife. "If there's one thing that I do know about her is that if she's confronted with the truth, and evidence that backs it up, she'll do what's right. Don't worry about her integrity, Warrick. I married a good woman and a good cop."

"I'm just making sure—"

"You don't have to," he cut Warrick off.

He had to reel himself back in as he gave his wife a good hard moment of consideration. He knew his wife. Jim knew her better than anyone, yet she still surprised him with her secrets. Like Grissom being her confidential informant all those years after Sara had been found. Keeping a C.I.'s identity secret was a must so as not to get them killed or blow their cover, so he knew she couldn't tell him. Still, it hurt to think that there was still so much he didn't know about his wife and how she conducted herself on the job. Despite that, he knew he was right in what he'd told Warrick. They could trust Annie. She was a good cop.

"Anything else you want to say?" he asked Warrick.

Warrick met his eyes again as he told him, "Yeah. I think we should follow-up with this, starting with Todd Piccone."

"You're right," he said with a nod before unlocking his car door. "We should. It's still early. Let's go give the Assistant City Attorney a wakeup call." Brass got into his car as Warrick walked over to the Dodge Charger and got in.

As he pulled out onto the boulevard, Brass wondered if he should give Annie a heads up that they were about to rattle Todd Piccone's cage. He thought better of it as he continued the drive towards Piccone's house off Sunset Boulevard in Beverly Hills.

The bedroom window barely received any morning sunlight given the shade that the trees provided, which kept the room nice and cool. Grissom had held her close all night. Sara could have slept all day, buried in the soft white comforter, with the feel of his body behind hers. The reason she hadn't was because she'd been awoken by the lights turning on automatically.

She moaned at the intrusion of light that filled her eyelids. She wasn't sure if she could move. Her body certainly didn't want to make the effort. She felt a shift in the bed as Grissom groaned into her neck. She felt a tickle against her skin from his beard before she felt his lips. He kissed her neck and cheek before getting out of bed.

Prying an eye open, she watched as his naked body left the bedroom after turning the lights back off. She saw the bathroom light turn on and expected the door to shut but it didn't. Then she heard the shower water turn on. She took a moment to peer around the bedroom. It was simple. A dresser was across from the bed with a laptop on it, stacks of books, and a decorative bowl. Next to the bed, on the side where Grissom had slept, was a side table with a clock, stack of books, and reading glasses. There was a closet door. A couple of black-and-white photographs of the city of Los Angeles were on the walls. From the decor, one thing was certain. He absolutely didn't have a girlfriend. There were no plants or candles, or cute colorful pictures in frames.

At the foot of the bed, she spotted Joni still fast asleep. Closing her eyes, she curled deeper into the comforter as she dozed in and out of sleep. She heard the spray of the shower cut off and opened her eyes. Grissom walked back into the room with a white towel wrapped around his waist.

She tried not to watch him dress but her eyes decided on their own to really look at him now that she could see his body better. Last night, they didn't bother turning the lights on in the bedroom. She didn't mind the fact that he was middle-aged, salt-and-pepper hair, and softer around the edges. His body was well-toned and fit for a man his age, letting her know that he'd used to work out or still did but age had caught up to him. He had a farmer's tan, and his natural skin wasn't pale white but a shade darker.

He opened the top drawer of the dresser before dropping the towel from his waist. She saw his ass right before he pulled on a pair of white boxer shorts. When he turned around, she admired his front. The peppered grey hair on his chest went down to his navel and disappeared under the boxers. On his left side, under his ribs, was a small white scar. It looked old, and looked to have been made by a pocketknife. She wanted to touch it, ask about it, but didn't. Her eyes went to the bulge in the boxers and that's when she noticed that he'd noticed that she'd been admiring his body.

Her face flushed. She shrugged. "It was dark last night. I didn't get a good look."

He raised a brow as he walked slowly over to the bed. Sitting on the side where he'd slept, he grabbed the top of the comforter and pulled it down to reveal her body. He admired her with as much curiosity as there was desire in his blue eyes. His hand reached out as he trailed fingers down her right shoulder and over her back. He leaned forward and kissed the spot on her shoulder he'd touched. He kissed her neck and cheek and then finally her lips.

When the kiss ended, she said a little breathlessly, "Good morning."

He smiled wider as he chuckled. /Good morning/ he signed before kissing her again.

She felt Joni beside the bed, nudging her with her head before sitting patiently.

He signed, /I'm going to walk your dog./

"Oh, okay." She was surprised that she'd understood the signs, but she'd already learned the signs for 'dog' and 'walk' the day before when he'd taken Joni for several walks around the warehouse. He signed something else, and with a little thought, she figured it out. "You'll make breakfast when you get back."

He kissed her once more before moving off the bed to get dressed. Stepping into the closet, he pulled on a dark pair of jeans and black button-up shirt. He grabbed his wallet off the dresser and from the top drawer where he'd gotten the boxers he grabbed a pair of socks. He sat down on the bed to pull them on then grabbed the notepad and pen off the bedside table. He also slid on his glasses. She didn't know why they made him look sexier, but they did.

After writing, he showed her the note. 'Do you need me to pick up anything? Deodorant? Shampoo? A certain brand of coffee you like?'

He handed the notepad and pen to her, and after one more kiss, left the bedroom. She stared at the notepad for a long moment as she fought down a well of emotion. It wasn't too hard to pinpoint what it was or why it was there. She never had anyone, especially a man, be so considerate to her needs, especially the morning after. Someone was always in a hurry to leave or had already left.

She didn't want to ask for much but knew what she needed to get herself cleaned up and feeling good going about her day. She wrote it all down on the notepad and then when he walked back into the bedroom with Joni's leash, she handed it back. He read it over before putting it in his pocket.

He gave her another kiss before signing, /Be back soon/ as he left with her dog.

She heard the front door open and close before she laid back down and eyed the ceiling. What just happened, she thought. She had no idea where all that gusto had come from last night, only that he brought it out of her. When she was near him, she felt like she could do anything. It felt as if they'd been together for longer than a day, but years. How was that possible?

She remembered the day before and her thoughts while he drove them back from the Salton Sea. She wanted to love the man she was with, and she felt that with Grissom she could. She wanted to. It wasn't something she had to work toward or think about or 'wait and see if she liked the guy'. She was already there.

Rubbing her face and head, she told herself to get up and shower. She would wash her hair once he got back, but she could at least clean her body. She eyed her clothes on the floor. They could also use a wash. Rolling out of bed, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Eyeing herself in the mirror, she saw her hair a wreck and the red mark on her neck. Nothing a little makeup couldn't fix, which she didn't have. She got two towels and washcloth out of the linen closet and then got into the shower.

Twenty minutes later, with her body wrapped in his robe, she stood on the terrace and sipped her first cup of coffee. The morning view was just as stunning. The sky was a pretty mix of pinks and blues. There was a cool breeze in the air, but she knew the temperature would climb into the seventies in the afternoon, like every afternoon. A fog had settled in on the hills and in the valley below, but was lifting as she could make out the homes and tall buildings.

She saw Grissom coming up the street down below through the trees. Joni was happily trotting along, wagging her tail. In his arm was a brown paper bag. Leaning on the railing, she watched as he bypassed the elevator to take the steps. He stopped every so often to admire the flowers, or plants, along the walk. Even lowering his sunglasses to get a closer, better look at a butterfly that landed on a white flower that was sprouting out of a bush.

He wound his way up and across the stone walk before disappearing behind the side of the apartment. She left the terrace and walked through the kitchen and living room to the front door to greet him.

She took the bag from his arms and took it to the kitchen. As she dug everything out of the bag, which consisted of the newspaper, a carton of eggs, a loaf of brioche bread, and fresh strawberries and green onions, she felt him move behind her. His arm wrapped around her waist as he kissed her neck. She smiled as she felt the way her body responded to him. It seemed to simultaneously relax and center her, making her feel welcomed not only in his arms but his home. No man has ever made her feel the way he made her feel.

He moved away to grab a cup out of the cabinet. At the bottom of the bag was the hairbrush, toothbrush—though she'd already used his—deodorant, shampoo and conditioner, body lotion and facial moisturizing cream that she'd ask for.

After he poured himself a cup of coffee, he signed for her to leave the kitchen. /I'm cooking/ he told her.

She left him to it as she took the bag to the bathroom and finished getting ready. By the time she was done washing her hair and applying the lotion, her clothes were dry. Grissom already had them laying out on the bed for her. Talk about being considerate.

She dressed in what she'd worn yesterday. Maroon-colored corduroy pants with a long-sleeved notched V-neck cream colored pullover. She slipped her feet into her huarache sandals and left the bedroom. She grabbed the newspaper off the counter as she passed the kitchen and took it outside to the table where she'd left her cup of coffee.

She'd been reading the paper every day and there hasn't been a single story written about the girl with the flower earrings. Though there were plenty about the upcoming baseball season, plummeting stocks, increasing gas prices, earthquakes, the war in Afghanistan, the movie 'The Time Machine' landed at number 1 with $22.5 million at the box office, and the seventh annual Festival of Books was going to be held at UCLA from April 19th thru the 21st, and a strip club opened amid protests. On the plus side, light drinking may improve women's health.

Several plates of food were placed on the table. She moved the newspaper as a bowl of scrambled eggs, a plate of bacon, a stack of French toast along with a bowl of fresh strawberries, and a French press that was full of freshly pressed coffee were all sat down. Grissom returned one last time from the kitchen with two empty plates and the silverware. They dished out what they wanted, and he refilled her cup with the coffee before topping off his own.

As he sipped the coffee, his blue eyes took in the morning view. She watched him as she debated what to say. Normally, she never stayed after sex. There was always an excuse to leave. Most of the time, she wasn't comfortable afterwards. She also never wanted the guy to think that she wanted a relationship. Like with Hank. She always left when he was asleep.

This was different. She was comfortable, relaxed, and she enjoyed Grissom's company. There was no hurry to leave or do anything really. She knew they'd have to communicate eventually. Right then, she wanted to peacefully enjoy the morning. She took a bite and hummed her pleasure at the food. She smiled when she saw his eyes on her. "This is good." She then signed, /Thank you./

He smiled as he ran a slice of bacon through the syrup that covered his French toast. He ate it then licked the syrup off his thumb. She wanted to ask him how he knew she wanted him last night. He'd been very direct, which actually surprised her. She also wanted to let him know that she wasn't shy, or ashamed, or embarrassed when it came to sex.

She made sure his eyes were on her before telling him, "I just want you to know that I enjoyed last night, and if I didn't want it to happen then it wouldn't have."

He seemed surprised by her sudden admission. He gave a nod as he pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket and wrote on it. Showing it to her, it said, 'I know. You told me everything I needed to know last night.'

She almost laughed. "I did not. We didn't even have a conversation."

He'd been writing while she talked and had his response ready. 'Non-verbal communication is just as loud as the spoken word. You told me in the car and on the terrace. And while we were in bed.'

She watched as his hand slid over hers, intertwining their fingers. He squeezed her hand as she squeezed his right back. He then moved her hand from the table. Following it forward, she leaned closer to him as he placed her hand on his thigh, where she rubbed it through the fabric of his jeans. He leaned sideways, sliding his arm around her waist as he tilted his head and gave her a kiss on the lips.

She smiled into the kiss before he pulled away, giving her a wink. She nearly blushed. He was right. She did tell him what she wanted. He'd been testing the waters. A hand on hers, which she welcomed. Her hand on his thigh while he drove. She kept it there and rubbed this leg. Then out on the terrace when he slid his arm around her waist. She'd leaned back into his chest as she felt her desire for him reach its breaking point.

And then in bed, she remembered urging him on. Every step of the way, she told him what she wanted from him, and he obliged. She had held him after sex, and in that moment before she fell asleep, she knew that she loved him. It'd taken her by surprise, but she wasn't upset about it or scared of that feeling like she thought she would've been. There was nothing except this gentle, peaceful, acceptance. She wondered if that was due to his eyes. In them, she saw nothing but a gentle, peaceful love that drew her in. The man stopped to smell the roses, he took his time and was patient. How could she not want to open her heart to him?

His eyes didn't leave hers as he pointed to her and then made a gesture over his face, as if he'd wiped something off it with his hand. He wrote down what he'd signed. It was only two words. 'You're beautiful.'

She knew that he meant those words, it was in his eyes. It appeared as if he was seeing something truly unique and inspiring. It was hard to look away as she felt tears in her eyes. She picked up her coffee and took a drink, giving her time to gather her emotions. She didn't even know why she suddenly felt like crying. Maybe it was because she knew he did mean it.

She said, "I'm surprised you're as straightforward as you are. I was expecting…" She shook her head and wanted to laugh at herself. "I was expecting a lot of hesitation and awkward silence. I'm glad that's not the case."

She was also surprised by her own actions. There had been no hesitation and no second guessing. It felt right. And that's why she didn't want to leave. Whether it was him, her, or them—all of it—it just felt right.

She's heard of people who've met and instantly knew that they were with the right person. A day or two later, they were living together, and then within months they were married. Next thing they knew, twenty years had gone by, and they were still together and still so much in love. There had been a connection made that neither one could ignore. Was that what this was? Did it feel right because he was her 'right person'?

He sat in thought before writing down his words. 'I guess I don't want to waste time, and I've never been good at flirting.'

She read his note and smiled. "Yeah, that's gotta be tough since you don't speak."

He chuckled. 'I may not speak, but I do choose my words carefully. If I tell you something, I mean it.'

That made sense to her seeing how he didn't speak. Writing down his words gave him time to really think about them and their impact. He didn't just speak just to speak, because he couldn't. It was also why non-verbal communication was so important to him. He paid attention so he would know what he needed to do and act accordingly, like with last night.

"Can the same be said for sex? Does it mean something or is it just…a good time?"

He hesitated in his next words to her, and once she read them, she realized why. 'It's about human connection. Creating a deeper bond with the person you love.'

She picked up her cup of coffee and took a sip as she tried to find the courage to say what she wanted to say to him. There was a lot going on in her head and heart. She's never felt this way for a man before, especially this quickly, but he made her feel different than any other man she's ever been with.

Taking a breath, she decided to just say it, "I thought you wouldn't feel for me what I feel for you this quickly. I can't even explain it."

It scared her to say something like that so soon. They hadn't known each other long, but there was a connection. It was strong, and it hurt but in the most wanted and beautiful way something could hurt. She felt love. A deep longing to be in his arms. He felt like home. A safe home that even her parents hadn't been able to provide.

He wrote something quite long as he had to use the front and back of a piece of paper. He handed her the note so she could read it at her own pace.

'The quantum entanglement theory is a phenomenon that links two particles together. They are able to influence each other even over great distances. Once entangled, they share a unique collective identity. The connection is so strong that it breaks the fundamental law of the universe. That's what I think a soulmate is. Someone who gets entangled with you so deeply, strongly, that they're always a part of you. And when you meet, it's like everything falls into place. That person feels like they've been your best friend your whole life; they'll never judge you. You can trust them with your heart because you know they'll cherish it and protect it. Above all, the person feels like home. And we can't help but be drawn to them. No matter the distance, no matter time, you're connected.'

He'd written her exact thoughts. That he felt like her home. "You've been thinking about that for a long time, haven't you? Is that what you think we are?"

He gave a nod. There was a lot of fear in his eyes. He wasn't sure how she'd respond. He just told her that he thought of her as his soulmate. Catherine had told her that after Grissom found her, he'd changed. Something changed inside, and he shut himself down and blocked off his heart. Could it have been because he thought that she was going to be the woman that he loved?

"How?" She asked no one but herself. How could this be possible? "I mean, why?" How and why could she love someone as deeply as she loved him, despite just having met.

He knew she wasn't asking him the question, but he answered it anyway with a simple question of 'Why not?' Then he wrote, 'All you need to decide is whether you want to spend time with me and see what happens. It's your choice, but I would very much like it if you did.'

She had no reason not to at least see what happened. She was already instinctively, and passionately, attracted to the man. He's only proven to her over the course of a few days what kind of man he was. How dedicated to his work he was. Work that involved finding missing children and putting those who hurt them behind bars. A man who for no other reason than being her friend had saved her life. He cared so much about her he wanted to protect her from the abuse of her father.

He wrote another note, asking her, 'What do you think about me?'

She realized that she never told him. She said that she couldn't explain it, but now she could. Pushing her fear aside she told him the truth, "It's like you said. I think that…you're the man I'm supposed to love. You make me feel like…you're my home. You're not scared?"

He took in her words and gave a slight nod, but then he shrugged. He picked up the pen and wrote something else. It took up a whole sheet. '"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable." C.S. Lewis. We're already entangled. I can't help how I feel when I'm near you. It's terrifying, but it's better than being in that coffin.'

And that coffin was where he'd been for the last twenty years. Alone and devoid of love. Safe, dark, and unbreakable. She felt the tears on her face and wiped them away. This should have been too much, and in a way it was. She was overwhelmed but not with fear of him or this love, but with the pain it caused her to think that he'd been in a dark and lonely place for such a long time. Protecting his heart, keeping it safe and guarded, in the hopes that one day he could give it all to one person: her.

"I'm trying to—" She stopped herself as the thoughts came to her. He never pursued her. Over the course of twenty years, he never once reached out to her. "Why not say something sooner? If it hadn't been for this case, we never would've met."

He gave a nod. His answer surprised her. 'I didn't think I had any right to be in your life once I saved you. You were a child. I thought our connection ended there. When we met again in the diner, I never expected you to want to have anything to do with me, other than maybe, hopefully, a friend. It didn't take long for me to realize that my initial attraction to you was mutual. I had no intention of anything sexual until last night. A relationship is completely your decision. I only want you to know where I stand, and that is I'm open to it. If you're not, or if you need time, I understand.'

Sara already knew her answer. She wanted to open his heart up again. She wanted to take on the trust that he put on her to not break his heart because it was the same trust she was putting in him to not break hers. They were in this together.

She gave a nod before asking, "Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?"

His eyes lit up as he softly smiled. He took her hand in his. She felt his warmth and squeezed his hand back. She didn't want to let go.

Leaning back in the chair, relief in face, he signed, /Yeah./

With sign language, the grammar was in the facial expression and body language, that's how she knew it was the informal "yeah" and not a formal "yes". Hopefully one day, she'd be able to sign back just as efficiently. He'd taught her a little yesterday while they were at his warehouse. He told her if she ever had a question or wanted help, to just ask. He'd taught Catherine how to sign.

"Do you have any other plans for tomorrow?"

'Work. And I was going to see a couple movies first, before dinner.' After he wrote all that, he let her hand go so he could sign the words. He started to do that after every response. He was teaching her.

"You go to the movies?"

He signed her response. She signed it back. It went on like that the entire conversation.

/It's at an art house,/ he answered. /Baraka and Koyaanisqatsi. They're documentaries. There's no dialogue./

"Sounds interesting," she said, speaking the words before signing them.

/You might get bored./

She smiled, telling him, "I want to go, spend time with you away from work. If that's okay?" His smile was soft as he gave a nod before he went back to eating. She realized that she should also finish eating before the food got cold, but she had several more questions. "Have you heard back from Teri Miller?" she asked.

Yesterday Grissom had sent a message to the forensic anthropologist, Teri Miller, but hadn't received a message back. He was hoping to hear from her today.

/She's a busy woman/ he told her, in both sign and written.

"How did you two meet? Does she work for the department?"

She learned that the forensic anthropologist Teri Miller had been brought in on a case five years ago, when Grissom had been working as an undercover agent with Narcotics. A drug deal had gone bad when the confidential informant who'd been working with Grissom was shot and killed. Fingerprints at the scene belonged to a Nelson Prescott, who'd gone missing twenty years prior when he was just eight years old. Prescott had gone missing in 1977, and it had been presumed that the boy's father had been the one who'd taken him. The prints weren't of those of a little boy, but a man.

In order to create a composite of what the boy could look like as a man, Teri Miller's name had come up. She and Grissom met when he had to identify the man who'd killed the confidential informant. Grissom identified Prescott as being the killer. After the investigation, he obtained Teri Miller's contact information, though hesitantly, after explaining to her his side job of finding missing children. Ever since then, whenever he needed to age a missing child, he would request her help.

/It could be days before she gets back in contact with me. She could be anywhere in the United States. She's in high demand. There aren't many who can do what she does./

She gave a nod and went back to eating her food as the sun's light started to heat her face as it broke through the trees. She would've loved to have stayed at his apartment all day, but they had work to do. After everything was washed and put away, they headed out.

As he drove them towards Catherine's house, "Space Age Love Song" was playing and she couldn't help but laugh at him. She knew by now that when she was in his car, he chose music with lyrics that spoke to her. Words he wanted to say but couldn't. Her hand was in his, and he held it the entire drive.

They arrived a little before nine o'clock. He parked in front of the three-car garage, and they got out. She once again took in the breathtaking view of the city from the top of the hills as Grissom opened the door for her. She immediately smelt coffee and heard talking coming from the kitchen. There was someone else there. A man. He was a little bit taller than Catherine with black hair and he looked very familiar. She realized it was her husband, Eddie Willows. The "E" in EC Records.

Eddie had Catherine by the arm and was talking softly and sternly as he shoved her hard into the counter.

"Let go of me, Ed," Catherine exclaimed in anger as she went to push him away. He didn't let go.

Grissom rushed by her and, in a blink, he'd crossed the room. He grabbed Eddie by his jacket and shoved him off Catherine. Eddie put his hands up as Grissom got behind him and Catherine. Grissom was staring Eddie down with so much anger it surprised her. He signed something that she didn't understand but Eddie did as his eyes grew angry.

Catherine straightened her clothes and placed a hand on Grissom's shoulder. When Grissom turned to look at her, she told him, "It's okay, Gil. Let him go. He's not going to do anything."

Grissom hesitated before shoving Eddie away as he let go. He signed something to Eddie before stepping away. Catherine's eyes had widened in shock at what he'd signed before she turned to Eddie and said, "That's your sign to leave. Now."

Eddie took a step to walk away when he spotted her standing next to the kitchen island. "Hello. Who are you?"

"I'm Sara," she said as Grissom walked back over to stand beside her in a protective manner.

Eddie's eyes darted back and forth between her and Grissom before saying, "I didn't know Gil had a girlfriend."

Catherine sighed heavily as she walked away from Eddie, saying, "I said to leave, Ed." She crossed her arms as she waited.

She knew a hostile situation when she saw one, and this had been very hostile. As Eddie started towards her, she felt Grissom's hand on the small of her back.

As Eddie passed by, he said, "I'll call you Catherine."

They all waited a few minutes then once Sara heard the front door shut, said, "That was tense."

Catherine seemed like she didn't want to talk about it before saying, "Sorry about that. He's just being Ed. Truth is, we're going through a very private and nasty divorce. Lindsey doesn't know yet, Gil, so please don't mention it when you pick her up tomorrow."

He signed the very universal sign of /My lips are sealed/ before asking, /Are you okay?/

Catherine said, "I'm fine" as she signed it. She took a moment to look them both over. She noticed Grissom's hand on the small of her back. Her eyes landed on Grissom as she said, "That was very colorful language. I don't think I've ever seen you sign curse words before." Grissom just smirked as he shrugged. Looking at her, she said, "Care to follow me for a sec. I have something I want to go over with you."

"Oh, yeah, sure." She turned her head over her shoulder as she walked away and saw Grissom watching her leave. He then opened the refrigerator. Looking at Catherine, she asked, "Does he always raid your fridge when he comes over?"

She huffed out a laugh, saying, "Yeah."

They entered the master bedroom. She marveled at the California king bed covered with white luxury sheets and bedspread. Stopping in the ensuite, she said, "I love this bathroom."

It was white with black finishings and bamboo accents. There was a walk-in shower with glass doors, a huge spa tub, a bamboo bench across from it with a stack of towels on one end. A pedicure kit was beside the towels. It had dual sinks with a wide mirror above it on the wall.

"But," she said as she turned to face Catherine, "why are we in your bathroom?"

Catherine opened a drawer below the sink and said, "You two had sex."

Her face flushed as she looked away. "That's, uh, none of your business."

"I think it is—"

"Catherine, we're adults. I'm a grown woman. If I like a guy, that's my business, and if I want to have sex with him, that's also my business—"

"He's your partner—"

"Yes, but he's not a cop. He's a man that I'm attracted to. And weren't you pushing him, us, to get intimate?"

"I wanted you to get comfortable enough to pass as lovers, not become lovers." She pulled out a bag full of makeup and handed it over for her to take.

"Now we don't have to pretend. And I don't always wear makeup. I'm good."

"Huh-huh, right, well, you have a hickey. And I'm assuming that Gil didn't have any deodorant that was to your liking. Clothes look nice and clean, though."

"Yeah, I, uh, did the wash, and he went to the store for me. I left everything at his place, so that way, the next time we have sex, he won't have to go out of his way to buy me my favorite deodorant and shampoo—"

"You don't think that getting intimately involved with him is unprofessional? This is a job—"

She cut her off, saying, "The case is the job, Catherine. Grissom isn't. What we do privately, intimately, is between us."

Catherine eyed her right back as she sat the bag on the counter since she didn't take it. "Good to know," she said. "Just be careful with him. Gil's a sensitive guy; he doesn't just have sex to have sex, you know what I mean? It means something to him. Don't go leading him on and then break his heart. If you do, I'll be the one kicking your ass." She went to walk out but stopped and said, "Oh, and if you're going to be his girlfriend, try thinking about calling him by his first name." With that, she left her alone in the bathroom.

Well, she thought, that could've been worse. Catherine was just being a good, concerned friend. Maybe that was why the third degree. She wanted to make sure that she wasn't just messing around with his heart and not taking it seriously. She wondered if Catherine knew that Grissom—that Gil—loved her.

She took a moment in the bathroom to do her makeup before leaving.

Grissom was standing outside on the patio. Catherine was with him. They were casually conversing with one another, having a private conversation. Sara didn't want to eavesdrop by reading their signs, so she poured herself a cup of coffee before venturing around the living area of the house.

She stopped in front of the fireplace. On top of the mantle were framed pictures of Catherine with her daughter Lindsey. They both had blond hair and striking blue eyes with the same big smiles on their faces.

Sara heard the door open and turned to see Grissom walking back inside. For a moment, he appeared worried before it was gone when he spotted her watching him. A smile appeared on his face as he joined her by the fireplace.

He signed slowly, making sure she registered each sign before moving on to the next. They were simple phrases, signs they've been over before, and finger spelling for words she didn't know.

He said, /Catherine has a brunch meeting. We're going./

"I don't want brunch, Gil, I want to work—"

/This is work. It's with a couple of our suspects. Trust me. With undercover work, you don't work a case like you would as a detective. You work it by having brunch with your suspects./

Grissom was right. This was the job now, not paperwork and casefiles, but cocktails and fake laughter. "I don't, um…mingle well."

He smirked, and shrugged, /Neither do I. That's why I spend my time eavesdropping on everyone else's conversation and snooping./ That last sign was a word she wasn't familiar with.

She repeated the sign in confusion. He spelt it, and she smiled, saying. "Ah, snooping. I can snoop. I'm good at that."

He eased up to her, took her hand in his, and leaned in and kissed her so sweaty and tenderly on the lips that she forgot how to breathe. That was more erotic, and passionate, than any French kiss she's ever had. It was as if he'd used that one kiss to tell her that he loved her.

As the kiss ended, he gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. Looking past Gil, she saw Catherine standing in the dining room. She'd seen them kiss but if she had anything to say about it she kept it to herself.

TBC…

Disclaimer song mentioned: "Space Age Love Song" by A Flock of Seagulls.

PS: In the season 3 episode 'A Night at the Movies', while investigating a murder at an art house theater, Grissom tells Catherine that he'd been there before as he watched a double bill of Baraka (1992) and Koyaanisqatsi (1982).