A/N: Thanks again for reading and for the reviews everyone. I do truly appreciate you.

Part 4: The Sun and the Rainfall

Chapter 10

Sunday, March 10th, 2002

Parker Center was normally a buzz of activity, however, given that it was ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, it was practically vacant. That's why the meeting with the Chief had been unexpected and a little worrisome. Why did he want to meet now? Most meetings were held during the work week, or he would come to the department. For her to have to go to Parker Center meant that it was important. Chief's ears only, or at least, only those in the brass or in higher pay grades should be privy to the information.

She could have been blowing this whole thing out of proportion. It was just a meeting, but with the way her day was going she doubted it. Her hands were still shaky from reading the journal. That deep dark hole in her head where her past was buried was just brought to the light. She'd been a victim of the 'Motel Butcher'. He'd called someone Flower. Flower earring girl, her latest victim, was she also a "flower"?

The crime lab was on the first floor. She got in the elevator and headed up to the top of the building. She passed RHD, the Robbery-Homicide Division, Major Crimes, and spotted Chief Isaiah Irvin's office at the end of the hallway. In the opposite direction was her mother's office. One that she shared with her husband. Jim was probably home, relaxing. He didn't go to bed until after he had lunch with Annie. Then he was up again in time for dinner at Musso and Frank.

In a way, she envied their relationship. After all these years, they were still in love with one another and acted like a couple of teenagers at times. They still had dates and drank too much over dinner. They were comfortable enough with each other to be themselves, even when they argued they both knew each other's hearts, their minds, and it never got that serious. Arguments led to jokes, to laughter, and making up.

Her reasons for going back to Hank was never about love, it was about convenience. She's had other boyfriends over the years but he was the only one she knew she could go back to when it got too lonely. When everything seemed to be crashing down, she knew he'd be there to listen. But, she didn't love him. She had once upon a time, but they were like oil and water in a relationship. They did not mix well. Their arguments never turned to laughter. They turned bitter. And bitterness led to him cheating.

Over time, she forgave him and they became friends again. The friendship became 'just one more time'. Then to another breakup. And now, a passing fling? Friends with benefits? They cared about one another, but that was it. It was nothing more.

Letting out a breath, she stood in front of the Chief's door and knocked. Best to get this meeting done and over with. Annie wanted to have brunch and then she wanted to go have a talk with Grissom. She knew that he was the one who left her the package on her desk. She had so many questions. He had the answers.

"Come in."

Upon hearing the commanding voice of Chief Irvin, she pushed open the door and spotted him behind his desk. She also smelt coffee. Irvin stood as she shut the door. He was a tall man, bald head, and normally had a big smile on his face. Today, he wasn't smiling. The entry was in an alcove and she had to take several steps to clear the wall. The blinds were open and she saw the buildings of the downtown civic center out the window.

Irvin's eyes went to the left, over her right shoulder, and she turned and saw a pair of deep blue eyes watching her.

It was Grissom.

~"Baby, I've been…"~

She gasped in surprise as he brought a LAPD coffee mug up to his lips and took a sip. "What's going on?" she asked, because she had no idea what in the hell was going on.

~"Breaking glass in your room again…"~

Irvin gestured for her to have a seat as he said, "I think it's about time we had a talk."

~"Listen…"~

She settled into the chair as Grissom pushed off the wall by the bookshelf to drop into the chair beside her. Eyeing him, she asked, "Do I need a union rep? I never crossed any lines—"

"You don't need a rep, and if you did, I'll be it," Irvin said as he leaned on the desk and intertwined his hands. "In fact, you've been doing good work. You also don't know when to quit, even after being told that Mr. Grissom here wasn't a viable suspect, you still had to insist." His eyes went to Grissom before asking, "What were the results of the DNA test?"

She cleared her throat before answering, "Negative, but there was a hit in CODIS—"

"Who in the hell gave you permission to ask a tech to run his DNA through CODIS? Mr. Sanders was only to run a DNA comparison match to the DNA collected from the original 'Motel Butcher' case. It was negative, meaning he was not a suspect at the time in any other case when Greg Sanders entered his DNA into the database, now was he?"

She felt the tightening in her chest and instead of backing off every time she felt that familiar tension, she fought against it. "Not exactly, it still doesn't change the fact that—"

"I'm not done," Irvin said, cutting her off. "The requirements for CODIS is that the evidence collected, in this case a DNA sample, has to be connected to a specific crime scene. Evidence cannot be collected—"

"Directly from the suspect's possession. Yeah, I know."

Irvin shook his head. "Defiant, obstructive, and downright stubborn." He then let out a breath and, "Just like your parents."

She glanced his way, saw his blue eyes on her, as she asked, "Then what's this about if he's not here to file a complaint?"

Irvin didn't waver as he said, "What I'm about to tell you does not leave this office. Do I make myself clear?"

She gave a nod. "Of course." There was a fluttering in her stomach, tension in her chest, as she waited for whatever it was he was about to tell her.

"As you know, the police department can employ civilians. Occasionally, and it doesn't happen often, we employ them to be undercover agents. Their identities as agents are only known to the police officer assigned to be their handler, and any law enforcement officer assigned to the investigation. As Chief, I know all our undercover agents. You're sitting next to one."

She felt her breath leave her body as she looked over at Grissom who had that amused smirk back on his face as he took another drink of coffee. "Then why did you allow me to investigate him?"

"Do you not understand the purpose of being undercover? We don't want to expose him, and being investigated by the police also helps to preserve his cover. Besides, it's about time we cleared up the whole mess of his initial arrest twenty years ago. We now have DNA proof that he wasn't the 'Motel Butcher', though it'll never be filed."

"What? Why not?"

"Because Sanders, if asked, will say he never received it and never ran it. He'll deny everything. That's why. Grissom is to remain a criminal, we can't clear him of the charges."

"How?" she asked. "How did he become an undercover agent to begin with?"

Irvin took a moment to answer and then told her, "He started as a confidential informant. It was agreed upon in exchange for reduced charges and no jail time. That's when he started working for us. After five years as a C.I., he went through the training to be a civilian undercover agent. Not that he really needed it, but it's policy. He has special skills and knowledge that help us in our undercover operations. He understands modus operandi, has knowledge of the criminal underworld, and can conduct surveillance. He's a damn good investigator in his own right with an exceptional memory. Mostly, he can read lips. He can be placed anywhere, in any situation, and doesn't even have to say a word, or try to converse with anyone. He can just sit back, watch, and know what everyone's talking about. He's obtained a lot of helpful information for us over the years. First, in street-level operations. Buy/busts, flash rolls, that sort of thing. Over time, sting operations. Long-term. Part of his cover is being Mrs. Willows' driver. Her job and status allows him access to some of the richest, most powerful people in Los Angeles. People who think because they have the money that they can own whoever and do whatever." He opened a drawer and removed a manila envelope. Handing it over to her, he said, "Like Mr. Gleason and Mrs. Michaels."

She took the manila envelope and opened it. Inside were black-and-white photos that Grissom had taken of the couple at the hotel in Pasadena. They weren't the only ones. They were just the first photo evidence that proved that the two of them were a couple who met in secret. In some of they others they were engaging in sexual activity with what appeared to be a minor.

"Why are you showing me these? If he's working undercover, and this is evidence being gathered during the course of an active investigation…"

"He always has a detective assigned to work with him. It often fluctuates depending on the case. With this new operation he's going to need a female partner with him undercover. His handler recommended you. Your investigation into him," Irvin said as he nodded toward Grissom, "was a test. Congratulations, you passed."

She didn't know what to say. It took her a moment to understand, asking, "Come again?"

"I said he needs a partner. You're it. Keep the photos, they're yours now."

"Wait a minute, I'm in the middle of—"

"I know what you're in the middle of, and I know that Detective Brown can handle it, along with Captain Brass. He caught the first dead girl. They'll work on that. You're working on this. Is that understood?"

She had no other choice. He was her boss. "Yes, I understand."

"Good." Irvin looked between the two of them and stood. Grissom stood as well and they shook hands. "Watch your back with this one, Grissom," he said in regards to her.

Grissom chuckled as he dropped Irvin's hand and then headed for the door. Coffee cup still in hand as he waited by the door.

Irvin told her, "You're to report to Captain Kramer. She's overseeing the operation."

Annie had told her that once she was done with the meeting with Chief Irvin to come to her office. That they would have brunch. "Will do. Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. Good luck."

She started for the door, stopped, and then asked Irvin, "If you don't mind me asking, who's his handler?"

Irvin hesitated a moment before telling her, "Captain Kramer."

Her mom. Grissom had that condescending, know-it-all smirk on his face as he held the door open for her before following her out.

There was an elevator up on the right and she thought he'd go to it but kept in-step behind her. His stroll through the LAPD headquarters was casual, like he's done it many times. She realized he probably had. She was still taken aback by all this.

But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. It was how he was able to walk into the Hawthorne Police Department and put that package on her desk. It was how he knew where she lived and got past security. How he knew that she was trying to obtain a sample of his DNA so they could test it. He'd been prepared with the envelope that he purposely licked and handed over, giving her the DNA sample.

It was also why her parents were keeping secrets, being vague with their answers. They knew this whole time. She pushed open the door to Annie's office and said, "You knew. This entire time, you both knew and didn't say anything."

Annie stared at her as she sat behind her desk, phone to her ear. "Hang on, I'll call you back," she said before hanging up. She stood and grabbed an assorted box of donuts, rolls, and croissants off a table. "Take one and calm down. There's also coffee—"

"Calm down?! You told me that he was dangerous!"

Annie looked at Grissom who walked over and grabbed a cream-filled donut. "He is. He's very dangerous."

Grissom looked mildly offended but also amused. That know-it-all smirk was back. It would've irked her if he wasn't so damn hot. What an ass. He walked over to the table where the coffee pot was and leaned against it while he ate.

Sara shook her head. "Why—…" she stopped herself.

Annie sat the box down on the desk and said, "Who'd you think turned him into a C.I.? I was the lead detective on the case. I know exactly who he is and what he's capable of. All I was doing was giving you fair warning."

"He's a criminal."

"No, he was a criminal. Now, he just acts like one."

~"Now don't look at the carpet…"~

That made Grissom laugh. She eyed him as he sat the coffee down to sign something.

~"I drew something awful on it…"~

She didn't have to know sign language to know what it meant by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "What about the journal? My journal?"

Annie let out a breath as she glared at Grissom. "You gave it to her?" she asked in what sounded like betrayal.

~"See…"~

He nodded. He finished the donut and then took another drink of coffee.

Sara really couldn't believe it. "You knew," she said again to Annie, "and you never told me. I can't get past that."

"We were trying to protect you. You were ten. The doctors called it retrograde amnesia caused by the abuse that you suffered. You didn't remember what happened. We wanted to keep it that way. What happened to you was horrible. That journal would have been a constant reminder—"

"How'd he get it?" she asked as she looked at Grissom. His guilt and pain was back as he leaned on the wall and waited for Annie to answer.

Annie didn't answer, instead, she said, "It was a long time ago, Sara. We did what we thought was best for you at the time. How could we have possibly known that another case would come up that matched the original? It was over, done with…What difference—"

"It's unsolved."

Annie let out a breath as she said, "It's not your case. Let it go—"

"I can't. It's my life."

"We know what happened. We can't close it—"

"Yeah, I know. Grissom was, and still is, the only suspect in the case. His cover is that he's a criminal. And if it's solved, and he isn't arrested and thrown in prison for being the 'Motel Butcher', then he loses his cover. I get it. Except there's a sealed homicide case linked to his DNA as well."

"There wasn't, until now," Annie said as she crossed her arms over her chest. She sounded disappointed. "Take the day. Get ready, because come Monday, you're his partner." She grabbed a cell phone off the desk and handed it to her. "Your new cell phone. Give me yours. You'll only contact me on that one for now on." As they exchanged phones, her mom told her, "Whatever you need to do to get Warrick up to speed, do it. Okay?"

She knew that was all she was going to get from her. Once Annie put her foot down on something, or changed the subject, it would be like trying to pry teeth to get her to change her mind. "Fine. What am I to tell Warrick."

Annie shrugged, saying, "Tell him you're taking personal leave. If you want, I'll have Chief Irvin suspend you—"

"I get it," she said. "I'll put in a request for immediate personal leave."

"And I need your police issued sidearm, ID, and badge."

She stared at her as she said, "My what?"

"You're undercover." She held out her hand.

She unclipped both from her belt, then she pulled out her ID wallet that held her police credentials and handed them over.

Annie took it all and rounded the desk, she opened a drawer and dropped them into it. "You'll get them back on completion of your assignment."

"And what is my assignment, exactly?"

"Have you heard of Heidi Fleiss? Back in the early '90s she was arrested for running a high-end prostitution ring. She was dubbed 'Hollywood Madam' as she supplied women to some of the most powerful and richest men in the world. We believe that the couple you're holding the pictures of in your hand are involved somehow in the same sort-of elaborate prostitution ring now, catering to the rich and famous, along with illegal drug running."

"Are they the ring leaders?"

"We don't believe so. They're clients."

"Why isn't Vice handling this? Or Narcotics?"

"We're working in conjunction with them. The reason I took it over is because of the deaths."

"Deaths?"

"We've found several prostitutes who've been murdered, all believed to be connected."

"And Grissom's involvement?"

"First, it was solely surveillance. Now, infiltration."

"And my involvement?"

Annie looked between them and said, "That's for you two to figure out, but this couple," she said in regard to Mr. Gleason and Mrs. Michaels, "they love couples who share the same interests."

She nodded in understanding. "Great." Sara turned to Grissom. He crossed the room and opened the door for her. Any amusement he once had was now gone.

She left the office. Getting to the elevator, she felt the frustration and anger coursing up into her chest and head. This was her life. She should know what that was. What it meant. All of it.

The elevator doors opened and she got in. She hit the button for the first floor and as the doors were shutting, an arm shot through the opening, stopping it from closing. Grissom walked in and leaned against the wall and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. As the elevator descended, he kept his eyes on her.

She nearly squirmed under his penetrating stare. The man looked sexy as hell. And now that she knew he wasn't some creep bad guy, she could admit it. If he wasn't so damn attractive, she might've punched him for making her admit it, but she could appreciate his good looks. It wouldn't be hard being his partner. Going undercover as…

"Am I supposed to be your girlfriend?"

His eyes suddenly widened as he shifted against the wall. He shrugged his shoulders.

That didn't help her any. She figured they could talk about it tomorrow. They were more pressing issues, like, "Do you know who it was? The person who killed my mother?"

He knocked on air again. /Yes./

"How about my father? Do you know anything?"

He bowed his head as he thought about her question. It was in his eyes, on his face. She could see the wheels in his head turning. After a moment, he signed, /Yes./

As the doors slid open, she said, "Guess I'm going to have to learn sign language if we're going to be partners."

She walked off the elevator and glanced behind her thinking that he'd follow, but he didn't. He stayed leaning against the wall of the elevator. His eyes on the opposite wall, thinking.

As she left Parker Center, she thought about going home. Taking a day off wasn't her style. Instead, she got into her car and headed back to the department. She had to bring Warrick up to speed on the 'Flower Girl' case.

Tuesday, March 9th, 1982

Detective Kramer was good. Really good, and even though I didn't trust cops, I thought she was different. I had to trust somebody. As the seconds stretched around those four white walls of the interrogation room, all three of us staring at one another, I came to a conclusion.

People feared what they wanted most in the world. What if they failed to obtain their dreams? What if what they actually wanted was unobtainable? Fear kept us from taking those first steps into the unknown. As the doubts swirled, confidence diminished, all we would be left with was the painful yearning of regret. The things we never did, never tried, because of fear.

"Our doubts are traitors and makes us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt." Shakespeare had written that in Measure for Measure. Our anxieties kept us from achieving the things we wanted.

I did not want to be a caged bird. What I wanted, the future I saw for myself, was laid out in front of me. I could see it in her eyes. I saw an opportunity. And when opportunity knocked you either opened the door to let it in, or you kept it out in fear of what it might be bring.

I had a lot to fear, though I knew in my heart what I had to do. I'd be called a traitor, but the decision had already been made long before I sat in this room. "But cruel are the times when we are traitors, and do not know ourselves; when we hold rumor from what we fear, yet know not what we fear, but float upon a wild and violent sea each way and move…" Macbeth.

That's where I was. Floating upon a wild and violent sea. Hours ago, in Las Vegas, I shook hands with Sam Braun knowing full well the traitorous act I had committed. Yet, it had to be done. This also had to be done. In order to not be a caged bird, I had to gain my freedom. There was only one way to do that, and it was with the truth. The whole truth. So help me God.

Whatever fear I felt, I pushed it down and shut it out as I signed for a piece of paper and the pen that was in her hand. The one she kept playing with.

Kramer glanced at David who spoke my words. She tore out a piece of paper, sat her pen on top of it, and slid it across the table.

Picking up the pen, I wrote, 'Tell David to leave. This is between us. He's not to watch. I also want a glass of water.'

I leaned forward and showed her the note but kept it in my hand along with the pen.

Kramer read the note, rubbed her finger across her chin while she thought, and then told David to leave the room. I read her lips, and she said, "Give us some privacy. Turn the camera off. No one's to watch. And bring him a glass of water."

~"You′re such a wonderful person…"~

Once we were alone, I flipped the paper over and wrote, 'You have no evidence proving that I murdered Sara's mother, because I didn't. You have nothing proving that I know what happened to Sara, because I don't.'

~"But you got problems…"~

I hesitated as I glanced up into her watchful eyes. The door opened and a cup of water was placed in front of me. I smiled up at David and thanked him before he left.

Then I wrote, 'I know you've been holding back about her father. Stephan Sidle. The money and picture in the glove box of his car. Whatever you're thinking, you're probably right, but also completely wrong. You have to understand that I don't want this life. I never did. I'm willing to help you. Work with you. But I have to know I won't do jail time. And until that happens, I won't cooperate.'

~"Oh-oh-oh-oh…"~

I showed her the note and let her read it.

She went to grab it and I pulled it away.

~"I'll never touch you."~

I balled it up, stuck it in my mouth, and swallowed it as I chugged the water. It hurt all the way down.

I sat the empty cup on the table, saw her red face and phony smile, and the shake of her head in embarrassment. I smirked. She knew she'd made a mistake.

With the note gone, all she had left was a choice to make. I already made mine.

TBC…

Disclaimer song used: "Breaking Glass" by David Bowie.